Notes From An Empty Nest

This blog post has been swirling around my mind for several weeks.  I just didn't have the courage to put it in writing.  The past 6 weeks or so, well, the whole summer, really, has given me many reasons to pause and think, and feel, and remind myself to keep breathing.

This is the most difficult summer I can remember.  Nothing tragic, or life-threatening.  Just a lot of change all coming at once.  Coming at the end of the summer. Coming sooner than I had imagined.  Hanging over my head; still, just coming.

As August began people would ask me, everywhere I went, "What are you going to do as an 'empty nester'?" Or they might word it differently, such as, "Ooooh, I bet you just can't WAIT to get that boy out of the house."

I'd smile and chuckle about "he needs this, and I need this".  But that was not an honest answer.

The truth was I had never thought of myself beyond my role as a mom.  In my head I know that I will ALWAYS be The Boy's and the Girl's mom.  But it isn't the same as an every-day, full-timing, best job in the world kind of mom.

With The Girl off on a mission for our faith, and The Boy leaving for his freshman year in college, I was suddenly without my true identity, my vocation, my purpose-filled role in our family.  Sure I had a job I'd been doing for work for the past 2 1/2 years.  But my focus was shifting.  My skill set and expertise were no longer needed in a day-to-day way.

In my heart I could hear myself scream "WHY didn't you have more kids?!?"  But I knew in my heart the reasons.  The two we have are great.  My mental health might not have survived (with whatever I have survived with at this point) another delivery and subsequent child to raise.  I know the peaceful feeling I had after The Boy was born that this was my set.  I had quite enough to be getting along with, thankyouverymuch.  I had had much to learn, and they were enough to teach me.

But being a mom: an involved, participating, full-throttle, hearts-all-in kind of mom was what I knew I was.  When he left for school, what would that make me?

I know my mom has always said that if she did her job right, my sister and I would be responsible, capable adults in our own right. That is the kind of mom I had striven to be.  In fact, if I was half as good as she was, my kids would probably turn out pretty great too.  But I wasn't home to watch her experience this empty nest thing.  I didn't see her model this behavior, teach me from her instinct. 

All I had going for me was a lot of self doubt, and heightened worry about The Boy with no way to immediately help him.  He was moving 274miles, and 3 1/2 hours away.  He knew no one there.  His roommate had no similarity of faith.  I only knew his sooner to be roommate didn't smoke, or at least didn't want to live in a roommate where anyone smoked.  Not a lot to go on.

But, The Boy went anyway.  His move was vastly different from his sister's from two years ago.  Much less premeditated.  Much less actually to pack.  Much less information shared with his mother.  He was behaving like, well, like, his dad.

Genius Golfer thinks over things extensively.  However, he shares those thoughts sparingly, rarely even.  But he is thinking about things.  The Boy was doing exactly that.  He was following the model he learned from.  It just wasn't me.

The Boy is incredibly bright, in his own way.  Where his sister is book smart, he has more street smarts.  But he is naturally very bright and when motivated he can do anything he sets his mind to.  This was HIS decision.  This was HIS school of choice.  This was HIS life he was deciding about now.  I had to let him make those choices.

That said, I would still love a phone call or text once a week or so, just so I know he is OK.  But if I also DON'T hear from the university, a hospital, or the police, I guess no news is good news.  I just have to trust him.  I also need to trust Him.

Never have my prayers been so sincere or heartfelt as when I feel out of control.  and now with my young, semi-adult children, I have NO control.  I have to trust the Lord that He will protect them, and guide them, and see to their needs when I cannot.  They were His before they were mine, anyway.  I just need to remember that. And keep praying.

So, I am adjusting.  I still don't love it, but I am seeing silver linings starting to show themselves in my cloudy situation.  I am only having to make dinner about 2 nights a week.  Since I don't know how to cook--much less for only two--we tend to have more then enough to last the week.  Or, GG gets a hankering fro something out, so we just go.  We can get by with our varied 2-4-1 deals.  It's almost cheaper to to it that way.

My evenings are my own.  GG is still golfing, as long as the weather is good, so I can do what I like for the most part.  No one is there to tease me about whatever book I want to read, movie to watch, or project to tackle.  And the Netflix is all mine.

The house stays MUCH cleaner with only two old people living here.  And GG takes his turn so there is less for me to do there too.

And when I do get a text (from The Boy) or a weekly email (from The Girl) I am absolutely thrilled to hear from them.  They are both doing great.  They have adjusted to their new situations better and faster than I have. They are becoming great kids--no, great people.  They are pretty terrific, if I do say so myself.  I am prouder than I have ever been of them.  I love them more than when they left.  And I know I will love them even more when I see them come through the door and I can hug them again as their mom.

