Bikes in Heaven

When I was at my most un-fit, I confided in a friend that I had a crazy dream.   The dream was that someday, when I died, I would go to heaven and ride my bike.   In particular, I wanted to ride my purple Schwinn that I had as a girl, with the flowered banana seat.   I dreamt that in heaven I could ride it down a very specific hill in my hometown.   I so looked forward to being able to do this.

My friend looked at me with grave concern.   First she said, “I thought you were an Atheist?  Since when did you start believing in heaven?   And Also, why not ride your bike now?  Why wait until you’re dead?

Because I couldn’t.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate.   I’m sure I could have ridden my bike a few hundred yards, down a flat straightaway but there was no way I could ride my bike up the hill, that one had to summit, to get to that great downhill.    And, I didn’t just want to ride down the hill, I wanted to take my hands off the handlebars for a brief moment, hold them straight out to my sides like wings and feel the wind and that momentary sense of weightlessness that you get when gravity is doing all the work.

I wish I could write that my friend’s words were what made me get off my butt and start exercising, but that would not be the truth.

Over the course of the next year or two I started noticing some things.   Have you ever been sitting on your couch, eating potato chips and suddenly you see a person with artificial legs finishing the Boston Marathon? Or swimming the English Channel? or climbing a mountain?  Have you ever looked down at your soft, able body sitting on the couch and thought, “What the hell am I doing?” 

Yeah.  Me too.

In addition to that, I watched a few friends dealing with some pretty difficult health diagnoses.   Suddenly, they were faced with fighting a battle that they had no choice but to fight.  There they were, in the ring, gloves up saying, “this life is worth fighting for!”   and I was in such awe of these friends.    And again, I looked down at my soft, able body sitting on the couch and said, “What the hell am I doing?”

This life, this body, is worth fighting for.

But probably the biggest thing that happened was that when my daughter came home after a semester of college and was a total mess, I was unable to help her because I was such a mess myself.  I was physically and mentally out of shape, sitting on the couch, and pretty much useless to anyone.    When I reached out to my dearest friends to ask what I should do to help her, they all individually kind of said the same thing to me, “What the hell are you doing?”   followed by a polite, “Forget about her, What are you going to do to take care of yourself?”

So, I got off the couch.  I took my soft, able body to a gym.  I started eating differently.   I went to therapy (let’s take the stigma out of taking care of our mental health).

I wish I could say that a miracle happened and “suddenly” I was better, but that’s not how it works.  It is a lot of work.   It is choosing every day to make healthy choices, eat the right things and move my body.   It is giving myself healthy boundaries and learning that taking care of myself is just as important, if not more so, than taking care of others.   It is learning that the better I feel, the more I am able to help others.

It is a daily battle and some days are more successful than others but my able soft body, is slowly becoming leaner and my mind sharper.

I even started riding my bike again, and was gifted a new purple bike (unfortunately lacking the requisite flowered banana seat).     I can’t begin to tell you the joy it gave me to ride my bike again.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I decided to go for a longer ride than usual, and although we usually stick to the bike path, this time we chose to go on real roads.

The bike path is pretty flat so being faced with the rolling hills of this part of Massachusetts was both more challenging and easier than I expected.   The strength of my body surprised me.   I didn’t have to walk my bike up a single hill.    But, when we reached our mid-point destination and realized that we had to turn around and do it all again, it felt daunting and impossible.   But, we persisted.   Towards the end of the ride we were approaching a hill that we have driven over in our car many times.   It is a hill that if you go over with enough speed, the car kind of takes air for a moment and then drops.   Our kids always called it the “roller coaster hill” and cheered for us to take it as fast as we legally (or not so legally) could.   By the time we reached this hill we had almost ridden twenty miles and my legs felt a bit like spaghetti.   But, inside my 52 year old head, my ten year old self, who rode that purple Schwinn with the flowered banana seat was yelling, “C’mon, go faster!   Lets see if we can get some air!   So, I dug down deep, to resources I didn’t even know I had and I pedaled as fast as I could while my husband who was keeping pace behind me was screaming, “What the hell?!?!?”

