Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Haul Water, Chop Wood, Breathe Deeply

The moon must be in the house of Deep Emotion right now. Either that or...

Oh yeah, many life changes are happening here at home.

The last baby left the nest yesterday. After thirty-one years of being a mother with children in the house, my youngest took off to move into a dorm at FSU where she'll be starting school next Monday. Okay. It's not like she's moved to California; she's only a few miles down the road and honestly, she packed like she was going to camp. There must be at least six pairs of her shoes on the back porch alone. And the library is filled with her school papers from last year, her sheet music and I don't know what all. Hell, she still has laundry in the laundry room. She'll be back.
But even if her move is as much symbolic as real, it's still a symbol of the fact that all of my children have, in fact, grown up.

Mostly.

And here I was, thinking that if they really loved me, they'd stick around the house forever.

That's a joke. Sort of. I have a feeling that at least half of them would indeed move back if I gave them the nod. And I'm having a little struggle with myself not to because darn it! I spent all these years learning how to be a mother and then all of a sudden (all of a SUDDEN I tell you!), they don't need me anymore.
Well, they still need me, but not like they used to.

And it's been ever thus. I can change diapers (the real cloth kind with duckie diaper pins) in my sleep in the dark. Literally. And they've all been potty trained for quite some time now. Breastfeeding? I am the Queen of Lactation and yet, not a one of them cares to nurse anymore, the ungrateful wretches.

I can sew cute little dresses, make baby quilts, teach children to tie their shoes, read stories with all the funny voices, answer questions on everything from "why is the sky blue" to "where do babies come from" in a professional manner appropriate to whatever age child has asked the question. I can make casseroles to fit four different types of dietary needs that will feed six with enough leftovers for lunches the next day. I can help with homework, accompany classes on field trips (how many times have YOU been to the Jr. Museum?), teach a child how to bake, make cupcakes for a class of thirty in an hour or less, know just what to do for many various childhood illness, and can charm a toddler into letting me wash her hair.

And all of that stuff I know and can do is rendered completely useless in the life it would appear I'm about to lead now.

When my husband met me, I already had two children so never in our lives have we been at home, alone, for any extended period of time. We've taken some great second, third, and so forth honeymoons but this is completely different. You can't stay drunk all the time, my friends! Well, you could, but I'm thinking it would not be prudent.
The only activity we've really come across that we can do together as a couple together for this new stage of life is....uh, cleaning behind the refrigerator.
We may be in trouble.

But the bottom line on all of this is... if I'm not a mother, then who am I? Oh sure, I'll always be a mother, but let's face it- when they've all moved out, it's just not the same. Should I now go get a job? Who would have me? I have a nursing degree but haven't practiced in about twenty years. I can garden, bake, cook, sew, clean, and just generally tend to the needs of others in many different situations but I don't want to be a nanny, waitress, or cook. I've done all that. And I'm too old.

I guess I have to figure this out. And I'm trying. I'm in a play, I'm taking yoga, I plan on spending all the time writing that I've never had before. Perhaps I can make my lifelong dream of being a "real" writer a reality now. I can be a better wife. I can spend more time doing whatever it is that I really want to do.
I just have to figure out what that is.

And I am so grateful to have this time, really, even though I wasn't quite ready to let that last one go. She never went through the mean, awful years that teens are famous for. In fact, she's too damn sweet by half, and funny, and fun to be with to want her to leave at all. I feel like I've been ripped in half, which doesn't say much for my parenting in this instance. A parent's job is to raise children to the point where they're ready to go out into the world without us. I know that, and I think she's ready. It's me I'm having the big doubts about.

But when I get weepy or worried about what I should be doing, or where I should be headed, or who I should be now I need to remember the lesson I've learned from yoga, which is that when a new position seems impossible and it doesn't seem as if I can stretch into it ever, ever, ever, all I have to do is breathe, and let my body do what it needs to do and before I know it, I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing.

I'm going to try to stretch my heart and my soul and my life now. It's probably going to feel awkward and strange and hard. But here I am, with breath and with will and a wonderful and loving man and with friends and yes, even with children who live right down the road, and I'm going to do this.
Whatever it is, I'm going to do it.

There may be a little down time. I honestly don't know right this second whether to sign up for an AARP tour of the world, have a drink, take one of those strip fitness classes, or just crawl under the covers for a few days. I swing from wanting to sob my guts out to having small sparks of excitement about what the future holds for me and my husband.

I guess right now I'll go put some brown rice on to cook. A small amount of brown rice. Just enough for two. I can tell you right now I need some smaller pots.

Which doesn't mean a smaller life, does it?
Not unless I make it that way. And I surely don't intend to.

9 comments:

  1. You know, I almost feel like you should offer some sort of mama classes. Seminars, if you will.

    PS: I love you, but there's no way I'm moving home. Unless dad finishes that apartment in the Garagmahal.

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  2. Yes. Well, I wish he would finish that apartment. Or else do up the old barn as a little studio house. Wouldn't that be the coolest? Hell, we could move in there and rent out the big house. I could totally see that.
    All four of you kids could live here in the house and we could be tucked away in the woods. Or bamboo grove, to be more faithful to the truth.
    Options, options.
    And mama seminars? Would people pay? That would be cool.

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  3. Wow. what a great post. So helpful for me to see, right now, when I'm still so deeply involved. I've got another 12 years and it's good to be reminded that I should cherish them. One day my bean will move out, have her own place, be away for days, weeks, better not be more than weeks!!! Holey crap, that does sound terrible, and scary, and awful! Yet... so freeing. Weird. Such a paradox. Wow.

    It's kind of like you've retired.

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  4. Ms. Ample- it IS sort of like I'm retired. My eldest jokingly suggested I have a retirement dinner and receive a gold watch...
    Thirty one years.
    And you got it right- scary and terrible and awful and freeing. And the freeing part may be the scariest of all.
    It's not unlike being eighteen- what do I do now?
    But let me tell you that the next twelve years with your baby will go so fast you won't believe it. There are, of course, those days that last eternities.
    Time is odd, isn't it?
    And it's good to explore these things together. Thank you for your perspectives. Always.

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  5. I like the retirement dinner & gold watch idea. Really. On a lot of different levels I like it. A lot.

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  6. I hope you know you're brilliant. I see your wonderful family shows you that you are so I won't worry.

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  7. Robyn- Wow. You have gone back in time. Thank-you.

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  8. Mary - I am reading your blog from the beginning and it is like spending time with a friend. I don't know if you get these messages from old entries but once again I am struck by all you must so right for your own child to suggest you teach mama classes. I am your age but I still wish I had a mom like you.

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  9. Anonymous Jo- Yes. I do get email notices of these comments and thank-you so much. I can't believe you're going back reading all ten billion entries I've made.
    But let me tell you- I am NOT by any stretch of the imagination, even close to being a perfect mother. I am better than some, far worse than others.
    As Anna Quindlen said recently in an interview about her job as a mother, "Mistakes were made."
    And I continue to make them.
    Believe me.
    But I do love my babies. Oh yes I do.

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