Posted: MOM FOR HIRE, used but in acceptable condition. Still capable of giving unwanted advice, making you wear a hat in the cold, and generally being an embarrassment in public. Does not do windows. Inquire below–
That title is almost as pretentious as tagging myself as a “writer”. But if so, it’s probably of little consequence, due to the nature of the blogosphere. It’s not like being in high school when you had to read something and do a book report (I wonder if they still do that??) And I know that this post is mere nano-particle in a galaxy of worm holes and flashy comets (yes, I was a Star Trek fan back in the day–the original version, to be clear.)
And yet, there is something to be said about starting my twenties by having three babies and ending that decade with selling Girl Scout cookies while putting their father through grad school. (I.U.-Bloomington, go big red!) My thirties were filled with prepubescence and flaming adolescence, braces, sporting events, and the task of helping the girls “find themselves”, despite the unfortunate fact that I didn’t even know myself that well yet. That’s right, we have no sons, and I was informed that our house rules were “strict” by their friends’ parents’ standards. My home became know as “the Convent” and I was nicknamed (affectionately, I hope) “Mother Superior”.
Forty-something was the transitioning from a full house to my little goslings flying off to college one at a time. I remember the night of my actual “empty nest” experience. Our baby girl, Heather, was on her way out the door for her first night in her new dorm room. Now granted, all the girls spent their first two years of collegiate existance at the small college where their dad is a prof. Basically, down the street and around the corner. But still, this was a bit of a milestone…at least for me! Goodbye hugs, etc. No more boom boxes competing on different levels of the house. No more choir concerts, band concerts, and various awards ceremonies at the high school. No more prom dresses, monthly allowances, or staying up waiting from someone to make it home by curfew. Wow.
The college starts their year like most, in August. Here in southern Missouri, August is not the most pleasant month, unless you’re a tropical iguana. Naturally, Heather’s dorm room was hot and sweaty since she was living on one of the upper floors. It wasn’t long (a few hours, max) before I picked up the phone hearing a request to bring herself and two or three of her new friends “home” to spend that night in the cool air-conditioning.
The empty nest can be a bit overrated anyway…
People tend to refer to life stages as “seasons.” My life is better described as “spasms”. I am now in my mid-fifties, gray-er, somewhat more experienced. I have grown to appreciate my parents, who are now in their 80’s, and the humor through which they process life. I have grown to value my past struggles and mistakes, and embrace whatever God has for me (and my family) for the future.
So there. If you are over-heating in life, or even if not, I invite you to join my blog-nest, thoughts (and responses) from a well-used mother, from my home to yours. —- dawnlizjones