I send a text to family, to join us for secret recipe crepes. "We have nutella, squirt whipping cream, strawberries, and blueberries."
During the last hour of church I was dwelling on the flavor combination of nutella and whipping cream, so when we get home, I munch through my healthy salad, while really looking forward to the crepes. I make the batter, then search for and pull out the other ingredients: nutella, strawberries, blueberries and...what????--no whipping cream. Yesterday we had three cans of whipping cream. It was purchased for a party, but surely they didn't use all of the whipping cream??? In serious distress, Tony searches the fridge and confirms what I already know--no whipping cream.
"In a few months, what's in our fridge on Saturday will be there on Sunday," Tony laments.
We are teetering so close to an empty nest and barely holding on. Every inconvenience, every pair of shoes left in the middle of the floor, we tolerate only because "It's only a few more months."
Can we tolerate the daughter's disastrous bedroom? Only a few more months.
Can I tolerate the shoes I trip over while walking through a dark bathroom? Only a few more months.
The glass left on the staircase that Tony turns into a bowling ball with his aching toe? Only a few more months.
Yet, "Only a few more months" is bittersweet. We may always know where the scissors and tape are, but we won't have anyone to blame for eating last night's restaurant leftovers. The milk may last longer, but there won't be anyone to wait up for and quiz about the dinner date. It may be a quiet, peaceful and calm house, but there won't be any parent-child banter. It makes a pair of shoes worth tripping over.
Over dinner with our daughter's future mother-in-law, I learn she and her husband are empty nesters. I feel sad for her until I ask how she's doing. "I love it." When she adds a second, "I love it," I figure it's time to rethink the sadness I anticipate when everyone has moved on from their childhood home. It's time to start planning for some good stuff.
"I'm buying all new glasses when the children leave," I say to Tony as I stare into the cupboard filled with assorted Christmas mugs and mismatched glasses. It looks like a thrift store bargain shelf.
While dreaming of an afternoon nap, I pass, because the upstairs bedroom gets too hot in summer and there's nothing worse than waking up in a sweat.
"Hey, I have another idea. Since we'll have an empty basement bedroom we can turn it into the cool, summer napping room and the upstairs bedroom will be the winter napping room."
"That's not a bad idea," Tony (who has recently discovered napping but will not admit it), responds.
Some things however, can't wait. I polish all the silver and get rid of the camp forks Tony has insisted on keeping because the children tend to blend and chop them in the garbage disposal. The silver spoons are few, but a return to beauty and refinement is more than worth it.
I've been preparing for the empty nest for awhile, but I'm still jolted when future son-in-law number one says that he's renting a truck to move his future wife's possessions to their apartment on Thursday. I keep thinking about the finality of it all.
"But it isn't final," Tony insists, and reminds me of how it used to be. Often, when parents said good-bye to their betrothed daughters, they would never see them again. Off to foreign countries or even neighboring states, travel and communication wasn't like it is now. "We can talk to Mandi everyday. We can facetime everyday. Think how often the whole family texts and sends photos."
Tony is right and I am pacified once again.
By the end of the week, we will have a houseful of children, sisters, moms, nieces, in-laws, in-laws of in-laws, friends. There will be incessant shopping, food prep, eating, cooking, clean-up, sheet changing, bed making, swimming, laughing, exhaustion and loving. I'll be happy that the children come........ and happy that the children go.
During the last hour of church I was dwelling on the flavor combination of nutella and whipping cream, so when we get home, I munch through my healthy salad, while really looking forward to the crepes. I make the batter, then search for and pull out the other ingredients: nutella, strawberries, blueberries and...what????--no whipping cream. Yesterday we had three cans of whipping cream. It was purchased for a party, but surely they didn't use all of the whipping cream??? In serious distress, Tony searches the fridge and confirms what I already know--no whipping cream.
"In a few months, what's in our fridge on Saturday will be there on Sunday," Tony laments.
We are teetering so close to an empty nest and barely holding on. Every inconvenience, every pair of shoes left in the middle of the floor, we tolerate only because "It's only a few more months."
Can we tolerate the daughter's disastrous bedroom? Only a few more months.
Can I tolerate the shoes I trip over while walking through a dark bathroom? Only a few more months.
The glass left on the staircase that Tony turns into a bowling ball with his aching toe? Only a few more months.
Yet, "Only a few more months" is bittersweet. We may always know where the scissors and tape are, but we won't have anyone to blame for eating last night's restaurant leftovers. The milk may last longer, but there won't be anyone to wait up for and quiz about the dinner date. It may be a quiet, peaceful and calm house, but there won't be any parent-child banter. It makes a pair of shoes worth tripping over.
Over dinner with our daughter's future mother-in-law, I learn she and her husband are empty nesters. I feel sad for her until I ask how she's doing. "I love it." When she adds a second, "I love it," I figure it's time to rethink the sadness I anticipate when everyone has moved on from their childhood home. It's time to start planning for some good stuff.
"I'm buying all new glasses when the children leave," I say to Tony as I stare into the cupboard filled with assorted Christmas mugs and mismatched glasses. It looks like a thrift store bargain shelf.
While dreaming of an afternoon nap, I pass, because the upstairs bedroom gets too hot in summer and there's nothing worse than waking up in a sweat.
"Hey, I have another idea. Since we'll have an empty basement bedroom we can turn it into the cool, summer napping room and the upstairs bedroom will be the winter napping room."
"That's not a bad idea," Tony (who has recently discovered napping but will not admit it), responds.
I've been preparing for the empty nest for awhile, but I'm still jolted when future son-in-law number one says that he's renting a truck to move his future wife's possessions to their apartment on Thursday. I keep thinking about the finality of it all.
"But it isn't final," Tony insists, and reminds me of how it used to be. Often, when parents said good-bye to their betrothed daughters, they would never see them again. Off to foreign countries or even neighboring states, travel and communication wasn't like it is now. "We can talk to Mandi everyday. We can facetime everyday. Think how often the whole family texts and sends photos."
Tony is right and I am pacified once again.
By the end of the week, we will have a houseful of children, sisters, moms, nieces, in-laws, in-laws of in-laws, friends. There will be incessant shopping, food prep, eating, cooking, clean-up, sheet changing, bed making, swimming, laughing, exhaustion and loving. I'll be happy that the children come........ and happy that the children go.
Bittersweet