daughter

Conversation with…A tattered flag…begging to stand for something new.

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 75 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I noticed an old, tattered flag on the ground. It was just what I needed in my life so I rushed over!

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Hey flag! I see you’ve been through a lot.  Me too!

TATTERED FLAG: Don’t judge me. I know I look saggy on the outside, but I don’t feel that way on the inside. I’ve got a lot inside that wants to come out, but who’s gonna take an old, torn flag seriously?

I will! This could be the start of something big!

TATTERED FLAG: What are you talking about?

Here’s the thing. All my life, I’ve been kinda quirky, and I’ve always put myself down for it. I’ve called myself, “fearful” or “neurotic” or “weird.”

TATTERED FLAG: So?

So for better or worse, at this point in my life since I don’t think I’m going to become a completely different person, why not stand up for my quirky self and be proud of it?

TATTERED FLAG: What do you do that’s quirky?

 Well, I don’t like elevators because I’m super claustrophobic.  Whenever I enter a building, the first thing I look for is the staircase. I always apologize for myself and then take the stairs.

 TATTERED FLAG: Is that all?

No. I have a panic button that can go off at any moment. Like, if I’m in an office building and the fire alarm gongs, while others are standing around assuming it’s a mistake, I’ve already raced out the door and run five blocks away.

TATTERED FLAG: Anything else?

Sure. Even though I’ve traveled in a plane lots of times, flying always makes me insanely nervous. So I’ve done most of my world traveling on youtube.

TATTERED FLAG: I’m guessing there’s more.

Of course. When I’m at home and open a new container of cottage cheese or milk and use a little bit, I’m afraid I’ll forget I’ve opened the container. I’m afraid the next time I want to use the milk or cottage cheese, I’ll worry I bought an opened container and someone poisoned my food. So for peace of mind, every time I open a new container, I write, “OK” on it. That way, I’m sure it hasn’t been poisoned. And then other times I–

TATTERED FLAG: That’s enough. What does all this have to do with me?

Well, in my older age, I’m thinking, “Maybe I won’t apologize for my offbeat behavior anymore. Instead, I’ll embrace it and FLY MY FREAK FLAG.”

 TATTERED FLAG: And…I’m the freak flag?

Obviously. I’d wave you proudly as I write “OK” on my containers. If I’m taking a train to visit my daughter who lives 3,000 miles away, you’ll be furling in my hand. The next time I’m faced with an elevator, I’ll hold you up high as I’m taking the stairs. After all these years, I will accept the person I am and wave my freak flag in all my glory.

TATTERED FLAG: Whatever. I’m in. But right now I’m just a ragged flag that looks like it’s been through the wash too many times. How can I become a freak flag?

 Easy. Just add more eyeballs.

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TATTERED FLAG: I’m embarrassed I didn’t think of that myself.

 Don’t give it a second thought. Welcome to my world.

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Do you fly a freak flag? Care to share?

Conversation With…Mother of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer…about empty nester worrying

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 54 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I came to a huge building known as “The Worriers’ Warehouse.” In my older age, I worry more than ever. So I went inside and immediately noticed an older reindeer nervously biting her hooves. It was easy to start a conversation:

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Hey Reindeer, what are you worried about?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: My son Rudolph.

Wait. Are you telling me you’re Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’s mother?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Yes. And I’m constantly refilling my Valium prescription.

Why? What could you possibly be worried about? He’s Santa’s personal assistant! You raised this heroic, caring reindeer who pulls a sleigh filled with presents to children all over the world.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Christmas Eve makes me crazy for the entire year. It takes me 364 days to recover from it.

Why?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: How would you like it if your son flew across the sky all night lugging a five billion ton sleigh filled with gifts? What’s holding him up there anyway?

Magic?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Not the most reassuring concept for a mother. What if he makes a crash landing?

I never thought of that—

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Or if he doesn’t crash, what about his physical health? He’s dragging a sleigh full of gifts for kids all over the world with just a few other reindeer. He could pull his back out.

I see your point.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Not to mention, my Rudolph could pass out from exhaustion! Thirst! Hunger! It’s a busy night! No breaks! Very high pressure! And I know him! He’ll never say no!

