Reporting From A Newly Emptied Nest

aka, the launching pad!

I never loved the term empty nester. I am not a bird person and cannot identify most kinds of birds except if you count the blue bird that pops up occasionally on my early morning walk in my neighborhood. I take blue bird’s appearance as a visit/sign from my mom. The more elusive red bird is a visit/sign from my grandmother.

I recently listened to a podcast where a new-ish empty nester spoke about having launched her kids as her youngest child left for college last year. I like that word, launch. I think I can embrace it. This self-described child launcher explained that since the time her kids were the tiniest of babies, launching them out into the world has always been the mission. I nodded my head vigorously as I listened on my walk, no blue or red bird in sight. I am a mission driven person in all the ways — in all my roles, and most definitely in being a mom.

There are moments still now over two decades into being a mom that I can’t believe I am one. On the night that my son was born 21 years ago, a nurse came into my hospital room with paperwork for me to fill out. In the part of the form where it asked for mother’s maiden name, I wrote down my mother’s maiden name. Said nurse had to explain to me that I was the mother. (Right!)

Just last week at an evening yoga class in town, my daughter’s former second grade teacher, who was also my son’s former third grade teacher, came up to me and asked “Aren’t you Joey and Rebecca’s mom?” (Right again!) Yes. Yes I am. I still get a kick out of being known as their mom recognizing that my kids have their own lives outside of mine, which are becoming more so with each passing year.

Back in those days when the teacher saw Joey and Rebecca every day in school, and I saw them every day at home, I knew somehow instinctively what to do, how to mother. This began that very first night in the hospital after I screwed up the paperwork but somehow figured out how to feed my newborn and meet his tiny baby needs. I was on a mission from that night on. There were goals to be met.

And whenever a goal was met, there were a whole new set of goals just waiting around the corner. Potty training (did not love that one), tying your own shoelaces (loved that one — make the two bows first then tie together.) We taught our kids how to properly hold a fork and a knife, reminded them to say please and thank you, to be respectful of adults, nice to other kids, to try their best, take the disappointments and setbacks in stride and well the list goes on.

Us on a family vacation many summers pre-launch

We also tried to teach the kids by example. That may be the most challenging part and also most rewarding of parenting. When you are trying to prepare actual humans to launch out into the world, you are constantly reminded to be a better human.

Like the cliche goes, the years went fast. I see shadows of the little kids that used to be as I glance over at the empty kitchen table where we once covered fork and knife holding along with please and thank you as I type this sitting on a stool at the kitchen island in front of the pantry that once held Oreos (Double stuff - I was never so strict on healthy snacks) and juice boxes.

I almost miss the mess of sneakers, boots and slides strewn out in disarray by the family room door to the garage. I used to line up the shoes at night under the bench by the door only to be greeted by a new mess of shoes later the following day. It was in some of those after dinner shoe clean ups where I may have over-reacted and not been the best human.

A wise person once told me that senior year of high school is for the parents. Most kids are ready to launch by the end of junior year, but that last year is so that the parents can see that their kids have outgrown the confines of home. This was true for our kids. In both of their senior years, my husband and I felt more like their roommates as as we observed them coming and going to school, activities, friend’s houses, popping in here and there with us for check-ins, the longest of which took place late at night just when we were about to go to asleep. I miss those late night visits at the end of our bed.

During their last year of high school, I sensed in each of our kids an instinctive pulling away from us. I think there is something in the animalistic nature that at age 18 the human child retreats from the human nest. This from a woman who can’t identify any real bird species and still can’t believe (at times) that she is an actual human mother.

Us on a family vacation this summer just a few weeks before launch

Joey left for his junior year of college with little fanfare. My husband caravanned with him up to school, made a run to Target and helped him set up some shelving in his off campus apartment. I stayed home with my daughter last minute scouring Dormify to see if we missed any items for a room she would share with her roommate that is slightly larger than our kitchen table.

After room set up was complete, we said goodbye to Rebecca in the common space of the dorm, the surprisingly cool late autumn breeze waving in from an open window above a couch that looked surprisingly similar to one from my own college freshman dorm common room. I was surprisingly okay with this goodbye. I sensed she was ready to launch. My husband had a harder time. He lingered longer in their hug.

On the walk back to the car down a hill, the steep incline of which I did not remember from the prospective student tour the year before, my husband grabbed my hand and caught my eye.

“Should we have another kid?” he asked with sarcasm in his voice. We laughed —really hard.

I will say that part of a good child launch/empty nest strategy is to have a partner that can make you laugh and in whose company you enjoy because you are going to be in each other’s company — a lot. I feel lucky that I have one such partner although I do find myself wondering on some of those quiet weeknight dinners if he always chewed that loudly. Perhaps my ears have become overly sensitive to his chewing or more likely the chewing had been drowned out over many years of louder conversations with kids at the table.

I will also say that another part of a good child launch/empty nest strategy is to have things that you are excited about doing in your launching pad/empty nest. I feel lucky in that regard as well. This year brings about a mini book tour for an anthology that I contributed to, articles and essays to write, interesting podcast guests in the queue, a plan to grow a nonprofit fund I co-founded last year, and this part feels scary to say/write here, but I am revisiting the first 30 pages of the novel I started writing a couple years ago wondering if I can dip into fiction writing. New goals. New missions.

And get this, the recently launched kids seem to have new goals and missions of their own. Some I know about from Facetimes, texts and calls. There’s the I figured out where to hang the posters and where the CVS near campus is, and also the I just joined this club and I met this kid who seems to know what’s going on in statistics class and she’s helping me figure it out.

There are new people who can guide them along the way — people in their lives who will know me solely as their mom (right!) and also people who will know them and not me at all. As it should be.

I think of the woman from the podcast who aptly said that launching the kids was always the mission. I feel perhaps most lucky that my kids could launch. I try not to take that for granted, especially when a call home indicates that they are having trouble finding their way — that they are feeling a bit lost out in their new orbit. Am I doing this launch analogy thing okay? It’s been a while since I read The Right Stuff or saw Apollo 13.

Back here in mission control, I will pick up/reply to the calls/texts/FaceTimes as they come in from the outer layers of the space and time that my kids now live in hoping that my instincts will still kick in during this new post launch phase fully recognizing that the instincts are sometimes to let them figure it out on their own.

It helps to remind myself that launched vessels do find their way home even if just for a break or to refuel — until the next mission.