Tuesday, June 19, 2012

The Almost Empty Nest

In late August my youngest son will depart for college. His older brothers have already flown the coop. Once my husband and I move Travis into his residence hall in a small, private school in Ohio, we'll drive away sans children for the first time in twenty-four years. Although we'll always be parents, and no doubt will be called upon for assistance, our roles will shift from leading players to extras or cameos. Our jobs will be permanently downsized, our input rarely sought, our purpose no longer vital. Sure, we'll still get the frantic phone calls over unexpected mishaps and dwindling money. We'll get questions about how to handle a bank account, file taxes and other bureaucratic snafus. But we will be more or less retired from service, pink-slipped, fired.

Handling this transition will require as much adjustment as the eighteen-year-old navigating campus life on his own. How do we proceed with life without three active boys dominating the atmosphere, without sports, pediatrician appointments, playdates, parent-teacher conferences, piano recitals and garage bands? After two decades of chauffeuring, counseling, cooking, volunteering and meeting every need, what the hell are we supposed to do? How do we break the habit of caring for kids 24/7 and get back to being a couple? Granted, there are definite perks involved: no more nagging, cleaning up after, hustling and setting a gold-standard example. But just how do we turn off the switch exclusively geared to the well-being of our offspring?

Perhaps it's the same sort of separation anxiety infants and preschoolers feel when first left in the care of someone other than mom or dad. Is it possible I'll really miss the dirty socks and shoes left on the floor,  blaring music and video games, trips to the emergency room, the forgotten lunch or homework? When you're knee-deep in parenting you barely have time to breathe. There's always something that needs to be done, some crisis, a science fair project, a late-night trip to Walgreens for cough medicine. Without the baby chicks you have time on your hands, unstructured days, an empty canvas. It will take a major re-orientation to adapt.

As a stay-at-home mom my job description was clearly defined. I have many wonderful memories but much of it is a blur--get in the car! You'll miss the bus! Stop doing that! And, like my mother always said when the boys were younger, it went by too fast. I was in overdrive for so long, now I'm moving at a snail's pace. I guess it's time for museums, movies, hobbies, a European vacation. Now I have time, at last, for me and surprisingly, it doesn't feel as liberating as I expected; it feels strange. Indistinct. Nebulous. Eventually grandchildren will grace the stage and it will all repeat itself. The children who wanted mom to simply go away will be calling on her for babysitting.

I have two months left of the last kid at home and I'm going to enjoy every moment. I'm sure I'll have a quiet meltdown the day we drop Travis at his dorm and take off, unencumbered. A new chapter of my life will be unfolding, one that is both dreaded and welcomed. A paradox. It will be an opportunity to pursue those deferred dreams. But every time I see a young mother in Target, hushing her brood bouncing around the shopping cart, I'll feel that familiar tug. I'll want to stop and tell her to enjoy the madness, but I won't. It would be lost on her. Part of me will want to trade places with the harried mom. The other part will be happy the most challenging task of my life is behind me.