Author Archives: midlifenatalie

I’ve reworked a post that originally appeared back in March of 2008 on my old blog.  I started to say a lot of things then that I want to say again.

I’ve lived in a bubble for most of my life. I was raised Southern Baptist by awesome parents. I did go to public schools, but I was somewhat naive when it came to other people. I think I assumed that most people’s families were similar to mine. I went to a Christian college where my bubble continued to envelope me. I got married right out of college and settled down to have kids. The bubble was ever present. Life in the bubble was comfortable. Easy. I did teach school for awhile and met a few people who lived life outside that bubble. I didn’t understand them, and they scared me. My world-view was small and safe.

In 2002 we moved overseas. I tried to carry my bubble with me. There were many, many people who were different than me, but I did find a rather large group of people who fit quite nicely into my bubble. But then something happened. I got tired of life completely in the bubble. I was meeting people outside of the bubble naturally, and I found myself challenged by our differences. They didn’t scare me. I wanted to understand them.

This same philosophy has carried over to my blogging buddies. The first blog I had was originally private. Only people I gave the blog address to could see it. In November of 2007 I made the big change from private blog to public blog. I stepped out of that bubble. After that many people I didn’t know read my blog. Some even came back for a second or third visit.  In January of 2008 I joined twitter.  I wasn’t sure what it was or how it would benefit me, but it seemed like the next big thing.  I started to converse with some of my blogger friends and talked to new people in real time.  It was amazing!  Despite our political, religious, cultural, and sexual orientation differences we became friends, and that didn’t scare me.

Fast forward to today.  I don’t have that real life safety bubble anymore.  I spent so much time outside of it that I no longer fit in it.  I still see some of my friends from those days.  We still talk on occasion. Many of them are facebook friends, and we exchange pleasantries online but not much more.  I don’t think most of them would understand some of the changes I’ve made in my life in the last 2 years.  Sometimes it seems easier not to burden them with the choice of whether to accept me or reject me.  Better to gradually grow apart than face the rejection some of them are sure to offer.  I guess I do that to protect myself.

Since that time I have also had some major blog changes.  That original blog where I shared family stories and life in general is still there, but it has seen it’s last post.  For a couple of years I also kept an anonymous blog as a way to deal with all that I was going through.  It’s still out there as well, but it’s locked down…available only for me to read and reflect on.  I started this blog a year ago in an attempt to mesh the ideas behind the other two blogs.  I needed a place where I felt comfortable sharing my life with people.  Some of the friends I met at my original blog have followed me here.  Many have not.  That’s mostly my fault I think.  I haven’t been good at keeping up with many of them as I’ve dealt with the major life changes at my place.  I’ve invited a few of the readers I had at the anonymous blog to read here as well.  I think they’re doing that.

And I’m making new friends.  People don’t scare me anymore.  Everyone has a story to tell.  Everyone has an experience I can learn from.  I may not always agree with those I meet. My beliefs may be completely different from theirs. I may not always understand where they are coming from. But I can listen to them. I can love them. I can be their friend. And the great thing is I want to. I want to live a life full of compassion and love…for everyone I meet.

My kids will be going to California with their dad in a week. There are a couple of reasons why it disturbs me a bit.  This is the first time I won’t be going on a major family trip.  They are driving across the country and staying with friends and in hotels.  Back in the day I was the one who made sure everything pulled out of their suitcases made it back in.  After spending a night somewhere everyone packed up their own bags and loaded the car.  Then I walked through the rooms of the houses we stayed in and looked in drawers at hotel rooms to collect pillows, underwear, socks, and toothbrushes left behind after they were done packing.  I can only imagine what all they will leave behind.  I can almost guarantee that the oldest will leave her phone charger cord at the first place they stay.  Considering she’s texting on her phone all the time that might not be a bad thing.  Once her phone dies she’ll have to focus on something else until she can convince her dad to buy her a new charger.

The other scary part of this trip is that they will be gone for 2 weeks.  That’s the longest I’ve ever gone without seeing them!  It will be so strange.  Once I went 2 weeks without seeing the oldest.  She was at camp, but everyone else was at home.  On several occasions I’ve gone 7 days without seeing them, but I was the one gone so it didn’t seem as long somehow.  This is going to be crazy.  I have a few things planned, but I’m pretty sure staying home for a furniture delivery and painting my daughter’s room don’t count as vacation.  There is a four day window of opportunity for fun during the time they’re gone as well.  We’ll see what I can do about that!

No matter how full or how fun I make my kid free two weeks I will still miss them.  Gulp. Sniff Sniff.

Fleur de lis sure can tell a story.  I’m not talking about a made up, fiction kind of story…I mean one of those true life stories.  Most of her true life stories are from her childhood.  Something will trigger a memory, and she’ll just start talking.

