Preparing to Launch v. 2.0

I started writing this blog the summer before Jack's senior year in high school. Our firstborn was poised to leave the nest and suddenly I felt woefully unprepared for such a momentous occasion. Was he ready? Had we taught him enough? Would he remember any of it? Would he get into college? Which college? Will he succeed? Will he ever stop leaving half-full glasses of days-old-nasty-looking-liquids everywhere?

Turns out the answers were: yes, hopefully, most of it, YES, more than one, so far, and...no.

And, let's be honest. His launching wasn't nearly so traumatic as it might have been considering he took a great big running start, leaped into the unknown, aaand landed 2 miles from home. He is currently living at home again as we speak.

So...perhaps I should have dialed it down a notch with all of the wailing and gnashing of teeth three years ago?

But now...here we are again. And for reasons I cannot explain I feel I am even less prepared for this next child's first flight than I was the first one.

 I ask you, does this look like the face of a child who should leave home?!?

I keep catching myself staring at him and thinking, W-w-w-wait a minute. You mean you're leaving too?!

And then I imagine him looking back at me like this:

We have a lot of these imaginary conversations because in real life he's kind of a man of few words. (Except when he's singing and then he has a lot of words. LOUD words. Musical, but loud.)

And most of the time I'm super chill about the whole thing. I'm all it's all gooood, man and hakuna matata and whatevs...

But every once in awhile (okay, every day...at least once...or a dozen times) I go full blown Carrie Underwood and start running around with my hands in the air belting out, JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL because I. cannot. even.

And beyond the odd quiet we will be left with when our Sinatra-singing Mad Man leaves the house, there is also the sense that maybe we are moving toward other changes that I can't yet see.

I'm not a big fan of change. 

Have you noticed?

But for so many years there were ideas and plans and dreams that we tossed out there and the conversation always ended with, Maybe...but not until the boys are out of high school. For sure not until then. Maybe once they've both graduated...

These two? Out of high school? That's a million years away...

And now here we are, one year away from venturing into that mythical land of hypotheticals and possibilities known as Both Boys Are Out of High School. 

What does that land look like? I honestly have no idea.

Of course, we still have this showstopper.

Thank goodness. I think we are all glad I still have 8 years to prepare for her departure. Pray that Carrie Underwood comes up with a new theme song for me by then. 

Until then, welcome to Preparing to Launch v. 2.0.

Because when I wasn't looking, this one grew up, too.

My Mad Man.

Fly to the moon, Son. Play among the stars.

In other words, I love you.

What comes next

What a difference a year makes.

Last year at this time, I was making lists, circling important dates on the calendar, stressing over meal plans (how many times a day will he need to eat?!) while also purchasing bedding and towels and toiletries and text books and boatloads of pens and pencils (because he couldn't go buy more?) and paper and everything I could possibly think of that my baby bird might need as he flew from the nest to go land all of two miles away from home where I could have easily brought him anything that we might have forgotten. There is a good chance he would have been able to ascend Mt. Everest with all of the provisions I sent him off with.

We were prepared.

Yesterday, Jack and I had the following conversation when we crossed paths in the kitchen:

Me: Are you still here? 

Jack: It seems like it. 

Me: Do you actually know when you are supposed to be at school? Because I haven't looked at the school calendar.

Jack: Yeah, I'm pretty sure.

Me: Like, do you know your actual move-in date?

Jack: Yeah, the 26th. 

Me: Oh, okay good. So....do you need anything? Stuff for your room? Does anything from last year need to be replaced? Should we go shopping for... anything?

Jack: Nah... I'm good.

Can you tell we are headed for a highly warm, fuzzy and tearful goodbye?

Since this whole writing exercise started as a way for me to process how best to prepare my children (and really, let's face it, me) for their inevitable departure from our loving home, I feel like it is only fair to warn those of you who are just now launching your firstborn, or anticipating launching your firstborn in the near future, that the first flight out of the nest is only the beginning.

Because, you see, in most cases, they may fly away for a little while...but they aren't really gone gone yet. For most of us mama and papa birds, these are still just test flights for our baby birds. They are spreading their wings, going farther and staying away longer than they ever have before but...for most of us...at semi-regular intervals...our baby birds come flying back.

Vacations. Holidays. Maybe weekends. Summer. Right about the time you finally start getting used to the change in dynamics that comes with having one less member of the household that giant, messy, food-eating, leaves-his-Starbucks-cups-everywhere man-child will come strolling back in again.

And in some ways it's the same as it always was, which is great and fun and happy, and in some ways it is totally different now.

