I’ve been thinking a great deal about the empty nest lately. Not some lament over a missing bird but what happens when your kids either leave home voluntarily or are forced out by court order. (“Gee mom, so I am 35 and still living at home. Have you seen what it is like out there?)
I’ve been thinking about this life transition because my wife and I are about 536 days 7 hours and 22 minutes away from being alone in the house, and I felt it was never too early to begin making plans. Not that I am counting the minutes, but let’s just say I have set my alarms on my cell phone to play “Happy Days are Here Again” on that fateful Saturday morning in 2013. Don’t get me wrong, I love my daughters with all my heart and soul, and I have cherished every minute we have been together, but being able to take a shower without wading through leg razors and bras does have its appeal.
I am fascinated by the response I get whenever anyone realizes Susan and I will soon be alone. 99% of folks say something like, “What are you going to do with yourself?” as if I have had the kids as my personal assistants all these years scheduling meetings and making dinner reservations for me. As a perfectly capable yet aging baby boomer, I have no doubt that I will be able to fill my time with mundane activities like work and sleep.
Empty Nest syndrome comes from the nesting habits of various bird species. Generally what happens is the daddy bird gets tired of all the chirping and tells the kids to either fly or fall 20 feet to their death, and then he unceremoniously shoves them out of the nest. In response to this action the mother bird generally has a nervous breakdown and takes the daddy bird to court. I must admit I do see some parallels but realistically the analogy breaks down on several levels. First, the bird children are not really given many options about leaving the nest. They don’t stay until they have grown so big they take over dad’s favorite perch, and they don’t tell dad that they just need to find themselves before they learn to fly. They just leave. And surprisingly they usually don’t come back. Most get their undergraduate degree in worm harvesting and then begin scavenging on their own. You don’t see multitudes of junior birdies negotiating with the parents to let them get two graduate degrees and a PhD while they hang loose in the nest. The concept of boomerang birds are lost on most species of winged creatures (unlike the “go out and come back” so common in Homo sapiens) All in all, the only similarity I see between birds, nests, and humans is the mamma bird, like their human counterpart, is the boss of the home, and dad sings a much happier tune the sooner he realizes that.
For the past eighteen years my wife and I’s life has been directed by our children, and neither of us would have wanted it any other way. It is a season of life we will cherish and look back on with fond memories, like the time Caroline, our youngest, was riding in the grocery cart at the supermarket and belted out in a voice that could be heard in two counties distant, “Mommy, look at all the food in that fat lady’s cart!” And it turned out she was referring to a lady who happened to be a patient of mine... or she was before that happened. And neither of us will ever forget Katie playing nurse with all the neighborhood children, using feminine napkins as bandages! I thought is was very appropriate for a gynecologist’s kid, but her mother was not as impressed, especially when her friends went home wrapped in all the “bandages”.
We were thinking the other day about our social network and realized that virtually all of our friends and acquaintances are the parents of our kid’s friends. This is how it often goes as you literally have no time to develop other social connections. As a parent you are always at cheerleading practice, gymnastics meets, and play productions. The last thing my wife and I did totally on our own was an impeach Clinton rally and wine tasting. We just don’t socialize much outside the domain of our kids, so that aspect of our life will indeed change. Maybe we can rent some kids who have interesting friends and hope their parents aren’t swingers or chemical engineers. That’s not to imply that chemical engineers are loathsome, but I just can’t make small talk about the second law of thermodynamics. I suspect Susan will have to take charge of our post kids social life as I am an incurable introvert. Going to a holiday party for me is like pouring hydrochloric acid into a festering leg wound. Okay that may be a bit overstating it, but I generally would rather sit by a cozy fire reading a good biography than discussing the ins and outs of carpet manufacturing with a semi drunk reveler. Thank goodness my wife has the social graces of the Queen of England and is a friend to all she meets or I would never get invited anywhere. I realize that for us to survive the empty nest, I will have to compromise my monastic ways and become a party animal, as long as the party animal is home by 9:30!
There are some things I would like to do once I cross into the land of the empty nesters. For example, I would love to travel to somewhere that doesn’t involve a mouse , a fairy princess, or diaper changing stations at every water fountain. Both my kids have been to Europe...twice! I went to a football game in Lincoln County. I would love to take my wife to places with names like Hedonism and Hedonism II, as long as we get to keep our clothes on and don’t have to “swing” with Marty and Thelma Dusseldorf from Lancaster, Maine. I want to see the wonders of the modern world like the RV museum in Elkhart, Indiana, the world’s tallest Jesus statue in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, or the naked bookstore owner in Quartzite, Arizona. I want to experience the thrill of white water rafting and getting out of bed without something hurting. I want to run a marathon in every state and live to write about it. And I want to travel to see the grandkids one of these days, hopefully far, far into the future!
