It’s the saga of the Empty-Nester. How can it be? Summer comes to an end and we are sending our almost-all-grown-up kids off into their next big adventure – college! Can you believe it? Where did their senior year go? How do you wrap your mind around this?
I couldn’t be more proud of my two daughters going off to college. They are everything to me. I have been so busy this past year working and helping them through the chaos of high school’s senior year, the reality of an empty nest hasn’t sunk in. It was kind of a blur. We slogged through studying for SATs, SAT tests, water polo tournaments, Homecomings, finals, drivers’ education, driving practice with me (absolute terror…!), driving tests, college applications, visiting colleges, college admissions, senior projects, college decisions, proms, end of year events, graduations, parties, prepping for college, buying a gazillion things for their schools, traveling to their campuses and forms, and finally, saying goodbye. Oh my!
But suddenly, my heart is gripped with a strange melancholy. Where there was once noise and happy chaos in my home, silence reigns. This is going to take some getting used to…. My babies have flown, my nest is empty. I send them off with endless love and support. I’m extremely proud to watch them soar. And now, I reinvent myself in this world. We are all three off on new journeys of exploration. Amazing.
…
1, 2, buckle your shoe! Floods of memories, floods of tears. Rapid-fire memories: baby being born, 1st sight of baby, baby being placed into my arms, loving this baby, eyes opening, dark blue eyes. The wonder at the first glimpse of this world.
First first first: First school, first grade, first time to buckle that shoe! 3, 4, shut the door! Those slamming doors! So much noise. Can’t get away from it. 5,6, pick up sticks! They start to learn skills. They start to become little people, not just babies.
7,8 lay them straight! But what if they don’t lay them straight? What if they lay them crooked? What if they lay them sideways? Thinking differently and different ways of thinking and it’s all okay. It’s okay, it’s okay, It’s okay. We’ll figure out a path. We’ll find a new school. We’ll get through this together. And we do! If we’re lucky, we stumble upon a school or even a single teacher that understands our children and how they learn.
9,10, do it over again! And again, and again, and again. However many times it takes until those kids become experts. And they do and they learn, and we learn too! And suddenly, suddenly, they’re out the door. Out the door and flying the nest!
But where does that leave us? At home with the nest – a nest that oddly seems smaller and rather dingy around the edges. And that strange, unsettled feeling like we’re forgetting something. Where did those children go? Where did those big eyes go? The sticky little fingers, those adorable wee toes – gone gone gone! Where did childhood go? How did it unfold so quickly? Just when we were getting the hang of it, it has come to an end and they’re off on their next adventure. And so are we!
9, 10 do it over again! And we do it over again and again and again, and we step into the next chapter of our lives – empty nesters watching our children move into their future. 9, 10, do it over again! Eventually, there will be grandchildren, and we may fall onto this circular journey of life once more, but in a different capacity. 9, 10, do it over again.
I would do it over and over and over again – even though it was so much work and heartache and pain. Even though! There was also loads of love and laughter. Don’t forget that. How lucky we all are. 9, 10, do it over again…. Yes.
Tag: fertility
Mother’s Day 2024
Mother’s Day is here again and with it come sweet memories of new arrivals, sleepless nights, and watching your little ones grow up and move out into the world. Motherhood is the toughest job you’ll ever love.
I remember when the adoption of my eldest daughter came through and I was finally going to be a mom after many years of heartache. I went to church that morning and the priest asked the mothers in the congregation to come forward to receive a flower, celebrating their important role in society. I quietly sat back in my pew, watching almost every woman in the church walk down the aisle to receive their blossoms. It didn’t occur to me to join them. My then-husband prodded me and said, “Hey, you’re a mom! You need to get a flower.”
At that moment, it dawned on me that yes, indeed, I was a mother. The reality hit me with a resounding thud. Through the endless official documents and interviews and too much time waiting, the idea that one day a child would call me ‘Mommy’ had not sunk in. But our daughter was on her way. Soon, I would hold our newborn infant in my arms and breathe her sweet baby essence.
