And Then There Were None (At Home, That Is)

Some rambling thoughts upon taking my son to college this weekend...

I’m not new to this game of taking a child to college. I’ve done it one time before, which makes me a veteran college mom. Two years ago, the first time I took one off to college for the first time, I felt like there was so much I needed to tell my older son...stuff that he needed to know right that second. For whatever reason, the most important thing the day before we left to take him was that I hadn’t taught him how to iron, so I made him learn how to iron.  As far as I know, he hasn’t ironed since.  

Two years later, we’re here. Though, this time, it seems I saved all the advice giving for the last day. A day where we were packing, joking, eating obscene amounts of unhealthy food together (looking at you Mini Vermonster), was also the day that I decided it was time to impart all my words of wisdom to him.  And impart, I did.  In conversation, in jokes, in a heartfelt email.  But really, there’s not much I felt the need to tell him (or his brother, for that matter), that hasn’t been said in the past.  Yes, there are laundry tips, housekeeping tips and organization tips, but the lessons they need and should be leaving with should really be the lessons they were getting from us all along, right?  Be kind.  Be true to yourself. Take care of yourself. Work hard. Do your best. Call home. Did I miss anything?  

And now, it’s happened.  This moment that has been looming over us for the better part of the past year, happened today.  I’ve looked at it with excitement, I’ve looked at it with gloom, I’ve looked at it with trepidation and I’ve looked at it with an insane amount of pride that my son knew exactly what he wanted and went for it with the same gusto he’s had for pretty much every other thing he’s wanted to accomplish so far in his 18 years. 

I have read dozens of articles, blog posts, memes and pieces of advice about leaving our kids at college.  I know no less than 120 other moms in the same place we are this weekend...I’ve scrolled through their drop off pictures (and posted our own) on my Facebook feed and realize now that, while my house has a sense of emptiness that it’s never had before, this is the moment we’ve been building toward since, well, since having kids.  They aren’t meant to stay with us forever….I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t even like each other very much if we kept that same mother/child relationship well into their adulthood, because they’re suppose to go off, with baby steps, spread their wings and develop their own lives with the hope that the lessons we’ve passed on stick.  The good ones, at least.  In good ways.

Even President James Garfield had these same sorts of rambling thoughts in 1879 when he wrote of taking his own children off to school, “It will require no little self-sacrifice on my part to see and aid them in the work of separating these precious home ties. I begin to see how it is that parents come to regard children as their own decorations, given for their own selfish comfort. The severe lesson must be learned that they are given to go alone--to leave the parent nest and fly to trees of their own seeking."

I remember both of my kids’ first days of kindergarten as if they were just yesterday.  I cried big as the bus pulled away with my oldest, his brother in my arms crying along with me that he wanted to go too.  I was teary when I dropped off my youngest a few years later, but he was ready. He was ready then and he’s ready now.  I’ve worked at his school either as a volunteer or as a teacher since he was in preschool.  This year will be the first time in his school life that we aren’t just down the hall from each other.  That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?  But he's ready. His look of confidence upon arriving on campus yesterday was reassuring and I know he's going to be fine.

So, yes...tonight, I am a little bit sad.  And yes, I miss him already. And ice cream did help while we were driving home (as it usually does).  But I am not permanently sad.  This is a temporary loss.  A loss of a past, perhaps a loss of the childhood that was.  Knowing that others are dealing with real loss right now probably helps put this transition of sending our youngest off to college into a different kind of perspective.  And what I’m starting to realize is that sending a young  adult to college is really not the end of being a parent, it’s the beginning of being a different kind of parent.  

And tonight, we are no longer "empty nesters in training," we are full on "empty nesters."

Reflections on Turning 50

A random collection of thoughts as I enter the last week of my 40’s…

The Byrds’ “Turn, Turn, Turn” was the number one song the week I was born.

To everything - turn, turn, turn

There is a season - turn, turn, turn

And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time of love, a time of hate

A time of war, a time of peace

A time you may embrace

A time to refrain from embracing

This song holds the distinction of having the oldest lyrics in a #1 pop song, since it comes from Ecclesiastes. "Many biblical scholars believe Ecclesiastes 1:1 implies King Solomon as the book's author; thus, if true, giving Solomon (born c. 1011 BC) lyrical credit for a number one hit.” (thank you, Wikipedia).

