Entry #8 ~Testing....testing....

(September 19th)

“Life is a test.  It was designed to be so.”  Richelle E. Goodrich

She’s the one who left for university.

She’s the one who had to pack up her room, move into the residence, and learn a new city.

She’s the one who is writing essays, researching authors, and taking classes.

So why does it feel like I’m the one who is being tested?

 It’s been three weeks since she left; she’s been back to visit (ok…well, do laundry) one weekend out of the past two.

She’ll be back again for a quick visit this weekend; we have a Tiger Cats football game to go to in Hamilton tomorrow night.

I’m sure there’ll be (a small amount of) laundry to do.

I’m sure we’ll go apple-picking out in St. George and take in the Apple Harvest Festival.

I’m sure we’ll both get along fine.

Until we don’t.

We’ve both gone through some interesting changes since she spread her wings and left the nest. I was surprised at how much had changed in the two short weeks she’d been gone during her first visit back home.

Even though the music had changed, we still fell into step doing the same old dance, the same old routine, the same old mother-and-daughter list of grievances and non-solutions.

It all worked out in the end, but it was an eye-opener and learning experience for both of us.

Brazilian lyricist and novelist, Paulo Coelho, wrote: “When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back.”

I am perfectly ok with all of that, but I didn’t think the process would be so quick, so abrupt, once it started.

In fewer than three weeks, I have grown to enjoy my evening solitude, my clean house status, and my ability to come and go as I please without having to consider someone else’s schedule or needs.

In fewer than three weeks, she has started texting me less and less throughout the day, hasn’t asked to borrow the car, and is becoming already more independent.

Three weeks.

And the ‘looking back’ part? Not really.

Not unless thumbing through her baby book and grade school projects count.

If so, then yes.

But not really.

“Life is a test.  It was designed to be so,” said author Richelle Goodrich. “It is where we taste the bitter and the sweet; where we feel pain and pleasure; where we learn right from wrong; where we pass through both darkness and light.  It is a time to make choices.  And through this process we form our characters - some grand and glorious, some barely decent, and others just plain monstrous. ”

I like the sound of that; ‘forming our character’.

It doesn’t sound as challenging as ‘being tested’.

It doesn’t leave me feeling as panicked or stressed as the word ‘test’ does.

‘Character-building’ sounds far more progressive and positive in nature.

But make no mistake, my friends, there is a test.

Life is a series of lessons, and living your life is the test.

I like the way American author, John Green, put it: “The test will measure whether you are an informed, engaged, and productive citizen of the world, and it will take place in schools and bars and hospitals and dorm rooms and in places of worship. You will be tested on first dates, in job interviews, while watching football, and while scrolling through your Twitter feed. The test will judge your ability to think about things other than celebrity marriages, whether you’ll be easily persuaded by empty political rhetoric, and whether you’ll be able to place your life and your community in a broader context. The test will last your entire life, and it will be comprised of the millions of decisions that, when taken together, will make your life yours. And everything, everything, will be on it.”

Parenthood (a wonderful Steve Martin classic) has always had the ability to make me laugh, make me cry, make me wonder, and make me think. Maybe it’s about time for me to dust off the old VHS tape hiding in the cupboard, grab a blanket and some popcorn, and curl up some lonely Saturday night to watch it again.

After three of the longest short weeks I’ve ever experienced, I’ve come to the conclusion that it really doesn’t matter if I have studied and am well prepared, or if I decide that I’m just going to wing it. The most important lessons we learn tend to happen when life throws us a curve ball and we are faced with one of those surprise quizzes (also known as Baptism by Fire).

When it comes to the tests we face in life, there are two things to remember: All questions are multiple choice, and, when all else fails, the correct answer is ‘all of the above’. Somewhere, somebody understands what you’re going though, and they’ve come through it and out the other side.

I miss both of my girls.

I really do.

But I’m also smart enough to know and having fun discovering that you can’t miss something or someone if they’re in front of you all the time. You don’t have to leave the nest in order to fly the coop every now and then….

Here’s to all of us empty-nesters who know deep down that the nest isn’t really empty as much as it is ‘selectively occupied on an on-going basis’…

Entry #7 ~ Feathering My Empty Nest...

“Language... has created the word 'loneliness' to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word 'solitude' to express the glory of being alone.”       Paul Tillich

Four days.

Well, four-and-just-a-little-bit-more days to be slightly less than 100% precise.