A baby. My baby. My daughter was arriving through the magic of adoption. I found it tremendously challenging to shrug off the lingering sense of being a fraud as I cautiously navigated my way down the center aisle of the church, feeling I could get called out at any time for being an interloper. “Hey lady, where’s your kid? Sit down – you’re not a mom!” But I knew in my heart I was. I took a deep breath and gratefully accepted my pink carnation from the priest.
After a few weeks and a very long flight to the other side of the globe, all my dreams would come true. And they did. In wild ways I never expected! Days before my adopted child was born, I found out I was also pregnant with a surprise baby. True story! And what a surprise she was. After years of fruitless fertility treatment, this child appeared out of nowhere to take her rightful place in our lives next to her beloved sister.
My two young daughters instantly became the apples of my eye. Life is exhausting and chaotic with one new baby in the house, much less, two. But it was a labor of love – I had the children of whom I dreamed – children that were never supposed to exist. When you’re told you’ll never have a family – but the universe throws a miraculous curve ball at you – it’s hard not to gape in wonder. I literally felt thankful every day. I was doing all the mundane things I never thought I would do – singing lullabies, warming bottles, changing diapers. Nothing exciting but everything I wanted in life. I was at last a mom. Eventually those little girls began calling me “Mommy”. I cried the first time it tumbled off their lips. But just like that, I was Mommy! So much magic, so many blessings, so much love.
My neighbor, Susan, stopped me on the street one day and brazenly asked me what kind of drugs I was taking. What was she talking about? Susan explained, “Listen, I know you have two babies in your house, and you’re sleep deprived and miserable, yet I see you walking up and down the street every day with that heavy double stroller and you’re glowing! You must be on something to smooth over the bumps, right?” I was at a loss for words. How could I begin to explain that I’d found wonder and purpose in my daughters’ eyes? I shrugged, gave Susan a smile, and kept on walking. If she didn’t understand now, she never would.
‘Mother’. Often the moniker is taken for granted, but never by those who have struggled for it. You earn the title of ‘Mother’ and when you work hard for something, you appreciate it more. It’s a fact. I have never gotten over my good fortune in becoming mother to my brilliant daughters. They make me proud every day.
Mother’s Day holds a special place in my heart. On this day, I remember the sad, dark years when I was swept into the chaos of fertility treatment and despair – and I whisper a prayer of thanks to the universe. When my children appeared in my life, the slate was wiped clean, and the crushing pain evaporated as though it had never existed. Being mother to my vibrant and hilarious daughters hasn’t been easy, but it’s been wonderful, filling my life with laughter. I can honestly say motherhood has made me a better person – stronger, more compassionate, more loving. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this beautiful, rambling journey.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms and grandma’s out there, and to anyone who assumes the demanding and rewarding role of mother in a child’s life. You matter. And you make the world a better place. Have a fabulous day!
The Chipped Bowl
In Western cultures, we tend to value perfection. When something breaks, we throw it away and buy a new one. Value is placed on that which is flawless. It is quite the opposite in the East. According to Wikipedia, the Japanese word, Kintsugi, refers to a broken item, such as a chipped porcelain bowl, which has been meticulously repaired with gold or silver thread, highlighting its imperfection, and in that way, celebrating the unique quality of the bowl. The chipped bowl becomes even more precious to the holder because of its flaw. I find that both lovely and remarkable.
We always look forward to the annual gathering of our families at the holidays. We idealize that time together and imagine it will be carefree and loving, like the warm and wonderful scenes in a Christmas movie, everything merry and bright. The reality is often not quite that. How did Thanksgiving go for you? What is it about a large meal with extended family that brings out the worst in people? It could be the combination of rich food, alcohol, and conflicting views on sports teams? Maybe.
