Male Menopause: How I’m Supporting My Midlife Husband

OldageDwfsFSI want my husband to have a healthy midlife and beyond.  I believe that’s one of the building blocks to lifelong happiness and I certainly don’t want to think of a life without him.

On our radar now…

  • Paying more attention to news reports like this…A fifty-something man died while paddleboardering at one of my husband’s favorite surf spots. They think he possibly had a pre-existing heart condition.
  • A friend of mine complained to me about her husband’s purchase of that stereotypical flashy sports car and his attempt to squeeze his midlife manbelliy into skinny jeans.
  • Another friend laments the death of a sex life with her newly grumpy fifty-something husband.

How can I help him?

I’ve been throwing myself into a tizzy worrying about how my husband’s admission into the land of midlife is going to affect him AND me.  Always the Preparation Princess, I’m attempting to anticipate any issues so I can deflect and deflate them before his issues become my problem.

Cure-for-hair-loss-man-hair-lossIs he losing his hair?


The very first inkling that some shift had occurred was during this daylong conversation thread that started first thing in the morning.

“Hey Rosebud, come here. “(Pointing to his pillow) “Do you see the hair on my pillow? See it? That’s my hair.”

And a bit later in the bathroom, looking in the mirror, “Do you see my hairline? Doesn’t it look different to you? Is it actually receding? Find a picture of me from five years ago and let’s compare.”

Five hours later, “ Feel my hair. It used to be really thick, right?  And now it feels thinner. Feel it again.”

Watching television in the evening, “Get on the internet and find out what’s going on.”

“Am I sick?”

“Why is my hair falling out?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

You know how you see someone every single day and you don’t really notice minute little changes in their appearance? Well, that’s the way it was with me.

When I looked at my husband closely, I had to agree that he was right. His forehead was bigger. A LOT bigger. Wow.

Age has begun to ply its sneaky tricks on my handsome tugboat man.

He didn’t want to start using Rogaine, but I found a thickening shampoo he likes and he’s begun to grow his hair out a bit longer in front to conceal his expanding forehead.

Not a comb-over – not yet anyway. (Hee hee.)

willworkDoes he need glasses OR maybe that little blue pill?

He’s been paying a lot more attention to those erectile dysfunction advertisements (not that it’s an issue — yet) and it seems that he’s having a harder time reading the newspaper or a telephone book (who reads telephone books anymore anyway?)  but he claims it’s just ‘cos the light’s not bright enough — Riiiggghhtt. Sure, that’s the problem. You need a brighter light. AND READING GLASSES!

Denial, denial, denial.  It ain’t just a river in Egypt.

Anxiety about our financial future
Another change that’s popped up in our conversations is his interest in retirement planning with IRA and 401K talk.  We’ve invested and strategized and hopefully created a blueprint over the years for a stable retirement, but the fifty-year threshold definitely heralded a more imminent need to save for the future when that future is closer than it used to be.

Staying healthy

Knowing that other changes might be lurking on the horizon, I’ve commenced implementing lifestyle changes like a drill sergeant.

We’re already vegetarians – I’ve been one since high school and he came on board since before we were married.

But now I’m uber diligent with the amounts of food he’s allowed to eat.

The most difficult challenge I’ve had so far is convincing him that he can’t eat the same way he did in his twenties.

For instance, I dole out twenty raw almonds instead of allowing him to eat the whole bag, one cookie instead of a dozen, and try to transform baked goods to include mostly only healthy recipes –like  Lentil Cookies, Black Bean Brownies (click HERE for the recipes), and my piece de resistance…Wheatgrass Flaxseed Smoothies.

I purchased a digital blood pressure machine to record our BP every now and then. High blood pressure is a silent killer; it can sneak up on you, and it makes sense to be aware of your baseline numbers.

Support his hobby

My tugboat man has no desire for a flashy sports car – his midlife cravings tend to be focused on surfing. He has three longboards, two shortboards, and a standup paddleboard. It seems as if he buys a new board about as often as I get a designer handbag.