See, this baby bird is not the same baby bird you booted out of the nest a year ago. This baby bird has been living life more or less on his own terms for the past nine+ months. This baby bird hasn't heard the word "curfew" in what feels like a lifetime, or had to "check-in", or been asked to leave a note as to where he might be going and when he might be back. This baby bird has been flying solo, People, and there's no clipping his wings now.

A year ago Jack and his friends wanted to take a road trip to California. We said, 'no.' It was too far. They had never done anything like that before. We told our son that he needed to start smaller, build trust, and then we will see. So, they didn't go. The trip was limited to the Washington/Oregon coast and all was well.

This summer....

He flew.

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It isn't that having them come home isn't wonderful. It is. We miss Jack when he's gone and we all love the energy and stories and laughter he brings when he returns. We love his presence. But we have also grown more and more accustomed to his absence. We have established a "new normal" when he is gone. So when he comes bursting back in (And I swear trumpets sound when he comes through the door. Seriously, the fanfare of that kid...) everyone has to find their bearings again. And none more so than the parents who are having to learn how to live with a child who still has one foot in childhood while the other foot is inching closer and closer to adulthood.

We discovered that the first summer home is when you negotiate new boundaries. You have discussions about the kinds of things you do simply out of courtesy to the people who care about you, not because you have to. You figure out where to give some latitude and where to draw new lines. And, hopefully, everyone can do this peacefully knowing we are all on the same side.

You end up having text conversations like this:

And you learn not to wait up anymore because we are not all 19 and actually do require normal amounts of sleep.

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None of this is bad. It really isn't. 

It's just another transition.

And like the first initial launch, it can be both thrilling and sad.

But this is what all of those years of mothering and parenting and loving and scolding and training and hoping and worrying and wishing have been about. They have been about raising a child, your child, to become an adult. Eventually. Step by step.

Mine is not there yet, and that's okay. There is still time. In fact, I'm glad we still have some time.

But this summer I have seen glimpses of the adult he is becoming and while I fear he is destined to live in squalor surrounded by his empty glasses and soda cans, I am also very proud of the man he is becoming (for other reasons unrelated to his housekeeping skills). 

So, this is my message of encouragement to all of the moms and dads watching their baby birds take their first flight out of the nest this fall. I see you as you wipe the tears from your eyes and wonder how the house suddenly got so quiet. I feel your anxiety. I hear your hopes and dreams even as they are mixed with worry and concern. I am with you completely.

I know it's hard.

But try to remember, they will fly back again.

And that will be even harder. :-)

Strong enough to bend

I've been reflecting a lot on where we were a year ago. The biggest thing I remember from a year ago is the complete uncertainty about where we would be now- a year later. Decisions were still being made, discussions were being attempted and thwarted by a teenage boy who needed to go through his own internal process, and the planner in me was staring at her calendar wishing desperately I could start filling it in but having to wait because well....decisions were still being made.

It. Was. Agonizing.

But like so many things (in fact, almost everything) this too did pass and now here we are...one quarter away from Jack having completed his first year in college. Successfully completed, I might add. It's mind boggling.

As we watched our first-born navigate his way through so many choices and options over the past year, we were doing some navigating of our own. I don't know about everyone else doing this parenting gig, but sometimes for Superdad and I the whole thing looks an awful lot like a big game of darts. We keep flinging out ideas and plans and rules and intentions and hope that every once in awhile one of them hits the bullseye.

In case you are wondering, they do not all hit the bullseye. I don't even want to know our ratio and I'm glad no one is keeping track.

One of the things we felt very sure about in our grand plan for launching our first child out of the nest was that he should not go to college with a car his first year. Our reasons were very sound and filled with an abundance of parental wisdom. Every time the topic would come up we would toss out our razor sharp explanations with fine-tuned accuracy.

You need to earn that privilege.

We want you to get involved on campus.

It will be a distraction.

Walking is good for you and will prevent you from gaining the Freshman 15. (We didn't actually use that one, but it's good, huh?)

You need to settle into college life first and then we will consider letting you have a car at school.

And to his credit, he never really argued any of these points. Instead, he just came home a lot that first quarter. To visit his car.

And we watched...and observed....and discussed...and slowly we noticed that all of our arrow-straight rationales seemed to be landing somewhere on the outside edges of the Parenting Dart Board. They weren't hitting the mark.

Over Christmas we had more discussions and in the meantime Jack got a job downtown that meant traveling to and from school late at night. Concessions started to be made. You can take the car on the days that you work....you can have the car for the whole weekend since you work both nights...okay, you work Monday and Wednesday so just take the car and bring it back on Thursday and then you can have it again on Friday....oh whatever, just take the car!!!