It really hasn’t sunk in yet; perhaps it will take a little more time to feel the very real sense that something is missing. They say you can’t miss something (or someone) if they remain in your day-to-day and are in front of you more often than not. She’s been away on trips with her father for longer than this; this week, although feeling melancholy from a more intellectual than emotional perspective, has been rather ‘smooth sailing’.

I’ve been keeping myself occupied with work and domestic goddess duties.

I’ve been spending time riding out on the open road.

I’ve been enjoying not having to build my schedule around anyone else but me.

Yes, I know it’s not going to last forever, but I’m determined not to find myself ugly-face crying in the bathroom mirror at two in the morning and bemoaning the fact that I am ‘all alone’.

It’s not true, you know. That whole ‘empty nest’ pervasive sadness that is often rumoured to linger in the air for days and weeks after the youngest child leaves the nest? I was dreading that particular special brand of parental despair I’d heard so much about over the past several months.

Maybe I’m not doing this whole Empty Nester thing right…

Is it wrong to feel a sense of absolute giddiness and pleasure at the fact that I bought a box of Fruit Loops and am relishing the sheer joy at the thought that I have it all to myself? Fruit Loops! It’s like I can’t wait to go to bed at night because hitting the sheets means I am that much closer to breakfast.

Am I acting just a tad selfish at recognizing that I don’t have to share my car with anyone else and that I can come and go as I please…and that I love it?

I suppose I could be considered just a little odd for liking the fact that I can now walk from the bathroom after my morning shower wrapped in nothing but a goofy smile and not worrying about anyone coming up the stairs and catching me do it.

Sometimes, it’s the little things that can bring on the biggest smiles, but make no mistake, my friends; there’s a lot of little things that are starting to add up and make it painfully obvious to this mother’s heart of mine that a new phase of life has begun…

There’s not 8 pairs of shoes (only two of which would be mine) at the back door anymore.

The house at night is exactly as it was when I left for work in the morning.

My first grocery order for one didn’t include someone else’s favourite cookies or a selection of interesting and odd-looking fruit. 

To be honest, things don’t really feel any different at this end yet. I’m used to having a lot of time to myself, mostly the result of a combination of factors including her work schedule, my time out on the road, and a healthy respect for each other’s privacy.

Things have changed far more for the kidlet (at this point) than they have for me. Her list of adventures and series of ‘firsts’ is far longer than mine. At this stage of the game, my little moments of pleasure are coming from simple things like counting down to the season premiere of Sons of Anarchy and the start of the hockey season. I’m making ‘unplanned plans’ for Thanksgiving weekend and preparing for my first ever Fall Colours Road Trip on my motorcycle.

Motivational speaker and author, Barbara de Angelis, wrote that women need real moments of solitude and self-reflection to balance out how much of ourselves we give away. I suppose she’s right, but much of the joy in my life has been the result of the pouring of my love and affection out into the world and into my two girls. From heading into Hamilton to attend football games to exploring waterfalls to baking up a storm in the kitchen, my girls and I developed into great friends and partners-in-crime. I really don’t see that changing much except for the ‘whats’ and ‘whens’ and ‘hows’ of the situation, and that’s perfectly fine with me. Adventure is created in how you approach life, and twenty-three years of being a parent has taught me that you can pretty much find adventure in anything as long as you retain your sense of humour.

I wish I had something more profound to tell you.

I wish that the changes this week seemed more earth-shattering, more life-altering, more how-am-I-going-to-get-through-this kinds of feelings.

The truth of the matter is that it either hasn’t sunk in yet or things really aren’t all that different.

Maybe it’s because she was really ready to take this leap into the next phase of her life.

Maybe it’s because I was.

She seems to be thriving up there in the wilds of Waterloo.

She seems to be finding a healthy balance between insecurity and independence.

She seems to be missing me and the cat just enough and not too much.

It’s the same at this end.

I guess that means I did my job right.

I guess it also means that she raised me just as much as I raised her.

We’re doing fine, the kidlet n’ me.

We’re finding our way.

We’re looking forward to a ‘mother and child reunion’ in a couple of weeks.

Until then, I’m going to enjoy and celebrate my clean house, my evenings to myself, and my undisturbed, early-morning cup of coffee.

After that? Bring on the chaos and the clutter and a weekend full of laughter and laundry and love.  

This empty nest thing isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a bowl of Fruit Loops calling my name…

Entry #6 ~ The Wheels on the Bus...

Darned school bus!

I have been managing to hold it together pretty well over the past couple of weeks.

I thought I was actually going to make it to Monday without any sniffling, whimpering, or all-out, full-face, ugly crying.

And then I saw a school bus this morning on my way to work.