I am looking forward to getting reacquainted with my wife, Susan. This remarkable woman has spent the last eighteen years raising some pretty terrific kids and still been able to maintain at least some of her sanity. She is just as beautiful today as she was 22 years ago when I first met her and all without being nipped, tucked, or Botoxed! I see the empty nest years as a time to remember and rekindle why we decided to bring these little whippersnappers into the world in the first place. Let’s be honest, after two kids and eighteen years of diapers, drama, and dresses most of us are fat, fatigued, and frigid. Not my bride. She has worked hard at preserving her well being by running, aerobisizing, and knowing when to call it quits and pour a glass of Chardonnay. We have some catching up to do, and I am looking forward to those quiet nights sitting by the fire staying up late because we want to and not because we have to, waiting on some over sexed adolescent to deliver our daughter home from her date.
I believe the goal of every parent is to raise a healthy, happy child who is capable of forging their own way in the world. In that context, the achievement of empty nest stature should be a celebration of a job well done. When those baby birds are pushed out of the nest and they not only fly but they soar, you can rest assured that you have done your best to fulfill your parental obligations. There is no more satisfying sound to a parent than a child saying, “I can make it on my own now.” It is our pathology that tends to cling and not let go. I can understand the instinct that wants to protect and troubleshoot for the rest of their lives, but who is really served by that? A child needs love and attention always and forever, but that doesn’t mean they need you to constantly provide three squares and a cot. Remember, a prison does that just as well, and in a way, a perpetual stay at home child is in a form of prison if they never become self sufficient. Celebrate your independence! Look forward to a new season of your life. Wear your underwear around the house on Sunday morning without fear of gross out comments from your teenager. Know that you have prepared the fruits of your loins to venture into the vast wasteland of humanity armed with the resourcefulness of a TV evangelist, the morals of Mother Teresa, and the education costing the gross national product of a small African country.
You ask if I am ready for the empty nest? My answer is, “You bet I am”. Now bring on the Metamucil and Polident!
I’ve been thinking about this life transition because my wife and I are about 536 days 7 hours and 22 minutes away from being alone in the house, and I felt it was never too early to begin making plans. Not that I am counting the minutes, but let’s just say I have set my alarms on my cell phone to play “Happy Days are Here Again” on that fateful Saturday morning in 2013. Don’t get me wrong, I love my daughters with all my heart and soul, and I have cherished every minute we have been together, but being able to take a shower without wading through leg razors and bras does have its appeal.
I am fascinated by the response I get whenever anyone realizes Susan and I will soon be alone. 99% of folks say something like, “What are you going to do with yourself?” as if I have had the kids as my personal assistants all these years scheduling meetings and making dinner reservations for me. As a perfectly capable yet aging baby boomer, I have no doubt that I will be able to fill my time with mundane activities like work and sleep.
Empty Nest syndrome comes from the nesting habits of various bird species. Generally what happens is the daddy bird gets tired of all the chirping and tells the kids to either fly or fall 20 feet to their death, and then he unceremoniously shoves them out of the nest. In response to this action the mother bird generally has a nervous breakdown and takes the daddy bird to court. I must admit I do see some parallels but realistically the analogy breaks down on several levels. First, the bird children are not really given many options about leaving the nest. They don’t stay until they have grown so big they take over dad’s favorite perch, and they don’t tell dad that they just need to find themselves before they learn to fly. They just leave. And surprisingly they usually don’t come back. Most get their undergraduate degree in worm harvesting and then begin scavenging on their own. You don’t see multitudes of junior birdies negotiating with the parents to let them get two graduate degrees and a PhD while they hang loose in the nest. The concept of boomerang birds are lost on most species of winged creatures (unlike the “go out and come back” so common in Homo sapiens) All in all, the only similarity I see between birds, nests, and humans is the mamma bird, like their human counterpart, is the boss of the home, and dad sings a much happier tune the sooner he realizes that.
