Emptying the Nest Even More

 In 2016, I embarked upon chronicling the emotions and changes taking place as our second child moved to college and our house truly became quiet. 

I blogged a weekly column for 18 weeks living the emotions and changes I was experiencing mentally. The intention was to write a book about it. So much for intentions. In my desire to wring every last drop of angst out of the experience, I also found employment, new projects, and a renewed sense of purpose. I put the book project on hiatus to revisit at a later date. 

Then came COVID-19. The child who emptied our nest found her job prospects in limbo with the pandemic and moved home, almost exactly a year ago. She finished her college career online and had a you-tube commencement. Frankly, it was pretty lame and a bit of a let-down for such a stellar college career. But she's been under our roof again. 

I cannot pretend to know her stress, but for the better part of this past year, we have been each other's sole companions. A nest of three, but mostly two, as she and I have been engaged in work-from-home ventures. She has been tutoring and consulting, I have been doing content creation for a local boutique marketing firm. 

Then the bomb dropped. My husband was offered a new job in another state (one we never lived) and he took it. Suddenly the nest of the past 13 years needs to be emptied. Talk about a clean sweep. We are moving 805 miles away. Time to assess everything. Marie Kondo maybe lives in a condo? I don't know but I have never looked at all our stuff with such a critical eye in my life. I am purging and emptying. 

I spoke to auctioneers who will help us liquidate. I am debating every single item we own. Wow. 

Our daughter will be heading to law school in the Fall, the year at home helped her pivot her career trajectory. Things are coming full circle in many ways. We began our marriage in a city neighborhood, on a city lot, in a 1920s home. We walked to the store, park, library, and post office. 

Thirty years later, that is our plan again. 

In a way, it will be nice to break from our current town and neighborhood. Admittedly, I still get a little sad walking around and seeing all the school spirit signs and realizing that each year takes us farther away from those days. But we are closer again to being that couple that fell in love and built a life together 30 years ago. We didn't really empty a nest, we simply shifted it to a new location. 

Yesterday things got even more real. I held a "house-cooling" (versus house warming) party to say goodbye to all my local friends. Today, our household items went live on the auction site and tomorrow the new buyers do their final walk-through. (Thank goodness they've already committed to purchasing because the house is a maze of boxes! Certainly not showroom ready.)

As I sorted through a lifetime of memories, really trying to cull what matters, I flashed back over and over. I found notes from long-lost friends, photos of my children when they were little, so many things that sparked memories. I found an autograph book I received for my 13th birthday, that I proudly took to all my family members and had them sign. My eyes welled up as I saw the notes of so many relatives who are now gone left for that new teenager. 40+ years of loving wishes. That will be making the trip. 

Home is so much more than a roof, so much more than walls or tables, chairs or decorations. Home is where there is love. Love cannot be contained and love is not location-specific. So as scared as I am of the uncertainty, I also am confident that if the first thing I unpack is love, I will be home. 

It's... it's... something else

Sometime back, I sat with my teenage children and we watched some old videos. My oldest was about 5 and she was going to be a flower girl in a wedding. I had taken her to get fitted for the dress and was explaining the whole wedding thing to her so she would know what she was doing. My husband was playing with his camcorder when she was recapping her adventure. Her earnest voice explained how she picked out a white dress, but it was saggy baggy, but it wouldn't stay that way because they were going to sew it and make it fit her. Then she sternly looked at her little sister and said, "stop interrupting!" and looked back at the camera and said, "and then I ride with the wedding people in... not a car... not a truck... it's... it's... (long pause, thinking very hard, then a definitive) it's Something Else!" she proudly announced.

One of my blog friends, Dee Dee Mozeleski has done a glorious reflection in her space of what we wish for, what we dream about, what makes our hearts pump faster. It's all about love. I began this blog chronicling my loves after telling someone I'd been in love 20 times, or maybe 100. I love easily and generously. I don't keep track of love, I just invite it in on a regular basis. Love is drop-in company, welcome at any given moment. I will stop in my tracks for love.

While the word love is fraught with fear for many, for me, it's the only thing worthwhile. There is no point in a relationship of any sort with any person if love isn't where it begins and ends. But it's weird the baggage that comes with that word. Say "LOVE" too early or too late or not at all and suddenly it's just the wrong word.

From time to time, I even sign my posts with "Love, Me", and it's sincere. I appreciate the warmth that even words on a screen brings to my world. I love it, and by extrapolation, I love you for giving me the gift of your words. I tell my friends I love them, I tell my kids and family, I tell my dog, I tell everyone I love them. It's something that should be said early and often. I don't love from a place of fear. Love isn't what hurts. Love only heals. Don't believe me? Think about a heartbreak you've had in life. What hurts is NOT love, but the ABSENCE of it.

So why do so many folks fear love or even uttering the word? Why does something so beautiful have so many ugly conditions attached to it? Maybe that's the point - when you attach conditions to love, it dilutes its power. It becomes... not a car, not a truck, but it's... it's... something else.

Speaking for myself, I invite love into my life and I give it easily. I'd much rather have LOVE than something else.

"Getting" a Life

Over the years, I've tended to internalize a lot of comments that folks have made to me over the years. As I've tried to meet an assortment of societal expectations and juggle my own wishes, the messages have been conflicting.

But one of the comments that I never have forgotten was made to me early in parenthood. My husband and I decided that I would stay home and leave my job. I had worked for someone else from the time I had turned 15, so this was not an easy decision personally, and it was fraught with those messages about women that we cannot help but hear, both positive and negative.

Shortly after our children were born, we built a house in the suburbs.  I found myself with little outlet. Most of my fellow moms in the neighborhood worked outside the home and my time never seemed to belong to myself.

I carved out an hour a week to go to a stained glass making class. It was something that had always fascinated me and I just wanted to learn the art. Now while churches will never call me to complete a window, I made a very simple replicate of a Frank Lloyd Wright design to hang in our entryway.