Another point well taken.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: And what if Rudolph has to fly through a blizzard? Or a tornado? Or a severe thunderstorm? Who knows how high those reindeer go? My son could be hit by a meteor! Or slam into the moon! He could—

All this makes complete sense, but you’re not alone. I worry about all kinds of things with my adult kids, too.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Like what?

Bad relationships, lack of relationships, driving at night, driving too fast, driving when the sun is rising and blocking vision, driving when the sun is setting and blocking vision, traveling in planes, buses, trains, taxis, living on pizza, needing help when there’s no one around–

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Okay, okay. We’re on the same worrying page.

But with all that, I also think we’re giving our kids one big, giant, great gift.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Oh good. Because I never know what to get Rudolph for Christmas. What’s the gift?

The gift of freedom. That way, our adult children can DO all the things we worry about. They have a chance to figure out where they belong in the world. When we don’t call or text them every five seconds or stalk them on Facebook, we’re letting them go. It’s a gift. Even though it kills us inside.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Well in that case…why can’t we just say to ourselves we raised mature, intelligent beings who can take care of themselves and make good choices? What if I stopped worrying about my millennial reindeer so much?

What if I stopped worrying about my adult kids so much?

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Would something be missing from our relationships with our children?

Yes. Our connection.

RUDOLPH’S MOM: Are you sure about that?

No. But I worry about it.

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How do you control the amount you worry about those you care about? (This includes pets.)

CONVERSATION WITH…The Soil…Feeling left behind by a flower…

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 77 Comments

I just returned from a week’s vacation, visiting my daughter who lives thousands of miles away. Now, since I’m back “Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road,” I’m feeling angry, hurt, and as if I’ve been left behind. Walking along the Yellow Brick Road, I was glad to hear a pile of soil on the ground calling out to me. The soil said:

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SOIL: Hey you, I know how it is.

What? What do you mean?

SOIL: You have the “I wish I could adjust to being left behind” look on your face. I’d know it anywhere. I’m in the same place.

How so?

SOIL: Well, about a year ago, a seed came into my life. I hugged her under the ground so tightly I almost squashed her to death. I was just trying to keep her safe and warm.

I did the same with my daughter when she was a baby.

SOIL: Yeah. Whenever it rained, I did everything I could to be sure my seed was nourished with water. And miraculously, she grew roots.

I gave my daughter roots, too.

SOIL: But, my seed’s roots grew bigger and wider. Sometimes it drove me crazy, trying to figure out how to keep her nourished, and continuing to hold her in place, even when she made it difficult.

I’ve been there.

SOIL: And then…things started to fall apart. When I least expected it, my seed shoved herself above the ground. She grew a stem and kept growing higher and higher. She kept growing further and further away from me.

Welcome to my world.

SOIL: Then she grew thorns on her stem! Who told her to do that? Not me!

Sounds like my daughter’s tattoos.  Not my personal favorite.

SOIL: I guess those are just parts of who they are.  Anyway, at this point, my seed is a fully grown rose.

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She’s beautiful.

SOIL: Thank you. But her stem is so tall and far from the ground, if I want to talk to her, I have to scream my guts out.

Most of the time, I talk to my daughter through some kind of a screen. It’s not the same as speaking to her face to face. I hate it.

SOIL: What’s up with this???? Why is this happening?

I don’t know! But leaving my daughter was so hard this time.  Accepting I won’t see her in person very often makes me want to give up. I want to somehow separate myself from the pain. And move on!

SOIL: It breaks my heart when I realize no matter how hard I cry or how loudly I whine, my rose is never coming back down here.

Although…you know…you can never really separate from your rose.  And I can never really separate from my daughter.

SOIL: Why not?

Because we carry their roots. And deep down, I think they appreciate knowing we support them.

SOIL: I guess in that way…we’ll never really be left behind.

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How do you handle being left behind?

Note: A special, heartfelt thank you to baffledmum at:  https://baffledmum.com/2018/04/25/giving-up/  Her post about “giving up” really inspired me. Check it out!

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CONVERSATION WITH…An Older Mobile Phone

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 68 Comments

I walked for miles and miles Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road and finally plopped down on a park bench. I was exhausted. A moment later, an older mobile phone sat down beside me. I sighed. The mobile phone asked:

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MOBILE PHONE: What’s wrong?

Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but a mobile phone is the last thing I need to see right now.

MOBILE PHONE: Why? What did I do?

Nothing. It’s just that you’re a painful reminder of my daughter’s move to the other side of the country. My relationship with her has been reduced to text messages and calls on a phone like you.

MOBILE PHONE: Don’t I know it. Social media is killing me. I’m constantly working. Why do you think I look this way? Smashed screen. My keys don’t tap properly. My battery is dying. I need to retire but my owner isn’t due for an upgrade.

I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve never looked at it that way.

MOBILE PHONE: And I’ve never seen it through your eyes. What’s bothering you about mobile phones. We’re working our butts off for ya.

Do you really want to know?

MOBILE PHONE: I can take it.

Here goes. My daughter will text me about something that makes her happy. Like, last week she had a surprise birthday party. She texted me a photo of herself with her friends, but I didn’t get to hear everyone shout “Surprise!” when she walked in the room. I missed that moment.

MOBILE PHONE: Uh huh–

And when my daughter isn’t feeling well, she calls me. I can hear her raspy voice on the phone, but I can’t be there to give her tea and toast.

MOBILE PHONE: Uh huh–

Last night was the worst. My daughter made herself a nice dinner. She texted a photo of it, but I couldn’t be there to taste it with her.

MOBILE PHONE: Right—

And over the weekend, my daughter sent a Snapchat of herself at the end of a marathon she’d just run. But I couldn’t watch her cross the finish line.

MOBILE PHONE: But–

And about a month ago, my daughter texted me when she was afraid of the out-of-control fires in California. She texted there was smog and smoke in the air, but I couldn’t be there to smell it. I couldn’t be part of her experience. At all.

MOBILE PHONE: Okay, okay. Stop. I get it. As a mobile phone, I have my limits. You can’t see, hear, smell or taste experiences you’d like to have with your daughter.

I couldn’t have said it better.

MOBILE PHONE: But each time your daughter contacts you, there’s something you can feel.

What’s that?

MOBILE PHONE: Her love.

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CONVERSATION WITH…An older door

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 58 Comments

As I travel Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I have to remind myself to look upward every once in a while.  I never know if a house will fall from the sky and crash on top of me. Today, an actual school building fell from the heavens. Thankfully, it landed along the side of the road.  Believe it or not, it was the building where my two children went to preschool!  I rushed inside and found their old classroom!  Though the room had been turned into a library, the old door was still there.  We chatted…

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Hey door?  Do you remember when I used to drop my kids off in your room a million years ago?

OLD DOOR:  Of course. I remember everyone who comes in and out of this place. I don’t have a lot else to do. I remember your son cried a lot when you dropped him off here at preschool.

Yeah. I remember leaving the room and then peeking through the window at the top of you to see how he was doing.

DOOR:  If memory serves, he was so upset he actually had to drop out and come back the next year.  He missed you terribly.

I know. Back then, I thought he would have fun in the classroom with the other kids as soon as I left. I also needed a little space for myself to live my own life.  So, I played with my son in the classroom for a while…and when I thought he’d be fine without me, I’d whisper, “I have to go now.”

DOOR:  And he’d wail.

Looking back, I guess he didn’t understand. It probably made no sense to him.  He was probably very hurt. But eventually he dried his tears and moved on.

DOOR: On the other hand…I remember your daughter didn’t mind being dropped off here at preschool.

I know!  Before I could finish saying, “I have to go now,” she was bopping over to the other kids. 

DOOR:  So you left, closed me behind you, and scrunched your nose up against my little window to see how your daughter was doing.

She was always having a good time. That made me very happy because I needed a little space for myself.  I needed to live my own life.

DOOR:  But! Your daughter always insisted on coming home for lunch.  She only wanted to stay in preschool for a few hours. That was her limit.

I remember sometimes she had to stay longer because I had to work. She cried.  She probably didn’t understand.  I probably hurt her feelings.

DOOR: But eventually she dried her tears and moved on.

And now the tables have turned.  My kids are young adults. When my daughter travels from the other side of the country for a visit, I always want her to stay longer and spend more time with me.  But, at a certain point, she says, “I have to go now.” 