With his SUP, no wave is too small, so I don’t have to hear him whine about the lack of good surf when he comes home from being out to sea.

lipstickInfidelity

I don’t envision my husband’s midlife crisis to include a wandering eye — at least I hope it doesn’t happen.

Many people have referred to us as two peas in a pod – except for surfing, we have the same interests and stay active working out together, hiking, camping, skiing, bicycling.

As a merchant mariner tugboat captain, he’s often away from home on assignment for up to two months — sometimes longer. When he’s here, we’re mostly inseparable. It’s not an ideal lifestyle, but we made the decision together when he was offered the opportunity to go back out to sea instead of working in our local harbor as he had done for most of our twenty-plus years.

Open communication is our key  to success
I believe we’ll get through his male menopause the same way we deal with everything – our marriage motto is “full disclosure”.

We share everything and we have complete trust in each other.  We’re a team, we’re in this together, in good times and bad — including his midlife crisis.

Do you have a marriage motto? What works for you? Do you work as a team?

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Holla! to Pinterest

Of late, I’ve been shamefully neglectful of my Pinterest boards. I know you’re all out there, organizing and pinning and repinning and following and liking.

He's soo dreamy!

He’s soo dreamy!

I even know what you like best about my own Pinterest site (click to visit) and that would be  my NUMBER ONE pin: Ed Westwick, who so briliiantly portrayed Chuck Bass on Gossip Girl – and Owls.

Saw-whet owls

Yes, owls are a fave amongst my pinning pals! And animals in general, which makes me happy, ‘cos I’m a huge animal lover.

Pinterest now has created Group Boards that one can be invited to join and pin to, but what kind of freaks me out in a slightly squinchy way are my MALE pinners. I just don’t get the appeal for a guy. I’m not at all sexist, but the two males I asked — my tugboat man and my son —  said they would never in a zillion years have any interest in Pinterest. Sorry for all you guys that do, but in my own little world, the answer is NO WAY. All I got was a “let me see those In the Tube surfingsurfing pics” and then they walked away, shaking their heads.

Although…I got a little snarky comment under his breath from my tugboat man, something along the lines of…”must be nice to have so much time to waste on crap” but when I demanded that he repeat what he said, he changed it to, “That was a delicious dinner, my love” but don’t you worry, I heard it. Yes, it’s a waste of time. I agree. But it’s also very addictive.

Click on my Chanel board. Very aspirational, don’t you agree?

Chanel surfboards

OMG, this is an amazeballs seashell wedding cake, isn’t it?

Unique-Beach-Wedding-Cake-IdeasDoesn’t it make you want to get married all over again? Hmmm. Ya know, I’ve been thinking about planning a vow renewal for our big #20 wedding anniversary next February. Pinterest is the perfect place to organize themes and ideas.

Now if I could only PIN my tugboat man down to actually being at the same latitude/longitude as me, maybe it’ll happen!

This isn’t my mariner nor his tug, but it’s a good example of the kind of work he does. 

Tug and barge

Grudge match: the pissed off surf widow versus the good wife (guess who won)

That wily vixen beeyotch was in rare form today.

Madame Beeyotch has been elegantly restrained lately except for an errant episode or two. Today, however, she wielded the POWER…

The day started out in an innocuous fashion. We woke up, had coffee–hubs had his portion controlled breakfast of homemade granola and low carb high protein flakes of some sort.

We went to the gym to take a Boot Camp/weight training class. So far, so good. On the way home, we ran a few errands–Trader Joe’s, Target, and stopped to get my glasses adjusted.

Still serene–planets in alignment–all is good. Madame Beeyotch, still restrained,  is singing a sweet, calming, and repetitive tune in her head.

Then…Captain Dorko decided we he needed to do a surf check. Stupid ocean. Obviously the waves were looking pretty good as evidenced by the grunts and snorts and exhalations of pleasure that emanated from the driver’s side.