The other day she told me a story about a favorite aunt and uncle.  She said that when she was a child she thought they were so rich. Unlike her family who had to save every penny they always had extra pennies for taffy from the Roman candy man or a jello cup from the corner store.  And her aunt kept peanut butter cups in the refrigerator!  Always.  When she would stop at their house she was allowed to open the refrigerator and get one peanut butter cup as a treat.  She told me that back then peanut butter cups weren’t packaged like they are today.  They were layered in a candy box.  After eating all the peanut butter cups on top a thin piece of cardboard was removed to reveal a second layer.  Fleur de lis went on to describe the kitchen and what else would be found in the refrigerator on a regular basis.  She just got lost in the memory.

I love when she does this.  She describes the scene with just the right amount of detail to transport me there.  She will finish her story, notice my silence, and apologize for reminiscing.  I’m sure that at times she thinks I’m bored, but what she doesn’t realize is that I’m usually still lost in her childhood.  Feeling the humidity as I sit on the stoop of the house of her youth.  Sitting at the kitchen table watching the condensation bead up on the can of Jax beer her uncle is drinking.  Walking down the street with a little 5 year old girl on her way to her first day of school.  For a moment I am there.

Another thing I love about her stories is that when she talks about growing up the thick accent that is normal for people from that area of the country returns slightly. Not with every word, but certain words do stand out.  Most people probably wouldn’t even notice it, but having lived in that area once upon a time myself I hear the difference.  Like yesterday.  Yesterday when she told me about those peanut butter cups the way she said those words…peanut butter cups…sounded different than any other time I’ve ever heard her say them.  She had no idea and just kept right on talking.  I liked it.

Later that evening, long after the story had been told, Fleur de lis found a picture of this aunt and uncle to show me.  It was taken on her grandmother’s 80th birthday, and it happened to be taken in the kitchen.  She was focused in on the people in the picture, telling me who was who, and I was looking around the room she had described.  I saw the refrigerator, the table, and a picture of the Last Supper hanging over the window in the room.  Then I glanced down at the table.  There was a birthday cake with candles.  And I saw something else at the very edge of the picture.  Something that most people would probably overlook.  An opened box of peanut butter cups.  When I pointed them out to Fleur de lis she gasped and laughed and almost cried.  She had never noticed them in the picture before.  Seeing the peanut butter cups that made such an impression on her all those years ago was like a gift, and it made my heart smile.  It was the perfect ending to the story.

Sometimes I miss my grandma.  She died in April of 2008 after suffering a stroke.  I don’t remember when I saw her last.  It must have been over Christmas 2007.  We lived in Turkey when she suffered the stroke, and I flew home to attend the funeral.  My grandmother had been living with my aunt in another state due to some dementia and the inability to take care of herself that went along with it.  The house she lived in my whole life was sold quite a few years ago so there had never been a reason to go back there.  The funeral was held in a town close by, but her burial site was right down the street from her old house.

I miss that grandma.  The one who lived in that house.  The one who got up early every summer morning to go to the garden to pick what was ripe.  She wore clear rubber shoes/boots that cinched up and buttoned closed.  I liked to wear those shoes around the yard because they felt nice and slippery.  I miss those shoes.  In the late mornings we’d walk to the post office to pick up her mail.  On the way home we stopped at the local store to pick up a few things, and she would always let me buy something.  I usually picked out coconut candy.Sometimes I picked out a whole frozen German chocolate layered cake.  It was the first German chocolate cake I’d ever had, and I’m convinced it was the best as well.  I miss that cake.  In the afternoons we’d go visiting.  Sometimes we walked to the neighbors, but other times we’d get in the car and drive out to the country to visit whoever she “had a mind” to see.  I miss those trips.  The old country roads and rickety wooden bridges.  The sweet iced tea on the porch. Collecting eggs or picking berries to take home.  Wooden steps and well water.  It was something.

I often wonder what kinds of memories my kids will have of their grandparents when they grow up.  I have no doubt that they’ll be good ones.  They’ll just be so different from mine.

When my oldest was a baby my parents bought a weekend lake house.  After a few years they upgraded and moved to the lake.  I was so excited for my kids.  This was a place they could remember.  There were acres to explore.  Fishing and four wheel riding.  Swimming and a vegetable garden.  I couldn’t wait to make memories.  Then we moved overseas.  Still though there was a familiar place to come home to.  I loved that.  My parents lived in that house for a few years, then due to several health scares decided that they needed to move back to the city.  I was sad.  I grieved the loss of unmade memories.

After living in suburbia for a couple of years my parents built a house in a quiet neighborhood in the country.   There are lots of trees and places to explore.  The houses are spaced far enough apart so there’s no neighbor intrusion.  They have a swimming pool as well as a nice backyard.  My mom planted tomatoes, turnip greens, green beans, and has blackberry bushes growing wild along the back fence.  The streets are paved and perfect for bike riding.  My kids have a great place to make memories.

