In the trenches of my impending Empty Nest

 I recently ran in to someone who was very excited I was on the cusp of becoming an empty nester. She isn't alone. A lot of people bring it up. I get it. I've raised four kids, and because of my sort of writing some of that has been semi-public in our small town. 

These are the typicals...

Oh my goodness, you must be so sad...I'm not. It's time for them all to do their adult thing.

Wow, what will you and your husband do...yeah, great question I have suggested some things but right now we've mostly settled on talking about it at nauseum and and then retreating to separate corners for video games and documentary TV binging.

Soooo, last one is leaving. How does that feel?...good?

And then the recently, What will you do with all your time?

The conversation progressed as follows...

"Well, I have been making a lot of ice cubes. " I responded solidly.

"Ice cubes?" She questioned with a baffled look.

"Yes, like in fun shapes and flavors. Recently some cute stars for the fourth of July."

"Oh, did you have a big party?"

"No, just my husband and I." I answered noticing I had left her unimpressed so I reached for more.

"I am also considering a Tic Toc career with videos helping middle aged women dress better." I was in sweats, so this continued to leave the unimpressive glaze in her eyes.

"Oh, where would I find you on Tic Toc?" She was kind enough to genuinely ask.

"Oh, well I haven't figured out exactly how to work (or consistently spell correctly) tic tok yet so I am not sure how you would find me there." The unimpressive nature of my responses took a more permanent place in her eyes. But I was determined I could make it better, so I continued.  "Also I am fairly politically active on twitter."

"Wow, that's great! How many followers do you have?"

"Like 10," I mumble, "my brother comments sometimes."

I then announce I need to get going, worried she will ask where to find me on twitter as I am remembering that I live in a ridiculously conservative town and she will not be a fan of my twitter "political activism." I should have led with...I have been taking tennis lessons for four years and, not to brag, but I am almost good enough to be a substitute on the Country Club C team.

So clearly I am slow to finding my footing as a retired empty nester.

I spend a lot of time "momaging" adult children. Fielding phone calls, dispensing asked for (but ignored) advice, venmoing support, listening, visiting and general adult children upkeep. Honestly, I like it. I'm not turning the kind of profit that Kris Jenner is with her "momaging," but I feel certain I can tart one of these girls up and get a video out there soon that will really take us to a profitable level.

With the impending empty nesting comes college move in number four. I am lackluster about this at best. The move in is a lot of work and a lot of emotion and it is always hotter than hell out. Luckily she seems to have a handle on it all, and as a born minimalist she keeps things simple by nature. To be fair to my "momaging" self, I've moved three kids into dorms, two of them across country like we will do for her, and I know what I am doing. And with Amazon being what it is now, the logistics are fairly easy. I have also made myself feel better about my lackluster feelings with the purchase of Harry Styles tickets for her and her sisters the weekend before the move in. 

We leave her on a Thursday. I asked my husband where we should go afterward. He replied, "home?" I let him know we didn't have to go home. We could go someplace for the weekend before heading back across the country. I explained we did not need to rush home to our fun hobbies of video games and TV documentary binge watching. He was fairly noncommittal. I took this as a firm and excited yes, so we are stopping in Boston for the weekend. I don't have an agenda for us. Since I know the move in is draining. I sold him on a nice hotel and fun dinners with some walking sight seeing. It should be great. Or we will play video games and binge watch documentaries at the hotel. 

Clearly, I should write more as an empty nester with time. And I think about writing more a lot as I make my ice and scroll through twitter. So today I wrote before heading to Trader Joes. And I put on a cute middle aged outfit for Trader Joes. Look for it on my Tic Tok!
 

The Fullest Circle

There are moments in motherhood, well in life actually but as the most important years of my life have  been motherhood they are one in the same for me, there are moments you snap. Long held on to moments where you have pushed back the anger and frustration of the moment and drawn deep breaths through angry or poorly chosen words, only in the end to...snap.

My second child was an easy baby and toddler, no terrible twos, with an abrupt surprising turn at four. This would correct itself at age six and remain for the duration of elementary school and one blissful year of middle school before shifting abruptly again, But it is the four year old turn where I can remember a particular snap. 

