Mid-CenturyModernMoms

Packing Season

T'is the season.... for packing them up and shipping 'em out.

Abe (PDD, NVLD, etc.) just received word that he is going to start at C next week.  C is a residential, therapeutic school.  From the outside, C would make a wonderful bed and breakfast since most of the buildings are on the historic register.  Their brochure talks about horse back riding and swimming and trips to Europe.  But underneath that, serious emotional and academic work goes on (although Abe is starting for the summer program).

    

I really can't imagine my slob of a son living in such an elegant place, but time will tell.

In any event, I have to get him packed to move over there.  It's a cross between packing for camp and packing for college.  For camp, you send totally grungy clothes that you don't care when they get lost, but for college you assume that the clothes will make it through the year, but probably some still get lost.  And of course, Mom is the one doing all of the packing because 17 year old boys can't be bothered.  The only thing that Abe will pick out to bring are his electronics and his books.  Mom gets to (needs to) get everything else together, label it, pack it and make sure that it gets shlepped over to school.

Rose, on the other hand at 14, will be going to camp for 2 months towards the end of the month.  Everything needs to be "just so" for her.  She makes all of the decisions on what to bring and it's waaaayy more than Mom thinks should be to camp.

Rosie whines "Mom, come help me pack...." but really she just wants approval on her choices.  Mom isn't really allowed to make any decisions on what to bring, but the mom is allowed to iron on labels, fold the clothes and place them into the suitcase and duffel bag.

Two kids, two totally different packing strategies. But the  net result is going to be several weeks of details then lots of quiet around the house.  I'm looking forward to the relaxation, but then I get to start worrying about how Abe is going to handle the program at C.  But that's another story.

When you have eight kids...

"So, mom? Nick and I are thinking of getting an apartment together in September."

Adam stands before me, all six feet of his 19-year-old self, his brown eyes calm. No anxiety, no "how will mom take this" in his face.

Between the two of us, my husband and I have eight kids.

Mothers tremble when their babies leave the nest. Good mothers do. They worry, they ache, their soul yearns for the child-turning-adult who is leaving. Because at nineteen, he thinks he's an adult, but a parent knows better. Not a child, nor yet quite an adult. So much room for disappointment, confusion, mistakes. How will he cope with the world out there? How will the world treat him?

And how will mom cope without him? The big, gaping hole in the nest. A major centre of your life, gone.

When my eldest left the nest, she was comfortably sure I'd cry. Comfortably sure. She clearly liked the idea. It was a reasonable assumption, too: all her other friends' mothers had cried, and me? I sure fit the mold of the type who'd cry. I stayed hom with my kids all their lives. At first, I had a husband to support us finanacially; I did a day or two a week supply teaching. Then, a single mother, I supported the family by working from home during the week. For the first exhausting, financially desperate year of the separation, I worked seven days a week: at home Monday - Friday, then away from home on weekends.

I homeschooled for the first ten years of their lives. I was there. A single parent, a work-at-home parent, a home-schooling parent. And I loved it. I love being a stay-at-home mom. I loved homeschooling them. I even loved being a single parent. It was a helluva lot easier than parenting in the frightening, draining emotional maelstrom that had increasingly been my first marriage. Being with my kids has always felt natural, seemed right, has been just so comfortable for me.

I'm a good mother. And good mothers cry when their babies leave home.

"So mom? Nick and I are thinking of getting an apartment together in September."

When you have eight kids, it's not so much an empty nest...

And through my head run threads of thoughts. "That gives me three and a half months to try to teach him some financial sense ... budgeting, the boy needs to learn to budget ... the basement room will be empty, wonder if his sister will want it?... good thing he has a decent job ... wonder if Nick'll get into college ... lordy, that apartment will be a pit ... no more tripping over giant boots in the entry ... how often will he come to visit ... can give him that box of china in the back porch ... will we need to rent a truck?"

All sorts of things.  But ...

I'll let you in on a secret: I don't cry. I don't even worry overmuch, and I certainly don't pine. In fact, the primary feeling in every case -- and this will be the fourth -- has been relief.

Because really, what is the goal of parenting but to raise considerate, functional, contributing adults? Considerate, functional, contributing adults who will leave home? So when they go, that's another milestone accomplished on time, another sign I'm doing it right, yes?

I have some worries. I know the boy's foibles and weaknesses. I'm fully aware of certain things that are going to cause him problems. I will observe, as much as I'm allowed, with a mother's concerned eye. I will offer, as much as I'm allowed, advice and support. But, and this causes an unadulterated bubble of glee within me:  As of September, we could possibly be down to one child in full-time residence in the house.