One of my friends upon seeing my new hobby remarked, "You really need to get a life."

I never forgot how that remark stung and how quickly we are to judge how someone chooses to spend their time.

That entire exchange came back to me today as I researched the right way to make French baguette bread. It's a time-intensive process, though I imagine with practice, it would be as easy as riding a bike. However, beginning last night at 7 PM, when I mixed up the starter, until today, after 12 PM, as I wait for the finished product, I've invested a chunk of time in making these baguettes.

That little voice kept echoing, "You really need to get a life."

I recoiled a bit, as the past few years have been exactly about that. After raising our children, the younger who left for college in 2016, I have fervently tried to "get a life". I have volunteered, I have worked, I have organized events, collaborated with several organizations, and successfully nominated two of my dear friends for community awards.

Today, as my bread was baking, those mean-spirited,  soul-sucking, esteem-crushing words reverberated as I waited for the bread to finish.

Then I realized, I have a life. Life isn't something we go out and "get". It's not something defined by what others value. My life is about caring for the people I love and pursuing things that make me smile. Whether that be making a stained glass window, raising money for a worthy cause, praising my friends for their talents, or making three long skinny loaves of bread to share with my friends...

I have a life, thank you very much.

And if you're nice to me? I'll share some of that bread that I made.

"If I survive, I will spend my whole life at the oven door seeing that no one is denied bread and, so as to give a lesson of charity, especially those who did not bring flour." ~ Jose Marti

Looking past the picture

One of the frequent criticisms of social media is how perfect and flawless everyone makes their lives look, and how that portrayal can cause serious anxiety and stress if your own life doesn't match up.

My family has often joked that I don't know any short stories, but for a long time now, I've enjoyed using social media to tell the story, citing that I saved 1000 words by just posting a picture. But a picture doesn't tell the entire story, so forgive me for going back to my long-winded ways. It's the only way you'll know the story behind this year's Christmas tree photo.

We are using the current tree for the 13th year in a row. Last year, as the joints got weaker and the artificial tree was shedding more and more needles, it was beginning to look ragged. The pre-lit lights were a thing of the past, as they stopped working around year 2 or 3, but the tree was perfectly good, so we would use our own strands of lights. We decided last year when we took it down, that we would try to get one more season out of it, so I decided that I would like to flock the tree to give it a little more bulk and hide the bare spots that had shed needles.

Pinterest and YouTube to the rescue. After reading several articles about how easy it was to flock a tree, and watching video demonstrations, I chose the product and rolled up my shirt sleeves. The articles suggested that it was a job best done outdoors, but with unpredictable weather in Ohio, I opted for the garage.

The procedure is fairly straightforward. You mist the sections of your tree with plain tap water, sift the white flocking powder onto the tree, and then mist again to set the powder.

All while sporting a Martha-Stewart-esque smirk of what a good thing it is.

About three weeks ago, I commandeered our garage, drop cloth in tow and started to flock the tree. Soon, the garage was filled with a fine white mist, making the space look like a haunted house fog machine. Then I understood why the instructions suggested that I should probably be wearing goggles and a dust mask.

As I set the flocking to the branches, it did indeed stick pretty well. To everything. Including the soles of my shoes, about 1/4 thick of white paste-y goop on them. Nevertheless, I was committed at this point. Section by section, I flocked and made junior high jokes, about what a flocking mess it was, and what the flock, etc. Finally, I was finished. The instructions recommended that I let the tree dry at least 24 hours, I opted for 48, determined not to haul the mess into the house. Hubby was unhappy enough with the garage mess in his man-space. Forty-eight hours later, again with a determination to contain the mess outside the house, I took the leaf blower to the sections, hoping to blow off any loose flocking. (that wasn't part of the instructions).

Satisfied that all the loose flock was gone, I carried the sections into a spare bedroom until I was ready to decorate the tree. There the sections lounged in their snow simulated glory until Friday, for the day after Thanksgiving decorating.

It was as if Jack Frost took a page from Hansel & Gretel and left a trail of flock as I carried the sections to the living room. As I assembled the tree, I started to cough and wheeze and remembered the dust mask. Every time we touched a branch, our living room simulated a snow globe. We realized that putting a lot of lights on the tree would probably create 8-10 inches of living room snow, so we opted for a handful of big LED lights.

My husband brought the shop vacuum in the house trying to keep up with the indoor blizzard but as the exhaust from the shop vacuum hit the tree, more snow flew as he was cleaning up the initial flurry.

Our junior high flock jokes stopped being funny and we possibly mispronounced flock, substituting a "U" for the "LO". Cursing and sweating, coughing and wheezing, and trying to contain the mess, I resembled a "Before" image for a Head & Shoulders dandruff control advertisement.

If you've read this far, I appreciate your dedication to the whole story as much as I was dedicated to finishing what I started. At one point, I almost ran out and bought the new tree, but sometimes you are so far into an adventure, that you must stay the course.

I do like the way our tree looks and I am grateful that we no longer have a dog to brush by the tree with every prancing footstep. It's a perfect storm waiting to happen.

I will never again flock the halls, the tree, or any other part of our decorations. The irony when you really step back? We get so caught up in appearances that it's easy to forget that there probably wasn't a whole lot of snow the first year in Bethlehem, and there certainly weren't baubles and beads hanging off tree branches.

Instead, was something more precious and beautiful than all the gold, frankincense, and myrrh in the world.

Instead, there was a promise.

"When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy." ~Matthew 2:10.

Wisdom from the past

I've been thinking about my Grandma Ree today, my grandmother on my mom's side.  Today is her birthday, 5 days before mine. She was born 105 years ago, in 1914.

When I was a little girl, I used to go and spend the week of Easter Break with her. Grandma was a devout Catholic, and every day we would go to the Stations of the Cross and say the Rosary. But we also would make cookies and play cards and visit.