I was a working mother. It's hard to imagine now, now that I don't work, now as the children are ensconced in college and graduate programs and I "momage" them quietly from afar with my two dogs looking on. But, there was a time when I worked full time and raised four children. When you work full time as a teacher your morning start time isn't flexible. At 8:15 thirty students will line up for you. When my second child was four, her older sister six, her younger sister two, and there was a newborn sister, I worked. So there were at least two stops in the morning. One for the two and under crowd, and one for those going to school and this was before my final stop to teach at a completely differently campus. 

As a September baby, this second child was going to school. Two months of Kindergarten were attended as a four year old.  She was difficult to get ready in the morning. I guess, to be fair, they all were, but she stood out as being the hardest to wrangle into clothes and shoes and a car seat. Looking back this could possibly be because she was going to an extended day  highly academic kindergarten and was as previously stated, only four. But, I digress...

My children were always beautifully dressed. Not always because of me. I have a mom and an aunt who are incredible dressers and shoppers. We were blessed and had many, many expensive outfits  and because such quality clothes were purchased, they didn't have a shelf life. As the second child, Reagan got her own beautiful clothes as well as steady supply of hand me downs. I cannot stress this enough, and anyone who has met my mother and aunt will know I am not exaggerating, my children were beautifully dressed. 

The early details of  the morning of the snap elude me, but the moment of the snap is vivid in my mind. Most likely I am remembering  the snap, and the moments that led right up to it, in a light that shines much more favorably on me then I deserve. What I remember is a great deal of patience and kindness in getting everyone to their destinations and then arriving at mine half mad with pent up anxiety and angst. My memory is lots of patient words and encouragement and understanding as I coaxed her and her sisters to school every morning. But on this one morning she was crying. She was refusing to get in the car and I needed us to leave. So I picked her up half dressed, hair done and tights on (in the recollection of this story I remember that my girls always wore matching tights with dresses. I do not mean leggings, I mean actual beautiful wool tights in various colors that matched their outfits), naked from the torso up. A beautiful toe headed centaur headed to Kindergarten. I grab her dress and assume I can get it on her at school before she walks in. It is at this moment through big tears and gulps as I trying to shove her into her car seat, with her wide eyed sisters looking on, without bruising her that she says, "I won't get dressed, I won't...I don't know why you won't buy me the BEAUTIFUL clothes."

And that was my moment. I was incensed. Listen, there are are a million things she could have said that morning, a million....why can't you feed me the GOOD food? True not great at fixing meals for the family. Why don't you teach me to tie my shoes? True, they were all in velcro for years after they should have been. Why don't you....? Again, a MILLION things could have been questioned about my parenting during those busy years, but to reference the BEAUTIFUL clothes was not the right choice. I gave up trying to shove her in the car seat. I removed her and set her little centaur self on our cold driveway and yelled, "We are done with this game. You are to be dressed for school every day and ready to go or you we will sit out here in the cold until you are dressed." It was, of course, a total lie. We had no such option each day. Perhaps it was the coldness of the concrete, perhaps it was our lovely neighbor staring wide eyed at the scene before her and me unembarrassed saying, "Good morning Susan, we are having a rough start to our day, but things will get better," or perhaps she just knew I had reached my tipping point, but she put on her dress and got into the car, and after one more dumping on my best friend's wet lawn a few weeks later for refusing to get in her car seat....that was it. She was beautifully behaved (and dressed) for the next eight years.

As we rolled into eighth grade, I was unprepared for what lay ahead for me. We were coming off eight years of honor roll, good citizenship, independent homework accountability and the stuff parenting dreams are made of. And then we hit an academic rough patch. By the end of eighth grade the rough patch had me taking an afternoon off of work to show up at middle school unannounced. She had been less than truthful (big time liar) for weeks about her advanced history class grade and her insistence that said bad grade was no fault of her own, but in actuality the fault of teacher. My appearance at the middle school final bell and announcement we would be going to talk to the history teacher together left the impression I desired. Fear. Anger as well, but the fear in her eyes far outweighed the anger present in her gait. 

In what can only be shocking news, the story and the blame on the teacher took a much different turn as we walked toward his classroom. To her credit she was quiet and humble as we talked to the teacher. It was too late to change the grade, but we agreed on some steps of effort to work toward change in the very few remaining days of middle school. At the end I asked her to leave the room so I could talk to the teacher. When she exited I turned and bluntly said, "I'm out of my area of expertise here. What actually does happen? Does she promote with this F? Is she doing 8th grade again?" In this moment an incredibly kind man took the time to say this to me, and it will be paraphrased and quoted as to how I remember it 10 years later...