Now he has a car at school full time. And guess what? The world didn't come to an end. He is actually happier, more involved at school and spends more time on campus now that he has access to his own transportation. It helps that he has to pay for his own gas so he has gotten surprisingly thrifty about unnecessary driving, but he never complains.

Superdad and I just look at each other, shrug, and happily say, we were wrong.

We had the best intentions but in this instance, with this kid, in this moment in time, we were off the mark. We had to re-calibrate, take a deep breath and try again. Let's try something different. Show us how this could work. We are open to a new plan. We could be wrong.

Bullseye.

And it got me thinking....do you know how many things could be solved, how much pain could be avoided, how much less conflict there would be...if we would all entertain the possibility that we could be wrong?

I like to believe I am a pretty forgiving person and one of the reasons I try to be that way is because I am well aware that people need to be forgiving of me from time to time. I am not perfect. I do not always have the right answer. I do not always say the right thing. I have bad days and good days. I try to use that awareness when I encounter someone behaving in a way that I find difficult to understand. I try to extend a little grace and hope that someone else will do the same for me when I find myself adrift and not operating from my best self.

Even our most deeply held convictions do not have to be used as a bludgeon against those who disagree. Is it possible that this person has a history you don't understand and that history has shaped his or her beliefs? Is it possible that you both actually do want to arrive at the same place you just have different ideas as to how to get there? Is it possible that if you really understood the fullness of this person's life experience and could truly get inside his head you just might find some common ground?

Is it possible that you could be wrong??

I don't pretend to know much about what will come after this life. I am a person of faith who believes in a loving God so I do believe there is more....but I don't imagine for a minute that my simple mind can conceive of what that might be. But one thing I am sure of is that I will discover there were a whole lot of things I was wrong about in this life.

And knowing that makes it a heck of a lot easier for me to concede now and then, while I am still living this life, that I could be wrong.

I don't know...maybe that makes me spineless, or weak, or wishy-washy? Maybe it would be better if I put more things in the "non-negotiable" compartment of my mind and heart? Maybe my peacemaking tendencies are really just a cover-up for a fear of conflict? Maybe you really can tell everything you need to know about a person based on a label, a single moment or a point of view?

Maybe....

But I could be wrong.

Conceding defeat

Today we all enjoyed the extra day tacked onto our weekend. While some schools are celebrating the beginning of a week-long winter break, all of our kiddos will be returning to class tomorrow. So today was a welcome respite knowing tomorrow it will be back to business.

Just before lunchtime, Tim headed off with a friend to roam around downtown. As I began to wonder how the rest of us might spend the middle part of our day off, I heard a key turn in the front door and in walked that increasingly occasional visitor known as our eldest child.

Hey! What are you doing here?

He strolled in, iced Starbucks drink in hand, and proceeded to chatter on about how work was that weekend, how empty the dorm is on this long weekend, the highlights of a business school mixer he recently attended, the upcoming meeting about studying abroad that he's going to attend, the reason he needed to grab his shorts for some dorm floor competition, the great car he got to drive at work, how bad the food is this weekend because they know everyone is gone....and on and on and on...

And Annie and I both just stood there hanging on his every word.

Annie kept sidling up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing him. Normally Jack has a pretty rock solid personal space bubble but he was being tolerant of her irrepressible affection. At one point I caught his eye and mouthed to him, "She misses you." At that he smiled amiably and magnanimously offered her a few friendly pats on the back and a small squeeze of her shoulders. She beamed.

After a bit he sat down at the computer so he could give us a visual of the best cars he had recently gotten to drive at work (he's a valet). Annie stood at his elbow and was either truly fascinated by all of his car talk or she was doing a darn good job acting like she was, because she didn't budge as he detailed all of the technical aspects of each car and had her listen to the sound of the different exhausts. I mean, really? But she didn't move a muscle and Jack just kept engaging her.

Jack: Annie, which one of these cars would you like to have someday?

Annie: (timidly) I think I like that one but I would want it to be blue.

Jack: Blue it is! Let's find you a blue one.

And she smiled with wonder as her big brother searched the Internet to find her the perfect car in the perfect shade of blue.

I was the one who thought maybe he should go farther away to school. I was the one who worried he wouldn't have a "college experience" if he didn't leave the city he grew up in. I was the one who thought there was something inherently problematic about being able to come home and do laundry and get a good meal every now and then.

I was wrong.

I was wrong on all counts. He is happy. He is having terrific experiences independent of us and home. It took some time but he has settled into his new life and is thriving. He made a good choice, a smart choice.

And today I realized something else. For the first time I really saw that by staying close to home, his much younger sister gets to continue to have her big brother as a physical presence in her life. That is no small blessing.

