Posts Tagged ‘empty nest’
Cindy on March 10th, 2010
A shaky child on a bicycle for the first time needs both support and freedom. The realization that this is what the child will always need can hit hard.” ~Sloan Wilson
Note: This essay was published earlier this year (“A New Season of Parenting”) in Metro Parent magazine. It was written especially for friends whose children will be starting college this fall…
It’s going to be a roller coaster year for a friend whose youngest child will graduate from high school in May, then head out of state to college in August. My friend is already working through some conflicting emotions. She gets a little teary at the thought of one less place setting at the family dinner table, yet she’s thrilled about the prospect of a keeping neater house (and gaining a spare bedroom) in the fall.
My son’s last year in high school was a bittersweet time for me, too. Like Janus, the ancient Roman god of gateways, beginnings, and endings, I found myself looking forward and backward as my son closed the door on high school and prepared for his new life at college.
When I wasn’t caught up in the May-June whirlwind of award banquets and graduation ceremonies, I spent a lot of time wondering where his childhood had flown. When no one else was looking, I’d search for it in a family album crammed with precious photos of birthday parties, Fourth of July bike parades, Cub Scout camps, Christmas mornings, and Halloween nights.
Around that time, it also hit me that one of the sweetest gifts of midlife is the maternal amnesia that blurs the other memories of infancy and childhood — the post-partum blues; the exploding diapers; the marathon temper tantrums. Not to mention those snarky adolescent insults. When our kids prepare to leave home for college, after all, we tend to focus on the Hallmark moments.
All of this reminiscing seems a bit maudlin to me now. But revisiting the highlights of my son’s childhood helped soothe my empty-nest blues. Pausing to savor and reflect on my early years of motherhood made it easier for me to move on. It also made me grateful for the privilege of raising a child — and grateful for the chance to spend time with so many terrific young people.
During the high school years, for example, our home was a favorite gathering place for my son’s friends, so I always stocked up on extra snacks and soft drinks. Looking in our refrigerator in those days, you wouldn’t have guessed that we were a small family of three. When I unloaded my grocery cart in the checkout line, clerks would often ask if I was feeding a very large family or hosting a party. I always answered yes to both questions.
And since my “extended family” left for college when my son did, my feelings of loss encompassed more than one child.
Taking flight, moving on
Grieving isn’t unusual in the early weeks of empty nesting. Raising children gives us a sense of mooring and purpose. That sense of mooring suddenly disappears when they move out – and getting used to a quieter household can be a huge adjustment. As essayist Marion Winik wrote, “Once you’re a mother you can never think something else is the most important thing.”
Still, few parents I know are comfortable with the term “empty nest.” An empty nest sounds pathetic and forlorn – adjectives that hardly fit the millions of accomplished women and men who are reinventing their lives after child-rearing.
“A word signifying a void or a vacuum is an unfair way to describe a time when life can be full of growth possibilities,” note Laura Kastner and Jennifer Wyatt in The Launching Years: Strategies for Parenting from Senior Year to College Life (Three Rivers Press). But even more important than finding a new catchphrase for the empty nest is shifting our focus to the fresh opportunities awaiting our kids on the other side of the threshold.
Our job, after all, is to help them learn how to leave us; to let go.
It’s also our job to get on with our own lives. Just as we hope our kids will thrive without our constant supervision, they need to believe we’ll be just fine, too. In the long run, helicopter parenting doesn’t do anyone any good.
So, even if your kids aren’t leaving home this year, it’s not too early to sign up for those ballet lessons you’ve postponed for ages. Or to rediscover the sport or the craft that kept you juiced up and inspired before your name was Mom. Pat yourself on the back for a job well done. A new season of parenting will unfold. – Cindy La Ferle
– Nest photo by Cindy La Ferle –
Cindy on January 5th, 2010
When my son was growing up, I wrote pieces for parenting magazines, including Detroit’s own MetroParent. Now that I’m an empty nester, I’ve naturally moved on to other topics. But I was honored last year when the managing editor of MetroParent invited me to submit an essay on preparing for a new season of parenthood — the empty nest. It’s fun to revisit a magazine that I often used as a resource when I was a younger mom. My piece now appears in the January 2010 issue, and readers in southeast Michigan can find the magazine at bookstores, libraries, and newsstands. – CL
Cindy on October 14th, 2009
You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it’s all right. ~Maya Angelou
When my son Nate first left home for college, I felt strangely out of place in my cleaner, quieter house. I wasn’t ready to call myself “an empty nester,” and my early coping strategy included listing all of his holiday breaks on our kitchen calendar. I looked forward to being Mom again — if only for a few days.
Two weeks before Nate returned home for fall break of his freshman year, I channeled June Cleaver and planned a few family meals. I stocked up on Nate’s favorite snacks. I reorganized my deadlines, freeing extra time to take him out for lunch. I retrieved the Halloween decorations earlier than usual, stringing rows of miniature pumpkin lights and autumn leaves across the mantel in our living room. My husband repaired the plaster damage from a roof leak in Nate’s bedroom, and then repainted it.
As soon as Nate walked in the side door, the epiphany struck: What the kid really needed was a low-key week. Stressed-out from exams, our son wasn’t expecting a Martha Stewart fanfare or nostalgic pot roast dinners. He’d been looking forward to sleeping in and simply hanging out with family and friends. He wanted home — in all it’s normal, chaotic splendor. In my efforts to turn his visit into a special event, I’d forgotten that Nate didn’t want to feel like a guest in his own house.
