If you're a fan of #middleaged #pop #punk, perhaps give #SaveTheCheerleader a go.

https://savethecheerleader.co.uk

Went to see them Friday night at The Tunnels in Frome for their first ever gig and it was a great night out.

Supported by Start the Sirens and Focus Thirty.

#music #localband

What would you say is the starting age for "middle-aged"?

#opinion #middleAged #middleAge #whatAge

Wholeness Didn’t Require Sameness

When I was pregnant with twins, I upended my life in many ways. Small adjustments included moving the living room furniture. More significant decisions included giving my life to God.

I was going to do a 180° turn away from the confusing dysfunction of my childhood and ensure my children would live full, joyful, secure lives.

Emerging from a tumultuous background, brokenness, and all that, I was always missing sameness in my youth.

I wished all the people in my life shared the same last name like generations of other families. I wished for same relatives and holidays with the same people. I heard schoolmates talk about longstanding traditions. Loving grandpas and attentive grandmas who hosted the same family dinner every Sunday.

So, I set out to give my children sameness. Traditions. I sought to surround them with good adults and friends.

Turns out, I quickly learned the lesson all new Moms get bonked on their head with: we cannot control everything. Particularly people.

Former acquaintances and some blood relatives in my children’s baby books have faded away. Some by different life directions. Others by my intentional choice.

Focusing on giving my children a secure environment meant the same people around had to be good ones. The kind that actually invest their time, their eyes, their interest. I decided even the pediatrician would be one we traveled with until they all went to university.

Absurd, I know. By the time my twins were 2 1/2 and I was holding a newborn infant, the insurance dictated we in fact would not have the same pediatrician. Employers change insurance and Moms and Dads change employers.

I recall being genuinely upset about saying goodbye to the pediatric practice where they all knew our names. Like the old TV show Cheers, there is comfort and warmth when entering a friend’s house, church or even a physician office where people use your name and express care about your life.

When I was 33, I thought we’d live in our new-built home until I welcomed grandchildren. I imagined growing a garden and adding a front porch. Hating the subdivision life, we eventually moved out of the cookie-cutter Stepford nation, and into the country with an already-built giant porch.

Turns out, we would again move sixteen years later – not to North Carolina or Florida where we boasted for years we would land – but to Texas.

Doctors. People. Houses. And a host of other not-sameness.

The kids turn pages in the family photo albums, asking who a few people are at their early-life birthday parties. Some I wonder if I should have held tighter. Most were only meant to be in our lives for a season.

And that’s natural. Some would argue a person’s temporary status in our life story is ordained to be exactly that: there for a chapter, not the entire book.

I was a loving, eager-to-do-right Mama who now as an empty-nester understands that my young commitment to sameness wasn’t the key to giving my children happiness.

Their Mama was determined (if not desperate) to make home an anchor. To grow firm roots of confidence beneath them. To establish absolute security so they could focus on playing, dreaming and having a childhood before adulting knocked on the door.

Though we all have the same last name and enjoy annual traditions, I’ve come to understand that my children never needed same-everything to flourish. It wasn’t the same home, healthcare practice or even same familiar faces that turned them into grounded, loving humans.

We didn’t need everyone to know our names to belong somewhere or everywhere.

My children’s stability and sense of worth were shaped by loyalty and consistency – by learning respect of others, beginning with their siblings – and the unwavering presence of parents who showed up. Who loved them unconditionally and wholeheartedly.

Thank you for sharing your time with me today. I hope you had a lovely Memorial Day and I wish you a wonderful week ahead.

Featured photo: mine, family5power.

A #middleaged woman is filled with #colors when her best friend #college going kids start living with her.

#sexgame #visualnovel #adultgame #erotica #eroticism #blowjob #interactive #MILF #sexy #nude #naked #nudity #sexy #maturewoman

Me: [reading a sign across the street] Naked Licks? Noyt Lloyd...what? That makes no sense.

[adjusting trifocals] Ohhhh...Next Level Painting.

#MiddleAged

So, I’m a Year Into The Empty Nest…

For those who follow this blog, you know I’m more than a year into the empty nest. I discovered this short post I never published and thought I’d share it.

