girl to woman

My daughter Katie moved out over the weekend. She completed college and is figuring out what's next. This feels different than any other send-off. Exciting, yet so final. She's the last, my only daughter. She had my heart ...


The nest begins to empty when she goes off to kindergarten. With each passing year and outgrown pair of jeans, a mother dreads the inevitable. Then when a daughter is 14 and 15, an empty nest can't come soon enough. Her wonky hormones propel her across a tightrope between girlhood and womanhood. And then, bit by imperceptible bit, a graceful and mature 18-year-old emerges. The day a daughter leaves for college, she leaves her four favorite stuffed animals on a neatly-made bed, mimicking a childhood left behind.

Those four college years were over in an instant. Like bookends pushed closely together, the day we first moved her in and the day we moved her out seemed just inches apart.

Katie settled in her old room for the summer and worked on her photography. We shared the upstairs: she worked at her computer and I wrote at my desk across the hall. She'd laugh at something and share with me; I'd ask for computer help. We watched movies and ate buckets of popcorn. But as summer stretched to autumn, we knew the time was coming. Her time.

She is much like me. In that I understand her introspective ways,
I want her to taste the messy frenzy of life. To not shy away from it, to speak her quiet wisdom.

In that she is an artist, creator and dreamer like me,

I want her to harness every creative fiber and weave it into a fabulous tapestry.

Before the rigors of adulthood anchor her to one place,

I want her to take wing and discover where God would have her.

Katie knows my sadness, a burden that spilled over in sudden tears at the mall last week.

In the food court, over a chicken sandwich!

Learning how to be a mom was hard.

Letting go of being a mom seems harder.

We're both in a new season:

a daughter making her way in the world,

a mother seeking new purpose and passions,

and finding contentment with husband and home.

Do well, Katie. Be strong. Love others, serve God!

I admire who you are. I love you.

She is clothed with strength and dignity;

she can laugh at the days to come.

Proverbs 31:25

full

"Feeling so full of love and gratefulness after a sweet two days."

 ~ quote borrowed from Donna Boucher - a photographer/blogger I follow.

When my kids were around 13 to 19, they let me know they were

smarter and cooler than me. No yelling at mom: not allowed.

But subtle things got the message across:

don't walk, talk, laugh or eat with me in public

don't dress too old - or too young

don't kiss me when you drop me off at school

and for heaven's sake,

don't touch me!

But then our kids jumped from the nest and began living real life:

paying bills, buying a car, feeding themselves and doing taxes.
Then mom and dad are suddenly smarter!
We spent the last two days with David, our oldest.
When he's working, I'm still not allowed to hug him or ask him to pose for a photo. Awkward. But otherwise, he seemed totally comfortable hanging out, eating, laughing, talking, and walking down the street with me.

It was a full and sweet time and I am grateful.
Grateful he loves his career.
Grateful to laugh together.
Grateful that a grown son seemed to enjoy being with us.
Grateful I no longer have any 14-year-olds!
Grateful for a full heart.



 

why are you whispering?

Once in awhile, hubby and I sneak away to catch a matinee, which we did this week. Movie choice: Soul Surfer - the true story of Bethany Hamilton, the 13-year-old in Hawaii who lost an arm to a hungry shark. Love, loved it. Take your spouse, kids or just yourself and go see it!

Well obviously, matinee showings aren't filled ... so when we were the first to take our seats ten minutes early, we figured only a few more would trickle in.

Trailers start. No one.
Concession ads. Still no one else.
The movie begins and Bill whispers, "we might really be the only ones here!"
"Why are you whispering?" I whisper back.

So no other mid-week, mid-day movie-goers ever came. There we sat, with our choice of 300 seats, all alone with a huge tub of popcorn. Weird but fun.

Go see Soul Surfer!

the measure of love

With Valentine's Day coming up, I thought I'd write a few posts on love ...

