This column is the latest in a series about parents’ children in their final years of high school, “Emptying the Nest.” Read the last installment, A Mother’s Basis for Trump, here in the Local
My third and youngest child left for college a week ago, and for the first time in 27 years, my husband and I are living in a house without children. It’s a quaint and quiet place, where all the beds are neatly made, the floor no longer mulched with clothes, charging cords, and snack wrappers. There are no once-frozen coffee drinks left in sweaty rings on the wooden tables; no empty Styrofoam takeout containers littering the kitchen counters just inches from the trash can.
Now one can freely walk around the family room without fear of tripping over abandoned shoes, socks studded with peanuts, butter-smeared dishes, and the days remain unencumbered by the enthusiastic repetition of overheard Tiktok memes and “moms, moms, moms” to indicate a passionate celebration or creis.
My daughter very graciously left me a walk-in closet full of dirty clothes and a closet that was essentially an archaeological site for months” (years”?) worth of her special method for tidying up her room. My discovery of the perfume (in a plastic bag that also contained her wrinkled prom dress) she had been desperately searching for when she was packing for college was sweet but short-lived. Yes, I told her to look in her closet, and yes, she rolled her eyes and swore she did, but it doesn’t matter now.
She’s gone, the last of the children who have been so much of my adult life, and I miss her truly, madly, deeply. The sight of her bright smile and “nothing’s wrong” grimace; the smell of her floral shampoo and funky basketball shoes; the sound of her singing in the shower and yelling at the dogs to get out of her bed.
These dogs, I hasten to point out, do their best to fill the void. Sensing that a workday no longer interrupted by my daughter’s frantic search for her shirt/purse/shoes is no workday at all, Harley has tucked her toys under my couch or chair and then whined to “find” them, while Koda has taken on the duties of teenage fetch—casually scolding herself and listening for attention and excitement as I fold my dress and run.
Yet I am helpless and ungrounded. The mad rush to get ready and pack for college is finally over, and in its place is… nothing. Well, of course, there is my job. But after 27 years of (often imperfectly) balancing work and motherhood, I feel like a professional juggler with one ball left. For the first time in a very long time, I am the sole owner of my day, responsible only for myself.
I can already see that this will be a problem.
Man ne tikai pietrūkst meitas par viņas pašas mīļo, laiku pa laikam satracinošo sevi, bet man pietrūkst struktūras, kuras viņa un viņas brāļi un māsas tika uzlikti manai dzīvei. Skolas grafiks, pēcskolas grafiks, nedēļas nogales sporta grafiks. Ārsta tikšanās, zobārsta tikšanās, matu griezumi un ēdienu gatavošana, rotaļlietas un gulēšana un braucieni uz rotaļu laukumu/zoodārzu/atrakciju parku/muzeju. Gulētiešanas, vakariņu laiki, mājas darbs; Negaidītas slimības, ievainojumu un ļoti slikto dienu naktsmītnes. Vecāki ir daudzas lietas, bet, kamēr jūsu bērni ir īsti bērni, tas ir pulkstenis un kalendārs.
Kas arī tagad vairs nav. Es joprojām esmu strādājoša māte, bet “mātes” daļa pēkšņi prasa daudz mazāk darba. Ja žonglēšana vairs nav nepieciešama, manam darbam vajadzētu būt daudz vieglākam. Un tomēr tā nav. Saskaroties ar cita veida dienu, es uzskatu, ka es cenšos atiestatīt. Un tāpēc es esmu izveidojis tukšu ligzdas/Darba dienas rezolūciju sarakstu. (Un, ja viņi izklausās aizdomīgi, piemēram, padoms, ko gadu gaitā esmu devis saviem bērniem, labi, es domāju, ka es sevi māte.)
- Popkorns un saldēts jogurts nav vakariņasApvidū Pēc trīs gadu desmitiem ilgas iepirkšanās un samērā veselīgu vakara maltīšu sagatavošanas es atzīstu, ka ar nepacietību gaidu pārtraukumu. Bet manas pēckoledžas nometnes “vakariņas” acīmredzami nav atbilde. Ēdiet dažus augļus un veggies debesu dēļ.
- Nolieciet tālruniApvidū Pārbaudot tekstus vai vajājot mana bērna Instagram, ir vienkārši skumji, un, iepazīstoties ar Facebook draugiem, arī bērni, kas aizkavē bērnus koledžā, ir tikai noveduši mani pie bezgalīgām video plūsmām. Protams, skatīties pierobežas kollijas darbā un “This Is 40” izlaišana ir ļoti jautra, bet vai ir vērts stundu no manas vienīgās dzīves? Numurs
- Turpiniet iestatīt trauksmiApvidū Man, iespējams, vairs nevajadzēs savlaicīgi augt un ģērbties, lai aizvestu vai redzētu savu kazlēnu uz skolu, bet šī trauksme manu dienu sāk jau piecas desmitgades.
- Piecelties, izstiepties un staigāt apkārtApvidū Neskatoties uz to, ka man ir darbs, es nekad nepievērsu lielu uzmanību visām šīm nepatīkamajām ergonomikas instrukcijām. Man bija bērni, kuri regulāri pieprasīja, lai es pārtrauktu savu darbu, lai pieceltos un izdarītu kaut ko citu (kam bieži bija nepieciešama faktiska skriešana). Tagad man nav. Tātad tas ir atkarīgs no manis.
- Dodieties ārā vismaz dažas reizes dienāApvidū Pat ar rotaļu laukuma dienām tālā pagātnē ir pārsteidzoši, cik bieži pusaudžu bērni prasa jūsu klātbūtni ārpusē – ja tikai trešo reizi nedēļā staigāt pa mērķa autostāvvietu vai pārbaudītu jūsu automašīnā ielikto bedri. Atrodiet veidu, kā pieskarties zālei, kas nav saistīta ar suņu kaudzes uzņemšanu.
- Keep track of the calendar in the area. I was sure that without so many child-related meetings/events, I could keep up with my husband’s and my schedules in my head. Three missed meetings later, it’s hard.
- Plan Things for the Weekends In the Area For years, our weekends were dominated by sporting events. Most recently, when the empty nest appeared, my husband and I kept them to ourselves, clearly, on the off chance that our daughter might want to do something with us. Now we are free to do those weekend things that we enjoyed as a couple — and I’m sure we’ll remember what they were like in time.
- Carrying Tissues Around I didn’t cry when I drove away from my daughter at her college in New York—I was frankly too tired from the move and too worried about the traffic around JFK Airport. But when I made my first trip to Ralphs a few days later and saw her favorite potato chips, I burst into tears. Right in the snack aisle.
- Bite the Tip of the Tongue When I was deep into life with young children, nothing brought me closer to the edge of insanity than an older mom telling me to “enrich these moments” because “time moves so fast.” “Not fast enough,” I thought grimly as I balanced a crying baby with an exploding diaper and a big baby with an exploding juice box. Now I’m that older mom who can’t believe how quickly time has flown by. But I’ll try to keep it to myself.
- Be patient in the area. When the last child leaves, it’s just as big a life change as when the first child arrives (albeit with less fussing and more sleep). Everything is different, and it will take time to adjust. And just when I’m getting used to my peaceful, quiet home, my daughter will be home for the holidays, leaving shoes and trash and dirty clothes everywhere. There’s no doubt that it’s going to drive me nuts. Right now, I can’t wait.
