The Empty of the Nest

Two years ago when my youngest left home, so many of my friends told me that I would not really like the empty nest syndrome.  I, of course, said that I had plans, and I would enjoy the peace and quiet.  That has been true to a certain extent, but there are the grandsons filling up the space and the quiet, and most of the things I had planned have not come to be.

The empty of the nest is sometimes echoingly empty.  I realize that I raised my three kids to leave home. It's the process of life. Being home wasn't always a fun place to be, and having me for a mom was always just a little bit on the crazy side.  I admit it, they will tell you it, and so it is.  There are times though, when the empty is a cavern that seems too huge to fill.

My oldest, Sarah, is 1476.75 miles from home.  If I were to drive to her house, Mapquest tells me that it would take me 22 hours and 11 minutes. In other words, it's a long drive.  I go there often, in my mind.  I think of what it would be like to visit her, to eat at the restaurant where she works, to see her new home, to meet Sean's parents, and all her friends.  I've yet to make the actual trip, but I visit often in my hopes, and dreams, and schemes.  She thinks I will never come to visit her, but she is wrong.

Sarah's room was a work of art.  She drew on her walls, and even though it was hard to do, I eventually painted over all that work, and teenage emotion, and turned her room into a guest room.  It's a guest room, but it's still Sarah's room.  It's an empty part of the nest.

Julia lives just about nine miles from me, but there are times when it seems like she is a thousand miles from home as well.  Her dad will often say, "She could at least stop in, and she could bring Greyson with her. It's a long time from Friday to Friday."  Some of Julie's things are still here, but her room is empty of Julie, and is an empty part of the nest.  I have plans to make that room into another guest room, and to paint it something other than shades of green.  No matter the color, or that it's another guest room, it's still Julie's room.

Jacob lives 257.81 miles from home, and though he is much closer than Sarah, there are times it seems he is so much farther.  Boys just don't call as often, don't share as much of their lives, operate on a need to know basis, and there is so much a mom does not need to know.  In his room there are many echoes of Jacob.  The hole in the wall, the scuffed up wall from his easy chair, that rubbed across the wall while he swiveled it back and forth while playing his Xbox 360.  I stand in there at times, and I hear his sister yelling at him to turn down the stereo, or to stop thunking the golf club on the floor.  I think I hear him lumbering down the hall, and am disappointed when it's not him, just my imagination.  I have plans for his room too.  Plans that involve wall repair, and paint, but no matter the repairs, of the color involved, it's still Jacob's room, and a part of the emptiness of the nest.

As August approaches, and school begins, I think of the parents who will be sending their little ones to kindergarten, and remember the tears, all mine, not theirs, as I left them there at school.  School, that new world of adventure, and learning, and growing!  I think of the parents who will have children, who think they are grownups, entering into middle school.  I think of the parents with children in high school and remember thinking, I'm almost done.  Then I think of the college kids, who are adults, but still kids.  Ah what a journey.

From that first moment of conception, to the last of the apron string being snipped, it's a journey filled with joy, with sorrow, with aches and pains, the tooth fairy that forgot to show up, the agony of early school mornings, the broken hearts, drivers ed, finals, dances, homecomings, prom, cell phones, forgetting to call home, curfews, moving out, moving on, and so much more.  It's a house that becomes a home filled with memories, some good, some bad, some awesome, and with all that, it remains the place called home, though empty of little ones that filled the nest, it's still home.

Goodbye, Sadie Girl

Some goodbyes are just painful, very painful.  Even when you know it's best, and the suffering will end, it's still painful.  It's painful, and I'm a wuss.  The day has come that we must take our faithful old dog, Sadie to be put to sleep.  She's 14 years old, she's in pain, she's deaf, and it's so hard to see her suffer.

She was the cutest, fuzziest little puppy.  She was a good mama to her litters, and I always marveled that such a pretty dog as she was, could produce such a hilarious offspring as one little pup whom we named Blue.  

Sadie was gentle, yet fiercely protective of us.  No one got near the kids if Sadie thought they were being a threat.  She was a regular Houdini of an escape artist.  Countless times we would come home to find her outside the fence and enjoying her freedom.  She was as fast as a race dog when she saw us coming, and she was through the fence, and in the pen, sitting there looking so innocent.

She could hear us coming down the road, and if she was in the fence, she met us at the gate.  Now she can't hear when we go outside, and as she lays there by the back door, she won't even budge until she sees us.  Then she struggles to get up, and she cries in pain.  She no longer barks, because her world is quiet.  

Goodbye, Sadie girl.  You've been a great dog.  You loved us unconditionally, even when we were unworthy of your love.