This is me, waving the white flag of surrender admitting now and for all time that I WAS WRONG. For Jack's sake, for Annie's, for his longterm career goals, for the sake of his beloved car that he would have had to leave behind...I will admit that Jack's intuition was right and mine was wrong.

And maybe, just maybe...I get something out of this, too.

Because I'll admit it, when he suddenly shows up at our front door with his bag of laundry and his colorful tales to tell, I always hope he might have at least two loads of washing and drying to do.... just so he will have to stay a little bit longer.

Before the storm

You know what is weird? When you spend a year being all hyper-focused on the fact that this is your oldest child's last year at home (well, last year living at home full time...hopefully...or at least until he graduates college...again, hopefully...and moves back home because the job market stinks for all those poor 20 somethings with their college educations and nowhere to go)...anywhooo... What is weird is when you get through all the stuff. The Senior Thesis, the College Applications, the re-taking of SAT's, the College Acceptances, the College Decision, the Prom, the Graduation, the strange summer after graduation when they are not really kids not really adults (I call it the 'Are You Still Here?' summer)...you survive all of that in preparation for the big goodbye and then....they don't leave.

At least not yet.

A lot of kids have already said their goodbyes. I know that. But that's what is adding to the weirdness around our household. Jack's chosen university is on the quarter system which generally means they start later in the fall and finish later in the spring. However, I have yet to hear of too many schools that start as late as Jack's does this year. He doesn't even move into his dorm until September 26. Three. More. Weeks. If I wasn't in possession of a university calendar myself I might start to wonder if Jack was trying to pull one over on us.

I feel like we have been ripping off a particularly sticky bandaid one millimeter at a time for the past 6 months.

It's not that I want him gone, don't get me wrong. He's not making this difficult or challenging or annoying. I mean, it wouldn't kill me if he wanted to step up his efforts around the house but even at that I have noticed him taking more initiative in small ways to help with basic household maintenance and taking responsibility for himself. Just yesterday he informed me he was working on washing all of his clothes and figuring out what he wants to take with him and what needs to be given away.

Rock on, big guy.

Rooney says, "Jack, please don't go."

There is a bizarre little expression I have been hearing in my neck of the woods over the past 6 months. I have no idea if this is some sort of well-known metaphor or if it is oddly indigenous to our area but here it is:

In reference to the tension that can sometimes exist between children poised to leave home (but still at home) and their parents, I have heard more than one of my friends say, "They have to soil the nest a little so you'll be ready for them to fly."

I don't know about you but that imagery just makes me go, ewwwww.

I personally think it's a disgusting way to explain the conundrum of a child with one foot in and one foot out, but I also imagine that for many parents it not only rings true but brings some relief. It's always helpful when our children are making us bonkers to be able to step back and view it from a more removed, philosophical vantage point. If we can say, "Ahhh! It's a natural stage of development. Perfectly normal. This too shall pass..." we can save ourselves from going down that dark pathway of, "AAACK!! WHAT IN THE HE&! IS WRONG WITH MY KID!!!"

I gotta say, I prefer the former to the latter.

So, I get the reason for the metaphor and I'm even sympathetic to why the imagery might strike some parents as frighteningly accurate, I just can't relate. And when I say I can't relate it is not in some smug, "Why, MY child would never be so awful/inconsiderate/out of control/rude...!" Ha. Please. I have never claimed anywhere at anytime in anyplace to have perfect children NOR to be the perfect parent. And I never will because 1) I really try not to willfully go around breaking commandments, including the 9th one and 2) all you'd have to do is meet my kids or peek in their bedrooms and the jig would be up.

I can't relate because for whatever reason (and I claim no responsibility) Jack is neither literally (thank goodness) nor figuratively "soiling the nest" during his final days living at home full time. He actually seems remarkably content. Which is either great or cause for concern but since I don't have much control either way, I'm going with staying neutral. He doesn't seem unhappy about leaving, but he doesn't seem unhappy about his extended stay either.

We are all of us in limbo. The other kids have started school, they leave in the morning and return in the afternoon and in the in-between time Jack does laundry, occasionally does some car detailing work for people, and gives careful consideration to what he will have for lunch everyday.

I like to think he is just pacing himself. He's enjoying the calm before the storm. The storm could either be awesome or it could be dreadful and there is no way for him to know. So, he's just sitting back, enjoying his bedroom, his easy access to chips and salsa, and maybe even his family before it all hits.

Smart kid. I should take a lesson from him.

100 Years

Our house is celebrating its Centennial this year.

Granted, we haven't actually lived in this house for one hundred years (seeing as we are not Zombies) and I will confess the old gal has had a few facelifts through the years. But the bones of our happy home, along with the handful of remaining leaded glass windows, are all part of her original 100 year old charm.