Grandma Ree was always a widow in my eyes. My grandfather died before I was born, and she was this strong, fiercely opinionated woman who did everything she could for the people around her.

When I was about 6, she moved with my Uncle and his family to Texas, when he had a job opportunity. After that, we didn't have our Easters together anymore, but she would come up every summer for a month and about every other Christmas. And like a good granddaughter, I took up my rosary beads during those times, and she took up Ouija Board games with me.

We always called her "The Yellow Rose of Texas", because, within a few years of moving to Texas, my uncle and his family moved back, but Grandma stayed. She had made quite a life for herself in Arlington. She worked as a housekeeper and nanny for several members of the 1970s Texas Rangers baseball team, including relief pitcher Sparky Lyle and third baseman Buddy Bell. We had so much stuff that they'd autograph for us. I wish I had realized the value to future collectors. In the day, we just shrugged.

Anyway, over the weekend, I was cleaning (something I've been doing a lot more of these days for some reason) and discovered a perfectly formed letter that she sent me on my 14th birthday.

It was right after my parents divorced and from a distance, she sensed my struggles and would send me the most heartfelt letters.

Here is an excerpt from 1980 to her 14-year-old grandchild,

"Dear Kim, The events of these past few years have forced you to grow up much faster than I would have liked. You are now faced with new responsibilities. You have matured much this past year and I feel certain you are quite capable of handling whatever life hands out to you.

Learn to sift out the bad things and adhere to all that is good.

It is my sincere prayer that your character will be flawless, that your heart will be full of love for your fellowman, and that you find peace of heart...

(left out the part about going to church and saying the rosary...) 

Grandma is proud of all your past achievements and will be cheering you on to a brighter and more secure future.

Remember we all love you. Stay sweet and lovely always.

God Bless You, Grandma Ree"

I just want Grandma to know, I found her letter yesterday and I think her prayers were mostly answered. She was so wise. Thank you for all the love over the decades and happy birthday to our beautiful yellow rose of Texas.

We all love you, too, Grandma Ree.

The happiest day of my life

I'm looking forward to a special weekend.  Both our children now live out of state, but tonight they both are heading back to the homestead for the weekend for a special wedding.

I've come to increasingly appreciate those snippets in time when we are all together, because they become more rare with time. We gave our children wings. we must watch them fly.

But this weekend is special. A young lady, who I've known since she was 2, when her and her mom were in our preschool "Twos Class" at our church, is getting married. Just as becoming friends with a fellow mom was a milestone, seeing the first of our Twos Class marry is another milestone.

While I contemplate "I'm old", I simultaneously consider, "Wow, I've watched the generation grow up!".

In 2007, my grandmother was 94 years old. We had just relocated to a new home, less than a month prior. It was late October. I hadn't taken photos of the house, but hoped to have them in time for Christmas. Other scattered family members were in town to visit, so we had an impromptu reunion at her assisted living facility. It was an "Indian Summer" type of day. We sat outside in the sunshine, several generations visiting. My oldest was 12 years old and practicing her knitting, which I had taught her from the way Grandma had taught me.

Grandma was so delighted to see her great-granddaughter knitting. In fact, every moment of that afternoon was so delightful that her announcement at the end of our visit still resonates.

She said, "This is the happiest day of my life."

Say it again for the people in the back, At over 94 years old, having seen a lifetime of joy and sorrow, that moment, she confidently announced it. "This is the happiest day of my life."

I never have forgotten her words. They were spoken the last time I saw her alive. On her HAPPIEST DAY.

I've thought about that a lot since that day. I have no doubt that she had many happy days. I know she did. She had 4 children, a wonderful husband, and not so modestly speaking, terrific grandchildren. She was our matriarch and she was adored. She had celebrated births, weddings, and accolades. She lived an incredible life.

Yet, somehow, that particular day, she said, was "The Happiest Day of her Life."

Then I realized, she just grew happier. If you were not happy yesterday, you would be today. If you found a reason to be happy each day, it stands to reason, that each day would be the happiest day of your life.

Grow happy, increase joy, love your life.

Because if you're like my grandma, you can announce with sincerity, "This is the happiest day of my life."

I dedicate this post to my grandmother, Gertrude. She was amazing and I strive to live each day to be happy. I'll always miss you, Grandma. You are the queen. 

Is there an answer?

Today, I spent the day in an inner-city classroom teaching 4th-grade students the basics of entrepreneurship.

We discussed some local success stories, some youth success stories, and how with a good business plan, they also can grow up to be entrepreneurs. We even discussed that 4th grade isn't too early to start and I heard ideas for babysitting, lawn mowing, cookie baking, and dog walking. I was charmed by my single-digit aged students and their enthusiasm was contagious.

I also talked to a young person with an old soul and a story that we forget is commonplace once you leave the cloistered suburban life. The story is so compelling that I want you to hear it and think about it for a while. Consider what the days and nights are like for this person who is not even 10 years old.

During a classroom break, I asked her if she was looking forward to summer. My student said that she was not sure what summer would be like, but that she would be going back and forth between her mom and dad's house. I nodded and said, I know that can be tough, my parents divorced when I was just a little older than you are.

She nodded and must have felt at ease with me because I heard a story that shocked me, but I just listened. She went on to tell me about a tremendous age difference between her parents. Her father is 25 years older than her mother. He had a stroke last year. And she said that she loves him because he does the best he can for her, but cannot do as much as he used to. She also said he has had trouble finding a job, not just due to the stroke, but also because he used to be in prison. She said that he beat a man with a baseball bat in a restaurant. I inhaled sharply upon hearing this but also didn't want to compromise her need to talk with my shock.

I asked her if she had any brothers or sisters and my well-spoken friend said she had several half-siblings. That her mom was expecting a baby in October, and then she said she hoped it would be better than her two-year-old sibling who was born at 24 weeks and spent months in the hospital.

