And Now We Sleep

When I was in college, a million years ago, I remember my mother telling me how she worried less about me in college than when I came home on visits. I would smile, thinking she was only saying that to make her only child feel less guilty about being away. Ha!

The Kramer household has gone through yet another transformation in the last few weeks. Cole has settled down in Iowa City. (Okay, "settled down" isn't quite the right phrase with one disciplinary fine so far.) And Alex has just signed another year-long lease in Denver. We are officially in the empty nest gang. And while my heart hurts when I drive by the school, now acutely unaware of extra-curricular activities, and I long to bitch about the piles of shoes under the dining room table, smelly socks under the couch, dirty dishes on the living room floor, I've come to an important realization. I'm sleeping unbelievably well.

I hate to brag, but I've always been a fairly solid sleeper. When Doug and I were first married we'd crawl into bed and chat about our days as newlyweds do. But within minutes, I'd be responding in gibberish, talking about things like the horses we didn't have. You see, it takes me approximately three minutes to fall asleep after I hit the pillow. Back then, we would joke that when we'd have kids, Doug would need to be the one to get up with them since I fell asleep so quickly. Then we had kids. Mysteriously, Doug began to sleep sound as a pound. And I would awaken upon the slightest creak which was most certainly something that would bring harm to our kids.

Between crying babies, toddler nightmares, sick kids, teenagers going out, teenagers staying in (and having friends over), it's simply not possible to have peaceful sleep for the first 18 years of a child's life.Until, of course, they leave for college.

It didn't happen immediately. The first week, I found myself sitting in bed, stalking Life 360 to see where the new college student was and where he had gone that day. I was also texting our Denver-ite more to fill in the new silent gaps. Our Denver-ite likes to respond to texts well after bedtime, so I was awakening upon the dings just as I had been awakened by those slight creaks all those years ago... In other words, I was not sleeping like that mythical baby. Yet.

Then something happened. I began to bore of stalking Cole. I started calling Alex at sensible times so she couldn't text me in the middle of the night. And Doug and I began planning things. Projects to do. Places to go. Foods to try. Drinks to make. Golf clubs to hack. We were quickly reminded of our early married days. And you know what? Those were really fun days. And the days are beginning to be that fun once again.

Cole was home over Labor Day. We were ecstatic to see him. But it wasn't the worst to see him go back to avoid the worry that comes when he is out with his buddies–just as my mother had said all those years ago. He's not here. Alex isn't here. But they are well. And we can fall into a deep slumber with hardly any worry at all... except for, of course, that annoying, nocturnal bladder.

A New Moon

Cole is one week away from move-in day. Next Sunday we'll drive to our beloved Iowa City to unload his college gear at Hillcrest Dormitory–my old dorm and his big sister's old dorm. Is he ready? Are we ready?

I've noticed a certain maturity in Cole lately. Things like doing laundry without me prompting him, even if he mixes reds with whites. Or getting a replacement license on his own after losing his wallet. (We found this out after his new license came in the mail. In all fairness, he's had plenty of practice at replacing lost ones.) Or, reading books on his own. Sure, it's the Twilight series, but hey, it's reading.

We've somehow managed to celebrate the end of this era. It's almost like the high school graduation season that would never end. Since May there's been a virtual graduation ceremony, a live, socially-distanced ceremony, grad parties with lots of hand sanitizer, an impromptu prom, a last hurrah vacation with some fatherly mooning amidst a beautiful South Dakota backdrop, and a senior soccer sendoff allowing mothers to sport their cool soccer gear at least one more time while watching the boys battle it out with their buds on the field. Despite the pandemic, every single event has been a wonderful tribute to the kids we raised and the friendships they've cultivated.

There's not a parent who doesn't feel a gaping hole when they send their kids out into the world. I still feel that hole with our 23-year-old. But that hole is peppered with excitement about the future. Yes, there's a lot of yuck in the world right now. But I can't help but feel hopeful for our kids. They still see a giant, blank slate in front of them. If anything positive can be taken from this past year, perhaps it's the space and time that came from the screeching halt of activities. I know we all yearn for those activities. But perhaps it allowed some of our kids to do a bit of window gazing and deep thinking, when they weren't playing Clash Royale, of course.