Standup Paddleboard

Standup Paddleboard

Hubs just got a standup paddleboard (SUP) and now that there’s no wave small enough to keep him out of the water, he’s gone ALL THE TIME, and right about now it’s kind of getting on my last nerve.

I know what you might be thinking–cut the poor guy some slack; he’s out to sea a lot and he deserves a little r & r. Blah, blah, blah. That’s what I think!

My inner beeyotch can be held back no longer.

lastnervecatI’m thinking of all kinds of painful tortures to inflict upon the surf-obsessed hubs when I realized that he had been talking for quite a while. I only picked up the last part of it.

Him: “… and it’s so cool, I paddled all the way from the power plant past Old Mans and Warm Waters past the jetty to Tamarack. The waves weren’t big, but with that SUP I can have a lot of fun anyway.”

Crickets-Silence-More crlckets.

I’m thinking to myself. He can’t be talking to me. He just couldn’t be sharing all that stupid surf stuff with me.

Him again: “Look” he said, pointing west as we were stopped at a light, “I caught a wave there, and there, and there and…”

lastnerveyourcardPicture this. I’m sitting in the passenger seat. He’s driving. As he’s droning on and on and on AND on about the fun waves he’s been catching every damn day since he got that hateful SUP, I twist all the way around to look in the back seat. I look to the left-I look to the right– I stretch my body as far as it will go and look down with exaggerated movements to see the floor on the back seat.

Him: “What are you doing?”

Me: “I was looking for whoever you were talking to that must give a shit–’cos I don’t!”
(Whom/who–at that point I didn’t care to be correct.)

Him: {Laughing} “You’re really funny, you know that?”

(He honestly thinks I’m funny, he wasn’t kidding.)

Me: “I mean, I heard your lips flapping, waves, blah blah blah—fun, blah, blah, blah– and I thought to myself, he couldn’t possibly be talking to me because he should know that I don’t give a shit about his stupid surfing experiences!”

“You’re lucky I’m so agreeable to all the time you spend playing in the water and ignoring me.”

“But now that you mention it, you’re really getting on my last nerve, so you should prolly think about cutting back on your playtime in the water or I might just have to run up to South Coast Plaza and see what’s new for Spring. Chanel says tweed and feathers are trending right now.”

“Do we understand each other?”

Him: “Are you threatening me with shopping?”

Me: “How perceptive of you. You didn’t need a crystal ball to see where that was going…do we have a deal?”

Him: Arms folded, giving me that look of having tasted defeat…”Where do you want me to install those shelves?. Muttering half to himself as he walks in the garage, “I know when I’ve lost.”

surfwidowHowever, it is now almost 5pm and he ran off to the beach with a surfboard this time for an evening glass off session.

He will pay. Oh yes. He will pay. The beeyotch has spoken. Meow.

So the question remains. Who won? Who lost? Surf widow or nice wife? I think you know the answer…

The secret of a successful marriage

What is marriage all about? Based upon my personal research, experimentation, and analysis, I have the answers to your questions.

This is for all you young’uns who’re on the cusp of searching for a mate or for the older and hopefully wiser female who perhaps wants to dip a toe back into the dating pond.

Where’s Harry? A Wet Republic pool party in full swing

Do you want a life partner with whom to share your laughs, your tears, your bout with intestinal flu, your pillow and cat-laden bed, and to assist in the breeding of your offspring?

What’s the secret to my long lasting (twenty-two years together, nineteen married) relationship?

The secret is…COMPROMISE. 

Not really. I’m only messing with your head.

What works around here is torture and retaliation.

That’s it. Simple. Torture and retaliation.

It works like magic.

Case in point: My tugboat man goes out to sea for quite a while-usually two months or so at at time. When he returns, all he can think about (other than THAT) is surfing. Yes, he’s a big old surfer baby. Right now there are big winter waves pounding our coast.

sufingdragger-san-diego

This is not my captain because he’s not a dick dragger. That is NOT my term. I didn’t think of it but I wish I had. It’s what the young folks call a boogie boarder. Very descriptive, right? Think about it…

dog_surfing_01

This isn’t him, either. He’s not that cute but thank goodness, he’s less hairy.

sunset_cliffs_05

This isn’t him either, but this is how big the waves were at Sunset Cliffs.

