Merry Mushy Christmas!

Maybe it’s my menopausal emotional mood swings?

Maybe it's because I turned 50!

Maybe it is celebrating Christmas without my children all together this year? 

Maybe it’s the fact my dad has been gone a year this month, and I want to hug him so much?  I would love to hear him say, “Hey Sissy,” just one more time. 

Maybe it is all of the heart-wrenching CHRISTmas videos I am seeing on Facebook?  I don’t know what is doing this to me?  But, I am a mushy mess!  Christmas is such an emotional time. 

Last week, I was taking pictures at our church of Santa reading the story of Christ’s birth to the children.  Santa asked the children if they knew the true meaning of Christmas, and one little boy stood up and yelled, “Jesus!”  Wow!  Out of the mouths of babes!  The church erupted in clapping.  He brought a big smile to my face.

Later in the service, the children went downstairs to celebrate the birthday of Jesus.  They were gathered around a table playing with various toys.  But, while they were doing this, they were singing, “Happy birthday Jesus…I’m so glad it’s Christmas.”  (If you don’t know the song, check the link below.)  I couldn’t help but tear up.  And as a photographer, it is quite difficult to take pictures while boo-hooing like a toddler who just got time-out.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B44dPW08TGg

This has been my emotional rollercoaster for the last 7 days…up and down.  One minute I am laughing hysterically, and the next I’m sobbing into what is now the third box of Kleenex I have opened this week.

Tears, however, are not always a bad thing.  The first video I watched on Facebook this morning was of children who were given an early Christmas present.  This present was their father returning home from serving overseas.  I cried like a baby!  But, those tears were happy tears.  Those children were crying too, but everyone involved was happy.

https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=10203039855222069&set=vb.1375884238&type=2&theater

The second video I watched this morning was the story of a young mother who lost her husband in a car wreck, just 14 weeks after the birth of their son.  The baby was also injured in the wreck, but survived.  The video centered on the mother thanking the hospital staff who saved her son ten years later.  And, it had a happy ending.  But, all I could dwell on was the loss of her young husband.  I cried again, but this time, I was so very sad. 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/12/03/kellie-haddock-mom-thank-you-project_n_6262640.html

Life is full of good and bad things, and maybe God does this on purpose.  We cannot truly appreciate the good things unless we have the bad to compare it to.  2014 taught me this lesson very well.  I lost my father (very end of 2013.)  I had difficulties in my marriage.  I had difficulties with work.  I also injured my back and treatment for this caused my hair to fall out.  It just didn’t seem like it could get much worse. 

But, our oldest daughter, Amanda, got married to an amazing man this year, and we now have a bonus granddaughter to boot.  And, our younger daughter, Ashley, had a documentary, “Tig,” she co-produced, chosen for the Sundance Film Festival for 2015.  Our oldest son, Brad, won two KPA awards for his work in journalism, and our youngest son, Jordan, was hired to work for American Airlines.  I am so proud of our children!  Too obvious?

Along with the good things happening for our children, I was offered a position teaching full-time for a technical college.  This has always been a dream of mine.  And, I renewed my wedding vows to my husband…who just also happens to be my best friend.  We also have a roof over our heads and food for our bodies…many people do not. 

It is truly a good life.  God has blessed me so much!  And, to him I give all glory!

MERRY MUSHY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!

Kim
May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder.

It's Time to Find Myself

An empty nest is not always a bad thing.  I do miss my children, but somewhere along the way in my roles of wife, mother and college student, I lost my identity.

Where did Kim, the painter, go?  Where did Kim, the singer, go? 

I knew she was in me somewhere, and today, Thanksgiving Day 2014, from the peacefulness of our cabin in the woods, I decided it was time to let her out.  Why today, you might ask?  I will tell you! 

My children are all grown and two of them have families of their own now.  And, I know the importance of building your own family traditions, especially when your family is young.  So, I never put pressure on them to come “home” on the holidays… because they are busy building homes of their own.  And, as a parent, that is what you want for them. 