Cole wants to start packing today.  He's also been having some very serious thoughts about the career he wants to pursue. A good sign. He's starting to truly think ahead! But he also wants to watch New Moon with me. Also a good sign. He's still living out some of his tween fantasies. You can't grow up all at once. You shouldn't grow up all at once. Or maybe ever. Perhaps we should all relive our tween fantasies once in a while. That would mean Charlie's Angels for me.

I completely expect to become immersed in nostalgia as soon as we walk through the doors of Cole's new digs and I smell the same weird, stale odor that greeted me in 1987. I clearly remember the blank slate before me. It was exciting, but terrifying. No matter what's happening in the world right now, I know it will be the same for our kids just starting out: a wonderfully, scary time. But more wonderful than scary.

So, ready or not... here we all go.

Slides, Bikes and Elephants

Alex graduated from the University of Iowa two weeks ago. It was a joyous, tear-filled event that poured buckets of pride over me and her father. Not only did she graduate from my favorite college in the whole wide world, and majored in a demanding field which I hold close to my heart, but she graduated holding a compass: a compass facing her true north. Today, she's in India. Well, maybe the compass was facing east.

The first time she mentioned this trip, my heart dropped out of my chest. Aren't you a journalist now, Alex? Don't you know that women get raped and murdered there? That was my knee-jerk maternal reaction. Anytime our kids tell us they're going to do something, anything, with an inkling of risk, my optimistic brain turns very dark. Obviously.

Alex was always a cautious little girl.

Once when my sisters-in-law and I took our kids to the park, I had to coax her to have fun. My nephew had gone down the slide at least ten times. Alex sat at the top, contemplating whether it was really safe to go down. I stood at the bottom, trying to convince her she'd be okay. I promised I would catch her. She'd watched Mitch go down with no notable injuries. She was still skeptical. Eventually, she scooted her way down – not the most fun way to enjoy a slide, but she did it. Then she did it again, with a little less scooting and a little more sliding.

Teaching Alex to ride a bike a few years later had a similar theme. I can't remember exactly how old she was, but everyone else her age had mastered it. Finally, Doug took over. I simply couldn't convince her that she'd be okay – even if she did fall. It was one of those times our kids needed someone who was a little less patient and a little more militant. Even with Doug in command, Alex was still tentative. "Dad, you promise you won't let go?" I think Doug was sneaky in his response. He said something like, "I won't let you get hurt." Reluctantly, she let him push her off. And, of course, he let go. For the next few seconds she had no idea he wasn't holding on to her. When she checked behind to see if he was still there, she wrecked. And despite not having one scratch from the fall, she was furious. "You let go!" While she wouldn't admit it (not even to this day), we suspected a bit of pride in the accomplishment.

Now, she's off to India to help a journalist friend with a story. I have no doubt her curious nature will always lead her to some interesting adventures. And while my heartburn has set in while she's across the world, I have no regrets of convincing our cautious little daughter to take some risks. I'm quite proud of it, actually. She's come a long way from slides and bicycles. Now, she searching for an elephant. Literally. She literally wants to ride an elephant.

I hope she does.

Miss Independence

Texting with my daughter this morning:

Say what? You're on the road? How would've I known to start worrying more than I already do?

I knew she was going to Georgia sometime this spring. But she hadn't mentioned it in our last several conversations. Hubby had just spoken with her yesterday. He wasn't aware either. 

There she goes... there she goes again.

Does that say independence?

That's our Alex. Fiercely independent. She's the kid I could never convince to lay in bed with us when she was a toddler. She needed her space. (This turned out to be okay, since second kid was a fixture between Doug and I until he was about eight.) She's also the kid who decided to venture to the restroom – on her own – in the mall – when she was in kindergarten as I tried to figure out the baby stroller. Luckily she outsmarted any evil kidnapper. She made it all the way to the ladies room with her mother and grandmother having only mild heart attacks.

Mom always told me, "Raise your kids to be independent." She didn't tell me what an anxiety-ridden task that would be. I fear the day we receive a text that says, "Oh Mom! The mountains in Afghanistan are simply breathtaking! Did I tell you I'm moving here?"