She was considerably smaller when we first moved in. Over the years we have stretched her to her limit; ripping off the roof and adding a third floor, moving staircases, adding 6 feet to the back of the house, reconfiguring the basement (again), remodeling the kitchen (again), and none of that includes the work to the yard and the gajillion other small projects that have been done and continue to be done so that we can keep enjoying her hospitality for another 20+ years and beyond.

The latest project doesn't involve any demo work or structural changes, but it will require some elbow grease and determination. It may also possibly drive me into the loony bin (but I've said that about a thousand other projects worse than this one so you'd be wise to take my hyperbolic threats with a grain of salt.) 

(Can I get a whoop whoop for the nice use of the word hyperbolic?)

For the past four or five years I have been saying that when Jack goes to college I am going to have he and Annie switch bedrooms. And then at some point when I wasn't looking, those four or five years went by and now...here we are.

There are very practical reasons for the switch. His room is bigger. His closet is bigger. He has an extra storage closet in his room in addition to a full-size clothes closet. Considering the whole point of him going to college is that he is going to be gone most of the year it seems to make sense that the child who still has another 10 years of residency status left here at The Centennial House should get the better, bigger room. She's also a girl and we all know what that means in relation to closet space. She's going to need more.

Beyond the practical reasons, I'm excited about the side benefits. The most important side benefit being that this is a golden opportunity to clean out, clear out and get out lots of stuff. 

Me likey getting rid of stuff. 

So, it's all good. Both kids are excited about the move and I'm completely excited about the endpoint when it is really truly all done. What I'm not excited about is the hours and hours of work it is going to take to get us to the finish line. There is painting to be done, carpets to be cleaned, clothes to be moved, trinkets and treasures to be sorted and (hopefully) given away. 

Note to the little hoarder (aka Annie): Mom is not going to tolerate much sentimentality in this process. This is a time to be aggressive, cold-hearted and incredibly focused. Keep your eye on the prize, Sweetie. A clean, organized, beautiful new bedroom. (I've already broken it to her that the Dog a Day Calendar pages will not be making the trek across the hall.) 

So, I'm excited. Annie is excited. Jack is even happy about the change and the potential for a fresh start (his current room is beyond belief messy). Everybody is on board and ready to go!

So, why can't I get started?

Well, I'll admit, one reason is probably just because it is a BIG project and it is hard to know where to start. Do I clean out the rooms first? Do I start painting? Which room do I paint first? Where does the resident of each respective room sleep while painting is going on? Can Nate Berkus just come and do all this for me? He'd have a whole crew to help him so he could knock it out in like three days and he'd look cute at the same time (I'm not going to look cute for one second of this project). I could just sit back and post pictures to Facebook while you all envy me and my Nate Berkus bedroom makeover. Although, why would I waste Nate Berkus on my kid's bedrooms....? Forget it, if he shows up he's doing my room, and bathroom, and closet...And maybe my laundry room too, because only professional help could save that tiny space from the mayhem that it is.

There's that.

But I'm stymied for other reasons. Reasons that have nothing to do with paint colors and boxes of Little League participation trophies (what do you do with those??), and have everything to do with five years that went by in the blink of an eye.

For so long now the whole Great Bedroom Switcharoo was just an idea. A good idea, I'll give you that, but just an idea. It was out there. It was in some unknown future land in which our eldest child was going to leave home and live somewhere else for 9 months out of the year. It was just an idea.

Now, it's here. And even though he isn't going as far away as we once thought he might be, he is still going. He will have a different bedroom, in a different place and, if all goes well, he will be so happy in that new place we won't see him again until Thanksgiving. 

It's a strange thing to hope for, that your child will be so content he won't feel the slightest need to come home. But I do hope for that. Well, I mostly hope for that....in my less selfish moments when I'm thinking more of him and his well-being than I am of my own (luckily, that is most of the time). 

Don't get me wrong, I'm going to miss him like crazy. But at the same time I really hope to be missing him like crazy because that's what is supposed to come next. He's supposed to fly and we are supposed to re-paint the nest, get used to less noise and less garbage, and eventually find a way to live in and around and ultimately fill up the empty spaces. Over time, it will probably even all start to feel normal again, in a new-normal sort of way. 

It might take awhile, but we'll get there. This house has seen a lot of big changes and she's still standing. So are we.

I'm guessing that we will finally settle into that new-normal sometime around next June, just in time for him to come flying back for summer, bringing all of his noise and garbage and beloved quirks with him.  

And that's okay. We will still be here.

Happy Centennial, Sawyer House!

Thanks for the memories!

