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I was thinking about “Empty Nest” and all the connotations that brings to mind. Some parents grieve endlessly once the “little ones” grow up and “fly the coop.” Some parents live in frustration as their “little ones” NEVER leave! Other parents are content with Empty Nest, viewing it as the final page (and marking success) of the chapter called “Child Rearing.”
My husband and I are of the latter description! While raising our brood brings many happy memories (and many agonizing ones that I wish I could forget!), we cherish this next chapter of our lives as ONE union in the LORD. I am enjoying my 50’s-age years. With that blessing, comes my wish for you, fellow Empty Nesters: delight in this day! Your life is entirely YOURS now. The kids are now adults. If you were serious about your calling as a parent, you’ve given it your “all.” That’s enough. Let them go. If they ask for advice, give it. If they fall on their faces, reach out a hand to pull them up... BUT DON’T DO THE WORK OF STANDING FOR THEM. Don’t cripple them by enabling them to remain children.
This page is dedicated to OUR NEXT CHAPTER IN LIFE: that of ”M.T. Nesters.” Send me your thoughts on the subject; I’d love to post them. Share with us some things you can enjoy now that the kids are gone. What trips have you taken? How have you re-decorated your home? Did you buy a SMALLER car? What sorts of friends do you “hang out” with nowadays? How are your days spent without all the hassles of teaching, training, grooming, feeding, taxi-ing, worrying!!?? Do you have daughters/sons-in-law or grandkids? Share some favorite stories about that.
And don’t miss the next page of M.T. Nest: “Collecting Birdhouses.”
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December 8,08
As I finished beating the chocolate cake batter (a gift to my husband as he returns home from another FRUSTRATING day at real estate), I realized ANOTHER THING that Empty Nesters get to enjoy: LICKING THE ENTIRE BOWL/BEATERS without sharing one tasty drop with KIDS! YES~ ~grin~
Oh, and one more thing: when the kids call all bummed out because “life as an adult is hard,” feel sorry for them because you must, but NEVER feel guilty about that smirk on your face! \wink/
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November 17, 2008 Fibromom writes:
“BE NICE TO YOUR SISTER... and
stop that screaming!!!”
AWE, the joys of grandmotherhood: To hear one’s daughter (over the phone) sounding AS INSANE AS YOU ONCE DID as she battles the same frustrations you and I faced day in and day out many moons ago: raising and training up children. Maybe you’ve heard from you own cherubs’ lips during their younger, “oh so wise” pre-parent years:
“I’m never going to lose my temper with MY kids.” or “I’m never going to spank MY kids.” or how about my favorite:
“MY parents are crazy.”
Teeheehee... and now it’s MY VERY OWN DAUGHTER who admits readily that HER KIDS MAKE HER NUTS! Just wait, Dear One. This is the easy part!
I visited a bit with each of my sweet grandbabies (the 3 yr old isn’t even rolling his “r’s” any more! [sad]) and my daughter and I chatted (she seems to have rapid, disorganized speech at times! \wink!/) over this and that in between “kid” interruptions
... and then she had to hang up so that she could rush to put their snowsuits on to stuff them into the (cold) car to dash one to kindergarten in the middle of her INSANE day... and I slowly poured another hot cup of coffee and strolled back to my cozy office, a smirk on my face... and no interruptions!
aawww... Empty Nest
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A story a “new” Empty Nester sent as she and her husband try to gradually untie the apron strings from their 20 yoa, financially-dependent-on-parents-while-in-college son:
Invisible Mother......
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store.
Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'
Obviously, not.
No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.
I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England.
Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.
I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.
I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe.
I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:
'To My Dear Friend, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.
It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life.
It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.
I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.
The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'you're going to love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right.
And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Great Job, MOM!
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