I pedaled and pedaled, gaining more and more momentum and then I crested the top.   I would love to say that I took air, put my arms out and flew.  But, alas, I am no longer ten and no longer weigh 60 lbs.   A woman of my girth and weight does not “take air” so easily, if at all.   I also think letting go of the handle bars, and trying to put my arms out to “fly” would have been a bad, bad idea.   However, I did have a moment of weightlessness.  I had a brief moment of feeling the wind blowing against my body, keeping me “afloat”.   And in that moment I had a surge of happiness that flooded my body that absolutely brought me back to being that ten year old girl.  And so I asked her, “Is this okay?  Is this good?”   And she said,

“Oh yeah.  I’m in heaven.”

Advice about advice. (college drop-off version)

In the coming weeks there will be a Diaspora of sorts where children leave their childhood homes and head to college to embark on a new chapter of their lives.

These children will be filled with hope and excitement, and possibly a teaspoonful of anxiety.

The parents will be distraught.

Thoughts will run through their minds like "How did this happen?"  "Wasn't he just a baby?"  "Didn't she just cling to my leg when I tried to drop her off at pre-school?"

These parents will browse the internet looking, searching for advice about how to make this transition smoother.

So, I am here to give you advice about taking advice about dropping off your child at college.   It's really very simple.

Don't take it.

Remember when this very child was a newborn baby and you bought all those childrearing books (because the internet wasn't invented yet) by Dr. Spock and Dr. Brazelton?   You tried laying your baby on it's side or on it's back because that's what the experts said would prevent SIDS?   You tried sleep training by letting your baby cry it out and learn to self-sooth?   And, even though your nipples were swollen and cracked and you suffered mastitis, you continued to breast feed because the experts said "Breast is best".

Then, do you remember the day you realized that your baby would only fall asleep sitting in his car seat, on top of a rumbling dryer,  listening to AC/DC, sucking down a bottle of formula purchased at CVS and you said to yourself, "Screw the experts, this works!"

And from that moment forward you let the books collect dust and you did what worked for YOUR baby.

Well, it's time to do that again.

Everyone has their own idea about how your child will have a successful transition to college life, and even how YOU will transition well to this new stage of life.

But, it's not that simple.

Everyone adjusts differently, and some don't adjust at all.

When my oldest daughter went off to college I read something about how children who go to college close by shouldn't come home all the time so they can adjust.   So, we told her that we didn't want her home for a month.   Well, little did we know that three weeks into the school year, her college had a four day weekend that everyone on campus went home for.......except for her.     "You told me that I couldn't come home for a month" she told us (always the rule abiding, literal child), so she stayed alone on campus all weekend.

So dumb.

When our youngest daughter went to college and was completely miserable for a variety of reasons, the experts said, "make her stick it out.  Life isn't always easy."   We tried that for a while and you know what?  It didn't work.   So after an awful first semester of trying everything possible to "make it work" she decided to come home and take the second semester off.   And you know what?   The world didn't end.  In fact, she got a job, transferred to another school and is a whole lot happier.
There was absolutely no reason for her to be unhappy for four years.   No matter what the experts say.

These so-called experts had a lot of advice for me too, as a parent who was sending their child off into the world,

"Spend a lot of money at Bed, Bath and Beyond to give her the perfect dorm room."
"Leave her a lovely letter on her dorm pillow before you leave telling her just how proud you are of her."
"Don't let them see you cry when you drop them off."
"Don't text or call her, let her text you first"
"Don't let them come home too quickly, they need to adjust"
"Send a care package full of Pinterest worthy items as soon as you return from dropping them off with another lovely letter."
"Definitely do not sit on the couch with a bowl of ice-cream (or the whole gallon) and watch old home movies and cry."
"Find a new hobby, maybe tree planting"

Now I will refrain from giving you advice about these things, because I have clearly told you not to follow any advice but I will tell you my experience.

Kids don't do laundry at college so expensive linens are a mistake.  They will need to be burned at the end of the school year.
Who has time to write a letter when you are trying to pack a kid and 18 years of belongings into the back of a mini-SUV?
Crying happens.
Texting happens. (especially in the middle of the night when you suddenly need to know, right now, that your child is still alive)
Screw Pinterest and care packages.   Paying tuition is the ultimate care package.
Ice cream is awesome and as previously stated, crying happens.
Tree planting can actually be quite rewarding and good for the environment.

In closing I will try my best to not give advice.
Remember that somehow your child will find their new version of comforting themselves just like they did as a baby listening to AC/DC, while sitting on a dryer, sucking on a bottle.   Actually, maybe that is exactly what they will do ;)
And all will be well.

Good Luck to all!