A couple days ago he left at 5:30 a.m. to surf in La Jolla. In case you’re a surfer yourself, waves were mostly six feet with an occasional eight foot set. I was just about on my last nerve with this surf obsesh, so I blocked the driveway with sawhorses and trash cans so he couldn’t pull in the driveway.  Hee hee.sawhorse2C11TrashCanOld.jpg2F5B174A-5A60-43AB-8E0F6CCF2434E2ED.jpgLargerHe had to get out of his truck, move the obstacles, and then pull in.

After that, I used my wiles to torture him into building four more shelves for my lovely collection of shells and rocks.

And that brings us to today. Sunday. I guess the honeymoon’s over.

I was out in the garage chatting up the hubs about tonight’s dinner menu: freshly baked French bread, Caesar salad with my signature dressing, and thought I’d make some Frico at the same time that I make the croutons. I asked him:

“Have you ever had Frico? Do you know what it is?”

“Yeah, I know what a Frico is, I’m married to one.”

How RUDE. HOW RUDE!

This is Frico, I am not Frico.

This is Frico, I am not Frico.

I was being the  best wife ever; I brought him lunch on  a tray while he was working on restoring his rowboat and building yet another shelf (I love shelves, OK?) and THIS is the attitude I have to deal with!? After I brought him a wheatgrass smoothie, fresh pear cut in half and filled with nonfat cottage cheese dusted with cinnamon–blueberry-smiley-face-berries-pixmac-photo-75642785and to make it extra-special, a smiley face out of fresh blueberries–he retaliates with a comment like that? Oh, he’ll pay all right, oh yes he will. We’ll see who’s FREAKY when he takes me to South Coast Plaza tomorrow. We’ll test the limits of his stamina and endurance throughout the huge shopping center. We’ll whet our whistle at one end with Bloomingdales as we march determinedly toward my personal holy grail, (do you hear the trumpets sounding?) as we round the corner to….Chanel–Chanel, the holder of my bliss.

Torture and retaliation-the stuff of which great marriages are made.

Frico, not Freako

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Using largest holes on a 4-sided grater, coarsely shred enough cheese to measure 1 cup. Line a large baking sheet with nonstick liner. Stir together cheese, flour, and pepper. Arrange tablespoons of cheese 4 inches apart on liner, stirring cheese in bowl between tablespoons to keep flour evenly distributed. Flatten each mound slightly with a metal spatula to form a 3-inch round.Bake frico in middle of oven until golden, about 10 minutes. Cool 2 minutes on sheet on a rack, then carefully transfer each crisp (they are very delicate) with metal spatula to rack to cool completely.

Seashell insanity–Episode #452

Well…my tugboat man spent pretty much the entire day surfing. He came home at 2:00 p.m and said he had been trying to catch a wave in to shore for over an hour or he would have been back sooner. RIGHT.

Does he think I just fell off the turnip truck? Do I look stupid? I know that trick–the old “I couldn’t get in so I just had to stay surfing until the sun went down and the tide changed” lie.

I was so mad at him for abandoning me that I had to devise a painful retaliation to convey my displeasure. I decided that we were going to go walking in our little village of Carlsbad and go in and out of EVERY shop. That is absolute torture for my hubs, which meant it was perfect. And since I’ve gotten my Chanel, she hasn’t really had a good outing and begged to come along and see and be seen by all the tourists and locals in our little town.

We went to every single store including one where I bought some beautiful seashells, ‘cos, you know, I just don’t have enough seashells. I made him go into antique stores, sandal shops, shoe stores, clothing stores–up and down State Street and Grand Avenue without a moment to rest. When I felt he had been punished sufficiently, we went home and he installed a shelf that he made for my new shells and my seashell box we created together.

There’s more surf tomorrow, so I’ll be thinking of more ways to make his life miserable.

shelf1shelf2