How to Plan and Survive Your Midlife Birthday
My most memorable childhood birthday could be a case study for why some people need therapy. My mother’s baby died during childbirth a few weeks before my 8th birthday, so my gift was a big doll with all the clothes that had been intended for my dead baby sister. There weren’t any inflated jumping castles or face-painting clowns at this party. Just my mother, weeping in the corner.
I don’t have any fond recollection of any other birthdays. In my family, early September was the time for going back to school and working on the farm’s potato harvest, not for invading the house with rambunctious kids and messy cake. Birthdays were just another day. Suck it up, kid, and eat your spuds.
After I became an adult, I beat the birthday blues by planning my own parties. My 20th involved a huge celebration with sorority sisters at the University of Idaho, complete with midnight serenading at fraternities until someone called the cops. I was in my poverty stage on my 30th birthday, so I gathered my infant son and two-year-old daughter into the kitchen and we made gooey cupcakes from a cheap mix. I worked several jobs to get into the middle-class bracket so for my 40th I hired a choir to sing my favorite Broadway musical songs. For my 50th, dedicated work and good luck allowed me to schedule a cooking tour of Tuscany, Italy. And, for my 60th, I got married wearing a linen toga for an ancient wedding ceremony on the Greek Island of Paros. No dead babies were associated with any of these celebrations.
I loved planning birthday parties for my children. My daughter was born during the last week of March, so we always organized vacation trips during Spring Break and she assumed everyone was celebrating just for her. One of the best parties for my son was when his sister hid in a large cardboard refrigerator box and clipped various toys to the end of a fishing pole for the other children as they fished for mysterious prizes. Years later, my son finally asked why his sister’s birthdays included Disneyland and his parties only offered old boxes.
It’s time again for my birthday and the coming party will be tame compared to previous festivities. I’ll still have live music, an eclectic group of gregarious guests, and plenty of food and drinks, but we’ll probably turn out the lights before midnight. After this many trips around the sun, the best parties are at home. My eyesight is fading, the legs are weary, and the raucous dancing has slowed to a boring two-step sway with Studley. But, it’s my birthday and I’ll sigh if I want to. (I cringe about ending a sentence with a preposition, but that one worked.) So, uncork a new bottle, raise the glasses, and toast another birthday. I’m so immensely blessed to live this long and celebrate the splendid occasion with my sweetheart, family, and assorted friends. And I do it for that sad little girl who always wanted a fun birthday.
Tips for Planning and Surviving Your Own Midlife Birthday Party:
- Keep it simple. I’m preparing a meatball bar with various sauces, some homemade dips with chips, fruit bowls, and cheese plates. I bartered some of my books in exchange for homemade cupcakes.
- No one cares if the napkins don’t match the plates, and it’s okay to use paper plates if you have invited more than 12 friends. If anyone complains, remove them from the list for the next party.
- After the first two rounds of drinks, hide the good stuff. They’ll never know.
- Live music is nice. Invite some high school kids who need cash but won’t play trash that makes your ears bleed. For my party, I invited a wonderful singer who brings her own keyboard and plays show tunes from music displayed on her IPad. I requested my favorite songs in advance because it’s my party.
- Make sure to visit with every guest, and for added fun, sit the executive banker next to the old hippie. Monitor the situation to prevent any arguments and then enjoy the curious fellowship. If you want to ruin the party, mention politics or religion.
- After the last guest goes home, turn out the lights to hide the mess and crawl into bed with your living birthday present. Another year brings another reason to celebrate being alive. Enjoy and be grateful.
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Midlife Dating: That Hot Feeling Isn’t Always Menopause
Nothing screams “pathetic loser” more than being a middle-aged divorcee alone at a festive party where beautiful couples are trading sloppy kisses and giggling like demented clowns. There’s not enough spiked punch in the world to soften the pain of pretending it doesn’t matter. Many of us graze along the buffet table hoping the crunch of nachos will be louder than the boisterous laughter of young lovers, and then we migrate to the bar because all we get to take home is a headache.
We never intended to be divorced at midlife because we were programmed to believe the happily-ever-after deceptions that provided easy and convenient endings in fairy tales. But according to a recent study by Bowling Green State University in Ohio, the divorce rate among people age forty-six to sixty-four has grown more than 50 percent. Almost one-third of baby boomers are single, either by divorce, separation, or having never been married. Some are attracted to the single lifestyle while others would trade their original Beatles record collection for some hot passion.
