What if the Next Logical Step is the Right One?

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 The day I wrote my empty nesters post (or maybe it was the day after), my daughter got a job offer, which she immediately accepted. Her start time was almost as immediate, and the search for a place of her own three-and-a-half hours away from home began.

Her imminent departure hit me in waves. One minute I was in practical mode adding things to the grocery list so the pantry won’t be empty in her new apartment and in the next, I was overcome by a wave of emotion and it was all I could do not to pull up a chair and dissolve into sobs.

It's ridiculous really. This is what we’ve been training for for over 24 years. This is what she’s been hoping for and driving for since college graduation. It’s not a surprise. 

But it all happened so fast. My normally contemplative daughter accepted the offer moments after the words traveled across the phone line and we had less than two weeks to get her relocated. The fact that I refer to this as "our" task and not hers is even more evidence of where her once empty-nest-resolved mother is emotionally. 

Two years ago, I would have taken this more in stride. Accustomed to her living away from home, even as far away as Ireland, I would not only have seen this as the next logical step, I would have felt it as such, too. But when the pandemic sent her back home for two years, I embraced her return and lost sight of the next logical step. 

Yesterday, we got her settled into her temporary lodging. Today she started her job. I haven't fallen asleep not counting fears for two weeks. 

I'm not usually an "if only" kind of person, but "if only" has been a recurring theme. And tonight, when she called us to fill us in on her first day, the most important "if only" zoomed past all the worries and introspection.

She sounded happy. 

If only she is happy (and healthy), then I can adjust. After all, that's what we've been preparing her for.

The Empty Nesters are Not All Right

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 I've read numerous articles alerting readers to the fact that the parents of small children are not all right. They're stressed to the max, as I would have said in college, with simultaneous clouds of COVID, work stress, childcare stress, financial worries, and various other relationship concerns converging overhead and producing a never-ending thunderstorm of worry, punctuated by lightning strikes of unexpected crises that could morph into a fire at any time.

It's pretty bad. But other parents? We're not all right either.

Take the parents who sent their kids to college in the middle of a pandemic. That hole in the nest (or a totally empty nest) is a thundercloud in itself, one that also rarely travels alone. Are they ready to be on their own? Will they be able to manage their classes? What happens if they get sick? Will they go to a party that ends up endangering their lives? Does silence on their end mean they're thriving or curled up somewhere in the fetal position?

And then there are the parents whose kids graduated mid-pandemic. Their kids' final classes were not in classrooms, but on Zoom screens. The independence their young adults had grown into was stunted as they moved back into their childhood bedrooms. We watched for their names to flash on a screen as they celebrated four years of hard work by graduating in their own living rooms. Watched them try to navigate life after college in a world where everything was suddenly virtual, and newly empowered employees with experience asserted their value (rightfully so), leaving the inexperienced graduates competing with them for jobs that everyone (except those looking for a job) attests are plentiful.

No. The parents are not all right.

Let me begin by saying that I love my daughter and I'm grateful for the time we've been able to enjoy with her post-college graduation. Let me also say that I'm fully aware of the fact that many parents don't get this bonus time, and would give the world (or at least some substantial portion of it) to get that time. 

But this crazy, mixed-up progression of high school graduate to college student to virtual student to living room graduate is growth-stunting for parents and young adults alike. We raised our kids so they'd be ready to fly and then, when that time came, the pandemic clipped their wings. We mourned our empty nests, slowly grew accustomed to our kids' independence, and learned along the way how to navigate a new sort of relationship.

From afar.

And then they moved back home. 

At first, it was a treat. An extended break where we lovingly cooked their favorite meals and picked up their dirty socks.

But two years is simultaneously too long to treat our kids as guests and not long enough to figure out how to parent young adults living in their childhood bedrooms. Two weeks is too long for dirty socks and college hours and sharing a bathroom that had finally become our own. 

Let me reiterate: I love my daughter and I'm glad she's here. But after spending more than three years growing accustomed to simple pleasures like a quiet house and uncluttered surfaces -- small reward for the gaping silence and sadness of those first few months of freshman year -- I want a timeline for her declaration of independence. Not because I want her gone but because the longer she stays, the more I realize how hard it will be to let her go again. 

