Lizzie Nelson - Fair to Piddling: A Journey Through Midlife in Humorous Verse

Lisa Nelson Fair to Piddling ISBN (Print Edition): 978-1-54399-219-9 ISBN (eBook Edition): 978-1-54399-220-5 2019. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For my mother. Contents Introduction Do you find yourself saying, Stop me if Ive told you this before? Or, I cant eat that, itll go right through me! Or even, Hang on, I just need another quick pee. And especially, What was I just saying? Then, hello there! We are fellow travelers.

What seemed like a particularly swift journey for mefrom the bubbling springs of youth to the estuary of middle agewas actually the happiest. Although it felt shortened by an early menopause, it was made more than tolerable by a sense of humor and a loving family. I recognize my good fortune in my family; it is what I wanted. I also recognize that for some women, it didnt happen or was simply not a requirement. I hope this book still resonates here and there for all women, and that above all, it raises a smile. We need to laugh because ageing might seem a little discouraging, and yet our lines should be read as love and laughter shared.

Our little aches and twinges are mementos from our journeys, our bellies tell of children or the food and drink that delighted us, and the gray hairs grow for our battles fought and worries wrought. We are full of stories, inside and out. Middle age is when we are absolutely ready to share our wisdom and experience. Ageing brings a realization of worth and as a woman in my fifties I feel purposeful, beautiful and recognize my equality and validity in every single space because in midlife, do we know everything? Yes, we bloody well do! We just cant always bring it to mind immediately. These poems are inspired by events and conversations from my own journey, from parenthood and a simultaneous perimenopause to post-menopause. I talk a great deal with my mother, who, although diminished in height, still grows in wit and wisdom.

We talk a little about the inevitable, and we do so with levity. And thats OK. I swear just a tiny bit in this book, and that is me, so thats OK too. You may also notice a muddle of Anglo-American spelling and phrases. After thirteen years of living in the States, I have become somewhat of a blend of cultures and this book simply reflects who I am. This collection is also for those who share our lives and love us.

It may help you understand our inner struggles, like that fuzzy cotton-headed feeling, empty yet completely full of fluff, and our battles with those unwelcome physical changes. We often feel only fair to middling. Or lately and often unexpectedly, fair to piddling. Thirties: Little People Handbag At the bottom of my bag live the things that I need, like old shopping lists and wee mystery keys. Chocolate fragments white bloomed, coupons past good, pennies by the dozen, and pills that could have been meant for the dogs or kids, but hey! Until one gets sick, thats where theyll stay. The bottom of my bag, I fear one day, will get me pulled up by the TSA.

But what drives me crazy is digging around for the stuff you really need that can never be found, like a pen or tissue or stamps or a quarter that should be down there, but never when they oughta! At the bottom of my bag is the end to this verse, scribbled on a scrap in the depths of my purse. Thanks, Kids! Droopy tits Saggy bits Belly hides your toes Hands of leather Nails that will never Be nice to paint and grow Hairs that spring From everything And careful when you sneeze; Things arent as tight But this just might Be the best thing I ever did.

Its Not the End of the World What day is it today, Mummy? I look at you in the rearview mirror. Were almost at school. Its Tuesday, Love. Why? Nooooooo! Stop the car! Stop the car! We have to go back home! Big tears roll down crimson cheeks.

What on Earth is the matter? Dont upset yourself, nothing can be that bad. My knickers say Friday, they have Friday written on them! I pull over. This is bad. What about your socks? What do they say?

Gulping back sobs, I hear the dreadful words that reduce this sunny day into tummy-turning HORROR! Well... one says, it says... Monday and the other, *sniff* says...

THURSDAY!

The world around us starts to wobble as the universe struggles to heal this rift in the space-time continuum. Asockalypse! Lets Have a Video Chat! Youre all there and were all here, then let us call you. Yes! Wont that be lovely? We can hear you, but youre very pixilated. Thats better. Maybe not. Well this is nice.

Oh, cant you see us? Our camera is on. Let me fiddle with it. Here we are, now youve gone. How about now? Great. Isnt this nice! Yes, youre still very fuzzy and it keeps freezing. well I only spoke to you last week. well I only spoke to you last week.

You all look well. Are those new curtains? Oh! Guess they just look different. This is great, though, isnt it? Youve completely frozen, again. Are the kids still awake? Hello, Sweetheart! You in your pajamas already? Yes, shes here, shed love to see you! Shed love to tell you about her new bike. No, I dont think we want to see your bottom, no! Dont encourage her! Kids, please! Good. Now isnt this lovely! We should do this more often.

Mom-entary Envy We lie together side by side on my pluffy bed; your lovely little knocky knees, my big pink Mummy legs. Your big toes turn in perfect circles and I try to do it too, but Im no longer agile and rubbery like you. I watch you fold yourself in half, your feet behind your head and roll, a ball of giggles, contorting round the bed. And for a moment, I recall how it was to be so supple, to fall without falling hard and be all mirth and muscle. To wear Band-Aids just like medals from wars with bikes and grit, when you only cried a little, then cleaned your wounds with spit. No breasts that weigh, no bones that ache, no injuries that linger.

You wept less from bloody grazes and more for just a splinter. I draw you in to squeeze you tight and smell your apple scent; you are bright like spring and summer, and thats nothing I resent. You restore what years have stolen and I feel vicariously renewed; I may not be up to somersaults, but Ill always play with you. Deceptions of an Everythings Yummy Mummy That chocolate rabbit the Easter Bunny gave you? You did nibble the ears off, gosh! Dont you remember? Oh! Those scrummy little caramel desserts I got for your lunch box? Yes, they only come in packs of three; that space in the box is for the cool air to circulate. Im glad you liked those crispy, roast potatoes. No, sorry, there were no golden crunchy chibbly bits left in the pan.