It suddenly hit me that there was going to be no more yelling downstairs for her to hurry up and get ready or she was going to miss the bus.

It suddenly hit me that there wasn’t going to be any more standing in the front window and watching her walk down to the bus stop at the corner…

No more grinning as she turned around to make sure I was still standing there…

No more waving at her or picking up the cat and letting her see him waving back too…

No more.

I’m going to miss making her lunch and setting out her lunch bag on the counter every morning; And yes, I do realize that I am kind of a nerd for doing that but it truly was one of my favourite things to do.

I’m going to miss the odd occasion I found myself driving her to school and taking her to the Timmy’s drive-thru to pick up a cup of tea to help warm her up during her first class.

I already miss our breakfasts at the kitchen table together.

I’m not going to miss the two of us battling for space in front of the bathroom mirror as we brushed our teeth and beautified ourselves in preparation for the day, or the trail of books and clothes and school supplies all over the house on various days and for various reasons.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m going to miss all of that stuff; some of it far sooner than later.

If seeing that random school bus affected me so strongly today, how am I going to get through watching her pull out of my driveway in her father’s truck on Monday morning? How will I be able to walk back into the house on Monday night after being in Hamilton all day at the football game (fingers crossed) knowing that she’s not going to be there to hug when I get home?

My goal is to get through Monday.

After that? I have to get through Tuesday.

And then Wednesday.

One foot in front of the other.

One day after the next.

Step by step.

Day by day.

And every morning, the wheels on the bus will go round and round…

Entry #5 ~ Hourglass Figure....

“Peace is not absence of conflict, it is the ability to handle conflict by peaceful means.”  Ronald Reagan

I sure could use Mr. Reagan’s guidance and wisdom right about now.

The kidlet and I aren’t playing together quite as nicely like we normally do.

My mind is full of all of the minute details that need addressing before she heads off to university in ten days.

Her mind is everywhere else, especially on the ‘big picture’: “In ten days, I’m moving out and I’ll be living on my own; you can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

Oh, child-o-mine! If only life were that simple!

Living on your own? Not even close. But I don’t need to point that out to her in order to know it’s true. She’ll find it out soon enough.

I think back to the days leading up to when I was getting ready to head out over three hours away from home to start college at the ripe old age of seventeen. I’m sure there were a lot of details that wouldn’t have even been close to being on my radar, but for some reason, I don’t think things were as complicated back then as they are now. They certainly weren’t as jaw-droppingly (if that isn’t a ‘real’ word, it should be) expensive as they are today.

Two textbooks. That’s all we bought in the campus bookstore when we visited the campus a couple of weeks ago so that she get her student card and beat the lineups that are certain to exist during orientation week. Just under two hundred dollars and a whole lot of ‘What the?’ later, I realized that even as prepared as I am for the financial side of things, there are still some items on my Momma Bear Preparedness List that are going to need to be reassessed, re-evaluated, and require a Tylenol or two.

There are times when I am torn between feeling woefully inadequate and incredibly over-prepared. I have a ‘game plan’ in my mind, but she keeps changing the rules and the first-born in me is not happy.

I may not have all the answers, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have at least some of them.

I may not know everything there is to know about programs of study and breadth requirements and course selection, but I do know her better than she knows herself sometimes, and I honestly do have her best interest at heart when I quietly suggest that she might want to rethink taking a German language course as an elective.

I may be her mother, but I also like to consider myself – when it is appropriate – one of her friends.

All of those truths aside, I’m finding it rather difficult to adjust to the changes I see in my (once) little girl as moving day approaches. 

I understand that it’s my job as the parent to set the boundaries and that it’s her job as the kid to try and expand them.

It’s her prerogative to ask questions.

It’s even her job to break some of the rules on occasion.

I know, understand, and am working hard to accept and work with the growing emergence of all of these lovely and now daily occurrences. But, there’s only so much a grown-up can take…

I am of the opinion that Oprah Winfrey expressed recently: “I am a woman in process. I'm just trying like everybody else. I try to take every conflict, every experience, and learn from it. Life is never dull.”

Ain’t that the truth!

As I struggle to find a way to explain the logic of my allocation of the funds I set aside in an RESP, I am also fighting the urge to put her in her place and tell her that it is not ‘her’ money. Clarifying that the money in that fund is money that I have been working hard to invest and set aside as my contribution towards her education and completion of her undergrad studies is a mute point; it’s her perception versus my reality and the two are probably never going to meet. Where there was once a pony-tailed, blue-eyed blonde little girl who trusted in everything I said is now a teenager-in-transition whose questions comes across more as accusations. It’s a dance we are both going to have to learn to adjust our movements to as the music of our lives and our relationship changes.