Though our three sons have been gone for some time now, through marriage and/or jobs elsewhere, it seems I'm only now sensing a true empty nest. I became a mother over 27 years ago, and that role doesn't leave as they pack up their rooms.

Letting go isn't so neat and tidy. In the ten years since our oldest left for college, call me slow, but I think I've only been rehearsing for the empty nest. These years, I've decided, don't really count.

Anyway, it's cool how God delivers the tiniest message of reassurance that He understands. This week I received a card in the mail in which the sender referred to one of my children. It ended with, "you did good." Just three little words that serve as a powerful reminder that most of my job as mother is over.

Too, those words encourage me that the sacrifice, sweat, tears and broken bones (I once broke my arm for one of my kids) of motherhood have ended well. Not perfectly, but well. And accomplished by the wisdom and grace of almighty God who loaned me my four children for a time.

The fact is, I can't sit on my mom emotions as I would a bulging suitcase, hoping to snap it shut. My overwhelming feelings pop out in my thoughts, words and actions from time to time. As Elisabeth Elliot so aptly put it, "emotions are the most unreliable things in the world."

So. I let go not because I want to or feel like it or hope to feel good about it. I do it as a matter of the will. We raised these children as best we could and now release them, like it or not. I hope that someday, as my kids release their own children, they will know the measure of their love by how hard it is to let go.

They may have packed up their rooms, but I'm finding it harder to pack up my heart.

rambling

The empty nesters are on a ramble. Taking in some beautiful scenery in the Blue Ridge mountains ... as well as relaxing and catching up with each other over some delicious food. Have a look ...

Somewhere I have a photo very similar to this one, taken on Clingman's Dome in the Smoky Mountains, over 30 years ago. I'll have to find it ...

I've arrived

Hubby and I are planning a date night tomorrow, so I checked the movie listings.

me: "The Blind Side" is playing here in town, so let's go tomorrow, then go to dinner.

him: Sounds good!

me: The matinee is $4, unless you're 55 or over, then it's $4 for all shows.

him: So, the most it'll cost us is $8.

me: No, $10, because I'd be $6 and you'd be $4.

him: No .... you just turned 55, so you'd be $4 too.

me: Oh.

[See, there are perks to being a senior citizen living in a small town!]

the roadies, part 2 (Florida's east coast)

We traversed Florida on Saturday, with David at the wheel. These were more familiar stomping grounds, since we lived on the east coast of Florida as newlyweds...and brand-new parents.


The House of Refuge was exactly that at one time: a place of refuge for those who encountered storms at sea or other crises in Florida's earlier, wilder days.

I plan on applying for a job here at the House of Refuge...I think someone is needed to guard the porch.


These dudes look cool, but they were dripping in the 95-degree heat.

Bill and I first ate at John G's in 1978 and it remains one of our favorite restaurants. Ashamedly, I report that we ate there three times in 24 hours this trip!


Please don't leave this earth before eating an Hawaiian omelette at John G's on the beach in Lake Worth, Florida...

... and the cinnamon-nut french toast comes in a close second.

This trip held some nostalgia ... David was born at Good Samaritan hospital in West Palm Beach, so we included it in stops from our past ...














1983 ... a first trip to the Lake Worth beach. And now ... 2009 ... David and I standing at the same spot almost exactly 26 years later.
















I imagine that anyone passing by wondered about this insane pose, taken at Good Samaritan Hospital. For the record, it was David's spontaneous idea... he dubbed the pose "born again." Hilarious!

And so ended the belated birthday road trip with David. It confirmed a truth I learned long ago when we had a passle of children underfoot: spending time with one child is a rare treat. Totally different. Totally fun. And totally worth it.

Thanks, David!

the roadies, part 1 (Florida's west coast)

I don't know many twenty-somethings who would road-trip with his parents. We went to Florida for six days and our oldest son David took us on a road trip extraordinaire. We beached. We ate local Cuban food. Picnicked on the beach. Found cool local breakfast spots. Explored the Saturday market in downtown St. Petersburg. Traipsed the Trop!