And so I focus on the shoes I trip over and the mess in the kitchen and my loss of control of the remote because contemplating the next step feels so much like a do-over of one of the hardest parenting journeys of my life. 

I know how to say goodbye after spring break, or even a summer. But for the foreseeable future?

That's something altogether different. 

Gratitude in the New Normal

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My daughter is home from college.

The house is messier and noisier, our routines have been disrupted and it's all good because my daughter is home. Morphing from an empty nest to a full one has become second nature, the new normal of parenting a young adult.

For our family, new normal is the theme of the season. Last summer, my mom lost her battle with cancer, and so we are heading into our first holiday season without her. Dreading the empty place at the table, I'm turning my focus instead to the things I am grateful for (in no particular order).

• A few days away from classes, even if grading papers is still part of the package.

• The young adults -- my daughter, my niece, my nephew and his girlfriend -- who will bring a different kind of energy to this Thanksgiving.

• My dad.

• The opportunity to see my sister's new house and to sit down and catch up with her.

• My husband.

• Thanksgiving food, prepared by my brother-in-law, (for whom I am also grateful), who is unruffled by the task of getting a multitude of different dishes to the table. 

• The inauguration of the Christmas season with the annual playing of the Johnny Mathis Christmas CD after dinner.

All of this -- my mom's legacy -- is what we're thankful for this Thanksgiving. I wish she were here to celebrate with us, but I'm guessing that not having to do the cooking is just heavenly.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Miss Her More

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When both of her kids stayed in Pennsylvania after attending college there, my mom adjusted. She fell into a routine of not seeing us, remaining connected via phone calls and visits. The former were at least as frequent as they'd been when we were in college, the latter less so. Still, we stayed close, chatting often about both trivia and events of significance. Last fall, we talked a lot about the impending election and, though I miss my mom tremendously, I'm glad she's not here to see the aftermath.

But I digress.

It was the visits that got her. She always said she was fine with us being away until we came to visit and then, when we left, she missed us all over again.

I thought I got it then, but I really get it now.

On Friday, I was so excited about my daughter coming home for the weekend that I posted my Friday Feature on the wrong blog (at least that's the excuse I'm using). When I picked her up at the train station, it took all of twenty seconds for everything to feel as though she'd never left, and then, almost as quickly, it was time for her to leave again. A seasoned traveler now, she said her goodbyes in the parking lot before walking off into the station to board the train.

Today, the house is very quiet. That's not entirely bad, as Mondays are a work-at-home day for me for much of the day and I concentrate better in the absence of distractions. Still, there's a difference between quiet and occupied and quiet and unoccupied. Even though I've grown accustomed to the latter and have even built my schedule around it, I'd trade it for the former any time, even if only for a weekend.

We'll see her again at Thanksgiving, and I'm already looking forward to it. We texted back and forth this morning -- a luxury that makes this whole away at college thing easier than it ever was for my parents -- re-establishing the empty nest at home/young adult at school dynamic.

All of this begs a question: if I could change things and have her closer to home, or living here full-time, would I?

I would not.

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I'm proud of the person she is becoming, and grateful to have a child with whom I truly want to spend time. I love it when she's home, but when she's not it's because she is doing exactly what we raised her to do: spreading her wings, becoming her own person, relying on us when she wants to instead of because she has to. She has done her job; she has entertained us, challenged us and rounded out our family. Now, it's time for her to leave us to our own devices, trusting that we'll be just fine and our empty nest will always have plenty of room for her.

And, as you can probably guess, she is safe in that assumption.

Sweet Silence?

Ali Spagnola

Last winter, as the college visits began to wane, replaced by FAFSAs and a college to-do list, I found myself projecting to the time when my daughter would be happily ensconced at college. A good antidote to the recurring nag-ignore cycle in which we sometimes found ourselves between acceptances and the move itself, it reminded me that though her imminent departure made me sad, there might actually be some things to look forward to.

Last night, as I was settling on today's topic for this blog, I came across a draft of that post. The timing was perfect, because this week, we're preparing to head north for Parents' Weekend, seeing her for the first time since we dropped her off in August. 

I think it's safe to say she's settled in well. Surprisingly, so have we.