Slipping through my fingers; the hourglass says ten days but it feels like the sand has already run out.

Ten days.

Ten days until her bedroom is vacant except for the stuff she leaves behind in her dresser drawers and hidden away in the crawl space behind her closet.

A week-and-a-bit until there are fewer groceries to buy, less of a mess in the kitchen to clean up every night, and a smaller weekly grocery bill.

Ten more sleeps until her bed stays made, pillows and teddy bears resting comfortably and undisturbed until she comes home on Thanksgiving weekend for a visit (also known as a ‘laundry run’ in post-secondary parental circles).

We are managing the rough waters these days, but I am not a happy camper. I constantly struggle with trying to make sure that I am making decisions that need to be made, and making them despite her shift in actions and attitude rather than to spite her. As Indian actor Emraan Hashmi confesses, so do I: “I am a bit difficult to be around sometimes. I can be stubborn on a lot of things, and I'm set, but I can also adapt in a conflict situation and don't hold on to an ego. I end up seeing the larger good and adapt to it…. I may come across as a cold person, but I am extremely sentimental.”

*  *  *  *  *

From this single parent’s perspective, I know that I will look back on these last few weeks with my youngest child and sometimes wish I could do all of it all over again.

I’m also wise enough to know that there are going to be the times that I am going to gleefully forget all about that stuff and do the dance of joy that my house is staying clean and that I will no longer open the fridge to find just a quarter of an inch of milk left in the milk carton.

You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life, or something along those lines.

Ten days.

It’s kind of exciting that I can proclaim, and loudly, that I finally have an 'hourglass figure'…

Entry #4 ~ Melancholy Baby....

Slipping Through My Fingers....

Two weeks from tomorrow... She leaves for school in two short weeks...

I've been after her for months to start packing, to clean her room, to get ready to go.

I peeked in there last night and could actually see the carpet; I haven't seen her bedroom floor for months.

I got all misty-eyed.

I don't want to steal her thunder. 

I don't want her to lose her excitement about heading off to university. 

I don't want to her start worrying about me alone at the house when she should be almost giddy with the sense of adventure.

She's started counting down the days. She is making friends. She is doing what she is supposed to be doing.

Me, on the other hand?

I am doing my best not to let her see the sadness I am feeling. 

I am trying very hard not to hug her tightly at random points throughout the day. 

I'm resisting the urge to tell her I don't want her to go.

The tears are always there, just below the surface. This is proving to be so much more difficult than I ever thought it was going to be.

Don't get me wrong... I never thought it was going to be 'easy', but I didn't think that I was going to have so much trouble with the reality of surrendering my place in her world to the world at large.

She used to look up at me with complete confidence and an unwavering certainty that I would always have the right answer.

Now she questions almost everything, giving everyone's point of view and opinions equal consideration and weight in her decisions.

She's growing up.

She's growing away. 

She's growing.

I used to love counting down to the first day of school.

I loved taking her shopping for new school clothes, for school supplies, for her stylish new 'September shoes'.

It has been very different this time: She'd rather go shopping with her friends for clothes; 'school supplies' now consist of hundred dollar textbooks and decor items for her rez room; and as for shoes? Let's just say that the snazzy ten dollar sneakers from Walmart don't quite meet her expectations or vision anymore.

We'll get through the next two weeks just fine.

I'm mentally and emotionally well beyond the packing and cleaning and paperwork stage now. It's the walking back into an empty house on the evening of 'moving day' that occupies many of my thoughts these days....  One step at a time, I have to keep reminding myself. One step at a time.

She's slipping through my fingers.... one step at a time.

Where did the years go?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zi7OXmTmgGg

Entry #3 ~ Bookstore and WAT card and Packing...OH MY!

Two weeks.
We're down to two weeks now.
At this point, as the moving date gets closer, I find myself thinking less and less about 'the day'.
I don't know if this will make any sense to you, but it already feels like she's gone. I see the growing pile of boxes and clothing and newly-acquired bedding and such, but it might as well not be there.
She's already mentally on campus and exploring and making plans to meet up with friends.

I have found myself  making my own plans and not considering her wants and needs before my own.
It feels foreign to me.
It almost feels like I'm betraying her and neglecting my duties as her mother.
Is it wrong for me to to be thinking about how much less stressful it will be once the clutter is gone and I can finally get my house back to normal?
Is it wrong to be thinking ahead to the fall months when I don't have to worry about groceries and cooking a full dinner and making sure she gets to work?
Is it wrong to be wondering about just how quiet this house is going to be without music blasting up through the floorboards and the washing machine constantly running and the endless chatter while she's on her cell phone?
No...it's not wrong.
I know that all of these feelings are perfectly normal.
It's just that they're not normal to me.