In truth, I admire the my daughter's self-awareness and tenacity. Like the time she insisted on wearing canary-yellow tights to Catholic School. Or the time she convinced us to let her go to the Netherlands. By herself. Or the many times she's surprised us with a new tattoo that stood for something extremely profound and difficult for me to understand. 

Now she's on to be become a journalist determined to expose social injustices in the world.

How about that?

It's a strange combination of pride and heartache when your kids develop into these interesting creatures who take on a life of their own. I won't deny the satisfaction I feel when she calls to ask me a question about getting her wisdom teeth out or paying a credit card bill or cleaning mold off the kitchen floor.  She still needs us on a practical level. But when she showed us her most recent tattoo – Roman numerals of her father's, brother's and mother's birthdays, I realized something else. She still needs us emotionally. She'll always need our love. And she'll always get it.

Today after she told me about this service trip with sixteen other university students, I politely asked her to keep me posted. I also mentioned something to her about her stalwart independence. She told me it was my fault. But I sort of disagree. I tried my best to keep her under my wing. Luckily, she's much stronger than me.

Departure Grief Reboot

Many of my friends have sent their kids off to college for the first time this past week. I remember the feeling all to well, equal parts proud and equal parts sad. I coped by blogging or crying to my dog. Here's one of the posts after I had sulked a couple of weeks. One year later I can tell you all who are grieving for your kid: next year will be a different story. It will be only a teensy bit sad. Maybe some teary eyes, but no waterfall. You'll start thinking more about tailgating aspects...and how happy you are that your kid is moving on brilliantly.

From last year:


It’s been just over two weeks since the dropoff and here’s what I know.

Forget wrinkles and achy joints. The worst part of getting old is taking your kids to college.

Yeah, I know. This is why you raise your kids—to be independent and find their way in the world. Blah. Blah. Blah. I simply want my little girl back. The little girl with the big brown, curious eyes and bobbed haircut. The five-year-old, asking me to read Olivia for the billionth time. I'll tell you what I would NOT do if I could back in time: I wouldn’t sigh about rehashing the clever little pig's mischiefs. Nor would I calculate all the tasks required to uphold an averagely-kept house. Nope. I'd let the laundry go undone! I'd leave the dishes sit on the counter! I might even allow the pets to puke on the carpet without throwing a tantrum. Maybe.

Some of you (the few, the proud, the followers) might have notice this blog on hiatus. The break was merely due to my grief. The perpetual lump in my throat and swirl about my guts as I ponder what's going on in my college-bound daughter's world. Everyone keeps asking me how’s she doing? I think to myself, How’s she doing? I DON'T KNOW FOR SURE! GHEESH. THANKS FOR REMINDING ME SHE'S GONE!  

I have an inkling she's adjusted well. Clambered into to her new college life by jumping off the high dive. It’s me they should be asking about. How are YOU doing, mother of student? 

I guess I’m coping. I think about her all the time...probably too much. I wonder if she misses her family as much as we miss her. I’ve reached out to her a bit (quite a bit as she has pointed out), hoping we could Facetime. Apparently, I’m catching her at bad times. Almost always a bad time. Two days ago she said she’d call me back later. I’m still waiting for that call. It’s like I’m in high school again, waiting for the boy to ask me to a dance. And he's just not interested in the nerdy bookworm.

In three days, we reunite—to celebrate the opening season of the Hawk’s football season. But really? It will be a celebration of my endurance. My ability to step away from one of my most favorite people in the world and let her mess up her room without me saying a word about it. Really, I won't. We can simply talk about cool stuff. Like English literature classes. Or if anyone has tempted her to taste a beer. That happened to me once in college.

BREAKING NEWS:

As I was finishing this blog, I received that call from Alex. Eerie, huh? (She didn't recall she was to call me back a few days ago. Kids!) Anyway, hearing her voice instantly lifted my spirit. And as we talked, it quickly became evident, that my role of mother wouldn't be going away anytime soon.

Maybe I'll bring Olivia with me this weekend.

Here we come Alex!