Life's Moments

I enjoy watching and listening to young mother's these days.  It takes me back to when my three were little, and I was struggling to cope with all that life was throwing at me.  There were moments, and sometimes even days, when I thought none of us would survive.  I watch these young moms and I know that they will make it, but sometimes they just aren't too sure.

Today I was cleaning out a drawer in the filing cabinet, and I came across my youngest child's graduation cards, and a few keepsakes from school.  Among the treasures was a paper he had to write for one of his classes. I think it might have been his senior speech. He wrote of memories from kindergarten through his senior year.  How much he enjoyed his friends, and some funny things that had happened through the years, but the ending is what touched my heart, and made me cry.  It's also what made me think of all the young moms that I know.  It's so worth it to survive the childhood encounters with your children.  They do hear what you are saying to them.  They are watching you and learning from you, and they do appreciate you.

Here is how he finished up the paper:

My parents are the people who have shown me how to best live in this world, and I thank them for everything they have given me.  The one thing I am the most thankful for is the laughter they brought into my life.  I couldn't imagine going through life without a sense of humor.  My mom's stories about my life, and her own have taught me how to be humble, even though sometimes I forget.  My dad taught me how to be a man, and I hope that I can grow to be every bit the man that he is, and has shown me to be.  My parents are the greatest influence in my life, and that is what I am most grateful for.

Now it is only fair I mention my sisters, and all the ways they have made my life interesting.  I love both of them, and I am glad that they were always there for me.  Julie was there for the deep talks, and Sarah was always pushing me to try new things.  Now I hope to return the favor to Julie, by being the best uncle to her soon to be born son, Greyson.

It's moments in life like this that make you feel like it was worth it after all. So go change one more diaper, clean up one more spilled drink, put the toys away, and then take the time to snuggle, to laugh, and to enjoy, because sooner than you think, those little ones will be grown and gone from home.

Don't Bring a Snake in the House

Don't pick up snakes, don't tell me about snakes,don't show me pictures of snakes, don't bring snakes into the house.  NO SNAKES ALLOWED!

Those were the strict instructions at our house, still are.  Did my kids listen?  HA!  Julie and Jacob abided by the rules, but Sarah struggled with them.  So guess who brought a snake into the house?  I think it should be genetically correct that all girls fear snakes.

We once lived next door to an older couple who adopted our three kids as their grandkids.  Now that was really nice, at least it was at times.  There were those times when Jeff gave them ideas that were less than favorable to their parents.  But the snake and Sarah were all Wilma's idea.  Unbelievable as that might seem, it was all Wilma's idea, and she enjoyed the outcome of her idea a lot more than I did for sure.  She found the snake, gave it to Sarah, and said, "Go show this to your mom."

One fine summer day, the three kids were next door at Jeff and Wilma's.  I made use of the free time, and was sitting in the bathroom taking care of business, when in walked Sarah.  And with Sarah, came a snake.  A SNAKE!  A snake in her hands, and there I am on the pot.

Where to go!  What to do!  How will I get past the snake without touching it?  How will I manage to exit the bathroom without killing Sarah, without touching the snake, and leaving all the walls and doors intact?  All of these thoughts are running frantically through my mind, while my mouth is open, and I'm screaming a blood curdling scream.  Plus, it's kind of hard to run with clothes around your ankles.

Sarah has realized this might not be a good idea to bring a snake to mom after all, especially in such a confined space.  In reaction to my reaction, she feels compelled to tell me that it's just a plastic snake.  To stress the point, she is waving it at me, and saying...it's plastic...it's plastic.  Well guess what, the snake might be plastic, but I'm already spastic.

Once I realize the snake is plastic, and my brain manages to calm down my spastic body, I recover my ability to speak without screaming, I tell her to take the snake and herself out of the bathroom.  Wilma is in her yard laughing hysterically, because she heard me screaming even with all the house around me.

Sarah and I both survived, the plastic snake went into the garbage, and I tried to laugh about it all.  The rules are still the same.  NO SNAKES ALLOWED, of any kind!

Interesting: That Would Be Life

I think life is very interesting.  There is not a day goes by that there is not something that I find interesting.  People, the mainstay of life, are the most interesting beings.  I love to observe them, to think about their actions, beliefs, listen to their hopes, share their dreams, laugh at their antics, enjoy the humans in the race of life.

The other night I went out to the side yard to take a picture of the sunset.  My neighbor was out in his yard, so we had a little chat.  It's so interesting what you find out about people when you take the time to listen.  It's also a learning experience.  You learn about them, and you learn about yourself in your reactions to their experiences.

I'm thankful for my three kids, for more than one reason, but especially for what they have taught me about acceptance, and looking beyond the surface.  Granted, I am often a slow learner, and I have to be reminded, but I think I've made some progress.  Often when we take the time to stop, to listen, to observe, our first impression of someone will change, and we will be softer and more generous in our care for them.