Trees, Roots and Empty Nesting - it's a thing

My husband is looking at condos on Zillow and asks me, "What do you think of this one?
It's two bedrooms and near Harvard Square."
"Does it have a garage?"  I ask.
"um. no" he says with resignation in his voice.
"Then, no."  I confirm what he already knows.

We are empty nesters.  We've been playing with empty nesting for a couple years now.  The kids have come and gone but now they seem to be gone more than they are here.

We have lived in our house for 20 years.   It's the only home either of our children remember.
It is "home".

My husband is particularly eager to move on to the next stage of our life.   He wants to downsize to condo life and "give" me the weekend/summer beach house I've always wanted.   We love the city, we love the sea.  It all makes perfect sense.

But, the thought of moving makes me uneasy so the next day I go out and buy a tree and plant it in the yard.   My husband comes home, looks at the tree, and scratches his head.

On another day he asks, "How would you like to live in Europe for a few years?"

Hmmmm.  That's a tough one.   I've wanted to live in Europe for a very long time.  For years, I dreamed of bringing the girls there for a few years, having them go to an International School so they could make cool International friends, and maybe even become bilingual.   But, they wouldn't be coming with us.   They have lives here.   "That would be cool I guess."   I say.   He looks at me totally perplexed.   He knows how much I love Europe.   And, my only sibling lives in Europe.  He thinks, not without good reason, that I'd jump at the chance.

I plant another tree.  He scratches his head.  "What's up with the trees?"   He asks.
I really don't know.
I do know that I enjoy watering the trees, tending to them,  and planting flowers around them.   Clearly I need something to nurture.   The proverbial "they" say when a woman is about to give birth she will start "nesting" around the house right before the baby is born.   Perhaps my proclivity for planting trees and flowers after my kids have flown the coop could be deemed "Empty nesting".  A new term perhaps?  As in, "Does anyone know why Deb just planted 20 trees and 10 peony bushes in her yard?"   "Well, she's empty nesting of course!"

My husband has spent the last twenty years of his life commuting back and forth to work and in the evenings and on weekends he would come home and enjoy time with the family.  He really loves his family.   I have spent the last twenty years of my life building myself a community with friends and neighbors.   I have a life here.   He will have our family wherever we are, and that is just fine with him.    But, I wonder what kind of life I will have if I leave the gorgeous, intricate web that I have spent the last twenty years spinning and creating.

My husband and I go into the city for dinner on a beautiful summer night.   He can't help but look at the locale as a potential neighborhood to live in.
"What do you think of this neighborhood?" he asks.
"It's lovely".  I say, and knowing what he's about to say next, I add, "for the people who live here, it's lovely, for me, it's a nice place to have dinner."

I go home and plant another tree.
My husband says, "the trees have go to stop."

I have to admit that I moved to this house kicking and screaming.   I was a cosmopolitan girl who liked to travel and go out to brunch (on foot) on the weekends.   Suburban life felt like being exiled.   My husband moved a lot as a kid.   He would just get settled and then his parents would decide to move and he'd have to go with them.   He wanted stability for the kids.   He wanted them to have a real home that didn't change on a yearly basis.    I didn't want to leave the city, but I could see where he was coming from so I relented.   Over time we put down roots and flourished.  And now this is home.  This. Is. Home.

My husband emails me a link to a beach house in my favorite seaside town in Maine.
I retaliate with a picture of a peach tree.

When the kids first left home and went to college they came home fairly frequently.   It seemed like the dust in their rooms barely had time to settle before they were kicking it up again.   Now, our oldest daughter has graduated college and officially moved out.   Our youngest will be living in an off-campus apartment for the next school year, and has chosen to live there this summer.   She's rarely home.
The dust has time to settle now.  The house suddenly seems terribly, awfully, big and ever so empty.
Passing an empty bedroom that has become merely a shrine to a childhood that has passed is never easy.  It always seems to make my heart sink to see the sun freely streaming out of an open door that should be shut, signaling that a child sleeps soundly within with the shades drawn.
The kitchen fridge and pantry are no longer regularly stocked with the kids favorite foods.  Lettuce, kale and boneless, skinless chicken breast fill our "let's be healthy" fridge and I find myself missing the Oreos falling out of the pantry when I open it's doors, signaling that someone had be late night binge snacking and failed to put them back where they belonged.   It used to annoy me so much and now, what I wouldn't do for a package of Oreos to hit me on the head when I open the cupboard door.