The list of things I wouldn't miss was short -- one item in fact. It was the music. Unfailingly loud and always peaking when I was trying to concentrate, its sudden bursts could shake the thoughts right out of my head. Don't get me wrong -- I like music, and my daughter and I actually like some of the same stuff. It's just that I work better in quiet, and a blast of any sound when I'm trying to think is generally unwelcome, especially now that I've reached the age where wispy threads of thought unravel at twice the speed in which they form. 

I wondered, however, if this was a case of being careful what I wished for -- if the lack of music would make the house too quiet.

It didn't.

There is one sound I miss, though. The sound of her voice. I miss talking to her and hearing her laugh. Texts are wonderful, and I'm profoundly aware of how fortunate I am to be parenting a young adult in a time when communication is so fast and so easy. But those same teens have developed an aversion to phone calls, and so actual conversations -- the ones where I get to hear what's going on in her life -- are infrequent. And greatly missed. 

And so, not surprisingly, that's what I'm most looking forward to this weekend. Just talking. Laughing. Spending time with her. 

I have a feeling the weekend will go much too quickly, and, when we return home again, the house will seem much too quiet.

At least until Thanksgiving.

Reframing the Empty Nest

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This time last month, I was adjusting to our empty nest. I'd been warned that the first week would be the toughest -- a warning that turned out to be true, as I kept waiting for my wayfaring child to wander back into the house and hang up her car keys.

She didn't.

And we adjusted.

Before she left, I'd heard from other parents that they couldn't go into their college child's room. Some said that even walking past the door was painful.

Since we live in a small cape cod, and her bedroom door is directly across from ours, separated by only a few feet, I was dreading this. I was dreading it mostly because I was familiar with the feeling. From time to time, as she was growing up, seeing that empty room when she was away overnight made me sad. Something -- someone -- was missing, and it just felt wrong.

But, as it turns out, I didn't need to dread it at all. The empty room feels different than I feared it would, but in a good way. Her room is, well, hers, and going into it makes me feel closer to her. Perhaps it's the clothes folded neatly on the bed (yes, she did that), waiting to be packed up and traded for summer stuff on Parents' Weekend. Or the things she left behind, some outgrown, but others just too numerous to fit into her newer, smaller, more public room.

More likely, it's that a little piece of her is somehow present in that space, and always will be. The colors of the walls, the desk under the windows, the books on the shelves all evoke the child she was and the young woman she's become. She no longer needs bedtime stories, watches Miss Frizzle, or anxiously awaits the next Magic Tree House book, but we survived all of those transitions.

And something wonderful was always on the other side.

I can't wait to see her next month and hear about her real-life adventures -- the books she's reading, the friends she's making, the dreams she's dreaming -- because I have faith that, once again, there's something wonderful waiting for her. The child reared on Jack and Annie's magic tree house and Miss Frizzle's admonition to "Take chances! Make mistakes! Get messy!" has become brave enough to do just that.

As for me, I'm happy to be living across the hall from her launchpad.

Of Memes, Facebook Groups and Friendship

Humor Shots

Every once in a while, amid the political posturing and questionable grammar that characterize Facebook memes, a post comes along that makes me nod and smile almost as much as cute baby pictures.

The meme at left is one of them.

Or, in Facebook parlance: Yes. This.

I typically meet these people-- the ones I want to hang out with offline -- in one of the arenas that brought me to Facebook in the first place: via my Thirty One business, via my writing and via my role as a parent.

The first two are business connections -- networking for the twenty-first century -- that have become personal connections. But, this summer, as I prepare to send my only child out into the real world holding zone that is college, the third one has taken on particular significance.

As our kids were growing up, those of us who were real-world friends first and Facebook friends second posted the milestone pictures -- first days of school, proms, graduations. Digital photo albums that gave us windows into the lives of our friends and their families, regardless of physical distance, these postings allowed us to "ooh" and "ahh" over each other's kids, marveling at how fast they were growing, how beautiful/handsome they'd become and how amazing their accomplishments were. This was one of the reasons we all joined Facebook in the first place -- so we could stay connected, even if only peripherally, regardless of how busy life got. Facebook helped us to keep up with significant events in the lives of those who mattered to us, even if many years had passed since we'd seen one another. And, when those real world meetings came about, our shared Facebook experience helped us to start face-to-face conversations with relevant current events instead of the generic, "So, what's new with you?"