Realizing my error, I backed off and let the week unfurl without a plan.
In retrospect, the high points of that visit were the times we ran errands together. Driving to the dry cleaner, the grocery, and the drugstore, Nate and I chatted about his new classes, his friends in the dorm, and which Guster CD was the best. College had turned my snarky teenager into a thoughtful young man, and I found myself enjoying his company. At last, I felt ready to move on and enjoy this new phase of motherhood.
More than wrinkles and gray hair, our kids never fail to remind us of our own aging. Overnight, they morph from preschoolers in OshKosh overalls to college students in size 12 running shoes. Along with applauding their first steps toward independence, letting go requires that we come to terms with the fact that time won’t stand still for any of us. It’s a sobering thought — and ever more poignant when autumn rolls around.
Last week, I watched the neighborhood teens pose for homecoming photographs in their formalwear. Giddy with anticipation, the girls could barely stand still while a group of proud parents focused their cameras. The boys struggled to look comfortable in freshly pressed suits, not-so-secretly hoping that the photo opportunity would end quickly. Their youthful beauty took my breath away, and my heart ached a little.
It occurred to me then that my days of snapping photos of prom gowns and homecoming suits were over. And I wondered: Had I fully experienced those moments as they unfolded, or had I merely captured them in my camera lens to savor later? How often had I darted mindlessly from one major event or field trip to the next? In my efforts to make things memorable and special, what else had I overlooked? It finally hit me, as Carly Simon sang, that all we really own is the present moment; that these are the good old days.
It’s a worthy thought to ponder before the onset of the winter holidays — before we get tangled up in Christmas lists and decorating marathons and long lines at the malls.
In anticipation of Thanksgiving, I’m composing a little prayer of gratitude for the mundane and the uneventful. I’m counting my commonplace blessings: the bowl of McIntosh apples on the kitchen counter; the mischievous cat chasing the pens on my desk; a lazy morning with the Sunday paper; a hearty bean soup simmering in the slow cooker. This season I’ll practice coming home to the present, to the grace of ordinary days opening one at a time, like the paper windows on my Advent calendar. — Cindy La Ferle
Cindy on July 1st, 2009
“No one really knows how you must change. Not even you. Not until you start.” — David Viscott, Risking
Working on our new/old house in St. Joseph last week, I spent a lot of time thinking about change, restoration, and reinvention. Designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in 1957 — just a few years after I was born — the house (like me) needs a little updating. And so, nearly every week, my husband and I head west on the highway, then roll up our sleeves and go to work on the place. We patch roof leaks, polish cupboards, weed gardens, clean carpets, scrub rust stains from vintage bathtubs….
There’s a wonderful view of the St. Joseph River from the house, too, and I like to admire it when I take breaks from my chores. Watching the parade of boats on their pleasure trips, I thought about how my middle-aged friends and I are all in some phase of transition.
Many are journalists or automotive workers who’ve lost jobs or are facing major career detours. Some of us have just gotten used to the freedom of the empty nest, yet suddenly find ourselves caring for our elderly parents. A few are convinced that the river of change will lead us to new and exciting adventures, while others aren’t quite sure where to steer next.
But this much I know for certain: It’s hard to slow the current when our culture keeps urging us on to the next big thing; when we’re valued more for what we achieve than for who we are.
I’ve also discovered that renovating an old house is a lot easier than reinventing yourself (or your career) midstream. But as the poet Rilke advised, sometimes we need to pull back from our busyness and “live the questions.” And so, as the river tells me, I’ll let myself drift awhile, and simply take in the view.
Cindy La Ferle is author of Writing Home, an essay collection on home and family topics. She blogs weekly at Cindy La Ferle’s Home Office.
– Photo of the St. Joseph River, by Doug La Ferle –
Cindy on April 13th, 2009
There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another …. we find comfort somewhere.” – Jane Austen
Spring takes its own sweet time getting to Michigan. Azaleas and roses were in bloom during our visit to Pasadena earlier this month, but here in Royal Oak, our spring bulbs are just beginning to stir. (I’m reminded of teenagers who sleep in very late — long after everyone else has dressed and gone to work.)
Three years ago, we planted several plots of tulips and daffodils around the yard. Watching them open each spring is one of those corny simple pleasures I include on my gratitude list. Once they’re in full bloom, I witness their cheerful riot of Crayola red and yellow from my home office windows. At this point, though, there’s little to see but a few determined green leaves pushing through the soil. And one odd pink hyacinth.
I noticed the random hyacinth this morning after my son drove off to the airport to return to his assignment in Mexico. He’d spent Easter weekend with his dad and me, and we enjoyed our all-too-brief family visit. Ever since my son graduated from college last May, I’ve been floating in a liminal place where I’m learning how to be a long-distance mom while stretching my own wings. Like my son, I’m rediscovering where I fit in the world; where I’m needed most.
I didn’t plant that pink hyacinth — and have absolutely no idea how it found itself in the circle of daffodils at the base of our redbud tree. But I’m always open to new surprises. – Cindy La Ferle
Note: This essay was published earlier this year (“A New Season of Parenting”) in Metro Parent magazine. It was written especially for friends whose children will be starting college this fall…