DOOR: And your son?

He lives about an hour away. When he comes home for a visit, I soooo enjoy his company!  But at a certain point, he gets up and says, “I have to go now.” 

DOOR: That must be hard.

 I don’t always understand.  Sometimes it hurts my feelings. I miss my children terribly.

DOOR: But you dry your tears and move on.

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CONVERSATION WITH…LITTLE BO PEEP…A BITTER EMPTY NESTER

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 27 Comments

Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, I noticed a woman with a sheep. Was it possible she was the famous Bo Peep who lost her sheep (from the Nursery Rhyme)?   Had one of her sheep come back? If she was Bo Peep, we had a lot in common! I’m an empty nester, too. I had to check it out…

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Hey there, by any chance, are you Bo Peep? You know, from the rhyme that goes, “Little Bo Peep, lost her sheep, and didn’t know where to find them.  Leave them alone and they’ll come home, wagging their tails behind them?”

BO PEEP: That’s me.  One sheep came back for a quick visit.  I’m smiling on the outside but crying on the inside.

Why?

BO PEEP: Here’s the part they never tell you about when you‘re an empty nester. When your kids come back to visit, you notice they’ve changed. And it hurts.

I get that. My daughter moved far away and when she comes back to visit, I see she’s adapted to her new environment.  She’s not exactly the same person she was when she left. It hurts to see that.  Selfishly, I miss who she used to be.

BO PEEP: Right!  And why do they have to go so far in the first place?  I mean, I raised my two sheep in a beautiful meadow with a sturdy fence so they’d always be safe.  I made sure they had organic grass to eat.  We settled in an area where the weather was perfect—not too hot and not too cold.  There were lots of nice sheep to hang out with. What more could sheep want?

Don’t ask me.

BO PEEP: Obviously it wasn’t good enough for my son sheep.  He whined it was too confining and homogeneous growing up in our meadow. He never wants to live here again.

So where did he move to?

BO PEEP: The African plains. He’s exceptionally fuzzy, so I worry he’ll pass out if he gets too hot. He’s not fenced in, so he wanders around wherever he wants to go—which makes me crazy.  And he’s seriously dating an elephant.

It’s a changing world.

BO PEEP: But it really hurts my feelings. I tried so hard to make a nice home for him.

All this hurts my feelings, too.  On the other hand, I remember when I was in my twenties and moved out of my parents’ house, I was sooo happy!  It was so freeing! I went out and did whatever I wanted whenever I felt like it! And I told my parents I hated where I grew up!  I said it was boring and superficial and I’d never come back.  I must have hurt THEIR feelings.

BO PEEP: Yeah.  Same here.  Before I was Bo Peep with Sheep, I was “Bo Peep with a Jeep.”  I drove that thing all over the world any time of day or night.  My parents never knew where I was. I was a wild woman.

I guess back in those days, we weren’t ready to be the women we are today.  We were…different. 

BO PEEP: And… now that my sheep are living away, I’ve become less active.  I’m quieter and take life a little slower.

Me too.  Maybe when our kids come home to visit, they also notice…we’ve changed.

BO PEEP: And it hurts them.

copyright:overthehillontheyellowbrickroad2017

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­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Hey there dear blogger friends, I’m still struggling with this.  If you’re an empty nester, how do you feel when your kids come back and you notice they’ve changed?  Or if you’re a younger person and have left the home where you grew up, how do you experience your parents when you return for a visit?

 

 

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CONVERSATION WITH…A Claustrophobic Caterpillar…Trying To Cope With Inevitable Changes

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 19 Comments

As I climbed Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, suddenly I heard a small voice screaming from below! I looked down and realized I’d almost stepped on a panic stricken caterpillar.  I had to apologize!

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Caterpillar!  I’m so sorry!

CATERPILLAR: You almost gave me a heart attack!

I didn’t see you there!

CATERPILLAR: That’s what they all say.

Seriously!  Are you okay?

CATERPILLAR: As okay as I’m gonna get right now.  I’ve got bigger problems.

Like what?

CATERPILLAR: Like, I’ve been putting off going in a cocoon until the last possible minute. I’m claustrophobic.  But now the time has come.

I feel your pain. I’m claustrophobic, too.