Low-drama Mama

The other night Annie and I were having one of our many, many, many chats about school and friendships and the trials and tribulations of navigating both. Inevitably the conversation drifted toward a discussion about "friend drama" and we ended up talking about what it means to be "dramatic" versus what it means to just express your feelings.

It's a fine line, don't you think?

Anyway, it was a lighthearted conversation and not particularly angst-filled so at one point I leaned in close to Annie and teasingly said, "Do you know who my most dramatic child is?"

Without blinking or missing a beat, Annie looked me straight in the eye and said flatly...

"Tim."

She's catching on, that girl. I think she's gonna be okay.

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The last time I felt really sad about one of my kids taking the next inevitable step in life was when Timothy was graduating from pre-K. He was my baby then and we had been trying for over a year to have another baby so I had a lot of emotions about seeing my littlest taking the next big leap forward. But considering that was 10 years ago now, and given the fairly significant extenuating circumstances, that should give you some indication of my approach to seeing my kids moving upward and onward.

I have never cried a single tear when one of my kids started preschool, Kindergarten or any other grade.

Even when we forced Jack and Tim to change schools in the 8th and 5th grade respectively, and they were upset and nervous and sad about the change, I sent them off to their new school that first day with nary a tear.

When we had our baby, little Annie, change schools a month into her Kindergarten year I dropped her off with butterflies in my stomach but dry eyes.

Now, lest you think I'm cold-hearted, it's not that I didn't have heartfelt, conflicted emotions around all of those events. I prayed mightily for my boys that our decision to change schools would prove wise in the long run. I watched my little girl walk into that new, big school and part of me wanted to run after her and whisk her right back home with me.

But, at the end of the day, as much as there is always part of me that wishes I could slow the hands of time, there is a bigger part of me that sees how ready they are to take that next step. Sometimes more than ready. And life has taught me that holding them back would not only be futile but potentially disastrous. Because my experience is that when a kid is ready for more, leaving him in a place that is stifling him is only asking for trouble.

Anyone who knows me well knows I have many sad feelings about our first child leaving the nest. I don't think anyone can blame me for feeling nostalgic and wistful about such a major life event. But when people talk about tears at graduation or when we drop him off at college, I honestly cannot predict what will happen. I keep telling Superdad to be prepared for anything. I could sail through his graduation with smiles and cheers and nothing more than tremendous pride (and relief), or I could be a torrent of embarrassing, ugly, snot-filled sobbing.

I wish I knew.

I do know though that he is ready. Not ready for every single thing that is going to come his way from this point forward. None of us are ever wholly ready for every eventuality life can throw at us. But he is ready to be done with high school. He is ready to test those wings out in bigger skies, with a smaller safety net. He's starting to chafe against the restraints that are a necessary part of keeping high schoolers in line and teachers sane. And he's ready to trade those restraints for the responsibility that comes with owning your own decisions and your mistakes.

I have seen a lot of kids making some questionable choices as they approach the finish line and as an adult it is so hard not to want to scream at them and ask, "Why are you doing this? You are almost done! Can't you just get through a few more weeks??"

They are acting like children because they are dying not to be anymore.

They remind me of race horses penned into the starting gate. The agitation is palpable. They are straining at the bit and the reins attempting to keep them contained. They prance in place, knowing they can't move forward yet but all of their pent up energy won't allow them to be still. All of their attention and focus is centered on the freedom that they know is coming but is not here yet.

Which is why I don't know that there will be any tears at my son's graduation.

I will be proud and exuberant and yes, a little relieved...but I don't know that I will be sad.

He's so ready.

And as much as I love that boy and will miss a thousand things about having him in our home on a daily basis.

I really am excited for him.

P.S. So, just hold on a few more weeks, son... You are almost there. Just coast to the finish line, Buddy. We are rooting for you all the way.

Kindergarten

The road not taken

When Jack was a toddler he decided he'd like to wear glasses. It might have had something to do with a certain aardvark named Arthur but, regardless, he was determined his life would be infinitely more wonderful if he were wearing glasses. When I told him that his eyes were just fine and he didn't need glasses... he took matters into his own hands.

When Jack was five years old he wore a sport coat and tie to pre-K for three months straight. He would play on the playground in full coat and tie. He would ride his bike in his little suit. He would go to friend's houses in full dress.

Even once he lost the daily coat and tie he still spent most of his 5th year in some form of semi-formal attire even if it was just a snappy plaid shirt with a bow tie. All because he liked it.

In grade school, when all of his friends were getting buzz cuts and dreaming of becoming major league ball players, Jack grew his hair long and took up skateboarding with a passion.