I resisted the urge to fill in any blanks and took what she shared with me at face value. It was a stark reminder that we rarely know nor can we even begin to imagine the story behind the people we assume so much about so often. We assume that we know what the life of a student in an inner-city school is like. We assume we know solutions for families and how they should live. We assume far too much about people we know nothing about.

This is what I know. This young lady told me how she has a brother that she loves, even if she has not seen him since she was two. She said, "Because that's what family does." She told me that she loves her dad because he does his best. She said she hoped her mom's pregnancy was easier than her last one because that was scary.

As a writer who loves a good story, I wish I could have sat and talked all day with my new friend. I asked her if she ever wrote about what she saw and knew. She told me that she writes every day, and pulled out a torn spiral notebook sheet filled with tidy cursive writing filling all the lines. She had titled it, "The Story of Me".

I encouraged her to keep writing because when she was a famous entrepreneur, people would want to know her story and that some people may even want to know it before then. Like me.

And I realized, I want to tell her story. I want you to know the story of a quiet young lady, with a serious gaze and dark eyes. Just in case she gets too busy surviving to tell the world her story of an old soul. Old before her time, but filled with love and goodness.

Because we should never assume. Instead, let's hope. Let's wrap this young woman and hundreds like her around our nation in our collective optimism. But let's do more than hope.

Let's listen to their stories. Maybe, somewhere... there is an answer.

Privacy versus intimacy

I used to often muse about life and share my thoughts on a daily blog.  It was under a pen name so that I didn't reveal myself to folks and let them know what I was "really thinking".


It's interesting how much that concept has  changed in the 10 plus years since I did that. Privacy is seemingly compromised. We worry that someone may learn too much about us. I wonder why that has become a concern. I understand that is a little creepy and takes some adjustment to the fact that strangers know us. Yet, I liken it to the advent (in my lifetime) of caller ID. How disconcerting it was to have someone answer the phone with your name! Hi Kim, they would say.

I wonder why being familiar with each other is considered a taboo. Why is that uncomfortable? Why do I shudder at the idea that someone may have a reason to talk to me because they know we have common interests?

The opposite of privacy is intimacy.

Think about that for a moment.

If you aren't private, you are intimate. Which do you prefer?

Do you prefer being in a room of strangers or a room of friends? Do you prefer something that will facilitate conversation or for it to grow organically, albeit awkwardly.

Personally, I've learned how much I appreciate social media because I have conversation points when I run into someone I don't see as often.

"Oh, I saw your post about such and such... tell me more!"

"Your trip looked wonderful, what was your favorite part?"

"What did you like at X restaurant?"

We are so quick to vilify social media without realizing the social capital it gives us. Personally, I prefer intimacy to privacy.

I'm strong enough in my convictions that if a marketer buys my data on the guise of pretending intimacy, I can make up my own mind, without seeing an advertisement.

We stress about the wrong things. This huge concern over privacy is akin to saying, "I don't want people to know me."

I'm more about intimacy.

Know me, read what I say, and tell me what you think.

Don't Cry for Me, Argentina!

Back in December our family took a multi-generational trip to Budapest and this photo was taken on a walking tour of the city. It is entered in a contest to win a trip to Argentina! I would be honored to have your support. Just a simple Facebook "like" is all you need to do to vote for this photo.

Thank you in advance!

Click to like this photo!

Just another #MeToo story

Who hasn't seen that one?

My early career was in retail and it was a busy environment. There were so many times I felt uncomfortable about the comments made by the men. We women shrugged it off, said we should be flattered, or felt prude and uncool if we expressed offense.

I was in college at the time and my manager was sitting in the back of the office watching me from behind as I waited on a customer. After the customer left, he asked me if I had been a cheerleader in high school. I was the furthest thing from that, so I looked at him with a baffled expression. He said, I couldn't help but notice how toned and muscular your legs are. I bet you would have been something to watch.

I never wore a skirt to work after that. He even remarked on that. My co-workers used to tease me that they wanted me to wear a skirt again so that he would be in a good mood.

That was only one time I felt uneasy. I had another manager who had the least subtle way in the world of trying to look down my blouse. He was tall and would come and stand next to me while I was doing paperwork, glancing down my shirt.

I talked to a trusted male and he said something like, "It's only harassment if you don't want the attention, so don't dress in a way that asks for attention." Victim blaming at its finest. Especially since what I was wearing was the dress code that the company dictated. Unless I bound my chest or butt, there was no way to conceal what was underneath my clothing.

Over and over, I felt like my appearance and not my professionalism was how I was evaluated at work. At one point, someone higher up invited me to lunch to discuss a possible promotion. He tried to kiss me at the end of the lunch and I awkwardly turned it into a very weird hug. He called me the next day and asked if I would be interested in attending an out of town conference that would offer some good networking opportunities for me. The whole incident made my skin crawl. But I never said anything. (I didn't go to the conference, either).

Shortly after that, I became pregnant with our first child. I thought long and hard about whether I wanted to continue working and truthfully, I think part of the reason I walked away was that I didn't think my career would go forward if I wasn't willing to be a plaything.

Fast forward to middle age, restless housewife. I've reached the point in my life that I am more or less invisible. At 51 and a little chubby, I don't get cat-calls and I don't worry that I'm only getting noticed because I have cleavage or nice legs. And that feels a little weird, too, if I'm being honest.

What makes me even happier? My oldest is now a college graduate. She experienced a "MeToo" moment and was outraged. OUTRAGED! I was so proud of her for not being confused or thinking she had done something wrong.

Progress, albeit slow, but progress.

Women, speak up.

Capsule Wardrobe for 10 Days in the Winter

Our family is spending time away this winter. We will be reuniting with Baby Bird #1 as she finishes her final study abroad program in Europe. She has been there four months. We organized a family trip as a final send off to the exciting new world awaiting her.

