This column is the latest in a series on parenting children in the final years of high school, “Emptying the Nest.” Read the last installment, a mother’s plea to Trump, here.
My third and youngest child went off to college a week ago, and for the first time in 27 years, my husband and I are living in a house with no kids. It’s a strange and silent place, in which all the beds are neatly made, the floors around them no longer mulched with clothing, charge cords and snack wrappers. There are no discarded once-frozen coffee drinks sweating rings onto wooden tables; no empty Styrofoam takeout containers littering kitchen counters mere inches away from the trash can.
One can walk freely across the family room now, with no fear of tripping over abandoned shoes, balled-up socks or peanut-butter-smeared dishes, and the days remain unpierced by the maddening repetition of overheard TikTok memes and the escalating cries of “mom, Mom, MOM” to indicate an impending celebration or crisis.
My daughter very kindly left me a hamper full of dirty clothes upon her departure and a closet that was essentially an archaeological site of the months’ (years’?) worth of her particular method of tidying her room. My discovery therein of the perfume (in a plastic bag that also included her crumpled prom dress) she had been desperately searching for as she packed for college was sweet but short-lived. Yes, I did tell her to look in her closet and yes she did roll her eyes and swear that she did, but it doesn’t matter now.
She is gone, the last of the children who have been the light of so much of my adult life, and I miss her truly, madly, deeply. The sight of her luminous smile and her “nothing’s wrong” grimace; the smell of her floral shampoo and funky basketball shoes; the sound of her singing in the shower and yelling at the dogs to get off her bed.
Those dogs, I hasten to note, are doing the best they can to bridge the void. Sensing that a workday no longer interrupted by my daughter’s frantic search for her jersey/wallet/shoes is no workday at all, Harley has been nudging his toys under my sofa or chair and then whining for me to “find” them while Koda has taken on teenage-affection duty — randomly hurling himself onto my lap for attention only to pull away and vanish once I put my laptop aside and attempt to cuddle.
Still I am bereft and unmoored. The mad scramble to prepare and pack for college is finally over and in its place is … nothing. Well, there is my job, of course. But after 27 years of (often imperfectly) balancing work and motherhood, I feel like a professional juggler who is left with a single ball. For the first time in a very long time, I am the sole proprietor of my day, responsible only for myself.
Already I can see this is going to be a problem.
Not only do I miss my daughter for her own sweet, occasionally maddening self, I miss the structure she, and her siblings, imposed on my life. The school schedule, the after-school schedule, the weekend sports schedule. The doctor’s appointments, the dentist appointments, the haircuts and meal making, the playdates and sleepovers and trips to the playground/zoo/theme park/museum. The bedtimes, the dinner times, homework; the unexpected accommodations for illness, injury and very bad days. Parenthood is many things but while your children are actual children, it is the clock and calendar.
Which are also now gone. I am still a working mother but the “mother” part suddenly requires much less work. With juggling no longer required, my job should be so much easier. And yet it’s not. Facing a different sort of day, I find myself struggling to reset. And so I have created a list of Empty Nest/Labor Day resolutions. (And if they sound suspiciously like the advice I’ve given my kids over the years, well, I guess I am mothering myself.)
- Popcorn and frozen yogurt are not dinner. After three decades of shopping for and preparing reasonably healthy evening meals, I confess I was looking forward to taking a break. But my post-college drop-off “dinner” is clearly not the answer. Eat some fruit and veggies, for heaven’s sake.
- Put down the phone. Checking for texts or haunting my child’s Instagram is just sad, and perusing Facebook for friends also dropping kids off at college has thus far only led me to endless video feeds. Sure, watching Border Collies at work and the outtakes from “This Is 40” is great fun but is it worth an hour of my one and only life? No.
- Keep setting the alarm. I may no longer need to be up and dressed in time to take or see my kid off to school but that alarm has been starting my day for five decades now.
- Get up, stretch and walk around. Despite having a desk job, I never paid much attention to all those pesky ergonomics instructions. I had kids who regularly demanded that I interrupt my work to get up and do something else (which often required actual running). Now I don’t. So it’s up to me.
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Go outside at least a few times a day. Even with the playground days in the distant past, it is amazing how often your teenage children require your presence outside — if only to walk across the Target parking lot for the third time in a week or examine the dent “someone” put in your car. Find a way to touch grass that doesn’t involve picking up dog poop.
- Keep up with the calendar. I was certain that, without the presence of so many child-related appointments/events, I could keep track of my husband’s and my schedules in my head. Three missed appointments later, that’s a hard nope.
- Plan things for the weekends. For years, our weekends were dominated by sports events. More recently, as the empty nest loomed, my husband and I kept them clear on the off chance that our daughter might want to do something with us. Now we are free to do those weekend things we enjoyed as a couple — and I’m sure we’ll remember what they were in time.
- Carry tissues. I did not cry when I drove away from my daughter at her New York college — I was frankly too tired from the move-in and too worried about the traffic around JFK airport. But when I made my first trip to Ralphs a few days later and saw her favorite potato chips, I burst into tears. Right in the snack aisle.
- Bite back the wistful advice. When I was deep in the maelstrom of life with young kids, nothing pushed me closer to the edge of insanity than some older mom telling me to “treasure these moments” because “time moves so fast.” “Not fast enough,” I would think grimly as I balanced a crying baby with an exploding diaper and a whiny toddler with an exploding juice box. Now I am that older mom who can’t believe how quickly time passed. But I’ll try to keep it to myself.
- Be patient. When the last child goes, it’s as big a life change as when the first child arrives (albeit with less spit-up and more sleep). Everything is different and it will take time to adjust. And just when I get used to my calm, quiet house, my daughter will be home for the holidays, leaving shoes and trash and dirty clothes all over the place. No doubt it will drive me nuts. At the moment, I cannot wait.
The post Commentary: With the last kid off to college, I no longer have to juggle as much. So why do I feel lost? appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