Last month my parents bought another weekend lake house.  It doesn’t have the acreage or forest around it like the old one.  From what I can tell from the pictures I’ve seen it doesn’t have as much character as the old one either, but it has a lake for fishing and swimming.  They have a peach orchard and blueberry bushes.  There’s room to explore in the wide open.  We haven’t had a chance to go out there yet, but I can’t wait to see what memories are made there.

This weekend we went from this

to this,

and from this,

to this.

The before pictures were taken after swimming and hair drying. They didn’t usually style their hair that way. My dad had the privilege of blow drying their hair and then shaving it off. They both like the new styles, but I must admit that I will miss the long flowing locks. They both look so much older and taller now!

Once upon a time in Turkey while at the store scouring the aisles for swimming goggles my son said something that made me giggle.  We had only looked where we thought the goggles should be.  No goggles.  So my almost 13 year old son said this, “I have an idea.  Let’s split up.  Daphne, Fred and I will go this way.  You guys go that way.”  I laughed as I thought about it.  Why did he choose to go with Daphne and Fred? What about Scooby, Shaggy, and Velma?  And why in the hell did they always split up that way?  I think Fred wanted some alone time with Daphne so he sent the others off to chase imaginary monsters.  You never saw anything kinky, and Fred and Daphne always showed up later looking just as put together as when they left.  Fred’s ascot and Daphne’s scarf looking pristine and perfect.  Poor Velma usually seemed to get stuck with Shaggy and Scooby who wouldn’t do anything without a Scooby Snack or two.  I’ve always wondered what was so great about those Scooby Snacks.  Scooby and Shaggy wouldn’t put themselves in potentially dangerous situations for dog food, would they?  Surely not.  Then at some point Velma would lose her glasses which usually resulted in them being found next to whatever ghost, monster, or demon they were out to uncover.  And there was lots of running.  Always with the running.  And so now we come back to me.  If I had to choose who to go with when we split up to look for goggles I would choose Velma.  I like the short-haired, smart type.  I bet under that orange turtleneck she was a little vixen.  And I’m all about that!

At some point in the recent past Fleur de lis and I were talking about love languages.  She hadn’t ever heard of the book The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman.  That surprised me a little because it was all the rage back in the day.  The day being the late 90’s or so.  Then I remembered that it was probably all the rage in the Christian circles where I traveled and not so much in mainstream secular America.  While the book is written by a Christian it is remarkable in it’s applicability to mainstream secular America as well.  The basic idea of the book is that we all give and receive love in different ways.  By default we tend to show love by doing things for others that we like done for ourselves.  This book talks about the five basic ways people feel loved.  It gives insight on how to love others in a way that they will feel loved.  For example…some people love to be told that they are loved.  They like comments about how beautiful they are, how nice their hair is, how amazing the meal was they cooked, how appreciated they are, etc.  That communicates love to them.  And while it’s nice to hear others might not care so much about those sorts of things.  Instead they might need quality time to feel loved.  Time dedicated specifically to them.

Years ago I took the little test in the book to determine my love language.  The language that when spoken to me communicated love.  Back then my primary love languages were Quality Time and Acts of Service.  Acts of Service being things like cleaning the bathrooms, putting gas in my car, vacuuming the house, cooking dinner…all because you love me.  After telling Fleur de lis about it she and I both thought that I should take the test again.  It was obvious to both of us that over the years my love languages had probably changed.  I took the test online and received the following scores.

I just laughed when I saw my results. Physical Touch had never really been on my radar until recently.  And by touch I’m not referring to sex in any way.  I had been touched my whole married life and while it was ok it wasn’t something I needed.   I know the need to be touched was there in the early days of my marriage.  I remember it.  I remember being frustrated that physical touch always led to sex.  A back rub was never just a back rub.  It was foreplay.  Touch became less and less important to me because while fulfilling a need it was also creating a sense of dread for what came next if I wasn’t in the mood.  And for some reason unknown to me I was rarely ever in the mood.  (And let me insert here that I didn’t hate sex.  It was fine.  I just didn’t need it.)  Later my need for physical touch was fulfilled by babies and toddlers.  They hugged me and kissed me and played with my hair.  They needed me and loved me.

These days my babies aren’t babies anymore   They’re junior high and high schoolers.  I can’t pick them up and hold them.  Oh they still sit right up against me on the couch.  They still give awesome hugs.  They still play with my hair and my youngest two still fight to hold my hand in the store.  (which can be a problem since most store aisles aren’t wide enough for me, a 10 year old and a 12 year old)  I figured those touches were enough.  And really they were.  Until I met Fleur de lis.

