The rain and wind started today, whipping the leaves into autumn confetti. The temperature outside hovered around fifty degrees, not terribly cold by VT standards in October but cold enough to warrant throwing a few sticks into the woodstove to take the chill off. I looked out the kitchen window and could see the sheep tucked into their shed in the pasture, the noses bobbing rhythmically as they contentedly ruminated on the day.
We are only a few weeks away from Halloween and it begins the first holiday season without a kid in the house in some capacity. I find that I’m a bit lackluster in my decorating without appropriate applause. We grew a Jack O’ Lantern in the garden that promised to top out in the hundreds of pounds: the frost hit last week killing the vine so instead we have a skull-shaped pumpkin that tips the scales at about ten pounds. I dragged it up the hill and ceremoniously set it on the outside wood box. I’ve promised to make it into a pie if Paul will do the scraping.
Halloween isn’t bad but as we move toward the Holidays it does make me think about moving forward as just two. I’m not sure I know how to cook a holiday dinner for under eight people.
When children are tiny, our world revolves around new discoveries; of them and of ourselves as parents rather than simply individuals. Days are long, arduous, difficult and wonderful. As a young mother, I remember glancing at my left shoulder during my big outing to the grocery store only to find a large splat of baby vomit precariously balanced there reminding me of who I had so firmly become.
As kids grow, you become caught up in never-ending activities; band concerts, school plays, soccer tournaments, magazine drives, car washes. With four sons, I needed a desk-top-sized calendar to coordinate everyone’s stuff, and then I still pulled in to the bus circle late for pick-up. Josh learned to nap anywhere and I always had a small bag stuffed with cheerios pushed into a pocket.
When the oldest was graduating from high school I found myself taking solace in having three behind him. As he left for college, I buried myself in their busyness and was able to push aside the knowledge that these days were numbered.
When everybody had graduated from college, Paul and I turned toward each other, smiled and re-introduced ourselves. The three older kids happily scattered across the country and Josh working on his masters degree.
And then came Covid.
With the campus closed, Josh decided to turn his old room into an office and came home. Once again I readjusted grocery shopping and laundry detergent amounts and smiled as I set out pumpkins for Halloween, pushing aside the knowledge that these days were also numbered.
Now the rooms in the back of the house are, once again, unruffled. No dirty clothes dotting the floor, no homework and books splayed across the desks, no plates with half-eaten food pushed under the bed. Just neatness and quiet.
I was reminiscing with Paul about starting my adult life and how much it had bugged me when my parents would want me to come to the house and once again be part of the nuclear family including riding in the back seat with my grown sister. I was an adult, I had children of my own, the last thing I wanted was to feel like someone’s kid. Like our sons, I had traditions of my own to create and, in doing so, often felt the need to push aside those of my past in order to feel my feet firmly in my present.
I try to remember these things so that I can understand moments when they happen to me. I talk almost daily with my sons but work hard to offer advice only when asked. To silently take one step back and be an observer. I find that in the face of a bit of silence, opinions are a bit more freely solicited. Maybe I wouldn’t buy that car or get that tattoo but I can give you a laundry list of things that I did that my parents objected to.
Probably the best gift under the tree is the freedom you offer when you show your kids that you have your own life: we’d be thrilled to have you join us for the holidays, but if you can’t, rest assured that there will be merry-making in our house just the same.
And sometimes, just sometimes, when I hear the phone ring and see one of our children’s names on the ID, I wait and answer on the second ring.
Yep, you nailed it.
Thanks David!
Love this! I was just thinking of how too often I was stingy with my love when visiting my parents as a young adult, probably feeling the need to keep my own self intact. Later, their pleasure was a balm, a validation and, yes, I treasure memories of walking in as they snuggled watching some crummy movie in the dark with the volume impossibly loud. So it goes. You know already, of course, that your youngest is a unique gem in the universe—you did a great job of it.
Thank you for this John;
Interesting and true how we see so much clearer in hindsight.