Flying

The summer just flew by!  So many of us are thinking, if not saying that right now.  Friends who teach in Columbia county, Georgia are back at school today for pre-planning.  Other teacher friends will return next week.  Back to school sales have been happening since July 4.

Perhaps your summer has been and continues to be filled with cookouts, lake trips, and pool time.  You have attended weddings and family reunions.  Maybe time has flown this summer because someone you love is ill or friends have been in dire straits.  Home improvements, jobs, swimming lessons, and summer camps may have filled up your calendar.  Whatever the case, maybe you are like me - just now looking up and thinking "What? It can't be July 31."

When a writer takes a three month hiatus, you might think it is to go on retreat or participate in a workshop.  My unintended break ended up to be to:

 1.  Watch my middle son graduate
 2.  Travel to Italy and Austria
 3.  Resign my job in Georgia
 4.  Pack my house
 5.  Move to Iowa
 6.  Unpack into a new house
 7.  Start a new job
 8. Begin navigating a new town

In a sense, this has been both a retreat and a workshop.  I felt overwhelmed at times by the emotions of packing up fourteen years of life and love.  Saying goodbye to friends to move somewhere new is astonishingly difficult even in the digital age.

No one means to let time fly past, but it does.  Most of us talk about seizing the day, being mindful, making the most of every minute.  And we try.  And sometimes we succeed.

You may be like me - experiencing a big change over the course of a season.  Your season may not be shifting for a while.  Maybe the impending start of school dictates adjustments in your routine.

No matter when life shifts and changes, I am reminded of something I used to say to incoming freshmen:  "Remember that this is not a means to an end.  You don't do high school to get into college to go to grad school to get a good job to make money so that you can retire and grow old and die."

It really is the journey.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Today is the second to last weekend before Christmas. I don’t want to go out.  Stores will be packed; roads will be jammed.  As we all know:  Christmas is a commercial holiday – at least in part.  And, time is at a premium during this season.  We need time to shop, to bake, to decorate, to buy presents, to wrap presents, to plan, to send cards, to cook, to entertain, to be entertained; if you are a student, you also need time to study and take exams.  If you are a teacher, you are writing and grading said exams.  To all of the seasonal madness, you must not forget the laundry, grocery shopping, pet care, bathroom cleaning – whew – what are you supposed to do?  Where is all this time supposed to come from?

Middle son didn’t mean to, but he reminded me in the past few weeks.

Right after Thanksgiving, we went on a college visit from Georgia to Pennsylvania.  A twelve hour trip if you don’t stop for a Coke or the toilet.  Three days: one up, one there, one back.  On the way back, I mentioned that I had some friends in Virginia.  Son looked at me and said, “Well?  Let’s stop and visit them.”  I hemmed and hawed – I didn’t want to intrude on them; it was two hours off our intended path; they might be busy; we needed to get home. The whole thing came to this:

            Son: “When did you last see them?”

            Me: “1990.”

            Son: “Well, it’s time, don’t you think?”

These friends did not only want to see us, but they prepared lunch for us.  We hugged, talked, shared stories, and youngest son even got a piano lesson with a professional musician.  It took a few extra miles and one hour to bridge 23 years. 

It often seems easier to just click “like” on Face Book or post a meme that says something like “Share this if you love your family and friends at Christmas.”  This is especially true if one is introverted and likes home more than out.  (That’s me.)  Son unwittingly reminded me that face-to-face is better than Face Book. 

Like others I know, I often leave things until the last minute. After missing a family birthday some years ago, my mom said to me, “You know, Laura, birthdays and Christmas…they are on the same days every year.  You could plan ahead.”  I try.  But, I leave things until the second to last minute.

When one is rushed, it is easy to go through the holiday parties and gift wrapping robotically.  When that happens, we can end up feeling empty, tired, and frustrated.  When we feel badly, we don’t enjoy the holidays as we would like.  We don’t take the detour to see our friends.  Instead, we find ourselves saying, “Well, let’s go so we can get this over with,” about our holiday gatherings. 

Often admist our holiday rushings we hear and heartily agree with reminders to slow down and enjoy the season.  But we don’t do it.  Too much to do – too little time.  But, what amount of time to bridge a friendship?  To connect with colleagues over Jenga and wine?  To have cookies and watch “Charlie Brown Christmas” with our kids?  To reconnect over sandwiches and music?  The best gifts are those we make ourselves.  Make some time.

‘Tis the season.