We can try to deny it but change finds us anyway.   Staying in one place does not mean that everything will stay the same.   We do not have that kind of power.   If only.

With great apprehension, I open the email that my husband had sent me of the house by the sea in Maine.   It really is quite charming.  I can just maybe imagine sitting on the porch on a foggy morning with a cup of coffee taking in the view, smelling the briny air.   My dog Teddy is sleeping beside me (dogs can live forever in our imaginations, right?) Perhaps one of my children will be visiting and she is sleeping upstairs in the bedroom with the strawberry wallpaper (with the door properly shut and the shades drawn).   Blueberry pancakes are on the stove and the smell of syrup fills the house.   Oh!  I better turn the pancakes before they burn!  Wait.  This is just a dream.

That night I hear my husband's car pull into the garage but he doesn't come into the house immediately.   I find him in the yard standing and admiring the baby peach tree I recently planted.
I stand next to him and try to imagine what he's thinking.

"Won't it be nice when this tree gets big enough that we can just reach up from the deck and grab a peach right off the branch?" he asks.

I look at him in total and utter confusion and say,
"That won't be for many years."

We look at each other and shrug our shoulders.

My grandmother had a sign hanging in her bathroom that said, "there are two gifts we should give our children: one is roots, and the other is wings"

Once our children find their wings and leave us with an empty nest, it can be quite disorienting.
And I'm quite sure at some point in the not to distant future we will make peace with the fact that the roots we gave our children never had anything to do with actual trees.

Around the same time perhaps we will take a good look at ourselves and remember that we too have wings and maybe, just maybe, we will use them to fly!

Note:  Until the time that Deb finds her wings she will be found in her backyard planting various fruit trees. Her husband Gene can be found beside her scratching his head while eating a peach.

A Tale of Two Trees

When our oldest daughter was four she asked for a pink tree for her birthday.
We thought this was an adorable request for such a small child to make, so we obliged.
We took her to a local nursery and let her pick out a small, flowering weeping cherry tree that was full of little pink flowers.  She was delighted.

When we got home we let our four year old choose exactly where she wanted her pink tree to be planted.   She roamed the front yard for a while and then at a certain point she stuck her feet firmly in the ground and with a voice full of certainty she shouted, "Here!  This is the spot"

So, we dug a hole deep enough, threw some top soil in and called it a day.

I'd like to say we gave that tree a lot of tender loving care, but at the time we had a four year old and a two year old and we had other priorities.   Every now and then we would remember to water it when we saw the leaves starting to wilt.   Every year we would throw some top soil it's way if there was leftovers from gardening elsewhere in the yard.   And, if weeds were crowding it's trunk from time to time we would pull them.  Sometimes.

Not to say the tree didn't thrive.   Despite our neglect the tree thrived beautifully.   Every spring she (I like to give it that pronoun, although it hasn't stated a gender preference) gave us a canopy of beautiful pink buds.    She was the backdrop for every first day of school picture and she grew with the kids, first a sapling with a weak trunk, then a young tree that's trunk would still sway in the breeze, and finally a sturdy tree that could withstand any storm.   She was the centerpiece to our daughter's six year old fairy party.   Fairies lived in her for years and would sometimes leave notes for our daughters and they would write back.   Sometimes my daughter, the one who requested her, would stare dreamily out the window when she was in full bloom and just exclaim "I just love my pink tree!"  She did this at 6, 8, 10, and maybe even at 22.

This is not an obituary.  The pink tree is still doing fine and well.

However, a few years ago when a delivery truck came to our house and almost hit a electric wire running to our house, I suddenly looked up and realized that the tree was about to grow into the electric wire as well.  Oh No!   So, that year we had to prune her considerably to make sure she didn't interfere with the power.   How on earth did we never think to look up when we planted the tree?  That line had always been there.   Why didn't we think to look up?

So now we keep a watchful eye on the tree.   We make sure she is safe from the wires and now she grows wide instead of tall, but she still thrives despite our neglect and our obliviousness.  

In fact, unlike the famous tree in the book, "The Giving Tree" none of us have asked anything of her other than shade she naturally provides and the joy her pretty flowers give to us every spring.   The kids have moved out and she keeps growing and thriving and is a welcome site to them when they come home.   No one has ever asked for a branch, a trunk, or even a leaf from her.   Even her flowers are hers to keep until the wind or rain forces them from her branches to the ground below.  The girl who requested her all those years ago will even ask for pictures of her in full bloom when she is not home to see the "show".     In our opinion, she is simply the best giving tree ever.