Imagine the freedom!

More food: no more discovering the meat for an evening's meal for the entire family has been consumed by foraging male in search of after-work "snack".

More space: no more clutter of enormous footwear in the front hall.

Less worry: he can wander in at 2 a.m., and I won't know anything about it.

More space: a freed-up basement bedroom, which my youngest will likely snatch means a freed-up bedroom on the second floor -- which means ... oh, be still my heart ... a study for me!

Less worry: he can omit to call home when he's going to be late, and I won't be the one wondering where he is.

More space: no more office in the dining room!!

I wonder how he'll do, if his inherent slovenliness and Nick's inherent tidiness can happily co-exist; if he'll be able to juggle school and work; if he has the discipline to meet deadlines in a timely fashion. I make contingency plans. If he has trouble managing his finances, I can do A, B, and C. If he fails a course, or even a term, before he learns to effectively manage his time, we can do X, Y,and Z.

I am not unconcerned. I will not be uninvolved. I will always, always be there for him.

But I am miles and miles and miles away from tears.

My son might be moving out in September!!!

When you have eight kids, it's not so much an empty nest as it is the light at the end of the tunnel.

Kiddie Throw-Down

>By Melanie Lynne Hauser (AKA, Mrs. Cranky-Pants)

My husband and I met the new neighbors the other day. A young couple, they moved in during the winter so we haven’t had a chance to get to know them until now. But last weekend was sunny and warm and everyone was out in their yards cleaning up from this horrible winter, and finally we all introduced ourselves.

They seem very nice. They bought the house to our left from the original owner at a song and have had to do a lot of work on it, but they seem capable and energetic.

And of course, my husband and I were charming. Totally. Except –

Actually, we were not.

For some reason – and I had one of those out of body experiences while it was happening, watching the words come out of our mouths and wondering who on earth were these horrible people? – the main point my husband and I made was –

We are cranky and old and settled in our ways.

We ticked off all the things we hope they don’t change about the exterior (yards are small here, and there is only about twenty feet between their house and ours). We ticked off all the things we always wished the previous owner would change but didn’t – things that affect our property adversely.

Then it got to the subject of kids. They asked us about a local restaurant. We said it was nice, except for all the screaming kids. They asked us about our backyard theater (my husband has a mini-drive-in in our backyard, and we host summer movie parties). We said it was great, they were invited anytime, but boy, we learned our lesson last summer. And we will not be having any family movies because of all the screaming kids!

They asked us about the neighborhood in general. We said it was fine. Except for all the screaming kids. Finally, at the end, as they were desperately trying to get away from us, the woman hesitantly revealed she’s pregnant and due this fall.

And as they slinked away, casting horrified looks over their shoulder, I asked my husband, “So. Do you think we’ll ever see them again?”

Part of me is appropriately embarrassed about our general crankiness. Goodness, but we are turning into crotchety old people!

But part of me is not. Because I feel, after spending the last eighteen years of my life stuck in kiddie land, I have earned the right to spend the rest of my days in sophisticated, adult world.

Look. We all have had kids, we all have loved them. Because they were ours. Honestly, though – do any of you really love kids? All kids, regardless of parentage? Do you truly adore their loudness, their messiness, their need to be the center of attention, their temper tantrums, piercing screeches that even dogs can’t bear, utter disregard for the world around them?

I will go on record here and say – I certainly do not.  I barely tolerated it when they were related to me.   And I think I’ve earned the right to say that, after spending the last eighteen years of my life being a good PTA/room parent mom. I paid my dues. Now I get to enjoy a life devoid of spilled milk.

The thing that really gets me, though, is how the world has changed since I was a young ‘in. (Cue cranky old lady music here.)

When my monsters – erm, I mean, my angels – were tiny tyrants, I did not inflict them upon the world. No, I spent the best years of my life stuck at home with them, like a good mother should, forgoing trips to the mall, leisurely afternoons at the coffee shop, art fairs, movies – society in general.

But today, young mothers don’t seem to want to stay at home, as I did. They seem to think it’s perfectly OK to bring their offspring everywhere they go. I can’t go to a coffee shop these days because all the tables are taken up by young mothers chatting about the latest super duper Hummer of a stroller, while their toddlers run around the shop screaming and pulling out paper napkins by the fistfuls and tossing them on the floor and spilling milk. All the while, their mothers chat away, seeming not to notice.

All those years I sat at home, I imagined another world, a world where adults could hang out with other adults, talk about world politics and art and culture, sip lattes in quiet, eat wonderful dinners in peace, the only sounds the soft, cultured melody of a violin. I dreamed of this utopia, I wept over it –

And now, I’m still weeping. Because the world has changed and this next generation of mothers has totally ruined it for all of us who knew that children should not be inflicted upon the general public, and I’m mad. And cranky.