We typically travel in the summer so room for clothing hasn't ever been much of an issue. Shorts and sandals take up a lot less room than sweaters and boots. I've done some traveling and have compiled several tips, but this was a new challenge for me.

I want to leave a lot of room in my suitcase for whatever items my daughter has accumulated in her four months as well as picking up souvenirs. (Tip: Take a larger suitcase than you need and fill the empty space with bubble wrap for any delicate souvenirs you may pick up). Additionally, I am pretty stringent about not exceeding the airline weight limit of 50 pounds for two reasons. Who wants to lug a heavy bag around and who wants to pay that extra fee? Not I, said the Mama Hen.

I've got myself organized. I researched quite a bit and realized that my staple wardrobe of blacks and tans will work quite well. I did have to pick up a few items to round out my capsule, but in the interest of saving money, I shopped Swap.com to find secondhand items. I love shopping Swap because it's easy to filter size, brand, and item of clothing and the selection is huge. The link I've added contains a referral code and you will save 20% off your first purchase. I also purchased one of my items from a local friend's boutique, Shop Stevie. Versatile & comfortable clothing.

I've stuck to neutral colors, with a smattering of patterns, and a few colorful pieces for some pizzazz. I also will be swapping out statement accessories to mix it up. Essentially, I have 3 slacks, 5 tops, 5 vests/cardigans/blazers, and 2 scarves.

Without further ado, this is what I'm packing for our 10 day trip. Want to see how I'm going to dress differently each day?

Itemized clothing list: (see captions for what is mixed and matched)

1. White long sleeved t-shirt
2. Cream long sleeved t-shirt
3. Heather grey turtleneck sweater
4. Black sleeveless t-shirt
5. Black & white striped t-shirt
6. Silk blouse in muted tans & greys
7. Black pull on slacks
8. Tan pull on slacks
9. Black & white herringbone patterned leggings
10. Tan & black blazer
11. Black sweater vest
12. Red cardigan
13. Grey draped cardigan
14. Tan draped cardigan
15. Black & blush patterned infinity scarf
16. Turquoise fringed wrap scarf

l to r, (3, 11, 9 and 10, 4, 7)

l to r, (2, 12, 8) (6, 14, 8) (9, 13, 1) (5, 12, 7)

l to r, (1, 16, 9) (3, 7) (2, 10, 8)  (4, 7, 13, 15)

I also have a few wild card items not shown:  a knit dress that rolls to nothing, pajamas, a swim suit for the hotel, shoes (short black boots and a pair of hiking shoes), socks, and undergarments. I am also bringing a set of long johns for layers on cold days and a roll up puffer jacket. I will follow up with a photo of my fully packed suitcase before we leave. 

Can you think of other ideas to mix 'n' match? Maybe I'll stay longer! 

Turns out...

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. ~John Lennon

Last August, I began a noble journey of "getting used to the empty nest". It was to be a weekly digest of how I was feeling each week I didn't have a child at home.

I diligently blogged each week and reached the end of my prescribed time frame. I had a tidy outline of 18 weeks to correspond with 18 years. At the end of 2016, I wrapped up my blog series and set about the book process. I interviewed experts and specialists.  I talked to beta-readers, I solicited feedback, I had a publisher lined up, I was ready to market, and then...

I stopped.

I didn't do a thing. Not a single thing.

I took my notes and curled them into a makeshift telescope, peering into the unknown.

You see, I wasn't nearly as "ready" as I told myself I would be.

I had a lot of things I was still working through. That is the beauty of growth. You don't get to anticipate the changes. They just appear to you.

A year later, I am pondering all the changes the universe put in my path. Adjusting my perspective and trying to make peace with the phrase,  "Be Careful What You Wish For". I actually did find a job. I am working with children non-stop and all the minutiae that accompanies it. I am picking up, cleaning up, straightening up, up, up, up up it seems, as I keep a space tidy for their consumption.

I reflect on the things I was truly missing because surely I wasn't missing the continual stage setting and straightening for children to discover. I just finished 20 some years of that. This forces me to dig deeper and figure out what really is happening.

It's about the passing of time. When your children are home, you are so busy with them that everything seems to swoosh by with a barely imperceptible breeze. And yet, in the midst of that immersion, nothing stops.

I think the empty nest syndrome, while part of the mourning of a sense of purpose, is also about the reckoning of time that flew by. Somewhere in the past 20 years, seemingly insurmountable losses have piled up. In my own universe, I lost grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, and parents. The gradual nature that such losses accrue hits like a sledgehammer upon reflection.

I've found myself remembering almost as often as I breathe, with a borderline irrational fear that if I stop remembering, it will no longer exist. I don't want to forget all the beautiful people who went before me, I don't want to forget the people who touched my world. I dread the memory fade of things that impacted me.

It's a delicate balance of remembering the past, staying in the present, and anticipating the future. I'm discovering that during the year-long breathing process.

Area 51-- the Empty Nest series continues

It seems apropos that on the day I end my 51st trip around the sun, I post about the theorized site of aliens visiting Earth. The previous year of my life certainly has had moments of other-worldliness. I've felt like an alien in the story of my own life as I've adjusted to several rapid fire changes that seemed to have crashed into my world like a comet.

Today, I revisit the story I began to write a year ago about surviving the empty nest and finding myself again.  It's been a year of searching and self-reflection, a year of discovery. Something I realized in this past year as I've slowly shed the pounds I picked up in middle age is that I've begun to shed some of the emotional baggage and angst as well.

A year ago today, I was wringing every last ounce of emotion out of feeling so lost and confused. My menopausal, empty-nest, lost-a-parent, just-was-invited-to-the-AARP self was in a tailspin. I blogged each week through the end of the year with the intent of turning those 18 weeks of reflection into a book.