CATERPILLAR: Really?

Yeah. I don’t do elevators, tunnels, airplanes, MRIs…whenever I can avoid them.

CATERPILLAR: Well I can’t avoid going in my cocoon anymore.  I’m exhausted all the time.  I’m always starving and stuffing my face with leaves.  I’m not the caterpillar I used to be. Every part of my body is telling me this part of my life is over.

 So, before you go in your cocoon, why don’t you take a Xanax?  Or have a glass of wine?  I have a glass when I take short plane flights. It takes the edge off for a few hours. 

CATERPILLAR: We’re not talking hours here, we’re talking weeks.

Well, at least you only have to go in your cocoon one time.  Then it’s over! And you’ll be able to fly!  Don’t you want to fly?

CATERPILLAR: No.  I love crawling.  I don’t want to give up my feet.

I hear ya. 

CATERIPLLAR: And I don’t want this part of my life to be over.

I know!!!!  I have two kids and I loved bringing them up.  But they’ve grown up and just left home.  I don’t want this part of my life to be over either.

CATERPILLAR: We’re soulmates.

Yes. But it seems the universe is pushing us to move on. We have no choice.

CATERPILLAR: Yup. I have to fly.

I have to fly, too.   I mean, my daughter lives far away now. If I’m able to get myself to sit in a plane for five hours, I can visit her a lot.  And if I’m able to fly even longer, I can see so many parts of the world. I’d like that.

CATERPILLAR: Maybe flying will open new doors for me too. Maybe I’m part of something bigger that I can’t see. So, I guess I’ll take you up on that bottle of wine.

I said a GLASS…

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THE FOLLOW UP:

Weeks later, the caterpillar came out of her cocoon! Though she had a major hangover…

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…after a few hours she was able to fly in a straight line.  And me?  Well, since I’m still Over the Hill on the Yellow Brick Road, when I click my heels together I can visit my daughter in a flash. It works for now.  But…if you’re a bad flyer too, I’d love to hear from you.  What do you do on a plane to avoid jumping out of your skin?

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CONVERSATION WITH…The Cow Who Jumped over the Moon…Dreaming of Overcoming Her Overactive Bladder

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 11 Comments

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Recently, I met up with a highly successful athlete and super mom, The Cow Who Jumped over the Moon.   She was coming in for a landing on the Yellow Brick Road and was kind enough to chat.

Cow, it’s a real privilege meeting you.

COW:  Oh thank you.

So, you’ve definitely made your mark.  I mean, every night, jumping from your barn all the way over the moon and back to your barn has inspired cows throughout the world. What does it take to keep this up every night?

COW:  An overly ridiculous amount of drive.

I hear ya. But I have to admit,  I’ve heard rumors that after a very long career, you have an age- related issue that might bring your moon jumping days to an end. What’s going on?

COW:  Can I be frank?

Of course.

COW:  After giving birth and years of wear and tear, I find I need to pee all the time. Holding it in during my jump around the moon and back has become unbearable.

You’re not alone with that problem. But if you stop jumping over the moon, it will be the end of an era!

COW:  I know! And I don’t want to stop!  My work defines me.

I feel your pain. My work defines me, too.  But in your case, do you think this might be an opportunity to reflect on where you’ve been in your life and where you’re going? 

COW:  OMG. That sounds so depressing.

I’m just saying, you seem to be pretty intense and focused. Maybe let the lighter side of yourself come out and see where it takes you?

COW:  You mean, redirect my Type A personality toward something that makes me less crazy?

Something like that.

COW:  Hmmm…Well…I suppose at this point in my life, when I jump over the moon, I don’t have to land directly in my barn right away.  I mean, what’s my rush? My calf is a teen and doesn’t want me around all the time.  If I have to pee, I can crash land someplace else on the way home.

You mean, like, randomly crash land in Italy?

Why not?  I could find a Ladies Room there. Have a nice pasta dinner.  And if I’ve had too much wine to jump back the rest of the way to my barn, I’ll take a train or a bus home.

Awesome idea!  Every night you could crash land in a different city.  

COW:  I’ve always wanted to see Pittsburgh.

And any time you need to make an emergency landing, you can always stop at my house.

COW:  Really?  You would do that for me??