As much as I want my children to see me as the center of their universe, I know that is not the case.  Right?  Yes, I know that is right.  So, I will make myself the center of my own universe.  I can do that.  Right?  Of course I am right!

For the first time ever, except for a small hamburger lunch for my husband and I, I wasn’t cooking on Thanksgiving.  I actually got to watch the Macy’s Parade.  Has it always been a big commercial for NBC television shows and Broadway plays?  I wouldn’t know because typically I am basting a turkey.  As much as it seemed like a big commercial, the parade was great.  Although, I do think there was a lot of lip-syncing.  I digress. 

After the NBC Parade, oops, I mean the Macy’s Parade, I decided to relax in my Jacuzzi.  I lit a “Mistletoe” Yankee Candle, turned Pandora holiday music on my laptop, added some great bath oil, my sweet Ashley bought me for Christmas two years ago, slipped into the tub and turned on the jets.  THEN, I jumped right back out.

It had been so long since I had taken time to slip into the Jacuzzi, that the jets had gotten a bit, shall we say, “dingy.”  And, the dinginess made it’s way into my bath. (This is also why I had not used the bath oil.)  

So, my husband and I took the time to clean the jets, and it is ready for another attempt tonight.  I can assure you, the dinginess will never happen again.  I will take time to smell the bath oil!

Tomorrow I plan to paint.  Hopefully my brushes haven’t rotted, but if so…I will buy more.  Kim is ready to appear and put her talents to work.  And, that is my goal as my 50^th birthday quickly approaches…to let Kim shine!

Do you have an empty nest?  If so, has it changed your life?