I have several friends who have been married to their first husbands for more than thirty years. They’re happy and comfortable and couldn’t imagine dating at this stage of life. And if something drastic happened to their husbands, at their ages they would rather join a cloistered convent than get naked in front of another man. They wouldn’t want to worry about unpredictable, middle-aged dilemmas such as the sudden crazy mood swings and chronic irritable bowel syndrome that could make for an awkward first date.
A few years ago, when I was divorced and my children were grown, some friends invited me to dinner. They just happened to have a recently divorced guest who was visiting from another state. I never turn down a free meal, so I agreed to join them. I met him and instantly felt a connection. He was in his fifties and ruggedly handsome. At dinner, our knees touched under the table during the salad course. We laughed at silly jokes during the entrée, and by dessert, he was feeding me bites of cheesecake. I felt like a goofy teenager.
This marvelous man met all my requirements: He was middle-aged, single, and didn’t wear white socks with sandals. (At my age, you can’t get too picky.) As an added bonus, though, he was smart, employed, passionate, spiritual, and he wanted to know about my children. It was like winning the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes, the lottery, and top-shelf wine at happy hour all at the same time.
We spent four days together, often to the chagrin of his abandoned hosts, and then I took him to the airport. It was a scene out of Casablanca, complete with winter fog and drama. He held me close and whispered, “We’ll always have Boise.” Then he tipped his hat, sauntered through security, and hollered, “Here’s looking at you, Kid.”
I drove home, wondering if he remembered my real name wasn’t Kid. But it didn’t matter. I was smitten, and it felt good. To paraphrase a quote from the movie, of all the towns in all the world, he walked into mine. He called when he landed at the next airport and was about to change planes. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship,” he said.
“Say it again,” I said, “for old times’ sake.”
And, yes, at that moment we were Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman but without the horrible Nazi and depressing farewell-forever scenes.
We enjoyed a long-distance relationship over the next few months. Then my more-than-significant other, whom I appropriately named Studley, got a job in Idaho, and to show my ultimate commitment I willingly made some room in my closet. We married on the Greek island of Paros on my birthday so he only needs to remember one important date. We daily express our total gratitude about receiving another chance at love, and it’s a powerful feeling. Now, when I experience hot flashes, I know it’s not just menopause. Thanks, Studley.
(This blog contains excerpts from my book Midlife Cabernet.)
Escape the Angst! Join us for a Writing and Wellness Retreat Oct. 3-5
http://www.eventbrite.com/e/write-by-the-river-wellness-retreat-for-women-tickets-12677471659
Imagine a fun weekend in the mountains with other women who want to focus on fitness and writing while having fun! Retreat includes five meals, snacks, writing materials, cooking demonstrations, organized activities, workshops, accommodations, and free time.
Certified fitness instructor and wellness coach Emily Nielsen and published author and syndicated blogger Elaine Ambrose have created a tempting schedule:
- Food preparation demonstrations, group participation, and healthy meals: two dinners, one lunch, two breakfasts, snacks
- Writing workshops: Personal Journal, (optional) Writing for Children, Mommy Blogs, Tell Your Story
- Wellness activities: Morning exercise, Meditation, Writing, (optional) Hiking, Hot Springs, Reading, Quiet Time
- Deluxe accommodations for two nights in a deluxe cabin with shared bedrooms and shared bathrooms.
ONLY $150! Copy, paste, and click on the Eventbrite link to register today.
DAY-ONLY OPTION AVAILABLE FOR SATURDAY, OCT. 4 – Includes breakfast, cooking demonstration, lunch, writing workshop, and wellness activity. Only $75.
Space is limited to 12 for the weekend and 20 for Saturday only.
Cabins are located in a secluded, pristine area near the South Fork of the Payette River in Garden Valley, just one hour’s drive north of Boise. Expect to see wild elk, deer, fox, eagles, and osprey.
Celebrate the Empty Nest and Empty Plate
After decades of raising children and preparing them for the realities of the world, most middle-aged women are jubilant when their young adults are without a criminal record, gainfully employed, and off of the family nickel or teat. For us, the empty nest is a positive experience because our children are doing fine on their own.
“My son got a job and has a new apartment!” Cheers and toasts.
“My daughter is starting her own business and already has a few clients.” More cheers and clinking of glasses.
“I’ve turned the empty bedroom into a wine bar and writing studio!” Total adulation and drinks for the entire bar!