We then crossed the state to the ocean side to check in with old friends. And ate some more. And drank in the spectacular Atlantic Ocean.

Best of all, we spent several days with our first-born, a treasured time of laughter, eating out and sharing our hearts. In fact, the first night there we spent in a waterfront restaurant in St. Petersburg, talking for two hours. When raising our kids, I never realized how cool it would be to know them as adults.

I shot a whole bunch of photos, and now ... I present them to you.



Soon after arriving, we ate dinner at the waterfront in St. Petersburg. A perfect evening for catching up with David.


Late-night ice cream!

Thursday: off to Fort DeSoto and the beach. The heat index topped 100 degrees, but we persevered!





Birds at the beach ... so peaceful!

David took us to the Banyan on Friday ... a cool little breakfast spot... then on to The Trop (Tropicana Field) for a first-class tour of his workplace.




David and I in the Rays dugout.

The boys check out work down on the field.

David's perch during games: the press box.


We stopped by a gigantic bookstore.


On Saturday, we explored an open-air market in St. Petersburg. We nicknamed it the Hippy Market. Just before leaving, we met two women holding these little guys: Australian Sugar Gliders. They're marsupials, in the kangaroo family. Yep, the brown female had a little pouch. Very cute, but too rodent-like for me.

Tomorrow, part 2, the East coast ...

killing time and eating ice cream

Our Sunday bike ride began without a camera. I immediately bemoaned the situation with each bend in the road. We drove for nearly an hour to reach a rail-to-trail we'd never before ridden.

Bill said, "ok, state your case, then forget it."

So I'd say, "oh, that would make a great you-know-what. I wish I had my you-know-what." And we laughed.

We planned to bike Butler to Bellville, Ohio: a ten-mile round trip. There was reported to be an ice cream shop right beside the trail in Bellville. A good thing!

Ohio is blessed with a growing number of rail-to-trail bike paths. I love to ride them and imagine the people of years gone by who rode the trains of these same routes. Winding through farmland, along streams and through small towns, the trails are peaceful and scenic.

Nearly four miles out, I glanced at Bill's rear tire. Hmmmm. Looking low. In fact, looking nearly flat.

"Uh, your tire looks low," I called.
"It does?"

"Really low." Sometimes a wife treads carefully in matters of mechanics. I figured he'd KNOW if it was flat, and I needn't point it out to him.

"You might want to check it," I called.

And so he did. It was indeed flat, and two rounds of pumping didn't fix it. We walked/rode on to Bellville, parking by the 100-year-old train station and found the ice cream shop.

The Buckeye Blitz waffle cone was out of this world, and worth pushing a bike with a flat. And well worth dripping chocolate on my white shirt, too.

Even though three other bikers offered to repair the tire, we decided to have Bill ride back to Butler on my bike, get the car and come fetch me.

In a life accustomed to clock-watching and rushing around, my 45- minute wait seemed long. The sun was hot, my water getting warm.

Then. I relaxed on a bench. I watched all manner of bikers come and go. Families. Retirees. Serious bikers in training. Slow, leisurely bikers. All enjoying a Sunday afternoon through the Ohio countryside.

One family stopped near me for a break.
"We'll be having dinner soon; he shouldn't have ice cream," the mother said of her son.
"Oh, who cares; let him have ice cream," answered the dad.

I thought, yeah, let him eat ice cream. It's Sunday and lots of calories are being burned on that bike. Let the kid eat Buckeye Blitz as it drips down his arms onto his t-shirt. He'll remember this day for a long time.

But then, I would have said the same thing as a young mom. Always so serious about nutrition and stuff.

Soon Bill showed up with the van.

And my short 45 minutes were up.

detours

It's that time of year again...kids off to college. This is our ninth year: it's become an annual pilgrimage. Today we took our youngest, Katie, to college in Indiana.