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Kim

3Ms: Mat Maid to Mom to Mid Life Crisis

I was a Mat Maid at Waggener High School  in 1982 where wrestling was, at the time, the sport.
A Mat Maid's job was to cheer at wrestling matches.
Sue Heck, the dweeby middle daughter on TVs The Middle, is a kind of  fictional Mat Maid. But at Waggener High School in 1982 it was considered an honor. If I remember correctly the boy athletes voted the girls onto the squad.
As my brief tenure would attest, skill was not a pre-requisite.
Mat Maiding overall made me uncomfortable. I didn't enjoy being so front and center with so much pain. I had to resist the urge to yell at the grappling boys: Use Your Words!
No offense to those athletes, and they were impressive, but I'm generally not a fan of grunting, moaning and wrestling unless I am an active participant.
Frankly, the title Mat Maid even at 17 it made me think of a maid who made her money on a mat, short for mattress, and, well, that didn't seem appropriate.
As I believe we have established with It's OK. Go Gray I was adorable, thanks Mom/Dad/God, but was clueless.
But  even way back in the age of Big Shoulder Pads and Bigger Hair I was aware that I was a terrible Mat Maid.
And that one particular Mat Maid semester I had a lucrative waitressing job, a boyfriend, was editor of the school paper and, you know, trying to get into college I remember getting a nasty virus or walking pneumonia. It might have been Mat Maid induced MRSA. Anyway, my Mom told I was stretched too thin and I had to let something go so, bye-bye my short cheering career. I think I was looking for an excuse to decline something that was suppose  that was an honor because I didn't want to seem ungrateful because, you know, boys voted for me!
About a year later, around my 18th birthday, I remember thinking really clearly....I'll never be a cheerleader. Which is weird, because I really never wanted to be a cheerleader. My failed Mat Maid effort showed that.
I think at the time it just marked a passing of a phase like when I was 7 and realized I was never really going to be a Pretty Pretty Princess or when I was 22 at my first job and I thought 'I will never go from reporter to Editor-in-Chief is two years' which had happened in college. Another revelation at the time was "I will never get another summer off."
(Random aside: I was also a ball girl for the Westport High School fighting soccer Warhawks circa 1980-81. I liked this job because it afforded close proximity to soccer players who were a Harry Styles-type combination of dreamy and mildly rebellious. There was also limited grunting and pain. Plus in those early Title IX Days it offered me the athletic outlet of running, climbing fences and being part of a team.  Also I, for a ridiculously long time, wanted to put "Ball Girl: 1980-1981" and "Mat Maid: 1981-1982" on a resume under "Other Interests" just to see what happened. Back to the story at hand.)
Over the years there have been some other moments of "I will never" some are poignant like "I will never see my Papaw again" others are shallow like  "chances are, I will never be famous."
But as you likely all know by the blog title Menopausal Moms I have hit the big one.
I will never have another child.
That ship has sailed.
That store has closed.
This uterus is officially out of business.
I don't know that I have ever really thought.....I must have another kid. I did think, briefly and wrongly, that maybe having another baby would right my wrong-trending marriage. Thank God for a moment of clarity there.
But more and more I am trying to think about my next chapter as my daughter gets ready to drive and go to college then on with her life.
I have had three main jobs,  two of them paying,  in my life.
Waitress, Writer, Mom.
The perimeters of one is changing and I can't do anything about it.
Adjusted for inflation of the other two one of them paid significantly better, especially in the last few years when health insurance rates keep going up, unpaid furloughs are required and raises, even matching 401-K contributions, have been non-existent at the same time workloads, required job skills and stress levels at my place of employment have increased.
So I'm trying to refigure the Mom part. (Thus, the blog)
I'm thinking about the rest.
There have been so many signs that God is trying to nudge me and, as always, I am slow to take the hint.
I got up on a recent Sunday and picked up the the paper from my driveway dressed in my non-too-fancy pajamas that didn't match and drove to the home of a long-time subscriber who had been working without success for two weeks to get her newspaper delivered.
It wasn't a long drive. I live in a small town.
But the trip was notable for two things. One, I don't normally go out, sans bra,  in Pjs and Crocs on a winters morn.
Two, I don't generally sob while driving.
I cried most of the way because my heart was breaking. Working for a newspaper is more than a paycheck for me it is a calling. It's what I've wanted to do, more or less, since I was 10. For a restless spirit who loved to write it was kind a dream job. I love all the good and noble parts of it. I am a believer in the power of a story both big and small.
It's also been a lifeline for me. When you tell the story, you are in charge and get to make the world make sense. There were times when I desperately needed the world to make sense.
I learn something every single time even when it is a topic I've covered a lot before.
I get to invest in people and, most of the time, help someone
I have to wonder if "I will never be able to do this work until I retire"
That is a big one.
I admire women who've gone back to school or started something completely different mid-life.
And I was once a girl who just picked a path and charged towards it. When I was a freelancer I would look at any kind of product with words and think: Someone has to write that, it might as well be me.
She's in there, I guess, but she seems diminished and not quite up for another big bold run.
I am pretty sure I'm not alone in these feelings.
I believe it is called a Mid-Life Crisis
I just know it makes me incredibly sad. A few weeks ago I was at a lunch with a bunch of nice people who all devote their lives to helping others. My daughter was with me. Someone I really respect introduced me as being "a really great reporter".  For the first time ever, I wished she could think of something else nice to say.

It's OK. Go Gray!

I started to go gray in my 20s
I went gray in my 50th year.
I kind of laughed when I found my first gray hair in college, looking in the bathroom mirror at my dorm. I thought it was funny. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because I had always pretty fabulous hair. Not that I knew it at the time. I always felt no matter what I did it kind of looked the same. Pony tail. Farrah Facuett waves. Tousled natural..not really in vogue....it all felt the same to me.
I felt the same way about make up. No matter what I did...to me I always looked like the fat kid from third grade.
But in truth my hair was thick and healthy and a naturally highlighted combination of brown, blonde and little bit of red. I wish I could lay some claim to it but ...you know, thanks Mom and Dad, Mamaw and Papaw. Grandma and Grandpa.  It is purely the hand God dealt me. (So, God, Kudos to you.)

