DOWN HOME: Adjustment needed in half-empty nest

Posted: 5/25/07

DOWN HOME:
Adjustment needed in half-empty nest

Joanna and I are negotiating a phase of parenthood I’ve never seen written up in any book.

That’s amazing in and of itself. How could any aspect of parenthood go unexamined, unchronicled, unsold to desperate moms and dads frantic to figure out how to raise Junior and Bitsy to responsible adulthood?

Maybe this part got overlooked precisely because it’s so close to adulthood. Nobody thought to, well, think about it.

I’m talking about summer during college.

See, you raise this child as if her every breath for 18 years depends upon you. You start out walking her to sleep in the middle of the night. And then teaching her to talk (and sometimes praying she would forget … for just 15 minutes), and then how to read and to ride a bike. Later comes long division, and then driving a car, and also when not to get into a car driven by another kid who shouldn’t be driving. Eventually, you help her decide on a college.

Then she dumps you. Well, not really. But she goes off to college and has fun. From the sound of it, more fun than she had with you.

Along the way, you love every minute of all of it. Even sickness and fights. Especially bedtime stories and long talks late at night after movies. You realize that, in God’s great plan, whatever else you might have done—successes and failures, joys and sorrows, surprises and disappointments—all your life is worth the time and effort and protoplasm, just for the privilege of raising children.

But about the time you realize how good you have it, they go away.

Then comes the weird part: Sad as you are that you live in an “empty nest” with just your spouse and no kids, you really like that, too.

For one thing, for the first time in, oh, 21 or 23 years, you realize you still love that special someone who captured your heart when you were your kids’ age. For another, you realize life is simpler when you don’t have to think about curfews, when you no longer pull hairballs the size of chihuahuas out of the shower drain, when only two people have to decide what to eat for dinner tonight.

You feel guilty, but you admit this phase of parenthood, like all others, holds special delight.

And then comes summer. Like swallows to Capistrano, the chickees return to the nest.

Don’t get me wrong; I still love being a dad. The sound of Molly’s voice talking to her mother in the den puts Beethoven or even Norah Jones to shame. But still, summer means re-learning to live with “company” who share your gene pool. The untidy consolation is the kiddoes have to readjust to Mama and Daddy, too.

This summer, Molly’s only around for short, irregular stints. Just long enough to remind me that, while I enjoy the quiet of an empty nest, times with my kids are the “good ol’ days.”