I set out a timetable to deal with everything and set about it with utmost efficiency. But I was rushing myself and the process, and I hit a wall. I decided to set everything aside and just let it age gracefully. 

I wasn't done telling the story or discovering who I am. I wasn't quite ready to look past my empty nest. I thought about who I am and what I need to feel fulfilled. Now I'm ready to explore more about surviving the empty nest, because I indulged myself with the gift of reflection and time.

As I glance out my window at the changing leaves, through the bouquet of flowers, I realize I'm ready for change, too.

Stay tuned as we continue the journey together.

Ask me anything

One of the ways I fill my time as a freelance writer and lover of children is by substitute teaching. When my client load is low or my need to be surrounded by sticky little hands  and whiny voices is untapped, I accept opportunities to substitute teach.

I jest a little. I thrive on being around children and feed off their energy and curiosity. My imagination runs wild as I glimpse faces from the past. There is a little boy who could be a dead ringer for my now 19 year old daughter's second grade best friend. There is another little boy who could be my little nephew. I see these faces and smile thinking of young friends I adored from a different time and place.

Inevitably, at the end of the day, we've done all our work and there is time, usually only about 5-10 minutes, because I'm pretty good at sticking to and following the schedule. That 5-10 minutes can seem endless if you aren't ready for it.

Additionally, as a substitute teacher, you don't even know their regular routine or where the teacher keeps the "bag o' tricks" for those down times. It's okay. John Berryman once wrote a quote that has become a lifetime mantra, "Ever to confess you're bored is to confess to no inner resources."

That quote reminds me to dig deep. When I encounter that dead zone of what the heck do I do now, I fall back on a game called "Ask Me Anything". The students must raise their hands and they are allowed to ask me anything they want. Because I teach elementary school, I'm not too concerned that I won't have an answer, or at least be able to make them laugh if I don't.

Typical questions include:

• Do you have kids? (yes)
• How many? (2)
• Girls or boys? (both girls)
• Do you have a dog? (yes)
• What is your favorite kind of ice cream? (vanilla)
• How old are you? (50)
• Where do babies come from? (their parents)

So it goes. "Ask Me Anything" usually fills the rest of the time and keeps the kids engaged.

Sometimes, however, I get a monkey wrench, typically with the follow-up question.

Isn't it rude that someone asked your age? (No, I invited the question).
How do the parents get the babies? (That's a question for a scientist).
What if they didn't have vanilla ice cream? (I'd probably order coffee with chocolate chips)
Do you like cats? (the hardest one of all, because I don't usually, but meet exceptions on a regular basis).

The ask me anything game is sort of indulgent for me as well because I get to assuage my ego that "I know everything". Then came the time the game got the best of me. As we were filing to leave for the day, a young girl with a twinkle in her eye asked me, "Do you teach all the subjects?" (yes). She smirked and said, "Well that means you teach science, so you can tell us how the parents get the babies."

Just then the bell rung and the bedlam of getting the bus ensued.

I learned the meaning of saved by the bell.

But in the spirit of the game, I now invite my readers... "Ask Me Anything".
I might even answer.

First Day of School/Spring

It is only apropos that I find myself composing today's post on the first day of Spring. I have filled so many of my days with obligations that I hadn't been able to accept many substitute teaching jobs. In fact, the last time I was called and could accept was back in September.

But last night, around 9 PM, my phone rang and I was asked if I could teach today. I hesitated for a moment, as I was supposed to meet a friend for lunch, but I also knew that my friend would understand and we could reschedule. I was giddy as I said yes, I would be there, knowing that I would spend my day with a roomful of young people.

I am not sure how I can describe how much I love being in schools. I suppose you could call me a teacher groupie. I haven't gone through the work to be one, but I cannot really picture myself doing anything else. While I do not have a teaching degree, instead I fill my days with ways to be around young people. I am a confirmation sponsor at my church, I volunteer teach for Junior Achievement, and I coach speech and debate for a local high school. Oh, and I also babysit for my neighbors 2 mornings/week.

In other words, if there is anyone in the world who loves being around young people, it is me. Heck my own college daughter said in a quiz about how well she knows her mom, that my favorite thing is to talk with young people.

So today, knowing I was subbing all day, I sprung out of bed at 5:30 AM. My husband was teasing me, said, First day of school? At 50 years old, I blushed and then nodded knowingly, yes, I was going to school for the day.

I am not sure I can appropriately explain how magical a school building is to me. It's just this place of wonder and amazement. I walk in and see so much promise. I'm surrounded with potential. I am enveloped with hope. It is a beautiful thing. Lesson plans, students, notebooks, minds, oh those minds! Such gorgeous vessels waiting to be filled!

I am realistic. I'm a substitute teacher. I'm just a place holder who comes in and imparts a little knowledge that their regular teacher has set in place.  What I do believe though is that a good substitute can bring a new energy and enthusiasm to a classroom -- a fresh face, and different perspective. There was a young man in the front of my classroom today who announced how he was in a bad mood and that I shouldn't expect anything from him.

I looked at him and firmly said, "I expect you to do your work, because a job has nothing to do with your mood." The rest of the classroom piped in and quickly informed me that the regular teacher always makes him do stuff, even when he doesn't want to. I quickly discerned that there was more going on with this student. I think that is what a good sub does -- read the situation and adapt.

By the end of the day, he was smiling and fist bumped him for getting rid of his bad mood. Oh yeah, and he did the work he was supposed to do. I call that a winning day.

Here they are, there they go: Week 18 (final installment)

The holidays got in the way of wrapping up my empty nest series. We were traveling out and folks were traveling in, our kids came home, we hosted a family get-together, we attended several family get-togethers. We need a holiday from our holiday. 

As the dust settles on the holiday season for 2016, I have some time for reflection and offer some realistic observations. The past two weeks were a prospecting mission to foresee what future interactions between adult family members will be like.