I told one of my professors at WKU, James Ausenbaugh, about that first gray hair and he called me a "smart ass old kid" which stuck for awhile between us. It was the one of the few times anybody gave me a nickname to my face. (The other was M&M before Eminem. (Thank you, Love You. Robert Perez)
I was also "reporter Mary" for awhile.(Another story for another day.)
I abused my hair, frankly. I wasn't much for fancy shampoos. I'd let it grow until I couldn't take it anymore and cut it all off. There was that one illconcieved perm.

The hair dye started in my 20s. Usually what was on sale. Never on a regular basis in the way you are suppose to. Because my hair was thick it help cover up mistakes in the dye distribution.
That worked pretty well through my 30s but then the onslaught began in earnest and the gray made a permanent and prominent appearance.

I'd like to think I'm not vain but I was prickly about people assuming my daughter, now 15, was my grand daughter. Two people made that mistake when she was around three or four.

I did not respond well.

Once, when we went to a restaurant to celebrate her first library card, the waitress said "Oh, isn't that nice for your Granny to do that."

"I'm her mother," I said aggressively.

"Oh, of course, you know, Grannies are so young these days, I mean, you look YOUNG. I'm a granny...just, well..." she was talking loud and fast.

"If you stop talking now you will still get a tip," I said.

She stopped.

So why give up and go gray?

First, I really am old enough to be her grandmother. Especially in my small town where it seems like a lot of families have children early and often. Her first serious boyfriend's grandma was almost exactly my age.

Second, it was pretty much all white so...well...how much time and effort did I want to spend in the hair war  that was surely going to lose. (None and, well, none.)

So early this year, I did it. First I went to a salon and got blonde "lowlights" then I was too poor to go back to create a regular transition so nature just took it's course.

Guess what?

It's healthier.

It's beautiful.

It stands out.

I have gotten dozens of compliments on it.

More people I have told me looked nice with my all white hair in the last six months than in the last six years.

I've even caught myself looking in the mirror thinking "not bad". (A rare occurrence, I can assure you.) And even sometimes...."nice"! A rarer occurrence.

I think it is really a combination of things. I've embraced the hair God gave me, I am working out. I've lost 34 pounds. My asthma is under control.

I feel better white-haired and 50 than I have in a long, long time.

I may even have a little swagger.

I have come to the conclusion that I am going to embrace it because I have spent most of my life worrying that I wasn't as pretty as I was in the decade before when I worried all the time that I wasn't pretty enough. And, proof above, I look a lot like my daughter who I think is beautiful but I never saw myself that way.

This may be as good as it's going to get folks....so I might as well make the most of it.

Plus, here is a bonus. (Bonus!)

From a distance or from behind, I could be a senior citizen of any age.

I was car dancing in traffic the other day. To One Direction. (Don't judge my jam) I was in that traffic for 45 minutes, enthusiastically singing and seat dancing. (Breathing equals the ability to sing which can lead to singing.)

I had a fabulous time. So did the people in the minivan behind me. I don't care if they were laughing at me or with me, but they were having fun. At one point we got separated but 15 minutes later they were back behind me. When the teen boy in the passenger seat saw me again, still dancing, he almost did a spit take with his Starbucks, pointed and broke out in a big smile like he was happy to see me back.

It occurred to me later that from their vantage, all they saw was the white hair over the top of the seat. I could have been 80 which made my exuberance more unexpected.

My Honda Fit was even rocking a bit.

God willing, I'll get there to 80 and beyond. My Mom has beautiful hair. She keeps it cut short. She looks like a winsome elf. She's been known to car dance.

And I'll take that, someday. For now if someone asks if I'm Bailey's grandma I'll just smile and say yes and, maybe, ask if they know of an available Grandpa who enjoys the odes of One D.