"No she will be promoted. They all go through for the most part. They are much bigger academic issues here than your kid who is failing AP history. I've seen a lot of kids like her come through my classes. And a lot of them pull it together and move forward. Many go on to graduate from college and some even graduate with a history degree. A failing Eighth grade doesn't always determine the future."

This moment in time shaped my thought process and changed the course of my parenting for years to come. He could have said a million things to me. He could have put both she and myself in our place. He could have been an ass. But he wasn't. Great teachers change lives. He changed ours.

High school would prove challenging. On a million levels. She continued forward with a heavy academic load while both competitive dancing and a spot  on the varsity swim team. By senior year she was drill team captain, varsity swimming and working on the weekends. Which, much like participating in a highly academic extended day kindergarten at four, in retrospect sounds insanely stupid on my part as a parent allowing it.  

I could tell a few high school stories. Some painful, some poignant, some infuriating, and some funny. I love a full circle moment. I love the ability to take yourself from a really low moment and later find yourself having risen above. In parenting, I have few really good full circle moments and I am revel in them. This child provided me with one that makes me proud in ways I cannot fully do justice to, but I will try.

Junior year was tough. She was still taking a full load of AP classes and struggling to find her footing in them. Add in the juggling act of  varsity swim, drill team and weekend job and it made for a long year. She would finish Junior year just under a 3.0. I was just glad we made it out. As the year ended we found ourselves at a banquet. Well, I always found myself at a banquet. But, my love/hate of all things banquet is a story for another day. 

At this banquet the decision was made to honor everyone for both the sport and their academics. As well they should. Some of these kids get insanely good grades. This year the kids were all sitting in front of the parents at one long table and we, as parents, were all at tables facing them. As the students were honored for their academics they would leave the table and get their award to the side of the room. As the front table cleared out it started to become obvious to me, that we were probably going to be left with just my daughter at the table. Which could have gone fairly unnoticed if....the parents weren't all facing the long empty table instead of  the many students who were honored. I wasn't uncomfortable for myself, but I was sick for her. It wasn't anyone's fault. When planning these things you are dealing with a million factors. No one anticipated this, it just happened.

In the end, she and one other child were left, and as luck would have it they were sitting on opposite ends of the long table. My daughter is a strong kid who hung out with incredibly academic children her whole life, this wasn't completely new to her. She also has the inherited ability to be self deprecating and make light of a situation, even when hurting inside. She also has a huge heart and it was obvious the other girl at the other end of the very long table was embarrassed.  And to be clear it was an embarrassing situation. I will never forget the pride I felt in what would happen next. She stood up, with 25 peers and all of their parents watching, walked to the other end of the table with a huge smile on her face sat down and embraced the girl in a huge hug, and they laughed while facing the room. I have never  been prouder in my life. She gave a hug that meant more to me than any honor received that night. 

We would return to the same banquet the next year. Different room arrangement and awards handed out differently, lessons learned. Senior year had proven to be a stronger year for Reagan. She would walk up to be recognized for her high GPA. The parent sitting next to me was stunned and muttered something like "Really? No way." and then yelled out "Way to go." Again, I love a full circle moment. And this was a great one.

Amidst the struggles of all that was high school, she set her sights on going to the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York. I was a hard no, as in immediately HELL no, when this was mentioned Junior year. We are struggling to achieve in a small California suburb, how was New York going to work out? Is this even a real school? Will you get a real degree? The answer was No, just No. No, No, No. I was not open to it. I was negative about it. I did not engage in any conversations. No, no, no. 

Senior year found us headed to New York to be a part of the Thanksgiving Parade for drill. I decided to throw a bone. We would go early and visit FIT. To be honest it was really just so I could confirm that I was right and this was a fake school with no real merit. Long story short we sat through a great presentation with a great presenter and it turns out the school was real and the degree would be real and I was wrong about it all. I turned to her at the end of the hour and said, "If you can get in, you can go." She got in. She went.

We are just back from a beautiful graduation week with a beautiful graduation ceremony held in Central Park. It was perfection, all of it. She was and is perfection. I am reminded that I heard once, you have to raise the children you have not the ones you thought you would have. I think that is what I learned that day in eighth grade, the gift that teacher gave me. I have not  perfected  this part of my parenting. I definitely have some wasted time where I have tried  to parent my children as I felt they should be and not who they are. But when I lean in to who they are...it turns out they are amazing and do amazing things.