What strikes me most profoundly is the complete lack of homogeneity, and yet, we are united by blood. Each member of our family is different and unique and at no time was that more apparent than when we were all gathered in the same space.

We saw cousins that we don't often see, and realized that as the family grows, our time commitments get more thin. We pledged to do better at keeping in touch and crossed our fingers that we make it a priority. 

The greater extrapolation of an empty nest is the realization that we had several generations of families who have all experienced children becoming adults at one time or another. Yet, we still gather and enjoy spending time together. I suspect that is the truest glimpse of the future.  Years ago, my siblings and I left our family nests.  We still congregate with each other when we can and appreciate the family time. 

We hosted mom at our house and realized now it’s our turn to take care of things for her when she’s in our home. We stocked up on her favorite coffee, put extra blankets in the room, set out favorite family photos. We want to make her feel at home with the same graciousness we feel when we visit her home. 

The difference when we visit our childhood home is a built in sense of familiarity. My brother found the spot on the wall that he etched his undying devotion to a grade school crush. We walked around marveling how much smaller it seems today than when we were kids. We were threatened with punishment if we opened a door to a messy room. Though we laughed, we realized that mom's “Board of Education” still stings in our minds if not on our behinds. 

We surrounded ourselves with touchstones to the past, made memories of the present, and looked forward to the future. And that is the note to close this series. I'm looking forward to the future. 

This 18 post series will be expanded upon and compiled into a book. 

Projected availability is July 2017. 

You don't know me: Week 17

Here I am, reflecting on another week of pretend empty nest. Because at the particular moment of this writing, it's full. Plus one.

What I realize is the new normal, otherwise known as reality, is here to stay. From here on out, it will be coming and going, cars starting and stopping and parking. The door will revolve, and we will get glimpses of updates. At some point, we parents will no longer know who they hang out with or how often or what they do when they hang out.

That's normal and good.

I spent a day with my mom yesterday and I see the generational parallel. I told her about the lives of the people she knows are my life long best friends and realize, it's conversation fodder. It's how we touch base. My relationship with my children is approaching that place.

My oldest child's beau is visiting us. They met last summer while she was interning and have kept in touch long distance. He seems really nice though I think I made him uneasy with my questions. At least he was polite and answered each one. I kept apologizing for being nosy. But the fact remains, we no longer will have that built-in framework of familiarity. We do not have any common ground other than the one person we know in common, my child, Period.

Admittedly, it is a bit disconcerting to realize that I no longer bond with our children and their friends over a common teacher, town event, or local story. Their worlds grow when we aren't looking. They grow beyond what I know or relate to and that is okay.

I don't know who all mom's friends are, nor does mom know all mine. The torch passes on. I don't know who all our kids' friends are, and likewise for them. Each story about someone else begins with some sort of explanation who this person we are talking about is and why they are in our lives.

When we start out as parents, our goal is to raise independent strong young people for the future. When it happens, it's a little unsettling, because it's hard to realize we achieved exactly what we set out to do. While it was the plan, it was going to happen regardless of any level of intervention on our part.

I think one of the difficult parts is that nobody throws us a shower or celebration. When we embark on this journey, we are literally showered with presents and cards of congratulation, and yet, upon retirement, it just fades. You want to holler, "Hey! All of you who loved that lump of wiggly baby in my arms? Yeah, you! I did it! We did it! That baby grew up and look-ee here! We got ourselves a co-ed!" Where is my party?

It doesn't work that way. Instead, we swirl away from the familiar world of over 18+ years raising young people.  We don't know where they are going and we somehow have to trust them, as well as ourselves. We have to trust that we did our best and so will they.

Stay tuned next week for my last installment. And stay tuned longer for my journey to book.

Nothing is the same, nor should it be: Week 16

As the month of December unfolds, I'm approaching the end of my self-chosen 18 week commitment to process and understand the dynamics of my empty nest. Back in August when I first began the series, the plan was to live-blog each week, chronicling my emotional and intellectual learning curve as I was experiencing it.

This past weekend, I picked my younger child up from college in Chicago. I drove in a day early with a neighbor friend and we had a mini-shopping girl's getaway planned. We briefly saw my baby bird to have some lunch and then went and checked into our hotel room. We spent the afternoon checking out some Chicago shopping destinations, had a nice dinner, hit the sack and got ready to bring two young co-eds home. (Another young person from our town attends the same university so we share rides to and from school with her parents).

Anyway, that little scenario led me to the realization of how little of my December is the same as in years past. It was a gradual process, but it hit me like a ton of bricks when I was shopping with my neighbor who still has younger children who still have child expectations of Christmas, including Santa and lots of magic and gifts.

Christmas over the past few years has taken a decidedly less magical and much more realistic turn. I'm okay with that. My children were too old when the Elf on the Shelf "magic" became another thing to do over the holidays. Thank goodness.

Yet, I do recall the year that our dog was a new puppy and the children were nervous that he would scare Santa away from coming, so they asked to bring his crate upstairs to their bedroom. Then, when they couldn't decide whose room to put the cage into, they decided to share a bed. That was magic I'll cherish forever. The sight of my little angels sleeping next to each other on Christmas Eve, making sure Santa would still visit, will never be forgotten.

While I miss the visits to Santa, I honestly don't miss the built up deception and the impression that "Santa can do anything". My children haven't quite forgiven me, but literally the minute they were old enough to question Santa, I came clean. I am terrible at sugarcoating and not so good at lying either, so it was a huge relief to just say, "I'm Santa". Okay, I wasn't quite so blunt, I think I said something like "Once upon a time there was a very kind and generous man who loved making children happy. His name was Santa Claus and he was so inspirational that parents have taken on his traditions over the years and kept his spirit alive, and now that you know, you will want to keep his traditions alive for the younger children." Honestly, I never cared for the commercial bend that Christmas took.