But, this is not the end of my story.

This past weekend we planted a new tree in our yard.   My husband and I literally walked all over our yard looking for the ideal place to plant it.   We looked up and around and for shade and for sun.
"It won't thrive here!" one of us would say, "too shady", "too sunny", "it will block the windows", "it will break up the yard".

It was an exhausting process but we finally agreed on a place after squabbling over "a little to the left, a little to the right".   But before we put a spade in the earth we looked up, down and sideways to make sure it was the perfect place for it.   Once the hole was dug we turned the tree around and around to make sure the best side was facing the street and that the branches would grow to offer shade in just the right places.    I've been diligently watering it every day.

But despite the fact that this tree will surely be tended to fastidiously by an empty nester couple eager to nurture, I wonder if it will thrive as well as the other tree that was just plopped into the earth one day by a four year old girl with no clue, who had parents who were too busy to water her or look up at the dangers looming ahead.

But she grew beautifully despite all this, because a girl loved the tree.....

And the tree was happy.

Keep an Open Mind

If you asked me to name 3 adjectives to describe myself I'm fairly certain "open-minded" would be one of them.

I really don't care what color your skin is, what shape your eyes are, what God you believe in (or don't don't believe in), who you marry or sleep with, what you keep in your uterus (or what you don't keep in there) or what your genitals are in relation to your gender identification.   It's all good as long as you are a "good" person.

Recently a friend that I've known for over 20 years asked me to be open-minded about something that was so opposite of my own beliefs it challenged me to the core.

How can I say I'm open-minded if I'm only open to ideas that are similar to my own?

So I gave it some serious thought.   I mean some really serious thought.

I don't care if you are gay.
I don't care if you are trans.
I don't care if you are black.
I don't care if you are muslim.
I really don't care.

But, what if you are a white, Christian heterosexual with beliefs that challenge these other beliefs?
Do I care then?

The aforementioned friend sent me a video this morning of a white pastor asking his community to be open-minded in both directions.   He asked them to be open and accepting to communities that were different than their own and asked those communities for the same favor in return.   "Please allow us to be and think this way." he basically said.

I pondered this.

Perhaps I should.   Perhaps I should just let everyone think the way they want to.  Live and let live.

I asked my husband, "Am I truly being open-minded if I am closed off to ideas that don't align with my own".

In one line, my smart, insightful husband summed it up perfectly for me, he said something like, "There is a difference between being open to different ideas that are inclusive in nature, versus exclusive in nature."

And in that one sentence he summed up the core of my beliefs.

Open your hearts and your doors.

Open them to everyone.

Let in the people that are gay, trans, black, muslim but also those that are white, straight and Christian.   Everyone should have a place at the table.  Let them all into your "house".   Let them all into your heart.   Turn to them all and say, "Hello friend, you are welcome here."
Let there be discussion and a sharing of ideas.   Listen to each other.   Absorb new ideas and thoughts.  Do not be fearful or afraid of ideas that are different.  Thank each other for expanding your horizons.  Say things like "I never thought of it that way before."   Smile at each other.  Love each other.

But, here's the thing.

As soon as you shut the door on any one group, your request for anyone else to keep an open mind is denied.
It's that simple.
You do not have the right to say, "Understand my perspective" if you are not truly doing the same.

It really is that simple.

Note:  This blog was not written to make anyone feel bad about their beliefs, but instead, for all of us to question whether our doors and hearts are truly open.

High School vs. College graduation - A Parent's perspective

1.  Weeks before high school graduation:  Mom and Dad cry as they send in the deposit money to Jr.'s future college.   Parents are busy sending out graduation party "save the date" announcements, compiling pictures to create a scrapbook (or slideshow or video), and perhaps renting tents, bouncy houses, and balloon clowns for said party.    There is hot debate over the invitation list and discussion over whether the kid who accidentally hit your kid with a pencil in 3rd grade should be invited to the festivities.   Balloons and napkins are ordered in the colors of Junior's future college.   Caterers are called until Mom decides it will be cheaper to cook (big mistake!).

Weeks before college graduation:  Mom and Dad cried tears of happiness when they paid the last tuition bill and now Mom and Dad are vacationing in Puerto Rico.   One day while sunning themselves on lounge chairs, right after fresh Pina Coladas are delivered, Mom turns to Dad and says, "When does Junior graduate again?".   Dad sips his drink, turns to his wife and says, "I think in May?"   Mom looks at him for a moment and then says "oh, right."