In Indiana is grown lots



and lots




and lots



of corn.



We encountered detour signs, giving a little twist to our familiar route. No matter. We laughed and enjoyed the ride.



Finally we pulled in to the amazing little town of Upland. And unloading commenced.



Squeals and hugs erupted. I'm pretty sure this only goes on in the girls' dorms. Katie was ECSTATIC to be back.

And I thought. The day was much like raising kids. Just when you think you're on the right road, a detour appears. Adjust the course. Roll down the windows, sing and laugh ... but too soon the journey's over and it's time to let go.

We can try to hold on to our chicks for all we're worth, but soon we're unloading them into a box of a room where they're happy as clams.

And then

the day quiets



and

the sun fades on our years of parenting.

walking the line ... making choices

Soggy sleepy bags, sweatshirts and boxers. Soggy towels. Lots of them. And now, a soggy spirit.

I've tried two or three times to write a post on my son Mark's wedding over the weekend. Nothing comes out quite right. So I'll start over.

Thursday night it rained on the bachelor camp-out. (see last post) Friday night our washer overflowed. (that might be the next post) I ended up with a mountain of wet towels, which my neighbor washed and dried on Saturday morning, the day of the wedding.

I'm pretty much a frustrated photographer without a camera, so the photos I did take are in the camera with the honeymooning couple. Very disheartening; if I can't see some photos pretty soon, I might wither away.

The wedding was glorious, the reception fun and festive. But as the groom's mother, and I say this with some authority since it's my second time around, I find myself on an emotional yo-yo. One moment I'm needed and wanted. The next moment, I may as well get lost, for all the help I provide. That's good, right? Then why doesn't it feel so good? See what I mean?

They need us, then they don't. Not unlike toddler days when a 3-year-old walks a tenuous line between dependence and independence. Our job is to figure out when to help out and when to let go. We walk the line, too.

Look at the tiny photo above ... it sort of represents my jumbled-up emotions right now. It's a beautiful, yet low-resolution photo of the newlyweds, taken off a friend's facebook page.

Mark and Jill's life together is just beginning, but I am standing way, way back. The memories are fresh and sweet but the biggest part of my job seems to be coming to a close.

It's really ok. I will remember the words of Elisabeth Elliot: emotions are so unreliable. Elliot also said, "Life requires countless 'little' deaths - occasions when we are given the chance to say no to self and yes to God." (Passion and Purity, page 73.)

That's what it comes down to: will I wallow in sentiment (all about me) or rejoice in Mark and Jill's happiness? (all about them)

Decision: I will focus on the blessing of gaining a new daughter and witnessing a new family being born!

B & B open for business

Somewhere between giving birth and her kids' high school graduation, a mother morphs into an innkeeper. At least it happened to me.

As soon as they have a semester of college under their belts, my kids become houseguests of a sort. I've no idea why this is so, and I blame only myself.

How quickly I forgot that B.C. (before college) I cared little about laundry in the hall, newspapers in the kitchen, rotten apples in the fridge or water spots on the bathroom mirror. In fact, I often barked at my offspring to pick up, clean up, and get up. (Typical nocturnal teenagers, you know.)

Now I scurry around, vacuuming, wiping and straightening as if our house is on the market.

Clean sheets, check.
Clean towels in the bathroom, check.
Laundry folded, check.
Cookies baked, check.
Stairs clear of clutter and dog hair, check.
Front porch swept, check.
And worst of all: their bedrooms tidy, check. That is messed up. When did that become MY job?

So it's that time again. The college kids arriving home for summer. Here come their boxes, crates, laptops, printers, speakers, uneaten snacks, laundry, coathangers and loads of papers and books. All of it is dirty, smelly, and/or wrinkled.

I'm trying my darnedest to get back to being mom rather than hostess, but I'm having a very hard time.

