It didn't hit me how happy I am until this morning when a mother came into the library with her screaming toddler. She struggled with him for a bit, then walked out carrying him, a large tote bag full of board books (none for herself), diaper bag dangling from one finger of the barely free hand holding the toddler while the other hand pushed his stroller.
"My youngest son moved out this past weekend," I announced to the librarian next to me. I couldn't conceal the smile on my face.
"Really? How do you feel about that? she asked, "Empty Nest? Not sad to see him go?"
"Not really."
Actually I'm elated. I know I'm supposed to be sad. Leaving him at the dorm last Friday I saw other mothers milling around with wet faces. Because my husband was in the throes of yet another Menieres attack I didn't have time for Kodak moments and tears of nostalgia. I thought maybe it would hit later, but it never did. The packing, loading and moving of heavy boxes-- plus the long drive home wore me out. We went straight to bed that night.
The next day was our 28th anniversary. I forgot. My husband said he had to go out for a bit then came back with 24 red roses. How had it slipped my mind? Later we went to eat at a quaint little cafe locally known for its comfort foods-- especially its soup and hand made baked goods. We ordered wine, clinked glasses and told each other the years had gone by too quickly, then ended our meal sharing a heavenly marion berry crunch desert still warm from the oven.
"I'd like to live in this town some day," he said. We have talked of moving there often. It's away from the crowds and traffic, but close enough to Seattle for an evening of opera or an afternoon baseball game. I pictured the two of us walking around that country town --maybe down to that very restaurant for brunch and coffee, then to the library. A nice thought.
Yesterday, he made breakfast before I got out of bed. Then he built a towel cabinet for our master bathroom while I spiffied up the house. The cabinet looked too bland against the cream colored walls, which reminded me of the paint I bought a couple months ago on sale--the color of beach sand. Someone else's mistake. My good fortune! I've been planning to paint my bathroom with it for awhile. Now I'll have the time! And that reminded me I needed to paint my son's bedroom too. Before I move all my stuff in there.
I've always wanted a place for my crafts. I've started so many over the years, then put them away because I didn't have enough room to spread out. There are my grandmother's quilting pieces I want to put together, beads for jewelry making, knitting needles, crochet hooks and tangled bundles of yarn, genealogy scrapbooks I started for family members and embroidery projects I never finished, not to mention my photo albums-- all disorganized.
Later, a friend and I got to talking about the situation with her boyfriend. We decided we needed to talk some more over cocktails soon. Then out of the blue she asked, "Hey! would you like to go do a corn maze in the dark?" Corn mazes are big around here. You can get lost in them. What fun!
Another friend has been pestering me to go jet-skiing on the next nice day we both have off work. She got a great deal on her jetskiis, and she's just itching to get out there on the lake before the weather gets too cold.
This morning when I showed up for work my boss asked, "We need someone to cover for ________. Death in the family. You want some extra hours?"
"Maybe," I said.
"What does your Tuesday look like?"
"I have ASL, but I'm free after that."
"How about Wednesday?"
"I have djembe lessons, but I could probably fit it around that if you're flexible."
"Thursday?"
"I belly-dance."
In late October I'm going to Mexico, and we're planning a trip to Europe soon. Very soon. . .No kids.
I haven't had this much freedom or fun in years. That's why it hit me this morning watching that mother with her toddler. It's the freedom from responsibility that feels so good. I only have to answer to myself now. For the past 25 years, I've had other commitments and responsibilities to other people-- little people who needed me-- constantly-- even up until this past weekend when we moved our son into his dorm. Now I'm feeling like a kid again myself. But with brains. And money. Two things I didn't have when young. OK-- and I'm a little bit out of shape now too. But I can fix that. Starting today I added "walking more" to my routine. Am I sad? Naw. My kids are grown, and I'm so proud of them! It's time to play!
"My youngest son moved out this past weekend," I announced to the librarian next to me. I couldn't conceal the smile on my face.
"Really? How do you feel about that? she asked, "Empty Nest? Not sad to see him go?"
"Not really."
Actually I'm elated. I know I'm supposed to be sad. Leaving him at the dorm last Friday I saw other mothers milling around with wet faces. Because my husband was in the throes of yet another Menieres attack I didn't have time for Kodak moments and tears of nostalgia. I thought maybe it would hit later, but it never did. The packing, loading and moving of heavy boxes-- plus the long drive home wore me out. We went straight to bed that night.