We had visions of broken bones, concussions and a slippery slope to a life of crime but...none of those fears came to pass. Skateboarding proved to be a great outlet for our athletic but non-competitive boy. It gave him a unique, diverse social circle that taught us all something about acceptance and being slow to judge based on appearances. That, and he knows every parking lot, sketchy alley and set of concrete stairs in the greater Seattle area. I'm sure that knowledge will come in handy at some point.

Last year, his American History teacher had this to say about Jack:

Jack marches comfortably to the beat of his own drummer. Always upbeat, always smiling. I appreciate his positive attitude and unique outlook on life.

Not many words about Jack's study habits or scholarship but I still read those words with a smile and a nod. Thinking to myself, Yep, that's my boy.

All of this is to say that I really shouldn't have been surprised when his college decision ended up being the one I absolutely least expected. 

Completely, totally...did. not. see. this. coming.

I really should know by now though that if there is one thing you can count in with Jack, it is for him to take his own path, in his own time, in his own way.

But because of that I guess I always thought he'd be one to want to go away, to go somewhere different and experience a new place, new people,  a new climate perhaps (our maritime climate has frequently interfered with his skateboarding). I always thought he'd be itching to GO.

Nope.

He's staying as close to home as he could get without participating in some sort of online university from his bedroom. He will, in fact, not be living at home (no way, no how) but if he were feeling particularly energetic he could walk home if he wanted to. It's that close.

I won't lie, at first I was disappointed. Concerned. I worried what this would mean for his "college experience." But with further thought, I realized my concerns had little to do with whether this school was the right fit for Jack and more to do with the fact that he was making a college choice that was very different from the choice I had made.

Yeah, the kid was daring to blaze his own trail and choose his own path.

Huh.

And then I knew this was my opportunity to start learning how to parent an adult child. Don't get me wrong, I don't think of Jack as an adult yet. I don't think Jack thinks of Jack as an adult yet. But he's headed that direction and if there is one thing I have observed in watching some tricky adult child-parent relationships, it is that it is very, very dangerous to start creating expectations in your mind as to who your adult child should or shouldn't be. And you definitely need to be careful that you don't take personally any decision your child makes that might differ from your own life's journey.

I chose to go two states away for college. Jack has chosen to go two miles away.

Good for me. Good for him.

Truth be told, my experience had its pluses and minuses. His probably will too.

And in the end, his "college experience" will largely depend on what he makes of it.

And if I know Jack, it will truly be his own.

He will find his own way to fly, probably in the way we least expect.

And it will be awesome to watch.

I'm sure of that.

The waiting game

When Jack received his first college acceptance letter there was unbridled elation in this household. I was giddy. Even my normally emotionally contained son cracked a big smile, gave a little fist pump, and declared, I'm going to college!

It's not that any of us were ever really worried that he wouldn't be accepted to college. But with your first child the whole process is such a great big, hairy, scary, overwhelming, bigger-than-life process and so even as you look at the numbers and statistics and console yourself that everything should be fine, you just don't know until you know.

Then, he received a few more college acceptances and it got kind of fun there for awhile.

Wow! He has choices! Awesome!

And being the information-seeking person that I am, I poured over all of the material that started spilling into our mailbox from these various schools that had deemed Jack worthy of admittance. I like the process of gathering knowledge, so I had fun with my stacks of college brochures, pamphlets and publications, even if I was, for the most part, a Party of One.

It came as no surprise to me that my son had a different way of going about this process. However, from the outside looking in it wasn't always easy to tell what exactly "his way" was (because it mostly involved a lot of ignoring all of the copious amounts of mail coming from these schools and saying, I don't know, when asked what he was thinking so far) but having known the kid for 18 years, I kept the faith that the wheels were indeed spinning.

And then, he let it be known that he had narrowed his pool down to two schools. Both fine schools where I have every confidence he could be successful but geographically, very different. One is approximately 2 miles from our front door, and the other is in Northern California.

Okay, but regardless, we are making progress! He's got it down to two schools and now he just has to wrestle with the pros and cons of each a little longer and then....

And then...we wait and we wait and we wait.

That was almost 6 weeks ago that he announced he had narrowed the field down to two finalists. And now...he just seems stuck.

If you catch him in the right mood, he will talk openly and willingly about his thoughts and struggles in making this decision. He is wrestling with all the right things but as he said to me only last night,

Mom... It's just a really big decision.

And it is. Probably the biggest he's ever had to make at this point in his life.

So, I'm trying to be patient. I'm trying not to hound him and press him and make every single conversation about this one topic.

But it's hard. I told my sister that I bite my tongue constantly from turning every request he makes these days into an opportunity to blackmail him into a decision.