(LOL of course this isn't true!  Mom and Dad don't have the money to go to Puerto Rico!!  They just sent their kid to four years of college!  But the conversation really does occur in their own kitchen, over their ramen noodles!)

2.   One week before high school graduation:   Senior Week begins and Mom and Dad spend the next week worrying about Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll!  They stay up late at night praying their sons and daughters come home safe from all night parties.   They talk to their children over and over again about the dangers of drinking and driving and safe sex (which is abstinence of course) and tell them to please call if they feel like they are in an unsafe situation.

One week before college graduation:  Senior Week begins and Mom and Dad go to bed and watch the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel on Netflix.  They have no idea what their child is doing and really don't want to think about it.   They just hope they aren't woken in the middle of the night by their phones ringing with a call from their child begging them to "Venmo" them some money for pizza.

3.  A few days before high school graduation:   The grandparents arrive, the aunts and uncles arrive and everyone starts getting the house ready for the party.    Everyone cries every time the soon to be graduate comes down the stairs at noon looking underslept (and probably hungover) and everyone keeps muttering "how is this possible!"  "You were just born!" and hugging the poor child.    Appropriate attire is purchased and/or ironed so that everyone looks shiny and clean on graduation day.

A few days before college graduation:   Mom and Dad go to bed and watch Marvelous Mrs. Maisel on Netflix.   Dad turns to Mom and says, "Are your parents coming to graduation?"  Mom says, "shhh, this is my favorite part". "Besides don't you remember the nursing home said they won't let my dad out after that incident last year?"   Dad smiles, "Oh yeah.  That was a good one!  And I didn't think your dad could still run a mile....... and naked.....in the snow....pretty damn impressive."  Mom says, "I know, right?" then she turns and laughs at the tv.

4.  The day before high school graduation:   Junior wakes up and says, "Mom, I think I forgot to order my graduation gown."   WTF?  Really?   Mom spends the next 6 hours calling everyone she knows trying to find one.  It turns out the neighbor's cousin's son ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning on prom night (no worries, he'll be okay) so he won't be attending graduation so "sure, he can borrow it."   Once the gown has been procured Mom can't stop crying.   She spends 3 hours looking at Junior's baby book and recounts the story of how he lost his first tooth when he fell off the slide on Park St. to anyone who will listen.   No one is listening.  Grandma makes a cake but forgets that Junior is allergic to peanuts and she has made a peanut butter cake.  So, other grandma makes another cake, Junior's favorite double chocolate with butter cream frosting.    Peanut Butter grandma gets upset about this and locks herself in the guest room and her son spends hours telling her "She is not Junior's favorite grandmother.   I'm sorry you never had a daughter so you could be the favorite of the grandchildren.  They love you Mom.  Really.   No Mom, it is too late for you to have a daughter.   Dad died three years ago.  Remember?   Yes.  You are too old for artificial insemination."

The day before college graduation:   Mom and Dad spend the morning reading the New York Times.  Mom turns to Dad and says, "Did you make the coffee yet?"   Dad looks at her, thinks for a second, then says, "Silly me, I forgot". Then he gets up to make the coffee.

5.  The day of high school graduation:   The whole family shows up three hours early to the venue to get good seats.   Mom and Dad stand in a crowd of people they have known for about 13 years.   Everyone is chatting with each other politely all while quietly thinking, "Your kid was the one who threw the pencil at my kid in 3rd grade.  I haven't forgotten and I will happily push you over for a good seat".   When the doors open, there is a race for the "good seats".  As the kids march into the venue, all cleaned up looking handsome, pretty, or maybe both, Mom and Dad tear up remembering them all growing up, all the soccer games, the plays, the play dates, and the real dates.   It all went too fast.   As they march across the stage one by one Mom and Dad clap for each and every one.  Except for that pencil throwing kid.  They refrain from clapping for that kid.   They stand up and cheer when their kid crosses the stage.  They fumble to take a picture but know that it will come out blurry.    When it is all over they rush down to the field, or the floor to hug their child and they feel such a mix of pride and profound sadness that this stage of their child's life, their family's life, is over.   That night when they go to bed, with their child safely tucked into their own bed, just a couple doors down from theirs, they cry at the thought that in a few months that bed will be empty.