We spent a full morning together on campus this week: I hit the registrar's office to get a 'To Whom It May Concern' letter done up so that I have the proof of registration I need in order for me to be able to withdraw funds from the RESP; she met up with another student in order to purchase some used books for her first semester; we spent some time in the campus bookstore and loaded up on everything from textbooks to hoodies to U of W chapsticks.
She handled the morning well, for the most part. There were a few moments when I could see she was starting to feel overwhelmed and she had come to the realization that in two short weeks, this was going to be the place she called 'home'.

The next two weeks are going to disappear before our eyes.
I'm ready and not ready, all at the same time.
Scared for her and thrilled for her, all at the same time.
Happy and sad for me, all at the same time.

It won't hit her until she's through the whirlwind of moving into residence and all of the fun of orientation is over and classes are underway.
It won't hit me until I get the house back to normal and the I don't see work schedules on my calendar and I call downstairs to ask her to bring me something and there's no answer.

The air is full of excitement and unspoken expectations.
It's really happening; my baby is leaving home.
Wait a minute... let me clarify: My youngest (and my last) baby is leaving home.
Even when she comes back to visit (which will be often and with laundry in tow), things will not be the same. Things are about to change forever.
Intellectually, I'm ready for this.
Now, if only my heart could catch up....

* * * * * * * * * *

Entry #2 ~ Tick Tock...

Five weeks...

A little less than five weeks, actually.

I don't know whether to celebrate or begin the mourning process.

My house is beginning to look like a war zone: There are banker boxes in my home office; rubbermaid containers litter the downstairs hallway; the living room couch is covered in garbage bags filled with clothes deemed too small, too out-of-date, too 'uncool' to wear, and are destined for the local Value Village.

I've given up trying to keep the house dusted, cleaned, and organized. I figure I can put on my Domestic Goddess hat after September 1st when I am looking for things to do to fill the time and the 'missing her' begins in earnest. I don't know about you, but my house is never cleaner than when I am upset, angry, lonely or a mixture of all three. I have a feeling that by the beginning of October, my house will be in a state of readiness for a Good Housekeeping photo shoot.

The first-born instincts to research, make lists, and execute a plan that have lain dormant inside of me for quite a while are kicking into high gear again. My mothering genes are bubbling over. There's so much to do and I want to make sure that nothing falls through the cracks.

Tuition and residence fees paid? Check!
Course selections reviewed and breadth requirements met? Check!
WATcard photo sent and books for the first semester arranged for?  Check!

And those are just the things she knows about...

Inside those banker boxes in my office? The results of small, yet carefully planned, weekly excursions to the local Walmart.
Week one was what I called 'the medicine cabinet' spree. From Tylenol to toiletries... hairspray to a heating pad... This kid is practically going to have a small pharmacy in her room.
Week two was school supplies. Little things like the index cards she likes to use when she is studying for a test and sticky notes and a desk calendar. Although the alphabet poster was tempting, I left it behind in the store. Left behind, yes. Out of mind? No. I don't care how old your kids are, September can bring out the latent primary school teacher in all of us. You're going to hate me for this, but one of my favourite commercials of all time was the one that Staples did years ago for their Back to School campaign. Yep, that one. You can curse me for reminding you of that song -- the Christmas tune that shall remain nameless in the off-chance that it might become the song that never ends in your brain today -- that still gets me smiling whenever I hear it.

Ooops.... did I post that??  *innocent look*

There's new sets of sheets (twin beds in the residence, dont'cha know), new pillows, new slippers. 

There's old pictures, old books, old memories.

There's 'little pieces of me' thrown into the boxes for good measure as well. 

I decided against the full-size poster of a picture taken of me on one of my better hair days, and went for the small framed photo of the two of us together at a football game. 

Tucked between flip-flops for the shower and some packages of red licorice, there's a little stuffed moose that I sprayed with the scent that I always wear. 

And what 'Don't Forget About Me' just-a-little-bit Emotional First Year University Parent Kit would be complete without a package of note cards, nice pen and a book of stamps? I know it's not a very subtle hint, but hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do...  :)

All in all, the countdown is moving forward far too quickly and at a snail's pace all at once.

I am excited with her, for her, because of her.

I am melancholy with her, for her, because of her.

Like sand through the hourglass, so will be the next five weeks of our lives....