And scaring off neighbors, apparently.

So I propose a truce. I promise not to accidentally-on-purpose trip your toddler – the one who’s running around my table at Starbucks, waving a sticky hand in my face and screaming at the top of his lungs –

If you promise not to bring him there in the first place. Or at least, if you promise to act properly mortified and usher him out and head back home where you both belong; that will grant you a reprieve. But then you have to promise not to bring him back until he’s seventeen.

Now, excuse me. I have to go yell at the neighbor kids to get off my lawn.

The Word for the Day is: Selfish

I’m going to say something to you parents out there, and it may come as a bit of a shock, but remember, everything I say I say with love.

What I’m going to say to you is this:

Be selfish. Forget the kids. Think about yourselves.

I realize these are uncomfortable sentiments to hear. Unpopular, even. Just uttering them will probably result in my lifetime PTA membership being revoked.

But they are important and necessary and some day you will wish you had heeded them.

Because some day, you will be sitting at home on a Saturday night watching reruns of “Flip This House” while your kids are out doing whatever they fancy because they have been selfish all along. And you’ll say to yourself, “Oh! This is what Melanie meant!”

Kids grow up, you see. And move on. And leave you – alone.

My family just returned from a weekend together; my brother got married for the first time at the ripe old age of 50 (who says middle-aged love isn’t possible??), and we journeyed to Minneapolis for the wedding. On Friday we woke up my younger son – he’s a high school junior – and shoved him in the car, then we drove a couple of hours to pick up our older son from college, and we had a little family road trip. It was lots of fun; the boys were joshing each other and requiring massive quantities of junk food and playing their music too loud on the radio. Just like every other family road trip we’ve ever taken.

The whole weekend was fun; it was lovely to be with family, the happy couple looked, well – happy, and again, my boys were just perfectly delightful company. We had an equally jolly road trip back, then we dropped off the older one and the younger one bade us farewell the minute after we pulled into the driveway. He hadn’t seen his girlfriend in a few days and they had plans, you see.

And all of a sudden it was just me and my husband. Together. Alone. 

The thing about raising kids is - you cannot become used to the fact of your togetherness. Because it necessarily has to change as these children, into whom you have poured your heart and mind and wallet in order to make sure they grow up healthy and happy do just that. They grow up. Healthy and happy and eager to pursue their own lives. 

But since you – the unselfish parent – have not done that, you’re left a little bewildered and a lot sad and wondering if maybe, just maybe, you should have thought of the kids a little less, and yourself a little more.

And you know what? You should have.

Our parents did. Remember them? Remember the Sixties, when children were left alone, left to hang out in the basement untended (where we usually did stupid things like see how many rusty nails we could shove up our noses, or throw things into the sump pump to see if they would float), while the parents all got together and did the Twist and drank cocktails and basically did grown up things? 

But our generation was different (maybe it was all those rusty nails?); we worked more, we invented the phrase “quality time,” and we spent every spare moment with our kids. I know my husband and I did; our weekends were full of soccer games and family game nights and movie matinees (God, how I regret some of those; raise your hand if you suffered through “Space Jam” more than once.). 

Our friendships with other adults were mainly limited to other soccer parents, room parents; we had nothing in common with most of them save for the fact that we all had procreated more or less at the same time, and in the same geographical area. 

But now the soccer games are over, and we have neglected to cultivate friendships with people we actually like, actually share interests with. And so we sit at home on Saturday nights watching reruns of “Flip this House” while our kids are out partying and I say to myself, “This is so unfair.”

We’re trying to rectify this. Fortunately, my husband and I like each other, so there’s a start; at least we have each other. We’re also trying to be more social, initiating parties and activities and trying to get to know neighbors, reconnect with relatives and friends, who do not have children, and it’s been surprising. There are some pretty neat people out there who have never heard of Bozo Buckets. Who knew?

But it’s hard, you know. Hard, when you’re in your forties.  It’s hard to put aside your insecurities which, after all, are pretty well entrenched by now, and reach out to other people. 

But it’s necessary. And the sooner you start, the easier it will be.

Which is why I’m telling you now – stop thinking about the kids! Stop planning your life around them! Stop making them your best friends. Because for sure, there will come a time when they will stop planning their lives around you. 

And then where will you be?

Trust me. You can only watch so many episodes of “Flip this House” before you want to take a hammer to your television.

Because those people are absolute idiots.

Kids and who they leave behind

By Judy Merrill Larsen

It's not like I didn't see it coming. 