And because she is so amazing I have to start a new paragraph to talk about her.  Fleur de lis is a toucher.  A petter.  A caresser.  Colbie Calliat must have met Fleur de lis at some point because she could only have been talking about her when she penned the lyrics “You’ve got magic inside your fingertips; it’s leaking out all over my skin.” That’s exactly how it is.  Fleur de lis has amazing hands.  When we are together she touches me often, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.  She touches my face, my neck, and right under my collarbones, and I automatically relax.  She rubs my arm with the perfect amount of pressure.  It’s like her hands are giving me little hugs.  Perfect little hand hugs.  I can be in the middle of a sentence, and her touch will make me forget what I’m saying.  Without realizing it I lean into her touch.  She claims I must have been a cat in a former life.  I just can’t get enough.

I also scored high on Quality Time.  That didn’t surprise me.  I am all about spending time together, and I don’t usually want that time interrupted by the TV or radio.  Going to the park, to dinner, or doing some other activity that isn’t a distraction from each other will do.  I’m ok with watching TV, surfing the net, and going to the movies, but I don’t want that to be the only time that I get.  I can spend a good amount of time with someone, and if it’s all spent in the midst of distractions I will feel like I really didn’t even see them.

Fleur de lis took the test online as well.  She scored high on Physical Touch and Words of Affirmation.  I have work to do.  I am not very good at either one of these.  Since Physical Touch is one of my love languages it seems like it would be an easy thing for me to do.  The only problem is that whenever I start to touch her she touches me back, and I’m rendered useless.  I melt.  I forget that I’m rubbing her arm or massaging her head.  My body becomes jelly, and I lean into her touch.  As far as Words of Affirmation goes I honestly forget.  She is always saying nice things to me, and because it isn’t one of my love languages I don’t automatically do it back.  It doesn’t come naturally.

I have work to do.  I want to love in a way that is felt.  In a way that can be counted on.  Time to get busy.

So I’ve wanted to blog, but now that I actually have the time I can’t remember what it was that I felt the need to say.

I remember taking this picture of some yummy cupcakes with the idea that I would blog about them.  Um…we bought some cupcakes at a store that only sold cupcakes and then we ate them.  Yeah…not nearly as exciting as the post that was in my head 2 weeks ago.

Then there was this picture.  I took bread dough out of the freezer and put it in a ziplock bag to thaw.  I meant to put it in the refrigerator so it would thaw slowly.  I had the sudden realization while I was at school that it was still sitting on my kitchen counter.  I came home to this.  Again…not exactly what I meant to say at the time this occurred.

I went to Waco with Fleur de lis and took the following picture.  It was taken at the Dr. Pepper Museum.  There wasn’t much to the place, but what we saw was interesting.

I learned a couple of things too.  Diet Coke isn’t made from the same recipe as regular Coke.  One would think they only changed the sweetener, but no…they are two completely different formulas.  Evidently Diet Coke was more cost efficient so they tried to use it’s formula with only a change in the sweetener to make regular Coke back in 1985.  Yep…New Coke was the same formula as Diet Coke.  That didn’t go over well!

This past week I took my boys to the doctor.  One needed shots and the other needed a physical for the athletic program at school.  The younger boy and I both just about died when we watched our lady doctor give the older boy the old cough test.  I almost died because I had heard guys joke about this test for years, but of course I had never seen it done.  My son was wearing basketball shorts so she didn’t have to pull them down or anything.  She just reached her gloved hand in there before we knew what was happening.  My younger son almost died because all he could think was that he was next!

There are only 6 1/2 more school days with kids and 9 more days until I am done for the summer.  The kids are getting restless which makes their behavior worse.  I have kids who rarely get in trouble acting up.  I had a migraine every day for a week and a half.  Last week I was surprisingly migraine free, but today I woke up with one.  It’s Sunday.  Not the best way to start the week.  Hopefully this isn’t indicative of the week to come.

On Thursday I went to pick my daughter up for school and noticed my 14 year old boy eating Cheetos.  Normally I wouldn’t be bothered by this, but it was 6:45am.  A bag of Cheetos was his breakfast.  He had a couple of other choices, but nothing really sounded good.  I said a few things to him about health and eating and how a good breakfast was important and blah, blah, blah.  Then after I dropped my daughter off at school I ate Crunch-n-Munch in my car.  For breakfast.  I am AWESOME!

See what you miss when I don’t blog.

I want to blog, but I am too busy.  I miss blogging in a way.  You know…that sentimental way.  That remember when I used to write down my thoughts and people would read them sort of way.  I used this blog to help me sort out feelings and ideas.  I processed here.  Now I process while I drive the 35 miles to work or while I am in the shower or folding clothes.  I rarely turn on the TV or radio.  I have such little time to be alone with my thoughts that interrupting them with noise isn’t even an option.  What I don’t have right now is time to write my thoughts down.  Only 2 more weeks of school and then I have stuff to say.  Boy do I have stuff to say.  And if there’s a spare moment between now and then you’ll be sure to hear about it.