Killing Time

See what is happening?  As I hung up the phone at 4:10, that is exactly what happened on my office wall clock.  Time fast-forwarded for exactly 24 hours and the clock was then "reset."  I didn't make this happen; I looked up and it was spinning.  I have two witnesses lest any of you think I was drinking or hallucinating on the job.

My youngest announced, as only a burgeoning middle-school nerd can, that it was a paradox.  "You know, Mom, when The Doctor crosses his own timeline."  Right.  "And, anyway Mom, you know time isn't linear." Right.

Well, son, time feels pretty linear on  many days.  Many parents at my school will say in awe and with a little bit of regret that they can't believe their child is in whatever grade he is in.  My stock response for them is, "Isn't amazing how young people age but we stay the same?"  This remark is usually met with a polite chuckle.  But, really, what can you say?  How about: "I can't believe it either, and with every year, we are all a year closer to the grave."  Doesn't seem quite the right response, does it?   Perhaps, "Well, children grow and mature and we get old and die and they take our place."  A little grim again.  We all have days when we feel older than we are. Hopefully, those are outweighed by days that we feel younger or just right.

I have always had trouble remembering how old my friends are.  I may know their birthdays, their life stories, their most intimate secrets - I can remember all of those, but age?  Who cares?  I don't pay attention to that. If you have ever told me your age, chances are you are still that age in my book.  If I've never known your age, chances are good I will put you right around my age.  When I was a little girl, I once knew that my grandmother was 57.  She is still fifty-seven, a full two decades after her death. My mom is fifty-five, and no, it doesn't matter that I'm 46.  Of course, I can do the math and figure out people's chronologies; I'm not that dense.  Time does pass, and people do age.  I just don't keep track of it very well.  A blessing or a curse? I'm not sure. Just this morning I was asked when I met my dear friend, Kathy.  In Mr. Drish's physical science class in 9th grade - when I was fourteen.  Whoa.  Kathy and I have been friends for...um...thirty-two years?  How is that possible?  I don't feel old enough to have known someone for that long.  The thing is, there is truth in my son's statement.

When I was in the classroom full-time I did read alouds to my classes.  Nearly every day started with a couple of pages from a book that took most all of the semester to read.  One of my favorites to read aloud was Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom.  The chapters were just right to kick off a class, and often Morrie's ideas paralleled discussions that we were having in class.  One of those ideas was that although we are all a certain age at any given moment, we are also all of the ages we have been up to that point.

That's a great lesson for teens who often feel the fun of their childhood has slipped away and what they have to look forward to is years of slaving.  It's okay to not be mature all the time.  Go play in the yard; ride a bike; fly a kite; make mud pies.  It's an even greater lesson for mortgage-paying-car-repairing-child-rearing-supper-making adults. You have all of the ages you have already been inside of you.  Time passed isn't lost; it is stored within us.

On Unessentials and Parenting

It might be time for me to tap out.  Mainly because, well, I’m tapped out. 

“I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I would give my life for my children; but I wouldn’t give myself.  I can’t make it more clear…”  With these words, Kate Chopin’s Edna in The Awakening articulates my approach to motherhood.  And, it is precisely this attitude a led a now ex-husband to tell my then fourth-grader that, “Your mama should’ve never had children.”  I never believed that becoming a mother meant I had to give up my interests or my brains, and the men I married seemed to feel that I should have done so.  I know women who have given up their identities and time and friends and sexuality and preferences - almost everything - in order to mother their offspring.  I have not.  I have adjusted some activities and interests over the years to accommodate children, but I have not abdicated myself in order to parent.

About eight years ago I met a man who was on the verge of getting married.  He and his wonderful wife have become good friends over the course of the years.  When I met them, my children were 4, 10, and 12.  I was home.  A lot.  I liked being home and making suppers and watching cartoons and going to the playground.  They liked going out and having a drink (or three) and hanging out until late at night.  Now, the roles are reversed.  My children have grown and theirs have been born.  They have a kindergartener, a preschooler, and an infant.  They like staying home and making suppers and watching cartoons and going to the playground.  I would like to go out and have a drink (or three) and stay up sort of late.  It is an interesting reversal.  I like them particularly because I am reminded of the happinesses of young children, but  my house has the happinesses of  [mostly] young adults and teens.

Here’s the thing:  if you did the word problem above, you have figured out that my children are 20, 18, and 12 now.  I am past the fun of picking out tonight’s healthful supper or the weekend’s playground activity.  After working all day, I don’t mind coming home, having a piece of cheese, a cracker and a grape.  All well and good, but not for a twelve year-old.  So, I am still forced to ponder “what to have for supper.”  And, the fact of the matter is: I don’t care anymore.  I have aged out of being the mom who plans supper, does laundry for everyone, or checks all your homework. 