First, they toddled off to kindergarten, maybe glancing over their shoulders, running back for one last hug, but then entering a new sphere where they'd make friends I hadn't hand-picked.

Then, the big steps.  High school.  A driver's license (man, that's when I really became obsolete.  Except as a human ATM).  Finally off to college. 

And each time, I'd call them back for one more kiss, then I'd wave, and stand with the dog.  His wagging tail beating against the open door like a metronome.  We'd watch them leaving and he'd look up at me as if to say, "Now what?"  His tail always drooped just a little and his step was a bit slower until they returned

Now, if I'd really been able to orchestrate things, that first dog would have lasted until #2 Son shuffled off to college.  That was the yellow lab pup we brought home three weeks after their dad (who hadn't been crazy about having me for a wife or getting a dog) had moved on to greener pastures.  The boys had been 4 and 6.  I'd done the math, figuring dog years and all, and my plan had been for Tank, the wonderdog, to make it until the kids were away at college. 

But, not quite.  Dogs and kids rarely worked on my schedule.  So, one hot summer day before #2 Son's junior year in high school, we helped our old, sweet, dying dog into the car and took him to the vet, where we sobbed and petted his silky ears as he fell into that long final sleep.  We brought his collar home with us and divvied up his dog tags for our various key chains.  And when that same son came to me and asked, "Is it your intention to get another dog?," well, how could I say anything but "of course." 

So, Ernie, a golden retriever joined our household.  And it's now Ernie and me, standing at the door, just like we did this week, waiting first for their arrival, where Ernie's joy is palpable when they come in the house, hauling dirty clothes and ravenous appetites.  He follows them around, happily hopping on their beds (the only ones he's allowed on), sleeping until noon with them, and imagining they are home for good.

And he can keep believing that, but I know that it is likely they'll never live here full-time again.  #1 Son spent 5 days of his spring break interviewing for jobs in Seattle (two time zones away).  #2 Son will be here this summer, but after next school year, who knows. 

And I know that I've done--am doing--my job.  I know I'm supposed to raise them to leave me.  And that we're entering a whole new phase of our mother-son relationship.  They have girlfriends I adore.  They not only ask for my opinions and advice, they occasionally follow it. 

But, the first few days after they've left, I'll notice Ernie, wonderdog #2, wandering around whimpering and looking for them.  He'll go all the way up to their third floor bedroom and eagerly sniff around.  Sometimes I even catch him on one of their beds as if he's waiting for them to return, pet his head, sneak him a chicken nugget or pizza crust.  And then he'll come downstairs, slowly, looking just a little bit lost.  And I'll call him over and ruffle his hair and scratch behind his ears because I know, in his little (very little) dog brain what he's thinking. 

When will they be back and how could they just grow up and leave me?

The Holiday Tango

Posted by Melanie

Hi!  This is my first post over here at Mid-Century Moms, so I'm very excited.  So excited, I almost squealed, which would have then awakened my still-slumbering college freshman, home for his long Christmas break.  And that would have been a fatal mistake.

Everybody talks about surviving the Empty Nest.  And I'm here to tell you, it was very tough sending my firstborn off to college.  When we dropped him off, I almost felt as if I'd never see him again; I just couldn't imagine how he would fit in our lives if he wasn't living in our house.  The emptiness of that house when we came home! The strangely clean bedroom, one less place at dinner, one less schedule to have to keep track of - it was all so hard.  I'm one of those creatures who has loved being a stay-at-home mom.  I've thrived on the power trip, to tell the truth.  And so it really hit me hard when he left.

But I adjusted.  Surprisingly quick.  One moment I was clutching his comforter, sobbing; the next, I was enjoying getting to know my remaining son in an entirely different way, adjusting to the different, slightly calmer, rhythm of a house with an only child.

Then my son came home again.

His college, you see, is on an odd schedule.  Quarters instead of semesters, and the 2nd quarter, between Thanksgiving and January 1st, is mainly for grad students.  So my son finished his finals a couple of weeks ago, threw his valuables -i.e., his videogame systems - into a bag, along with all his dirty laundry, and came home.

At first, of course, I was thrilled.  We've seen him enough, since he left, that I now know he's still part of our family, even when he's not always under our roof.   So I looked forward to him coming home for a visit without worrying about crumbling again when he left.  I also looked forward to just talking with him, enjoying his company, because he's such a funny, interesting young man.  And of course, I looked forward to all the holiday traditions we could continue, due to this long break.