I like birthdays.  And numbers.  Not math numbers, but numbers that make interesting patterns or dates.  I have for as long as I can remember. I was in the pool at camp in Key Largo on July 7, 1977 and pointed out to the older kids nearby that it was 7-7-77. They were not nearly as impressed as I. Last year, when my birthday fell on 12-13-14, I turned it into an event.  The last time this century that could happen!  12-13-15 just doesn't have the same ring to it, does it? But it is 50, so it has pretty much been on my mind in some way for much of the past year.  And now, here I am, staring it down.  I can legitimately say, "I'm practically 50, you know!"

1965 was a good year to be born.  Not quite a “baby boomer;” not really a “baby busting Generation Xer,” either. Too young for Woodstock, too old to wear Doc Martins credibly. A Charlie Brown Christmas was born in 1965, as was the Pillsbury Dough Boy.  The Voting Rights Act of 1965 was passed and the Sound of Music movie came out.  The Beatles were in their heyday and, of course,  Vietnam.  Smack dab in the middle of a decade of change.  But aren’t all decades “decades of change,” really? We are a nation and world in turmoil right now, but if you look back through history, almost every era faces turmoil. We just don’t really learn from history, I guess. What does this have to do with turning 50, anyway? Not much...it's a random collection of thoughts, that's all.

My childhood is marked by memories of music and tv shows that some may mock, but that bring me great joy to hear or see: One Tin Soldier, Seasons in the Sun, Beach Baby, Cats in the Cradle (oh, who am I kidding...Billy Don’t Be a Hero and The Night Chicago Died, too).  Happy Days, In the News, Schoolhouse Rock, Land of the Lost (Sigmund & the Sea Monsters!), Scooby Doo, the Bay City Rollers.  Later, the Facts of Life, Different Strokes, the Love Boat and Fantasy Island...but then Grease. And the John Hughes movies. They may not be on the best of anything of the 70’s or 80’s lists, but they shaped a whole group of  girls in some way that makes us kindred spirits.

When I consider turning 50, I instantly think, ‘How can this be? 50 is old.’ And I’m not old. And I do know it really is just a number.  As I have entered each new decade of my adult life, I’ve looked back and thought, “This past decade was the one where I really grew up.”  In my 20’s, I graduated from college, had my radio career and got married, all pretty grown up stuff.  I became a mom in my 30’s, joined playgroups, ladies groups and volunteered at school. Also adult stuff. And so, my 40’s have been no different. I went from being the mom of young boys to being the mom of young men, from time on playgrounds, carpooling to various activities and elementary school performances to high school sports, college applications and being happy to just have both boys sitting around in the living room with us, talking and laughing together.  So, is that it?  Am I finally grown up?

This past 10 years or so have been some of the best of my life so far. I have so much to be grateful for. I'm married to my best friend and have been for half of my life (literally). My sons have grown into kind young men that I am proud to know and am excited to see moving into their next phases. I have my sisters and mom not too far away and available when I need them.  I fell into the job that has led me to stretch and to take risks I didn’t know I wanted to take, to be with people that make me want to be better and do better and that I think value me more than I have ever felt valued in my life.  I have discovered that my body was meant to move in ways that I didn’t know it could and at the same time met a new group of women that I am happy to call friends and have welcomed me into their “tribe.”  Who could want more than that?

50 may be old, but I’m not.  50 may be the new 30, and I’d take that, too!  I think 50 is a halfway point and if I’ve had 50, then I have around 50 more.  That’s a lot of years and a lot of time, right? I’m not sure what my 50’s will bring, aside from an AARP card and an empty nest.  I’ve read that I will stop caring what others think, wear what I want and live life fully. I’d like to think that I will do something grand...something to make my mark. But maybe, being in the place I am...right here, right now...I already am. And if that’s it, then I’ll take that, too.

Bring it, 50.