Mammoth detour

Bill and I spent the last three days visiting my dad and love-mom in Nashville, Tennessee: a quick trip wedged between responsibilities at home and the summer arrival of college kids.

Since Bill had bypassed Mammoth Cave in Kentucky throughout his life, I insisted we pull off so I could give him a taste.

I call Mammoth a "backwoods National Park." While it is a piece of our national parks system, it is on a smaller and less grander scale than say Yellowstone, Glacier or the Great Smoky Mountains. Tucked in the woods of central Kentucky, its unassuming above-ground facility belies the majesty of what lies beneath.

Its history goes back 200 years, when the cave system was explored by enslaved locals who mined saltpeter for gunpowder used in the war of 1812. Over time, nearly 400 miles of caverns were surveyed and opened for the world to enjoy. The most extensive cave system on earth, geologists think there could be 600 miles of yet undiscovered passageways.

Five years ago I accompanied a dozen Girl Scouts to Mammoth for three days of hiking and exploring. Our four-hour cave hike was three hours too long for my daughter Katie, who lost everything in her stomach as she hiked. Be aware: there is a real malady that afflicts a few people who descend into caves: something like a claustrophobia/motion sickness combo. Very unpleasant.

Anyway, the Mammoth folks generously offer a 'teaser' view of the caverns for free. It's called the "historic entrance," just down the hill from the visitor center. We hiked to the enormous opening and passed a waterfall, walking about 50 yards into the cave and were stopped by a barrier. A stiff wind raced out of the cavern and blew over us, a good 25 degrees colder than the outside air.

The history and sheer grandeur of the Mammoth Caves is not to be missed in a lifetime. Go see it!

feeding the birds

It's 63 degrees at 1 p.m. and I just grilled some boneless chicken that had been languishing in marinade for two days in the fridge. Bill was getting really concerned about that chicken and when it might get grilled. He kept updating me on imminent rain today.

The reason the chicken sat so long goes back to Monday's M-TV-E (major TV event.) We're still getting used to our freedom to go shopping and out to dinner on a moment's notice. In fact, we waste many opportunities to do so simply because we're still shedding 25 years of responsible behavior: diapers, feedings, naps, scout meetings, orthodontist appointments, baseball and soccer games. Somewhere in our psyches lingers the nagging thought that there's something to hold us back from impetuous outings.

So. After the M-TV-E, we used a gift card at The Cheesecake Factory for a scrumptious meal. Those folks really put out the food. So much, in fact, that we had a second dinner out of it. Thus, the poor chicken was still waiting.

So I grilled today, at lunchtime so as to miss the imminent rain. The chicken will make a fabulous salad tonight, along with the potato salad I made two days ago. Amazing how little food it takes to sustain us.

The empty nest. It's turned our eating habits bird-like.

outta here...again

On Sunday we moved Katie to college. Funny, when she spent her first semester in Ireland, it didn't feel like sending her off to college. This does.

Moving in a college freshman is usually associated with a scorching August day, making a Wal-mart run for a fan all while wearing a t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. Not this time around.

Since Katie spent her first semester in Ireland with just 2 suitcases, her big move took place on January 4. Cold. Biting wind. Drizzle.

Also different was the "reunion atmosphere." Instead of not knowing a soul on campus, Katie has two dozen friends from her months in Ireland.

Is it easier to send off the last one? Yeah, but this mom's heart is still a little sad. My head says "be happy for what's to come" but my heart says, "where'd the years go?"

Really, though. The "empty nest" isn't quite yet. I think that happens when they all finally finish college and/or get married and move out on their own. For now, we're in the "yo-yo years." We get into a nice little routine of cleaner kitchen counters and bathrooms ... and suddenly they're back for Christmas or - really drastic - summer break. And leave again.

I'll say one thing. Being a mom is never stagnant. Kids blow from one life stage to the next and either you run like mad to keep up or get left behind, wondering where they went.

But at some point, we must let them run while we find contentment in a job well-done. I'm just learning how to do it.