I drove by their high school today. It’s been a DECADE this month since my oldest (twins) graduated high school…

Six years since graduating university…

My ponytail scrunchies are no longer MIA. Scissors are in the junk drawer when I need them. Things are where they belong. The stairs are clear, no piles of laundry to take up.

Sigh…

Why is it unpopular to miss the full nest? Women generally rejoice when it empties, strongly nudging their last one out the door. I haven’t missed the side-eyes of those wondering why it’s been a harder transition for me.

I’ve worked full-time, part-time and stayed at home most while the kids lived under our roof. Hardest job? Home.

I didn’t get paid for those clean toilets and no one left a tip on the table for the food they scarfed down in 12 minutes. Colleagues weren’t milling about the house complimenting my colorful tee-shirt or black yoga pants, telling me I look pretty today.

Being in the full nest can be lonely. But it’s the fullest I’ve ever been.

So, I started doing things I didn’t have time for before.

I finally bought the heirloom quality, outrageously expensive workhorse pots and pans I always dreamed of – I cook far less and hardly use them.

I have way more time to go clothes shopping but it’s not as much fun without my (fashionista) oldest with me.

There are many aspects of empty-nesting I enjoy. Writing, reading, resting, more exercise. But I miss the kids. I miss each of them individually. I miss the collective family life under one roof. I miss the echoes of their voices, the home teeming with life on the daily.

But I can’t have the quiet reading, writing and resting with the former constant action of running to the supermarket because I was inexplicably out of ketchup again – even in the back-up pantry.

Then I needed to be on a ball diamond at 4pm, and a hockey rink at 10pm, followed by a quick house pick-up at midnight…and there’s no proper rest before the alarm goes off at 5:30am.

We kept this pace for years and the slowness is an adjustment. Good – but requires reorienting. Conforming. Turning.

Life is weird. I trust God has His purpose in all seasons. After all, He created our cycles of human existence: little ones, youth, mid-life, old.

Each life phase carries deep meaning, but that truth doesn’t make this time any less strange or uncomfortable.

Thank you for joining me on this final Monday in April. I wish you a safe, healthy and good week ahead!

Bird Images: Mine: Family5Power

Ridiculous #aging #middleaged #perimenopause experience today:

For my entire adult life I've had this one spot on my chin where a single dark, coarse hair will grow in from time to time. Not an uncommon experience; a lot of women have to pluck a few hairs here and there to maintain the illusion of smooth, perfect skin.

Discovered this morning that the hair had grown back, but now it's gone white -- and I only noticed it because I could feel it when touching my face, but couldn't easily see it any more against my pale skin.

So, my first white hair.... and it's on my chin.

I guess this is 40?

I’m currently 43 years old and will be turning 44 this July, so I would say that makes me middle-aged. I don’t really have an issue with this because, for the most part, I don’t feel my age, but social media has a way of telling me otherwise.
https://medium.com/prismnpen/where-is-my-representation-as-an-older-trans-man-8147c3b196ae?sk=73679f38ed885739cfc0913d9c5e3fc0

#LGBTQ #Transgender #MiddleAged #Representation

Typical weekend morning conversation in our house (context - we’d been watching The Chronicles of Narnia extras and one of the actors recounted a story about how, when they were in Downton Abbey one of the cast was overwhelmed in near tears and she asked him what was wrong and he replied ‘I’ve just found out you were Mrs Beaver…’).
Me (after referencing this anecdote, but without any actors names because I couldn’t remember them): I don’t think I’ve actually seen him in anything.
T’hubby: Yes you have, he was in that thing with the yellow king…
Me: …
T’hubby: You know what I mean!
Me: …
T’hubby: You do know!
Me: …
T’hubby: They were all psychic, and there was the invisible chaos king, and it had that woman who was a witch, who turned out not to be a witch in another show…
Me: Aubrey Plaza? Do you mean Legion?
T’hubby: Yes! I knew you knew!
Me: Oh yes!

Points if you can name the actor we were talking about!
#MiddleAged