The day of college graduation (pure conjecture on my part):  Mom and Dad arrive on campus and get coffee at one of the numerous Starbucks on campus.   They don't really know anyone so they spend some time before graduation in the campus art museum.   They make their way to the graduation venue and don't worry too much about their seats because the diploma ceremony is somewhere else later in the day and they have never heard of the keynote speaker.   Later at the diploma ceremony they look at the kids as they cross the stage and try to remember if that was the kid who came to their house that weekend one time.   Who knows?   When their kid crosses the stage and shakes the Dean's hand with a smile that indicates recognition, Mom and Dad suddenly realize that their kid has a life and people that they know nothing about.   At the reception afterwords, Junior introduces them to professors and friends who all speak glowingly about their child and say things like, "See you later at Charlie's!" to your child as they disappear back into the crowd.  Mom and Dad wonder who Charlie is - is it a friend?  more than a friend?  who knows?   After the festivities, the family goes back to their child's dorm room to pack it all up.   Mom notices pictures of people all over the wall that she's never met, and probably never will meet.   Dad finds a bong and looks at Junior across the room, who quickly says, "that's Charlie's!".   Who the heck is Charlie?  When the room is empty they give the key to the lady at the desk.   Junior looks at Mom and Dad and says, "So, I'll see you at home later?"
"Sure," they say, and they retreat to their car.
"Should we watch the last episode of Mrs. Maisel when we get home?" asks Dad.

6.  One month after high school graduation:  Junior is exhausted from weekend after weekend of grad parties.  Mom is after junior to go shopping for college supplies.  Things are tense at home.  "You need to spend some time at home" Mom says, "We have things to do".   Junior says "I know" and then heads out the door.  Mom's heart sinks.  Sometimes Junior falls asleep on the couch in the afternoon and she looks at that sweet, angelic face.  "It really hasn't changed" she thinks as she remembers the same face on a napping kindergartener.   Her love for her child swells in her heart and she's so grateful to have them, at this moment, on the couch, even if they are sleeping.

One month after college graduation (also pure conjecture on my part):   Dad has fallen asleep early again and Mom is sneaking downstairs to get a glass of water.  She passes Junior's room and can't resist going in and turning on the light to look around.  No one lives in this room anymore.   They live in an apartment in the city now, miles away.   They have a new home.  She runs her finger over the bookshelf and realizes it needs dusting.   She smiles as she looks at the book spines and remembers the hours spent in this very room on the bed just behind her, sharing these beloved books, laughing at the antics of the BFG, turning pages quickly to find out what mischief Voldemort was up to, being amazed at the contraptions the Baudelaire children came up with to escape the evil Count Olaf, and crying when the lovely Beth March died.   Mom runs her fingers over the books with great tenderness.  She hears footsteps behind her.   "You coming to bed?" Dad says.  "Yeah" says Mom.   "We should really think of getting rid of all those books and making this room into something else."  Dad says.  Mom shuffles back towards the bedroom forgetting all about her water.   Dad goes to turn off the light and as he shuts the door, he peeks his head in and says to no one in particular, "Good Night Moon!"

What Did You Expect?

Recently I was visiting my parents and was helping them load some awkwardly shaped items into a car.   When I succeeded, my mother and I had a conversation about why I had never become an engineer, because clearly I have a proclivity for spatial awareness.   I was a child of the 70s, when Gloria Steinem was in her heyday screaming for women's lib and creating Ms. magazine.   You would have thought that little girls would have been encouraged to be engineers.   But, nope.

I blame my parents for many things, but not this.  In the 70s and 80s people just didn't think about little girls growing up to be engineers.   Even little girls, like me, who spent their summers and afternoons building all sorts of things in the backyard with the boy next door.   We re-purposed an old wooden refrigerator carton so many times that eventually it just fell apart.  But not before it was a working car, club house and row boat.   In the winter we fashioned giant multi room forts in the snow with built in supports and escape routes.   But why on earth would a girl want to be an engineer?
My father had studied electrical engineering in college and I distinctly remember it being discussed at the dinner table that my brother who spent his days and nights locked in his room reading Homer, Twain and Shakespeare might not actually be meant to be an engineer.    That made sense.   But nobody ever looked at the other kid at the table, the one with the grubby fingernails, with the permanent-skinned knees, who was always up to date on her tetanus shots because she needed to be, and said, "Now this girl has engineer written all over her."