She graduated, with the added fun of a pandemic in the city hit the hardest, with a fashion business kind of major and two fashion business kind of minors. She will stay in New York and work in the fashion industry. And because I love a full circle I will just say....of course it was fashion, I mean all she really wanted were the BEAUTIFUL CLOTHES!        

  

The Cupcake Lines and Masturbation of New York City

In May of 2021 I saw a mom that I had not seen in many years. The many years was two fold. One, our children had moved on to different sports and activities and we no longer traveled in the same mom lane, and two I hadn't seen any mom in over a year. Not seeing any moms in over a year was two fold as well. One, we are on our fourth child and she drives so my attendance at things is no longer needed and I am also somewhat lack luster in caring about attending, and two...there had been nothing to attend. 

But that May I found myself in my closet trying to remember what people, what I, wore to functions, with this particular function being prom pictures. I am not going to lie. It seemed daunting, putting together a well thought out outfit, putting on make-up (as I was newly vaccinated and I would be outside and taking off my mask) and putting myself into a group of people. And I was going in blind. The prom was for seniors. The boyfriend was the Senior. I honestly had no idea who would be there. I was accustomed to prom pictures run by type A personality girls where I knew the moms and what I was walking in to. 

It turns out the boy moms were lovely and I knew a few. It also turns out the boys are not  type A personalities and the pictures have to be organized by a mom or dad who finally steps in because we have been standing around for awhile waiting for someone to take charge and we are ready to go home. The boys actually had no idea what pictures they wanted or what would look nice on their social media. All this made even more difficult by the fact that we were coming out of a pandemic and boys and girls hadn't been socializing together for over a year. But I digress...

At pictures was a mom I hadn't seen in many years. She asked if I had moved to New York. I was surprised by the question and just answered, "No." Later I thought about why she had asked and I took a fresh look at my social media, the only way she would really know anything about me. I was in New York a lot during the pandemic. We have two sort of adult college kids there. The pandemic was tough on two sort of adult college students living in the thick of the pandemic. And, to be honest, it was cheap to be in New York for long periods of time. So we would all test and mask up and I would spend time with them. So, in retrospect I am seeing that my many husbandless pictures in New York, could look more like, "Look at me. I'm on a new, possibly single woman, adventure in life." I wasn't. I was buying things for apartments, treating to dinners and trying to keep everyone moving in the right direction after months of solitude and some low points walking past refrigerator trucks placed on the street for bodies. 

I was also experiencing New York in ways I never would have imagined. 

I was there in March 2020 , moving one college girl home and preparing to leave another one in the eye of the storm, and watched the city shut down over three days. On a Sunday night my girls and I walked to dinner with all restaurants still open, but spaced and people were nervous, on Monday I had a drink in the hotel bar while the bartender and I watched the news in silence, on Tuesday the girls and I ordered take out from one of the few open restaurants (no one was on the streets) and on Wednesday I tipped the bellhop huge as he helped me take up the contents of a dorm room to our room. He said, "Thank you. I usually make enough money on this day to support my family for the next few months." It was St. Patrick's Day. I was the only person in the hotel and the only person tipping him. That night I looked out my window surrounded by three 30 story hotels...I was the only room with a person.   

I would move her back in August 2020. The city was still shut down. I would find my self on the subway alone. I would walk through times square and it would be me and maybe two other people. Cab rides were quick and effortless, because there was no traffic. Food was take out or outside. New Yorkers were masked. Even outside and distanced from others, they were masked, They had been through it and they were not messing around. The true grit of the city and it's people was on display. I won't lie, there were moments to be enjoyed. I rode the Staten Island ferry alone. In years past it was a crowded shoving of hundreds of tourists and locals with limited seating. That August I rode it alone. I sat on an Adirondack chair at 30 Rockefeller Center drinking a beer purchased from a loan drink and food cart overlooking the empty shops and ice skating rink, I was alone. I visited Grand Central Station and walked by all the empty food stands as I looked for a bathroom. All closed. No desserts to be bought. Magnolia bakery was not up and running.

We spent Thanksgiving there that year. Everyone testing and retesting before flight, after flight. Everyone with their own room and bathroom, no shared spaces. Masked when we were indoors together. All family activities outside and Thanksgiving dinner was take out on the outside balcony of our hotel. 

