When my youngest daughter first left for college, my husband and I looked at each other and said, “What just happened here?” Empty Nest was unfamiliar territory for us. I dealt with it by developing a penchant for dry white wine and writing about middle-agedness and beyond.
I started a blog called Surviving Empty Nest, wrote a few posts and then promptly lost the log-in password. So I’ve decided to reprint them here in Just Humor Me so they don’t die a lonely death in cyber-space.
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Debut blog posts are difficult. I feel the need to introduce myself, but no one wants to read a long boring bio. So here are the relevant things you need to know if you’re going to follow my blog, Surviving Empty Nest:
I grew up in a small town in Ohio, where I was a nerd, became a journalist-with-a-heart, got married, had some kids, quit my job to be a stay-at-home mom, moved all over the country, drove a mini-van and had a wedge, became a band mom/track mom/soccer mom, spent Friday nights drinking wine and falling asleep in front of the TV and trying to outsnore my husband, started writing a blog, baked a lot, took a lot of photographs, wrote a book in vain, and became increasingly aware that someday my youngest would leave home and – – then what?
I was never the kind of mom whose life revolved around my kids. Even when my life revolved around my kids. Sure my days were filled with doing things with them and for them – from the lunches I packed minutes after my feet hit the floor after getting out of bed in the morning, to the taxi service I ran for them and every kid within a 3 mile radius, to the laundry I folded, to the gum I scraped off the bottom of their shoes. And my nights were no better: Instead of clubbing, my husband and I spent weekend nights at the Tinky Winky Super Grapes soccer team pizza party or the cross country banquet or the eighth grade awards night, none of which allowed alcohol. (The punishment for being caught with a spiked Pepsi was a two-year-term as vice president of the PTA.)
I gladly did all those things and enjoyed them. But when Empty Nest was lurking around the next corner, I started to hear a lot of people say, “Ooooh, what are you going to do when your daughter goes away to college?” “Ooooh, what are you going to do in that house all by yourself?” “Ooooh, you and your husband should take a nice trip to take your mind off of the extreme loneliness that you’ll feel when your BABIES HAVE LEFT YOU to pursue their own lives and drink keg beer.” “Ooooh, you guys should get a dog.”
Possibly the worst thing I’ve done as a parent – the least maternal thing – was that I did not fall apart, did not curl up into a fetal position, did not need meds over my kids growing up and leaving me to pursue my own new life, one without Gatorade, permission slips, well-child visits or Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. Sure, I was sad. Yes, I even cried a little bit, especially when looking at their baby pictures. And God knows I love them, almost too much maybe.
But I always knew I would be OK. Being the mom of young children is super cool. Always has been. I’m surprised there’s not more in the Bible about Mary’s adventures when Jesus was a toddler and in elementary school. It really rocks. But I was fine before I had kids and I’d be fine after they moved out.
It’s good to have a plan. So after considering my options (get a real job, get a master’s degree, move happy hour up to 11 a.m., clean out my closets once and for all, run for Congress) I decided to share my Empty Nest wisdom with others and write a book.
I’m not the most disciplined writer. So I’ll be posting sections and chapters here as a blog as I write. I know that means that the people who follow this blog regularly will have already read the entire book before it comes out. I never was good at the business side of this writing gig.
So I’m hoping you all will comment like crazy and add your experiences, which I can steal and add to my book. I’ll throw in a few day-to-day experiences, too, just to keep things interesting.
Welcome to Surviving Empty Nest and let’s get the survival started.