Before I sound like an insufferable Scrooge, I love the family get-togethers, the parties, the baking, and the decorations. I love putting up a tree and reliving a lifetime of memories with each ornament I hang. But some of that has changed as well. Concurrent with children growing up and getting older is that the generation older than myself starts to shrink. The losses of patriarchs and matriarchs has all begun to happen over the past several years and life needs to take a new turn to compensate.

This year, I found myself especially nostalgic and I think my emotions were a mélange of events, but I fondly remembered not only the handprints my children made, but the crocheted snowflakes my grandmother made, the Shiny-Brites like the one my husband's grandparents hung on the tree. I recognized that nothing will ever be like that again. We will never pack ourselves into my grandparent's living room again, nor will we stay up half the night smuggling gifts out of hiding places, waiting until the children fell asleep to take bites out of cookies on the plate and stage a Christmas visit from Santa for the break of dawn.

Instead, we get the magic of well-educated young people. I get to talk to my younger daughter about literature and philosophy and sharpen my thinking skills. I get to arrange the meeting of my older daughter's beau for the first time. I don't intend to pressure or embarrass her, but honestly, whenever I meet someone she is dating, I always approach such meetings wondering if this is a person who will eventually become a member of the family. That's exciting!

Last week, my spouse and I had a date. We went to a Christmas ale blind tasting and didn't have to worry about getting home for the kids. It's something we'd never have even considered when they still lived at home.

Those are just a few slices of the ways life will never be the same. And I am so glad it's not.

You ought to admire each other: Week 15

Now we're approaching winter break, I'll be bringing my younger daughter home for the rest of the month this Saturday. The older one will be home a week later and our nest will be full again. Additionally, we have family flying into town this year between Christmas and New Year's which means the house will be bustling with good will and cheer.

Something has happened in the past week that just really struck me, and it transcends the typical proud parent role that we cast ourselves into. Even when we don't always like each other, I've realized how deeply I admire my children and their peers. I admire the people they became.

There is so much negativity floating around about those spoiled millennials that I want to depart slightly from my personal empty nest journey and talk instead about the things I'm learning from this generation.

*First of all, our generation raised them. Yep, we're the ones who decided that they should all get trophies, we're the ones who let that attitude of everyone gets a prize sink in. But you know what? They see through it. They still know who is the best and they still have a work ethic. We didn't fool them with piles of cheap plastic awards and hollow accolades. We need to own our role in that impression. We left them a pile of trophies and overpriced tuition.

*Secondly, we may have stopped asking them to do chores or get part time jobs, but we started to expect them to be "well-rounded". We threw every possible activity to do in their direction, beginning with pre-school play groups and ending with things to put on your college application. Seriously? Our generation maybe did one activity, sports or music, or maybe something with our church group. But we didn't do all of it nor was it expected of us. The pressure we've placed on our next generation is astounding. And they have risen to the occasion. The book "Busier Than Ever!" is an excellent read why this isn't such a bad phenomenon.

*Third, they love their elders. They ask us for guidance and respect what we suggest. Nowhere has this been more evident than in the past presidential election, when their most popular candidate was
the "grandpa who gets them", an unlikely 74 year old man who paid attention to their concerns, Bernie Sanders. Now, this is not to suggest that we should adopt the political platform of Senator Sanders, at least not in its entirety. It does mean that if we take time to listen to their concerns, they will take time to heed our advice.

Enough of this "Them vs. Us". They are our children and we taught them everything they know. We have a duty and obligation as the people who pass the baton to them to pay attention instead of dismiss. We are required to care about what affects them. I admire them and I look forward to the day they have to take care of me, because I believe the future is in good hands. It's time for all of us to believe it.

You won't always like each other: Week 14

Just like that - the honeymoon is over. Well, not really, but it's time for a reality check. I spent months waiting to have the whole family under the roof and it was fantastic for at least 25 minutes. Then things got real.

Now, this is not to say I didn't love having my children nearby and didn't cherish every second. Rather, I'd like to say that going off to college doesn't make all those little personality nuances disappear or even fade. In fact, they seemed to come back stronger than ever. I'm still inclined to smother, one daughter is inclined to retreat to silence, the other inclined to know everything, and my long suffering spouse is inclined to immerse himself in busy-work to avoid the unending barrage of estrogen that suffocates him.

Suddenly, a swath of destruction and mess wove its way through the entire house. There were shoes where there had been none, jackets and sweaters strewn on chairs, empty glasses that never even got filled, a bathroom counter filled with toiletries. The invasion had begun.

The food got eaten, the dishes got dirty, and the house was in an unending state of disarray. And all that was good. The house bustled with energy.

Other aspects of the weekend? Not so much. For example, for several years now, I have not lived down the purchase of a brand of toilet paper on sale that wound up being scratchier than sandpaper, because I insisted we use it up. That was the break my daughter looked forward to going back to the dorm, because the toilet paper there was better. Apparently, my acumen for a bargain completely ruined what we had coined "the home field advantage". When I made sure I didn't purchase that toilet paper this time, jokes were made about who was the favorite child and that sort.

Scratchy or not, it got used.

Sometimes I just want to sue Norman Rockwell for false impersonation of the American Family Life. Because nothing in my mind matched the reality. We settled down for a friendly game of cards and a joke was cracked and within an instant one family member called another family member an a**hole. Yeah. Nothing Norman Rockwell about that. Although, in retrospect, at least it was a comfortable a**hole, due to the upgrade in the toilet paper that wiped it.

The weekend came and went without any notable event, food was eaten and enjoyed, laundry was washed and folded, friends and family came and went. Before we knew it, it was time to load the car back up for a trip that began at 7 AM and circled back until nearly 8 PM. Our chicks were back in their nests.

Now the mess is cleaned up and the house echoes somewhat forlornly with tidiness. No random dishes, no scattered shoes, no a**holes to be found.

For at least another two weeks.