I would return in January 2021, during a blizzard, with Covid numbers on the rise again. But, the girls had returned to the normalcy of work. Their swim lesson jobs had resumed so I found myself with time on my hands.  I bundled up and walked through Bryant Park. This time sitting to have a coffee and a few others would be there too. Small groups of people returning to life in the  city. I would walk to Macys and Nordstrom and have most of the store to myself. The Staten Island Ferry, despite the bitter cold, was not just me. I was there with others. New Yorkers were at restaurants, outside in the snow, casually eating as if it were not 10 degrees and snowing. A resilience I loved.

In May of 2021 I am back again. This time armed with a tennis racket for my down time. The city is different again. It is coming alive. And I realize I have come to be a part of it's life. There is no longer the rush to "see" New York in all it's tourist glory. That has been done. Now there is time to "live" New York in all it's regular glory. I head out one morning with my tennis racket to hit up a local tennis wall and get some practice in. It takes awhile. Finding tennis balls at Target doesn't happen, they are out. Finding a tennis wall takes awhile, they are crowded or there isn't one where I thought there was. I am a little discouraged and reminded that I am not the New Yorker I had fancied myself to be. But, finally after great perseverance I find a darling wall with flowers framing it in a darling park with children playing and even some discarded tennis balls on the ground for use. Shortly in to my play, an older man in a wheelchair scoots his way on to the perimeter of my court. While I hit balls he scoots his way around the entire perimeter. with the continued sounds of children playing I hit balls, careful with his each move not to hit him or disrupt his journey. 

Finally he settles himself in a shaded corner. I am high on life with the experience of playing tennis in the city I love and feeling a soft spot in my heart for this man who has worked so hard to make it to the park and enjoy the day quietly. As I hit balls I do notice he appears agitated in his process of settling in. Then I notice that his agitation seems to be becoming more pronounced. What if this man were to have a medical emergency? I tell myself I won't worry there are dads just steps away, I can yell out for help. I will monitor the situation and act when needed. It is wile monitoring the situation that I notice his agitation in "settling in" has a certain rhythm and  intensity to it and sounds have been added. It is also then that I realize I may actually be a bit of New Yorker in my decision not to be bothered by the "settling in." I do not stop hitting balls. It took forever to get here and get set up. I'm not leaving. We will share the space we both found with our own perseverance and determined need. I do stop monitoring and just focus on my tennis. 

Soon he is still and  and settled and remains so for the duration of my time there. When leaving  a dad enters with his kids on their bikes to ride on the concrete. He gives a head nod to the man in the corner. I realized there were still New York lessons to learn...my timing had been off. The dad knew what time to show up. 

The walk back to my hotel took me past Magnolia Bakery. I have it in my head to stop and get dessert for later that night. In my first trips to the city before pandemic, the Magnolia bakery drove me nuts. I am not great with lines and waiting. Magnolia Bakery is all lines and waiting. But the pandemic had provided us with lots of great cupcakes grabbed quickly and efficiently while out and about. As I near the bakery, I see it. The line. There is a long line winding around the building to get in to Magnolia Bakery. I smile. I am happy for the city I love. I walk past, sad for the loss of my convenient baked goods.

As I leave New York that trip I take a taxi to the airport. New York taxi drivers are their own breed. It's everything you see in the movies and more. I once witnessed a total taxi driver melt down over Trump after he first became president. No big political statement on the part of driver, just mad as hell about the traffic he brought with him. A combination of elated victors and angry protestors stalled the roads in the city for weeks. For two years it has been quiet and trafficless. Getting around town has been pandemic effortless. Taxi drivers are quiet. On this day in May 2021 there is a slight backup on one street as we leave my hotel. We are delayed for maybe five minutes (in a past life you can sit for 15 or 20 minutes at a time). It is the first delay of it's kind. At 30 seconds in the driver starts yelling and honking his horn and muttering under his breath about what idiots the other drivers are. And there you are, New York on it's way back.

It is May 2022. We are here for graduation. I took a red eye and fell asleep in the taxi on the way in. It was a two hour taxi ride. The subway is packed, standing room only often. I don't have Macy's or Nordstrom to my self anymore. We went to Broadway. 

I think of all times I listened to the doom and gloom from people about how New York would never rebound. It bounded. New York is thriving once again. It is a city I love. It holds my heart. When the mom asked if I had moved to New York, I should have answered, "Yes! Well, in my crazy mind I have for sure." But, I wasn't quick enough to be funny. It was my first social outing out after over a year. It had taken all my energy to put the outfit together. 

Welcome Back New York. I never doubted you for a minute!