Again.  I don't blame them.   It was how things were back them.   These were the days when people threw their kids outside in the morning and hoped they didn't return until dinnertime.   It was the 70s. People didn't overthink their children.

I've never understood why engineering isn't part of most public education curriculum.  Maybe if it had been I would have made the connection between building a car out of scrap wood in my back yard and putting together a real car.  But, alas, I wasn't one to put those things together on my own.    So, I didn't become an engineer and honestly I don't really regret it.   There are women my age, and older,  who actually are engineers and I admire them greatly because I know it probably wasn't such an easy track.

When I did go to college I became a psychology major which I quite enjoyed.   Actually, I enjoyed it so much I was thinking of going on to graduate school and becoming a psychologist.
One day (or maybe more than once) my Dad jokingly said to me that psychology was "witchcraft" and I quickly lost interest in pursuing an advanced degree.   I thought the expectation was that I find a less "kooky" path and maybe a more lucrative one.   Does being a stay-at-home mom fit that bill Dad?

Again, I don't blame my Dad. I don't think he realized the power of his words, I'm sure he was (sort of) joking.

This is all my very long winded way of saying that the power of expectation, or lack thereof, can have a huge impact on what we do, and who we choose to be.

Of course, parental expectations can have the opposite effect as well.
My daughter is an EMT in her "spare time" at college.   This is the same daughter who to this day screams and goes running at the idea of a shot or a blood test.   In fact, I'm sure if she's reading this, she has become squeamish at the mere mention of shots and blood tests.    I recently learned that when she initially told me that she wanted to be an EMT my response was barely contained laughter and "No way.  You?  You could never be an EMT!  You are scared of needles and blood and everything that an EMT does."

She became and EMT to spite me.
She told me this.
Yup.
She dealt with her worst fears to prove me wrong.
Well played.

Now, of course, I tell her that she "can't" do things that I want her to do, so it might have been a mistake to tell me this story.   She doesn't buy it when I tell her "there's no way you can shovel the driveway" anyway.

Of course, this daughter does things daily that surprise me and amaze me and that I would have NEVER EVER expected of the shy, scared kid she was just a very few years ago.

I honestly think in the moment that she became an EMT she severed some kind of fishing line that was attaching her to us her parents.   It's like she cut herself free of all expectation.   If she can do this, what else can she do?

She shows us every day.

Now I will give her the credit she deserves for being a pretty amazing person but I won't go as far as to say we are spectacular parents for giving her this freedom.    She demanded it and our hand was forced.   And now her expectations of herself have far exceeded what we could have ever thought up.   And she has unknowingly given a great gift to her younger sister because she now has the freedom to expect the absolute most from herself and not to be as concerned with what our expectations are of her, and we can see that internal power beginning to take hold and we know it will take her to magnificent places.  But, it's okay if it doesn't.  No expectations here :)

But enough about them.

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about how expectation effects us (or is it affects us, which is it?) and I've gone back and read many things by many women writers (no offense to the men out there but I am a woman).   I've read numerous articles by the time honored Erma Bombeck, powerhouse writer/columnist Anna Quindlan, and the modern women writers/bloggers such as Elizabeth Gilbert, Kelly Corrigan and Glennon Doyle, and I keep hearing the same message across the generations -"Women are trapped by expectation."  "Don't be trapped by expectation."

And here I am.  Me.   Not my kids.

I am totally trapped by expectation.

Everything I am, that I have become, is pretty much to please or displease someone else.

And that is ridiculous.

So how do I change this?

And what does that look like?

I'm not sure.

Nothing radical.

I mean I love my family and I have a pretty good life.

But I constantly worry about what others expect of me and I act accordingly, for the most part.

I think many women are guilty of this.  I am not alone.

This is even true with my writing. 

My beloved writing.

I worry all the time whether people will like what I have to say and it keeps me from truly expressing myself.   I worry if people think I am writing too much or too little or if what I say is too personal or too impersonal.  I don't want to write anything that might hurt anyone's feelings or might make someone think less of me.

So I don't write.   

And people stop expecting me to write.

I stop expecting me to write.

And where does this leave me?  

Meeting everyone else's expectations but not my own.

And even as I finish this blog entry, as I write these very words, I find that I am doubting myself.   I am wondering if I should send this blog to a friend to assure me that it is worth publishing.   Perhaps I should shelve it like many other things I have written.   Perhaps I should delete everything I have done and start again?  Yes.

Yes.  Yes.

Or No.

What did you expect?