Pixabay

But meeting people online first is different. And becoming part of a group comprised of strangers whose families are in the same place experientially is a whole new journey. One of my favorite Facebook groups is Grown and Flown. Made up of parents whose kids are in the process of moving from our nest to one of their own, it's a place where parents who are navigating a new stage of family life can benefit from one another's experience.

We're branching out, just as our kids are. And, what's both strange and interesting is that, instead of our children's lives following our trajectory, ours are following theirs. As my daughter prepares to meet peers from all over the world who just happened to end up at the same university, I'm meeting parents from all over the world whose kids are doing the same thing.

Social media can unite and it can divide. It can keep us in touch with friends we haven't seen in ages, and make us question why we became friends with other people in the first place. Like a cocktail party you can attend in your pjs while sipping your beverage of choice, Facebook, in particular, introduces us to friends of friends who become our friends.

Don't get me wrong -- I have no desire to replace my real world friends with the online variety.  Instead, I'm celebrating the fun that comes with meeting new friends in old places.

Empty Nesting

Photo credit: Pixabay

My husband and I bought our house when we were newlyweds and my daughter wasn’t even a blip on the family radar. It was a cute house, with good bones, but it needed updating, and so we dug right in. Painting, decorating, planting flowers—the sweat equity projects that are within the budget of first time home buyers—the things that make a house a home.

For the first few years, I took on a new project every summer. Painting was my specialty, but I’ve stripped and replaced plenty of wallpaper and even tried my hand at a few craft projects. When I got pregnant, the nesting that ensued bookended the summer and temporarily increased my domesticity. I even bought a sewing machine and tested out my long-dormant sewing skills, making valences and a comforter for the nursery. 

When my daughter was small, I managed to squeeze my projects into nap time and weekends, but as she got bigger and more mobile, the projects—and my interest in them—tapered off. Later, when I had to choose between writing and home improvement projects, the former won every time. 

This fall, my daughter is heading to college. As I look around our house, the haphazardness of our home improvement projects over the past eighteen years—years spent at playgrounds and concerts and basketball games—is undeniable. The house looks tired and in need of some of the attention we lavished on it when we were young enough to spend a weekend painting without needing a weekend to recover. Lately, I’ve been lying in bed choosing paint colors for the kitchen and wondering how long it takes a 50-something person to paint a room compared to her 30-something self.

If my daughter’s bedroom project is any indication, that time frame is too embarrassing to print. Early in her high school career, we started an overly ambitious painting project in her room; we’ve yet to finish it. Busyness, allergies and waning enthusiasm collided, leaving the big room repainted (except for one wall behind a heavy piece of furniture) and the smaller space untouched. In the smaller room, horses galavant across a wallpaper border affixed to sponge painted walls, creating an ironic contrast to the trappings of teen life that are apparent everywhere else in the space.

As my daughter’s departure from her room and our house draws closer, I find myself torn between the desire to tear down the border and finally paint the walls and the realization that she won’t be in that room long enough—or often enough—to enjoy the results. Mom-guilt pricks at my conscience at the thought of sending her off to college with this years-old project still incomplete, while my practical side says to hold off and paint the room the color I want rather than the rich, dark red she chose—a color I know will be difficult to put up, more difficult to paint over and a constant reminder that the room’s long-time inhabitant no longer lives there.

Photo: Pixabay

And so I marinate in indecision, wondering how much of this has anything to do with painting at all.

I knew it was normal to nest when I was pregnant, but now I find myself wondering if empty nesting is normal, too. With time on our hands and changes ahead, does it make perfect sense to re-envision our home as we re-envision our future? Am I finally stepping up to the plate and making up for years of turning a blind eye toward all that needed to be done? 

Or, am I looking to fill time and keep busy? 

As parents of an only child, we won’t have a step-by-step transition. In August, we’ll go from being parents to being empty nesters. As the time draws closer, I wonder not only how we’ll do that, but how it’s possible that it never occurred to us before that we’d be diving off the cliff of family back into the waters of couplehood. And that those waters are likely to take some getting used to.

So I look at my house and I wonder what comes next. What’s in good shape and what needs to be replaced? What looks tired and what needs refreshing? Do we start with the inside or the outside?

And for the first time since we bought the house, I can’t ignore the metaphor.