For the past eighteen years my wife and I’s life has been directed by our children, and neither of us would have wanted it any other way. It is a season of life we will cherish and look back on with fond memories, like the time Caroline, our youngest, was riding in the grocery cart at the supermarket and belted out in a voice that could be heard in two counties distant, “Mommy, look at all the food in that fat lady’s cart!” And it turned out she was referring to a lady who happened to be a patient of mine... or she was before that happened. And neither of us will ever forget Katie playing nurse with all the neighborhood children, using feminine napkins as bandages! I thought is was very appropriate for a gynecologist’s kid, but her mother was not as impressed, especially when her friends went home wrapped in all the “bandages”.
We were thinking the other day about our social network and realized that virtually all of our friends and acquaintances are the parents of our kid’s friends. This is how it often goes as you literally have no time to develop other social connections. As a parent you are always at cheerleading practice, gymnastics meets, and play productions. The last thing my wife and I did totally on our own was an impeach Clinton rally and wine tasting. We just don’t socialize much outside the domain of our kids, so that aspect of our life will indeed change. Maybe we can rent some kids who have interesting friends and hope their parents aren’t swingers or chemical engineers. That’s not to imply that chemical engineers are loathsome, but I just can’t make small talk about the second law of thermodynamics. I suspect Susan will have to take charge of our post kids social life as I am an incurable introvert. Going to a holiday party for me is like pouring hydrochloric acid into a festering leg wound. Okay that may be a bit overstating it, but I generally would rather sit by a cozy fire reading a good biography than discussing the ins and outs of carpet manufacturing with a semi drunk reveler. Thank goodness my wife has the social graces of the Queen of England and is a friend to all she meets or I would never get invited anywhere. I realize that for us to survive the empty nest, I will have to compromise my monastic ways and become a party animal, as long as the party animal is home by 9:30!
There are some things I would like to do once I cross into the land of the empty nesters. For example, I would love to travel to somewhere that doesn’t involve a mouse , a fairy princess, or diaper changing stations at every water fountain. Both my kids have been to Europe...twice! I went to a football game in Lincoln County. I would love to take my wife to places with names like Hedonism and Hedonism II, as long as we get to keep our clothes on and don’t have to “swing” with Marty and Thelma Dusseldorf from Lancaster, Maine. I want to see the wonders of the modern world like the RV museum in Elkhart, Indiana, the world’s tallest Jesus statue in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, or the naked bookstore owner in Quartzite, Arizona. I want to experience the thrill of white water rafting and getting out of bed without something hurting. I want to run a marathon in every state and live to write about it. And I want to travel to see the grandkids one of these days, hopefully far, far into the future!
I am looking forward to getting reacquainted with my wife, Susan. This remarkable woman has spent the last eighteen years raising some pretty terrific kids and still been able to maintain at least some of her sanity. She is just as beautiful today as she was 22 years ago when I first met her and all without being nipped, tucked, or Botoxed! I see the empty nest years as a time to remember and rekindle why we decided to bring these little whippersnappers into the world in the first place. Let’s be honest, after two kids and eighteen years of diapers, drama, and dresses most of us are fat, fatigued, and frigid. Not my bride. She has worked hard at preserving her well being by running, aerobisizing, and knowing when to call it quits and pour a glass of Chardonnay. We have some catching up to do, and I am looking forward to those quiet nights sitting by the fire staying up late because we want to and not because we have to, waiting on some over sexed adolescent to deliver our daughter home from her date.
I believe the goal of every parent is to raise a healthy, happy child who is capable of forging their own way in the world. In that context, the achievement of empty nest stature should be a celebration of a job well done. When those baby birds are pushed out of the nest and they not only fly but they soar, you can rest assured that you have done your best to fulfill your parental obligations. There is no more satisfying sound to a parent than a child saying, “I can make it on my own now.” It is our pathology that tends to cling and not let go. I can understand the instinct that wants to protect and troubleshoot for the rest of their lives, but who is really served by that? A child needs love and attention always and forever, but that doesn’t mean they need you to constantly provide three squares and a cot. Remember, a prison does that just as well, and in a way, a perpetual stay at home child is in a form of prison if they never become self sufficient. Celebrate your independence! Look forward to a new season of your life. Wear your underwear around the house on Sunday morning without fear of gross out comments from your teenager. Know that you have prepared the fruits of your loins to venture into the vast wasteland of humanity armed with the resourcefulness of a TV evangelist, the morals of Mother Teresa, and the education costing the gross national product of a small African country.
You ask if I am ready for the empty nest? My answer is, “You bet I am”. Now bring on the Metamucil and Polident!
