Remodeling the empty nest

You can thank me for the rain.

I was dancing the ‘happy dance,’ got carried away, flung my arms in the air and twirled around, singing “the hills are alive!” like Julie Andrews.  The rain came as an unintended consequence. 

Is it wrong that I dance behind the door?  Am I a bad person because I do the jig in the upstairs hallway in delirious anticipation of something that hasn’t even happened? 

Dear God, please let it happen!

Of course, I’m way out in front on this one.  But I can’t stop myself – the kid is going on job interviews!  Hallelujah!  Hallelujah!  Haa le-e looooo jah!

I know.  I should pace myself.  An interview does not a job make.  So sayeth Yoda.

Let’s play it out, Carolyn.  Take a deep breath:  He has to get the job first.  Exhale.

OK.  But, let’s say he gets the job. 

It’ll be a good job.  The kind that sorta makes me mad because he would be making more money at entry level than I made after 10 full years as a classroom teacher. 

But all right.  He gets the good job.  He still will need to stay here in that perfectly lovely bedroom which he’s transfigured into a dormitory laundry room hovel.  He’ll need to save a few months’ salary, fix that old truck so it runs; sell it and the wimpy girlie car his grandpa gave him; combine that money to buy an affordable, dependable babe-magnet form of transportation.  That’ll take time.

He’ll need first and last month’s rent and a security deposit.  By my calculations …

I know - I don’t match the PsychologyToday description of a parent facing empty nest syndrome.  By their definition the emotions attendant with the eminent departure of my grown up child would include loneliness and depression.

And that would not be me.  Oh I love the kid.  SO much.  But, no.  Not lonely or depressed at the prospect.

For one thing, it won’t be the first time he’s gone, if he goes.  He’s one of those ricochet kids you hear so much about. 

He left at 19 and ping-ponged around making funky forays into various scenarios, some of them star-crossed and others ill-fated.  Then he boomeranged, a bit forlorn but still a contender.  Still the sweet, smart, good-hearted, funny, handsome, single boy – er, young man – our hopes are pinned on.

And now, he’s completing his schooling – round two – and about to launch.  He’s flapping his fledgling wings.  He’s testing the waters.  He has his finger up, checking the wind.  He’s thinking of going.  He’ll go!  I just know it!  He’ll go!

So I’m following the advice of Psychology Today, the Mayo Clinic, Circle of Moms and Wikihow, getting myself ready for the inevitable impact of the kid’s exit. 

They pretty much agree on the basics for anxious parents who are fearful of the melancholy when they have no more children in the home to follow around behind, closing doors, turning off lights and handing money.

Oh!  Who will I buy groceries and toothpaste for, if not my spouse and myself?  Who will I remind to take the out trash, bring in the newspaper, unwad his clothes and put them away?

Who will tell me when I have bad breath?  Or that he’s out of shampoo or shaving cream or toilet paper? 

According to the empty nest gurus, I should take up a new hobby or schedule a massage.  Or plan a ritual of release!  Maybe I'll light a candle, chant “adieu” and waft the smoke into the corners of his room.

Sure.  I’ll miss the kid.  I will!  It’s been so sweet having him here and having it confirmed he’s a really good guy. 

I’ll gladly set up his kitchen with a rice cooker and crock pot and spices and dishes and hand-me-down pans.  I’ll call him on Thursdays and text on the weekend.  I’ll invite him to movies and he’ll never go and sit next to me with popcorn and elbow me at the good parts like he used to.

Uh oh.

A little sadness.  Some premature nostalgia.  But no worries – no job yet. 


Take your time Bud.  I can dance later.

Don't let the door bump your butt!

We love the kid.

Let’s just get that out there from the top.  He’s perfectly loveable and we have no problem with the love thing.  As far as it goes.  Which is further than we might have thought, but still.

He’s a nice kid.  Good manners.  Fun sense of humor. 

And he’s cute.  Very cute.  Easy to please.  And smart!  Oh my goodness, he’s a quick study.  He’s making excellent grades in his second round of college.

Yeah.  He went before.  Trade school.  Extremely promising in terms of parents’ dreams; that is to say in the highly desirable realms of employment and independence. 

He did very well that time too.  But it didn’t pan out.  Meaning, in the gentlest, vaguest of terms, so as not to distress you, Dear Reader, he got distracted.  Took a detour.  Wandered.  Meandered.  Deviated.  Digressed.

And then one morning he woke up!  Maybe on the day when his cousin was having his second child.  Or maybe it was the day when his best friend in high school, voted Most Likely to Develop Enlarged Thumbs from Video Game Syndrome, announced his engagement to an intelligent and beautiful young woman whom Our Kid had kind of fancied in his adolescence.

We thought he was awake anyway.  His eyes were open and he looked right at us.  He wanted to get back into school, he said.  Needed a place to stay while he renewed his commitment to normal.  Hooray!

It’s good, I tell ya.  All good.  We’ve been happy to have him here.  Extremely happy.  Happy happy happy.  Oh yes.  Happy.

So…

Those little dots after the ‘so’?  They represent a finger tapping.  A toe twitching.  A physical expression marking the passage of time.  Or, more accurately, a tell-tale sign that some of us may have lost track of time.  Some of us may have gotten more comfortable that others of us planned for them to get!

Some of us may have expanded into the space available.  Some of us may be thinking this bedroom on the other side of the house is a pretty good deal.

Some of us may have lost touch with their primal teenage urge to break free!

But others of us have not forgotten those things, Grasshopper.  Others of us are keen for your little winter bulb to send up a shoot.  To bloom.  Some of us are looking for the launch, Buddy.  We don’t want to seem too eager; but we’re thinking you seem a bit too content.  I mean, where’s the hunger?

We didn’t come to this grinding of teeth suddenly.  Perhaps it began back in the early weeks of his tenancy when he dutifully let me know that we were out of lunch meat.  Again.  Or he needed shampoo.  Or razor blades.  Or that he had scraped last remnants off the sides of that giant Costco jar of mayonnaise!  O. M. G.

I’m sure I tensed up just a little bit back then.

It’s not that he won’t do whatever we ask – it’s that we have to ask:  Go ahead and load the new roll of TP, Son.  Yes, you can empty the dishwasher.  It’ll be OK.  When the trash is full, that’s your signal to take it out.  No need to wonder about the best course of action.  And when you pass by the newspaper on the driveway, bring it in.  Yes!  You saw it first!  Carry it right on into the house!

He’s close to completing his education and we are trying not to seem too anxious.  We are hoping that he’ll get a job soon and thereby become eligible in the bachelor sort of way.  Is it too forward of me to compose a profile for him on Match.com? 

We’re not trying to pass off a ringer!  Honestly!  We think he’ll make a great husband:  He has an easy-going disposition and is trainable.  Kind of like a Labrador Retriever. 

Which is another reason the Kid needs to go.  Our new puppy arrives today and there’s only so much patience in the reservoir.   

Yes, some young woman will find the Kid loveable, dependable and loyal.  Please.  Help us out here.

Did I mention he’s cute?