All efforts to maintain civil behavior seem to fade into the bountiful slices of pumpkin pie and melt away with the vanilla ice cream. There’s always the family member (or two) who drinks too much and gets messy. In my family, the dinner conversation would somehow always turn to politics during dessert. Of course, no one agreed, and before long, fireworks seemed to explode over the table. We children would look at each other with something akin to terror. Please God. Not politics. But, there was no stopping it. Like clockwork, all the kids would rise and silently start clearing the table. Better to wash dishes than listen to grownups argue.
The adults never said a word to us, or maybe they didn’t even notice we’d left. When the table was finally clean, and the dishes were sparkling, it was time to go home. Goodbyes were sprinkled all around and hugs were exchanged as we hurried to our cars, clutching our boxes of tasty leftovers from the feast. Everyone breathed a unified sigh of relief as we drove away into the night. Thanksgiving dinner – check! Moving on.
Erma Bombeck once said, “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a little emotional scarring.” It’s the deep truth in the words that makes them funny. To her credit, the illustrious Ms. Bombeck also said, “There are friends, there is family, and then there are friends that become family.” I kind of love that. For me, it is my friends who make the world go round.
Families. Holidays. Arguments. Stress. People wax poetic on the importance of family, but sadly, family life too often is less than idyllic. Every year we send and receive holidays cards with photos of our families looking happy and successful. It’s easy to believe that these lovely families don’t have a worry in the world – indeed, once more, all merry and bright. But, the truth is hidden behind the smiles. Family can be precious and beautiful but also jealous and unkind. Your siblings are supposed to be your best friends but what if they are not? People move away from home and put thousands of miles between themselves and family for a reason. Just because someone is related to you doesn’t mean you like them. Or have anything in common with them. It makes sense that these annual gatherings are often fraught with tension.
The blood link is considered strong, but families that can actually live and play together peacefully through the years have a unique gift. It is the exception, rather than the rule. The rest of us must do the best we can. The modern world has created families through marriage, divorce, blended families, and adoption. Many of us have made our own families from a ragtag group of misfits who simply fit together – like missing puzzle pieces, reunited at last. The people in our lives should love us for our imperfections, not in spite of them. Like the beautiful, chipped bowl, repaired with golden thread. Kintsugi. Perfectly imperfect. During this holiday season, remember to be grateful for the people we call ‘family’ in our lives. Not the ones we are supposed to love, maybe, but the ones we do love. Like the chipped bowl. Perfect.
Happy Holidays to you and yours.
Homecoming
As I assist my beautiful teenage daughters to get ready for their Homecoming dance – the dresses, the shoes, the hair, the makeup – I remember far too well my own Homecomings at my own high school many years ago. Home coming. Coming home. A rite of passage for Americans, as old and young, we gather back at our childhood schools and reminisce. I was so very young, as are they. So very young, indeed, yet trying on womanhood for size and seeing how it feels. Watching these young ladies, my daughters, slightly gawky, slightly insecure, terribly beautiful, and now very tall, stepping out all dressed up makes me feel proud, yet wistful. I can’t help but wonder where the little children who populated the last two decades of my life have gone.
A child is someone who passes through your life and disappears into an adult. We watch it happen and cannot believe it is so. Sometimes I feel sad and miss the funny little souls that they were. Even slightly panicked, as though I’d misplaced those children somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention. Look away and you’ve missed their childhood. When you’re in the thick of it, the days feel long, and it feels as though life will always be like this. The routine will never vary. You’re in it for life. They will be young forever. But that’s just a mirage in the mind of a sleep-deprived mother. Because they do grow up whether you are a dutiful mom or not. There’s not stopping the swift passage of time.
As we roll forward into thoughts of college and the next step in the lives of my kids, I miss the mommy that I was and the simple life we had – playing at the park, eating ice cream, napping, taking long walks with the double stroller, somehow managing to get them both back into their car seats, folding up all 40 pounds of that stroller, and tossing it into the back of the faithful minivan. Spending time learning and laughing together.