Of course!  Your  passion to see the world will inspire me to move my rear out the door.  I think you should go for it!

COW: Easy for you to say.

I know.  I won’t even get on a plane.

COW: But I think I will try the crash landing gig.   I just hope all those landings don’t mess up my knees.

The world will be watching.

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As the cow considers crash landing near restrooms around the world, please share your travel tips or recommended destinations.

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CONVERSATION WITH…a dandelion freaking out about turning gray (Part 1)

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / 2 Comments

 

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Traveling beside a flower garden on the Yellow Brick Road, I noticed a dandelion in emotional pain.

Excuse me, Dandelion… I know we’ve never met and this might be none of my business, but…. can I help you?

DANDELION:  I don’t know what to do with myself!  The best days of my life are over!

Why do you say that?

DANDELION: Look at me.  I’m gray. I look like a walking rat’s nest.  And look at the rest of the flowers around me.  Pink, orange, purple, blue, and they all have their petals. Why is this happening to ME? Why am I the one who has to go through this?  I feel so alone.

I’m not an expert, but there might be a bigger picture that you can’t see.

DANDELION:  I doubt it.  It feels like everything’s against me. Even the freakin’ wind.   It keeps blowing my gray strands all over the lawn.

Maybe you just have to ride with the universe and see what happens. Maybe you have a different rhythm than the other flowers.

DANDELION:  You’re not helping.

Seriously, I understand your thing about being gray.  I color my hair.  But I believe there are periods of darkness we have to plow through, and eventually there’s an end to them. It seems like it’s part of some kind of balance in the universe.

DANDELION:  I’ll say one thing. If there’s some kind of end to my despair and loneliness, it will be a miracle.

Do you mind if I come back in a while and see how you’re doing?

DANDELION:  Your choice.

CONVERSATION WITH…a Dandelion turning gray     Part 2

 

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I’m back with the Dandelion who’s gray.

DANDELION: Now I’m bald.  But I have to admit, my loneliness ended.  I never thought it would happen.

Awesome!!!  What’s been going on??

DANDELION: This is gonna sound completely weird. But…when the wind blew my gray strands all over the lawn, they settled under the ground. Then they grew and came up.  So now I have children. Look at all my beautiful kids!

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DANDELION: It’s a miracle.

©Overthehillontheyellowbrickroad2017

CONVERSATION WITH… a squirrel struggling with her “new normal.”

/ overthehillontheyellowbrickroad / Leave a comment

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Traveling past a park on the Yellow Brick Road, I saw a squirrel scampering around who looked completely confused.  I rushed over.

Hey Squirrel,  are you lost?  Do you need directions?

SQUIRREL: No.  I need food. I’m so hungry.

So why not get something to eat?

SQUIRREL: I can’t. I buried my acorns under the ground, and I can’t remember where I put them.

Ooooh.  In a weird way, I can relate. When I park my car at the mall, when I come out, sometimes I can’t remember where I left it.

SQUIRREL: So?

So every time I park, I have to make a mental note of where I am.  And if I’m somewhere new, I actually write down the name of the street and cross street.

SQUIRREL: No offense, but I don’t think that’s a fair comparison.  I mean, you just have to find your car.  I can starve to death.  I’m really scared.

Can you make a trail of footprints or pebbles that lead to where you buried your acorns?

SQUIRREL:  That makes me nervous. What if I forget where I made the trail?

How about if you ask someone to remind you where you buried the acorns?

SQUIRREL: Then I’d have to ask for help!  My kids have their own lives!  I don’t want to bother them with this!  It’s humiliating.   I can’t face it! I’m an independent squirrel.  Always have been.

I guess you don’t want to do anything about it?

SQUIRREL:  My therapist says this is my “new normal” and I need to deal with my body differently because I’m older.

I’m going through that with my therapist, too. Here’s my“new normal.”  I try really hard to eat healthy foods and stay at a reasonable weight.  But every time I eat the slightest thing that’s junky, I put on weight.  I never used to be that way.  I guess it is what it is.

SQUIRREL:  That’s tough.

It is what it is.

SQUIRREL:  You said that already.

Oh yeah.  I forgot.

SQUIRREL: At least I remembered something.

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