I didn't look forward, though, to the mess, the sleeping late, the power struggle I knew would happen between brothers whose relationship has shifted, just a bit.  The younger one is now used to being top dog around here.  The older one - the former number one canine - assumes he will continue in that position.  They're good friends, good brothers - but there have been incidents.  (Mainly concerning their shared bathroom; don't ever assume teenaged girls have more personal care items than teenaged boys.)

I also didn't look forward to being back on call as "Mom" again, full time, my beloved tyrant clapping his hands and expecting, well - everything.  Clean clothes, fresh cookies, every whim catered to.  I'm working on a new book, and I have found ways to fill up the emptiness that so overwhelmed me when he left.  I wasn't eager to put it all on hold for six weeks.

The interesting thing, though, is I haven't had to.

What has struck me the most about this visit, this first extended visit home from college, is how my son is obviously straddling that sometimes wide, sometimes narrow divide between childhood and adulthood.  It's a bit like living with someone with multiple personalities; one minute he absolutely wants me to take care of him; the next minute, I'm told to "not be such a Mom."  While this isn't completely different from the way things were before he left (after all, an 18-year-old is still an 18-year-old, whether he's going to senior prom or moving into a college dorm), there are some new twists.

He still takes my car without really asking (he has a part time job near campus, which is a moderate commute from here).  But he also fills it up without me asking, because "I'm the one putting all the miles on it," he told me.  Very sweetly.

He still wants me to cook him all his favorite meals.  But he also sits in the kitchen watching me, writing everything down, asking questions "Because I want to learn how to cook.  I'm tired of eating Ramen noodles at school."

He still wants to sleep in.  But he doesn't assume I will make him breakfast when he finally does emerge from his lair.

He still assumes clean clothes will automatically appear, freshly folded, on his bed.  But - well, actually, there's no difference there.  Even when he's at school, he exhibits that strange male indifference to understanding the mysterious ways of the washing machine.

In short, if it's possible, he's become considerately demanding.  Whereas, before, he was - as most teenagers are - simply demanding.  But going to college has instilled in him a new awareness of other people, of a world larger than himself.  And - Hallelujah! - this has extended to include his family.  We're still his parents, his annoying younger brother.  But we're also people with our own schedules and needs; we exist without him.  Our world didn't just freeze in time, waiting for his return.  And I have to think that because it didn't, because he saw that we continued on, moving forward when he left, he's able to respect us more, be so considerate, now that he's home.

Are we still family? Always, I know that.  Friends?  That, too.

Respectful adults? That's the surprising one.  The one that just tickles me.  The aspect of our relationship I couldn't have anticipated.

So we continue to navigate this new phase of our lives, all of us.  It's just now dawning on me that my relationship with my adult children will be much longer than my relationship with them as infants, toddlers, school children.  We can't begin to comprehend that when we bring them home from the hospital.

But when we bring them home from college for the first time, we suddenly get it.  This is how it's going to be for the rest of our lives; this strange, respectful dance between parent and child, friends, adults.   And now is when it begins.

I know it's still early; I know that there's still plenty of time to step on each other's feet.

But all in all, I think we're off to a good start.

(Although I can't help but think it will be a much more pleasant dance once he learns to operate that frustratingly difficult washing machine!)

Labels: college, empty nest, Family: Never a dull moment, kids, parenting

outta sight, outta mind?

Posted by Judy

When my sons each went away to college, I knew I'd miss them.  But I also knew there would be some benefits . . . less laundry.  Lower grocery bills.  Better conversations when we chatted.  And, best of all, uninterrupted sleep.

When they were babies, I made all sorts of deals with myself, with God, with the devil to try to get them to sleep through the night.  I lusted after a good night's sleep.  I fantasized about it.  And when it began happening regularly, it was nirvana.  I then enjoyed about 12 years of blissful sleep.  Then, they began driving. 

You chat with most mothers of teenagers, especially boys, and driving is right up there as a top fear.  I'd shudder when I heard of yet another car accident claiming a young life.  I'd find myself automatically waking up a half-hour before they were supposed to be home and I'd start in with my mantra "Please God bring him home safe, please God bring him home safe."

And night after night, they arrived home, safe, sound, and hungry for a midnight snack.  I'd fall back asleep to the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing and the microwave beeping.

And when they went to college, one 400 miles away, the other 200 miles, I knew they didn't have cars, and I had no idea when they were coming in (or going out) and I once again enjoyed seven hours of snoozing.  Heaven.

But then, this weekend the news of the horrific fire in North Carolina killing 7 college students sent fear through parents all over the country. There's no sure thing, you can love them with all your heart, and teach them to look both ways, but accidents happen.  And no matter how old they get, I'm going to worry.

Hug your kids.  Enjoy every minute.  Then hug them again.

Labels: kids, worry