Of course, we’d like to assume that the successes of our children are due to our superior parenting skills, but we’re also wise enough to know that a tremendous amount of luck, blessings, and other nurturing adults were involved to help Junior and Sis become productive adults. And we’ve shared countless tears with good mothers struggling with their children’s drug addictions, chronic unemployment, physical and mental limitations, or abusive partners. We’re also keenly aware that the dismal job market makes it difficult for our eager offspring to find good employment. That’s why it’s so exhilarating to celebrate when our young adult sons and daughters become self-sufficient.
The rites of passage continue to evolve, and I try to anticipate the next opportunity that will tug at my heart, or bewilder my brain, or make me run away to live in a mountain cave. Midlife brings those complex days when I rock a grandchild to sleep, exercise with my grown daughter, share a beer with my son-in-law, listen as my son describes his tough job, take a sad friend to lunch, feel my daughter-in-law’s pregnant belly (but not in a creepy way), send a steamy text to my sweetheart, write a sassy short story, and then go help my ailing mother at the assisted living facility. Really, I can’t imagine life any other way.
It took an empty dinner plate to make me comprehend the emotional consequences of my empty nest. I held the bright red “You Are Special Today” plate, and tears rolled down my cheeks as I realized that my children had actually followed my advice to test their wings and that there was no one at home to need the plate. For over twenty years, the red plate was used to celebrate my children’s birthdays. Each birthday breakfast, they were served custom pancakes on the special plate. I made their initials in the pan and transferred the cakes to the plate, even when they were in high school. (Making an A was definitely easier than making an E.) On the evening of their birthday, dinner was a celebration as they enjoyed their favorite meal on the unique platter.
During my daughter’s volatile vegetarian years, the plate was heaped with cheese lasagna and buttered corn, unless she gave herself special dispensation to have pepperoni pizza or a burger. When my son played high school football, the plate disappeared under a sizzling porterhouse steak. As they cleaned up every bite, they were rewarded with the familiar words telling them that they were, indeed, special that day. Then the plate was stored on the shelf until the next birthday.
Suddenly the plate of platitudes wasn’t needed anymore. My daughter had moved to Maui after college graduation and was working three jobs in order to cover her expenses. My son had joined the army and was serving as a military policeman in South Korea. My kids not only left the nest, they left the mainland! I was lucky to see them once or twice a year. I admonished myself for inspiring them to be so independent. While my friends lamented that their twenty-something children had moved back home or, worse yet, had never left, I sulked with sadness at their great fortune. My children were several time zones away. What did I do wrong?
The first Christmas without them was a total disaster, and I forced myself to decorate the tree and hang their favorite ornaments. During our holiday telephone conversations, I tried to sound cheerful and supportive, but after hanging up, I scurried about in a desperate search for chocolate or wine, or both, to sooth my loneliness. Ultimately, I was a mess.
After doing some research on the empty nest syndrome, I was relieved to find I wasn’t alone in my sadness. Many people experience feelings of depression or grief after their children come of age and move out or go away to college. Women usually have a more difficult time than men, mainly because they have spent more time with their children. The women also could be going through menopause, which has its own set of emotional issues that are exacerbated by an empty nest. The problems are compounded when women experience physical problems associated with getting older or if they’re caring for aging parents. To hell with being called the sandwich generation. We’re the sack lunch of leftover stale chips. Our energy is depleted and we need chocolate now if we’re ever going to survive this woeful reality.
After I grew tired of feeling sorry for myself, I decided to turn my sadness into positive energy. I saved money and took a trip to Maui to spend time with my daughter. I had no desire to visit South Korea, so I sent goofy cards and humorous gifts to my son and waited eagerly for his monthly telephone calls. My son was in South Korea for two holiday seasons, and our family used the experience to concentrate less on the material craziness associated with the season and to focus more on the meaning of family and freedom. It was truly cathartic when I reached for the special red plate and used it myself for New Year’s Day dinner. It was the beginning of a new life for me.
The Empty Nest offers a splendid opportunity for personal renewal. You have more time, the house is quiet, you can sleep naked, and you don’t have to hide your favorite ice cream behind the frozen ham hocks anymore. Do it now so the kids can’t move back and bring their pet spider collection, garage band, and/or online gambling addiction. Also, you could use your extra time to enhance your personal relationships, take a class, try yoga, volunteer, or start a creative project. You may want to focus on your physical, spiritual, and mental health; maybe talk to a professional about that stupid song from the sixties that keeps squawking in your head. Or (my favorite suggestion) become the drum major of your own parade; just don’t forget to tip the guy who cleans up after the horses.
And, of course, any midlife parade is best enjoyed with a bold red wine and a chocolate brownie on the “You are Special Today” plate. Because, you are.
