Toddler Sock Wisdom

Today as I was rummaging through one of my cupboards, I came across this:

A toddler sock. Never mind my poor housekeeping skills. I was instantly sad. Yesterday I had toddlers. Now those toddlers are 21 and 17. Not that I miss wiping poopy butts. I absolutely do not. And I find great joy in watching our kids turn into fine young adults. But here's what I do miss: my unmistakeable purpose. As in wiping poopy butts.

Right now I have a disgusting cold sore in my nose. (Sorry for the gross nature of this blog post so far.) It's something that happens when I'm stressed or overwhelmed. Of course, I can't admit this to my husband, because he will accurately point out that I do this to myself. (And who can stand a spousal "told ya so"?) But he's probably right. I don't need to teach a class, but I do. I don't need to help my mother at her shop, but I do. I don't need to write a book, but I do. I don't need to work at the bank, but... wait, yes, I do need to work at the bank. My point? I seem to fill in any little crack of time to the point of cold sore or migraine hell. Yesterday, I realized why I do this when I found that little toddler sock.

Every mother either remembers or looks forward to the day she can shop at a supermarket (do people say that anymore?) without having to mediate a meltdown or worry about a pile of apples tumbling on the floor. Going to the grocery store without a toddler seems to be one of the first benchmarks of parental freedom. Before that day, our world consists of ensuring the kids are fed, bathed, schooled, soccer'd, etc. So, when I wrote my first book about ten years ago, I'm guessing Cole had learned to cut his own meat. No, that's not right. I think that was last year. But he probably, most certainly, had learned to wipe his own butt, somewhat anyway.

Wrong colors, Kiddo!

Don't get me wrong. I'm still a mom, first and foremost. But I feel like I'm more on-call than 24/7. And in between signing up for ACTs or wielding a stressed out college girl, I dabble in these other roles in my life which I completely enjoy. But that's the key: dabble. Not immerse. Dabble. It might save me on Abreva. (That's cold sore medication for those of you who haven't had the joy of pustules in your nose or mouth.)

And perhaps, just perhaps, I should be stepping up my maternal helicoptering in spite of having nearly grown children. I discovered yesterday that kid #2 is considering the wrong state university! Excuse me, I have some talking to do before the next cold sore sets in and Cole forgets his Hawkeye pedigree.

A Splash of Orange

For many years now, my most consistent form of exercise has been walking our gravel road. With its Mt. Everest hills and ever-changing scenery, I never get bored. The wildflowers in the ditches change each year. Once in a while, a goldfinch or cardinal will show off their colors. And sometimes, Percy gets to chase a deer.

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow.

The other day I was walking along, admiring waves and waves of yellow flowers (the technical name), and I noticed a small splash of orange. I stopped my trek to admire this small and almost obscure spray of flora. I even stepped into the ditch to inspect. I was enamored. I might still be there if I hadn't been a bit concerned about snakes hiding in the long weeds.

This experience took about two minutes of my day. And it preoccupied the rest of my walk. How often do I ever take a minute to enjoy something? How often do any of us do this?

When the kids were little I would walk with them on this same gravel road. And I'd become impatient with the all of the stopping to collect rocks and pick pull-apart grass. I had stuff to do! I can't remember what. But apparently it was something important. Probably laundry. I'd do anything to go back to that time and let them take as long as they wanted. Skip the laundry.

We do everything so fast in our lives. We eat fast. We have sex fast. (Did I say that?) We DVR so we can get through our shows more quickly. Sometimes, and I realize this is a sin, I skim books. Now that is a shame.

We're too busy to savor.

I attended the funeral of a best friend's grandmother today. My heart flipped when I had heard she died. She was a very young 96, living in her house up until a few weeks ago. Violet was the sweet lady who always, always had time for you. Like all good grandmas, she fed us well and created amazing concoctions like Tang with 7-Up. But the best part of visiting her was how she always listened and laughed – always having time for you. She had the loveliest of laughs that will be forever imprinted in my heart. There was a reason her funeral was packed full of people.

Between the recent loss of a childhood icon and my brush with pretty orange flowers, I've decided I need to make some changes. Instead of calling Alex only to remind her to take her allergy meds, I'm gonna let her educate me on something she's passionate about, like being the laxest vegan on the universe. And rather than focusing on how Cole still can't flush a toilet, I'm gonna share his enthusiasm over a story about that one NBA player that did something cool that one time. And maybe, just maybe, I'll make them some Tang and 7-Up. The perfect splash of orange.

Can you see the prettiness between the weeds?

Pulling off the Band-Aid

The other night I was walking a track around a soccer complex filled with intense youngsters wearing colorful uniforms and the most adorable, tiny cleats. As I watched pure exuberance chase soccer balls, my heart sang and stung just a little. Weren't those my kids just only a few short years ago?

watching them play is still fun

Last weekend we traversed (in our Traverse!) to Iowa City to enjoy the first football game of the season. The plans were to meet up with our good friends and catch a glimpse of our college-aged daughter. And a glimpse is all we got. She's a busy girl with a full course load, a job, and friends who do't go out until after 10 PM. Crazy kids.

I'm so proud of our kids who are focused and have goals. Alex will become a journalist tackling social issues. Cole will either be an MLS soccer player or something else. (He really is talking about the "something else" possibilities.) 

Sometimes it just hits me. My usefulness as a parent is waning fast.

I was expressing this sentiment to a recently-retired friend of my parents. This is how he responded:

I remember when we took Michael to Luther College in 2001. Everything I had read said to not prolong the "tearing" apart by lingering at college after getting him settled into his dorm. They told us that parents weekend was just six weeks away and a good time to linger. So, with an abruptness we took him, moved his stuff in said our good byes and departed. It was rough on me and I was full of tears in the car pulling away. It was not that I was first experiencing his independence that we trained him to have but the finality of it all that the corner actually turned. Since that date our times together are richer and better with time. A beer or glass of wine are not required to make this so but they are a compliment for part of the times we are now together.

Beautifully-worded, Chris Hoffmann.

an Iowa City party sans the daughter

Last night I was completely sacked out when my son came home after midnight. He had driven a carload of kids to Council Bluffs to see the movie. The kid just turned sixteen, and I don't even remember saying goodnight to him! According to Doug I said, "Home so early, Cole?" Bad mom? Nah. I'm a good mom who has a proclivity for deep sleep. As most mothers understand, deep sleep is typically not an option as your kids grow up. Maybe, just maybe I'm pulling off the band-aid. And you know what? I'm going to enjoy that deep sleep – and every other moment as it comes.