The next day was our 28th anniversary. I forgot. My husband said he had to go out for a bit then came back with 24 red roses. How had it slipped my mind? Later we went to eat at a quaint little cafe locally known for its comfort foods-- especially its soup and hand made baked goods. We ordered wine, clinked glasses and told each other the years had gone by too quickly, then ended our meal sharing a heavenly marion berry crunch desert still warm from the oven.
"I'd like to live in this town some day," he said. We have talked of moving there often. It's away from the crowds and traffic, but close enough to Seattle for an evening of opera or an afternoon baseball game. I pictured the two of us walking around that country town --maybe down to that very restaurant for brunch and coffee, then to the library. A nice thought.
Yesterday, he made breakfast before I got out of bed. Then he built a towel cabinet for our master bathroom while I spiffied up the house. The cabinet looked too bland against the cream colored walls, which reminded me of the paint I bought a couple months ago on sale--the color of beach sand. Someone else's mistake. My good fortune! I've been planning to paint my bathroom with it for awhile. Now I'll have the time! And that reminded me I needed to paint my son's bedroom too. Before I move all my stuff in there.
I've always wanted a place for my crafts. I've started so many over the years, then put them away because I didn't have enough room to spread out. There are my grandmother's quilting pieces I want to put together, beads for jewelry making, knitting needles, crochet hooks and tangled bundles of yarn, genealogy scrapbooks I started for family members and embroidery projects I never finished, not to mention my photo albums-- all disorganized.
Later, a friend and I got to talking about the situation with her boyfriend. We decided we needed to talk some more over cocktails soon. Then out of the blue she asked, "Hey! would you like to go do a corn maze in the dark?" Corn mazes are big around here. You can get lost in them. What fun!
Another friend has been pestering me to go jet-skiing on the next nice day we both have off work. She got a great deal on her jetskiis, and she's just itching to get out there on the lake before the weather gets too cold.
This morning when I showed up for work my boss asked, "We need someone to cover for ________. Death in the family. You want some extra hours?"
"Maybe," I said.
"What does your Tuesday look like?"
"I have ASL, but I'm free after that."
"How about Wednesday?"
"I have djembe lessons, but I could probably fit it around that if you're flexible."
"Thursday?"
"I belly-dance."
In late October I'm going to Mexico, and we're planning a trip to Europe soon. Very soon. . .No kids.
I haven't had this much freedom or fun in years. That's why it hit me this morning watching that mother with her toddler. It's the freedom from responsibility that feels so good. I only have to answer to myself now. For the past 25 years, I've had other commitments and responsibilities to other people-- little people who needed me-- constantly-- even up until this past weekend when we moved our son into his dorm. Now I'm feeling like a kid again myself. But with brains. And money. Two things I didn't have when young. OK-- and I'm a little bit out of shape now too. But I can fix that. Starting today I added "walking more" to my routine. Am I sad? Naw. My kids are grown, and I'm so proud of them! It's time to play!
6 comments:
I know I'll be feeling the same way in just a few more years when Super Hearing Boy leaves the nest. You and Hubby enjoy the peace, quiet, and sweet freedom!
Cindy
You're so lucky. I had that time, for about a year, right after I got married. No kids, had money and time. Then my dad died and my mom moved in, Alzheimers and all. Then my sis in law died and Daijha moved in. Life in toddlerland, from both ends of the spectrum. I hope you enjoy what you're having. I don't think that was meant to be, for me.
Kim, enjoy, enjoy!
You write it well.
I never had kids, but it sounds a little bit like I feel every summer when the school year's about to end.
Thanks Cindy. I love hearing about Super Hearing Boy and his super hearing. Seems so unfair the way they go around with ipods attached every waking moment.
Hi Linda,
My time might be temporary too. Lizzie has mentioned moving back home, and Tom's "temporary" stay might be a little more permanent, as he's looking to get another degree now. Though we're not parenting him since he's 25, he did put a little bit of a damper on our romantice evening the other night by coming home early. It feels like we're living with a roommate.
Daija is so cute. If I lived closer, I would help babysit. Often. And I'd take your mom too. I can handle old people.
Hi MJC-- I know you've always thought of your students as your kids. In some ways I think you have better insight as you see them in an environment where they act more themselves. I've always thought it would be fun to be invisible (and hearing) so I could spy on my kids in their classrooms to see how they behave in the real world. When I used to go to teacher conferences when they were young it seemed like the teacher was talking about a different person.
I love your teacher stories.
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