Oh, you'd like to know what's for dinner? Sure, make a decision on college and I'll tell you.

You're wondering if you could get a new pair of shoes to replace the ones that are now threadbare and have holes in them? Of course! Just as soon as you make a college decision.

Did you just ask if your girlfriend can come over? Of course she can! Tell her that she can come over right after you announce where you are going to college.

But something tells me such hostage-taking tactics might backfire on me.

Fortunately, there is an actual deadline he has to meet and it is rapidly approaching. I know he feels the clock ticking and as anxious as I am for him to make a decision, I also feel deeply for him and know the pain of indecision.

He's a big boy on the brink of making a big decision and taking his first steps out into this big, crazy, beautiful, scary world.

And yet, lately, all I see when I look at him...is this little guy.

R U there yet

Jack's acceptance to college and our recent "field trip" to see the campus have all been undeniable clues that as insane as it seems right now, our eldest child will be leaving home sometime later this year.

"Impossible!" my heart says.

But my mind keeps annoyingly interjecting, "Yup, it's happening, Lady, so you better just get on board."

The problem is that at this point there isn't a lot a parent can do to "get on board". We don't officially know yet which school he will be attending in the fall (other yes/no letters will be arriving mid-March) so there are still a multitude of unknowns. Start date. Location. Will we be driving or flying him to school? Will his northwest wardrobe suffice, or is he headed to sunnier skies and will be needing a bigger repertoire of shorts and flip flops?

(Actually, Jack never wears flip flops and I highly doubt any geographic location would change that. He wears some version of tennis shoes or boat shoes everywhere. School, pool, beach, casual dining, fancy restaurant, reception for the Queen...wherever...)

The thing is, I'm not a big fan of ambiguity. Or uncertainty. Or the unknown. This might explain why we have lived in the same house for 20+ years and have no plans to change that anytime soon. Adventurers and trailblazers we are not.

So, what I like to do to give myself the illusion of some semblance of control or certainty, when there is nothing that I really can control or be certain of, is to seek, gather and acquire as much knowledge as possible about any piece of the puzzle that I can put my finger on.

That desire has lead me to this book:

I haven't finished it yet but so far I would say that a lot of the information would be equally relevant to parents of children in their junior or senior year in high school. Not only does some of it relate to that age group as well, but I am finding it good timing to start thinking about the issues it raises before our first child leaves the nest.

Essentially, the point of the book is to look at how much technology has changed the way parents and their college-age kids communicate. Not surprisingly, with the advent of cell phones, email, texting, facebook etc...college kids and their parents communicate much more frequently and easily than they did even 10-15 years ago when cell phones were not so universally commonplace and instant communication like texting was still in its infancy. 

One of the things I like so far about the book is that the authors do not automatically point to the increased contact between young adults and their parents as being all bad. They demonstrate that their research and data shows that not only is communication greater between college students and their parents these days because it's convenient and simple, but also because the students and parents have genuinely close relationships and want to continue to share in one another's lives. Interestingly too, the contact is not primarily initiated by the parents as you might think, but in fact was found to be initiated almost equally between students and parents.

But as with any new advancement or shift in the cultural landscape, the question always becomes, how much is too much?

I don't really anticipate Jack being the sort of kid that is going to call me in between classes "just to chat" but when Ben got a text from him this evening when we were at a friend's surprise party reporting that his debit card wasn't working, it did make me think about how easily kids can cry out for help these days before having to even attempt to solve the problem on their own.

Reading this book is giving me a chance to think ahead, before we have had that last good-bye hug, about which things are appropriate for us to continue to offer guidance and help and which things we need to turn back to him to try and work out for himself. It's hard not to look back on that time in our own lives and think of all the myriad of troublesome situations we found ourselves in and remember that most of the time we were on our own to figure it out. Beyond the education you receive at a 4-year university, it's also as much about having the time to mature and grow and learn to navigate life a little on your own- while still in a relatively safe place with numerous grown adults you can go to for help (besides your parents).

I'll be the first to admit, I like the technology of today. I like the feeling of security, false or not, you get from being able to get in touch with your kids quickly and knowing they can get in touch with you. I like knowing that when they are driving across the city at night they have that cell phone (tucked away and certainly not in use while driving...ahem)- just in case. 

But reading this book has given me a new awareness of yet another job we have as parents. As our kids get older and approach young-adulthood, we have to be the ones to place limits on that easy access. We might need to make ourselves a little less available in the interests of pushing our kids out of the nest and encouraging them to fly on their own. We need to let them, or if necessary make them, grow up.

But I know...believe me, I know... it's easier said than done.

Holding on is easy...it's letting go that takes real muscle.