Bittersweet Coming of Age

Our daughter has now settled in Denver – a city brimming with art, food, music, craft beer, legal narcotics, and majestic scenery. It's a place conducive to activity: biking, running, hiking, kayaking, walking dogs. She resides in a stylish townhouse with two of her high school pals. Truly, it's a haven for young people. I'm happy for her. Really. But I fear she may never come home again. It takes approximately eight hours and three minutes to get there from here. Doable. Not terribly practical. But doable. I'm guessing she thinks it's the perfect distance from her parents.

A Quick Trip to Denver...

I'm not gonna lie. I don't wan to interrupt her life, but there are so many things that pop into my head that I need to share with her. She's my girl, for goodness sake! Doug and Cole aren't gonna care about a potential hairstyle. They don't understand critical decisions needing to be made such as: flats or heels? And they most definitely won't care about a Netflix series that explores something as enthralling as feminism.

Cole has just informed us that he will most likely go to University of Iowa (3 hours away) and then eventually live in California (light years away). Now, I'm super excited we might have another Hawkeye alum in the family. But can't our kids at least pretend to be sad about moving away from us? Just a little?

I often hear people over the age of 40 complain about our attachment to cell phones. But I'm quite certain I'd need super dosages of anti-anxiety meds if I couldn't track the kids on Life 360 or send them threatening texts for not responding to me. And I'd be one sad mom if I couldn't Face-time my daughter who seems destined (or determined) to live hundreds of miles away.

There it is. The "Really, Mom?" look.

Okay. I understand the idiocy of my pity party. I know, I know. You raise your kid to be independent. To an extent, I'm happy about that. Proud, for sure. But, there's this gigantic maternal hole that plagues me as I feel the kids slipping away. I've had a couple of ideas on how to fill that hole. Grandkids come to mind. Then I shiver at the thought of our 18-year-old boy becoming a dad. I've even brought up adopting a 10-year-boy. But as Doug so profoundly pointed out, he'd just leave eventually too. Then it came to me this week. An idea so simple and so perfect. Something I've been doing with my own mother forever. A mother-daughter book club.

I've recommended millions of books to my daughter. But as I've pointed out, she's quite independent. I don't think she believed I could suggest a book that would satisfy her intellectual cravings. Nevermind, that I was an English major. (Maybe she too clearly remembered my obsession with the Twilight series.) However, recently I struck gold. Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler is a novel about a 22-year-old writer who moves to New York City and gets her start as a server in a swanky restaurant. How could my journalism major who is getting her start as a server in a swanky restaurant resist? Last week she began texting comments about the book. When we spoke on the phone, our conversation drifted to the story. Then it hit me. We were our own book club! I asked Alex should we formalize it? Set a date to Face-time and answer real book club discussion questions? She was in. And my world shone just a bit brighter.

The other morning Cole mentioned how much he loved the book he was reading right now: Catcher in the Rye. Interestingly, there are a few parallels between that classic and Sweetbitter. Also interestingly, it happens to be one of my ALL TIME FAVORITES. (You just can't beat a good coming-of-age novel.) I told Cole that perhaps he'd make a good English major. He shrugged me off. That's what kids do. That's okay. I got plans for him after he graduates from college and moves to California. A mother-son book club.