Let's Go Fly a Kite

Let's go fly a kite, up to the highest height.....and so the song goes from one of my favorite movies, Mary Poppins.  Oh to have a carpet bag like she had.  Such possibilities came out of that bag.

I was an almost Mary Poppins sort of mom.  Sometimes though, I was George Eubanks, and stifled the kid's imagination, not because I wanted to, but because I got caught up in the cares of life, and forgot how fun it is to be a kid.  I lost patience with them, and made up rules for the moment, and lost my temper, and so on.  There were other times though, the good times, the times when I thought playing in the mud was just the thing, or digging a hole, maybe even digging a hole to China was a good plan.  There were the times when I made ramps for bikes, and tents for camping, and drove a van that could morph into a "heckacockter", or a motorcycle, or an airplane....fasten your seatbelts ladies and gentlemen, we have been cleared for take off.  Those were the times I almost had a carpet bag full of possibilities.

I have another opportunity to have a carpet bag.  I can be open to the possibilities for fun with Greyson and Aidyn.  I can slow down, I can get down on the floor with them and play, I can take them for a flight in the minivan/airplane.  I can have water fights with them, I can play in the mud, I can help them find bugs, and slugs, and snails.  Well maybe not the snails. Can't think if I've seen a snail here lately.  I can teach them the snake dance, and the jumping lizard/skink jump.  I can be a fun and loving grammy, and I can enjoy the moments of their childhood, and be thankful they love me.

Don't call me tomorrow.  I will be playing in the mud with Greyson, and we might just make up a mess of mud pies!  Don't look up in the sky for me.  I won't be floating with my umbrella, holding onto my carpet bag.  I will on the ground....in the mud....with my bud!

Writings from the Kids

Today as I was dusting, I stopped to read Sarah and Jacob's senior speeches from their FFA banquet.  They read them to us at their banquets, and then gave them to us on a plaque.

Sarah's from May 2007:

Mom and Dad, Thanks for the crazy moments.  You made life interesting. Mom, I suppose it turned out okay that you don't know how to be boring.  It provided tolerance.  If there's anything to be said about our life, there was never a dull moment.  The things learned at the dinner table have been enlightening.  I suppose I love you.  Dad, it's been a rough road, but we've made it, and  we're all still together in spite of ourselves.  Sometimes it didn't look so good for us, but I think we got through the worst of it.  I love you.

Four years later, we heard from Jacob, May 2011:

Mom and Dad, I want to thank you guys for all that you have done for me. Mom, for all the times you brought me to school at ridiculous hours of the morning.  Also, for all the times you were there with one of your stories that just makes everything just a little bit funnier.  Dad, thanks for everything you've taught me, whether it be for Ag Mech, or just life.  You have been an amazing role model, and I hope that I can become as good a man as you have shown, and taught me to be.  I love you both.  Thank you,

Jacob Bittner

In answer to a poem I wrote about me, Julie's answer was this:

SHE

She wanted to be 
a child someone would love.

Instead she was just her.

She wanted to be a daughter
her mother would love.

Instead she was just her.

She wanted to be a beautiful woman
a man would love.

Instead she was more than any man could ever deserve.

She wanted to be a mother
that her children would love.

Instead they loved her more than life.

She wanted to be a friend
another could cherish.

Instead she went above and beyond for her friends.

She wanted to be a singer
a voice clear and true.

Instead she sings to me.

She wanted to be an artist
beauty she would capture.

Instead she inspired her daughter.

She wanted to be 
and so she was.

She was just beautiful, amazing, talented, and best of all she is my mother.

Julia

I love my three kids, and they have enriched my life in many ways.  When I read over these writings, I remember t times that they referenced to, and yes, we had some rough patches, and yes, there were times things looked bleak, but we all pulled together, and we made it through.  Sometimes people ask the question:  If you had it to do over again, would you?  If you could do things over, what would you change?

I would do it all over again, but what I would change, if I had the opportunity and the wisdom, would be the way I reacted to some things, and I would certainly be more loving and kind.  I would like to say I would be more patient and less sarcastic, but really, saying I would be more loving and kind is really stretching it.  To say I would be more patient and less sarcastic is like saying I could change copper to gold.  I would just be me, for what's it's worth, and hopefully be me better than I was the first time around.

There are many things I should have taught my children.  Missed opportunities that I can't get back.  I feel strongly that they know Paul and I love them.  They always knew they were loved.  Today while reading these things the three of them wrote, I feel loved by them, and I'm thankful for the written reminder of a strong family, and that I am a part of each of them, as they are a part of Paul and I.