I don’t care because I have spent nearly 21 years earning the money for, buying and making or procuring healthful dinners, packing lunches, arranging play dates, checking homework, brokering friendships, doing laundry, having meaningful conversations after school, tucking into bed, saying prayers, shuttling to soccer practice. I am inordinately happy that my youngest son (just started middle school) does not bring home weekly artwork or requests for empty milk jugs for a class project.  I’m kind of tired of being a mom for those who need such things.

I am, however, totally on board to be the mom who gives relationship advice, college major guidance, suggestions on where to find good car insurance, and acceptance to friends and lovers of all different persuasions.  I’m not happy that I have to hound middle school son to get his homework done, but I’d rather do that than be required to attend one more birthday party for Dr. Seuss at son’s elementary school. I am also totally happy to be a support to my friends with younger children.  I love them; I love their children.  And then, I can go home and my kids aren’t that young.  And I love that.  I just don’t want to be the responsible mom anymore.  Eat crackers and squeeze cheese and Gatorade for supper – I don’t want to care.  But, I still do.  It feels like a weight.

This past year on spring break, all the boys were gone.  I was alone.  I was sad for about half an hour.  And then I wrote.  I painted my bedroom.  I forgot to eat meals.  I played with the dogs.  I watched too much “Sex in the City.”  I forgot to eat again and had chocolate milk instead.  I was at home.  I was okay.  Not blissfully happy – who is?  Not depressed and lamenting the days when they were really young and really needy – was that really fun? But, I was okay.  I only had to do my laundry. 

I am totally happy with a weekend filled with books, a little yard work, and some poetry.  My twelve year-old would like to do things. Kid things.  Twelve is a hard age.  You’re a kid but you’re not.  You want to be left alone but you don’t.  Furthermore, eighteen year-olds still need to eat.  And study.  And sleep.  And eat.  And study.  And sleep.  So, I still feel the responsibility of having a house that has supper every night and pancakes on the weekends.  But, I am really not “feeling it,” as they say. 

This is not to suggest that I don’t want to do things with them.  I can get excited to go for laser tag with several middle school boys - once in a while. Middle son likes to eat out and go to movies; that’s fine.  Eldest is at college, so he’s out of the picture for most of the year.  When he comes home, he likes to eat and talk.  Okay.  I absolutely love hanging out with them, doing different things.  Just, please, dear god, do not make me decide what’s for supper or pack a lunch or do load of laundry or agree to babysit the class gerbil over the holidays.

So, the facts are:  middle son goes to college next year.  Eldest son is doing his thing.  But, youngest son and I have a solid seven more years together.  I need to find a way to spend time with my youngest that is meaningful for him (and for me.)  Perhaps we should take up a hobby together?  Karate?  Birding?  Dog training?  Painting?  But, the thing is:  he loves Dr. Who and Minecraft.  I love poetry and wine.  We will definitely need to meet in the middle. 

I am completely invested in where middle son goes to college – it’s a job requirement (I’m the college counselor at his school) and I’m his mom.  Another personal statement?  Sure.  How about a little anatomy quizzing?  Okay.   A rant about the ineffectiveness of student government?  Um, son, have you read the news this week?

I like talking to eldest son about his most recent incarnation of the college experience. If someone can come up with more ideas and not fully execute them, I would like to know who it is.  But, if you want a great sandwich a little debate on Middle Eastern politics and a really wonderful smile, may I suggest a visit to the Iowa City Which Wich?

If the dinosaurs and little green army men and Barney episodes of yesteryear weren’t really my thing, being a parent to older children is my thing.  My boys talk to me about many things, and I am not shocked or offended.  I am not a mom who is looking forward to all her children being gone, but I’m also not dreading it.  I have a lot to do, a lot that I want to do.  None of it involves growing old or being on parent boards at my kids’ colleges or planning weddings or waiting for grandchildren to materialize.

So, how does it all end?  It doesn’t.  It goes on – with different incarnations for different people.  It’s all a function of time, isn’t it?  As human beings we adjust gradually to different life circumstances.  If we don’t we will be miserable and lonely no matter what stage our children are in. Still, I’m tapping out of the young-parent stage and moving quite happily into the more-of-my-children-are-adults-than-not stage.  I really don’t care what anyone eats for supper, and everyone can do his own laundry.  I’m going to read and have a glass of wine.  Then, we can see about some laser tag and a movie.