I fondly remember nighttime prayers and endless choruses of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” That particular song was slow and gentle and soothed them into a deep sleep. I only remembered a few verses but would sing them over and over again until either they fell asleep, or I did. I wondered if the lyrics might scare them but of course they heard the song the way a child might, in words that make sense to them. “Swing Low, Sweet Cherry Eyes…” “Cherry Eyes.” That’s what my daughter thought I was saying. No rhyme or reason needed. So funny and dear. It was simply the soothing quality of my voice that they craved at the end of the day.
A year and a half away from high school graduation, and I am feeling grateful for the times we had. That I succeeded in raising them alone though I had no idea what I was doing. Never did find an effective handbook with all the Motherhood How-To’s. Grateful that their addict father didn’t damage them irreparably along the way. I was always there to pick up the pieces and be the responsible parent they needed. Grateful that they love me and that we all love each other as they’ve grown up. A lot of families are not so fortunate. Grateful every time I hear them say, “I love you, Mom,” even as they are running out the door. Grateful that I represent safety to them. Grateful for the dear children I thought I would never have.
I still don’t know how to do this motherhood thing and have surely made thousands of mistakes. But I am still here, and I have my daughters’ hands gripped in my own. One child for each hand. And as such, we will travel through the rest of my days until they take the lead and I fade into beloved memory, many years from now. Though we live in a society that fears old age, I welcome each day and every day I can spend with these two souls. My daughters. As they travel through life, I am their guide. How did all this happen? Who knows? Life is ever mysterious and beautiful.
Holding Out for Dawn
By Elizabeth Kate
We recently celebrated Valentine’s Day – a holiday so often fraught with unnecessary pressures and stress. I try to avoid the anxiety and focus on the love, because isn’t that what it’s all about? I think so. I took a moment to write loving valentines not to a significant other, but to my children. Why? Because I adore these kids.
I spent many years of my life struggling to get pregnant and failing miserably. Trying to adopt and hitting a wall. It seemed I was destined to live life without ever playing the coveted role of ‘mother’ until my life transformed, and I became mommy to not one but TWO gorgeous baby girls. Miracles abounded.
Mommy. Such a magical word. One I thought I’d never hear whispered to me with sticky peanut butter and jelly kisses. But my dearest wish came true, and I was unceremoniously thrust into the world of parenthood. I welcomed it with open arms and have enjoyed every day of this crazy ride – the good and the bad – because the journey is one I never thought I’d take. The babies were children I thought would never be mine. So, I embraced the sleepless nights and all the madness that came with it.
I got divorced along the way and fought to keep my head above water during that more-than-two-year ordeal. My life has been colored by proximity to people struggling with addictions. Thankfully, I don’t mean my daughters. Dealing with addicts is never easy and through the years, the challenges have come at me fast and furious. But I survived.
We survive because there is no other choice. We survive because we must, because there are people depending upon us. We survive because this is our life, and we won’t get a second chance. The trick, however, is to not just survive, but to thrive. To find joy in the little things and not let yourself sink into self-pity. Because tomorrow is another day, and they say the night is always darkest just before dawn. I’m holding out for dawn.
The beautiful constant in my life has always been my love for my daughters, who are now 16, by the way. We’ll call them ‘Serena’ and ‘Alexandra’. It’s hard to imagine that I’m the mother to teenagers with all the crises and angst and sheer goofiness that comes with adolescence. But I am. And I love it, though our road together road is pitted with potholes and certainly never easy.
My girls and I like to watch old episodes of ‘The Gilmore Girls’ and laugh at Lorelai and Rory’s follies because so many of them echo our own. I’m mom to my daughters, first and foremost, but I’m also their friend and confidante. How lucky is that? And while I try to be a ‘cool mom’, sometimes I’m woefully uncool and wonder how we will ever make it through the drama of the day. But we do. Every time.
Someone once told me that if you don’t know how to pray or don’t have time to pray to God or to the Universe or to whatever you believe, it is enough to just say ‘Thank you.’ That resonates with me. ‘Thank you.’ So easy. I try to step through a life paved with gratitude, because there really is so much beauty – if only you would take the time to see it.
Thank you for reading this.
~ Elizabeth
Musings of a Super Mom 