Signs of Age

This past week was one of gaining personal recognition and gratitude for miracles given by priesthood blessing.  You may not know but I work at a place that does medical equipment for hospice patients--a hospice nurse calls us and orders a hospital bed, wheelchair, etc. and our drivers deliver it to the patient.  But this week, I felt like the tables got turned and I was nearly the patient.

Tuesday I went to work like normal but sometime that morning I saw a wheelchair in the warehouse that wasn't where it was supposed to be.  So I bent over it and had every intention of lifting it up tot he shelf where it belonged.  Just as I began to lift, I heard/felt a ripping--much like when you tear paper towels apart.  It instantly caused me to drop the chair where it was before.  I felt horrible.  I have told the drivers to be careful how they lift things all the time--use your legs!--and here I did exactly the opposite of my own advice.  I thought "how dumb?!" and figured I would have to tough it out.  But the longer I stayed at work--I had two weeks of embroidery I was hoping to catch up on--the worse I felt.  It wasn't just tenderness.  It was really sore and the pain started shooting down my left leg. I began to worry that I had bulged a disc out of my spine, or worse --whatever might be worse?! I had texted my husband to come straight to my office to give me a blessing--thinking he would be home sooner than I'd be done.  But by 3:00 he hadn't responded yet, so in desperation, I asked my boss and a co-worker to give me a blessing before I went home. 

Luckily, for me, I do work with a bunch of returned missionaries and these two men were available and ready to do this for me.  One did the anointing and then my boss gave me a blessing.  It wasn't a blessing for instant healing, but one that promised me no major damage had occurred, but that I had to do what I could to make things better for myself too. In the blessing he told met hat I would be able to find relief as I took myself out of situations that caused me stress.  That I would be able to find relief from mediation and help from resting my body.  It was a comfortable feeling as he finished.  I knew it wasn't going to be well instantly, but that I would eventually be fine.

By the time I got home, I was hurting SO bad that I couldn't take my own shoes off.  I laid myself over the yoga ball in the family room.  I was relieved by stretching my back around the ball, but then I couldn't get up by myself once I was done laying over it.  I finally took a big ibuprofen and an old generic a pain killer left over from a  dental visit or something years ago--and went to bed very early.  The next morning I couldn't get out of bed. My husband told me to get into the doctor, maybe he cold prescribe a muscle relaxer and something for the pain.  I called the office about 9 AM but the scheduling secretary wasn't available--so I left a message.  My doctor was the Urgent Care guy that day, so the scheduler for the office told me to come on in.  I did as quickly as I could and once there, I had to wait for about 30 minutes.  I was standing then tried sitting, but either position was horrendously painful.  I was close to tear as I felt the muscle in my back spazaming and causing pain down my leg.  Finally I got in to see the Doctor and laid myself across the exam table to relieve the pressure on my lower back. When he finally came in, he tried applying pressure in a couple of spots on my back and sent me through the ceiling a couple times.  He quickly prescribed a muscle relaxer, a steroid, a pain killer and double checked that I had a 800 mg Ibuprofan to take.  He also gave me a referral to a physical therapist.

I got home after dropping off the prescriptions and immediately laid on the bed.  I called the physical therapist's office and they had a cancellation that afternoon, so I took it.  The therapist ended up being the same guy that worked on my shoulder after I did that surgery back in 2006, Chad. He started me off with some STEM and heat.  15 minutes of that was the best I'd felt for nearly 2 days.  Then he came in and did some stretching and massaged on the area.  Then put me on a ice pack and sent me home with some small exercises I need to do to not only heal my hurting back, but to strengthen the lower interior ab muscles that support my back too. 

I took the meds that my hubz had picked up for me and went to bed. I slept through the night and then most of Thursday too.  I was in bed nearly all the day--only moving to do the exercises and go to the bathroom.  I haven't slept that long--or that well--in ages.  I was careful to take the meds are prescribed and I started to believe that I might live. 

I woke up Friday feeling better than I had all week. I went to work, on the meds, but I knew I couldn't lift or man-handle things in the warehouse, or the UPS or FedEx shipments, etc.  I was even very careful how I was sitting at my desk, or getting up and down from the chair or the embroidery machines.  I worked a full day and went hoe about 4:30 or so.  I did have to ask for help a few times, but I know that it is OK to ask for help when you need it.

Now, I know that some of the relief I have felt comes directly from the medications the doctor ordered, and other relief may have come from the electrical impulses from the STEM, or the heat and ice.  While I do think those were all helpful, I have a strong feeling that the priesthood blessings was what has helped me get back to "nearly normal" this fast.  I know the Lord cares about my health and the functionality of my body as it is necessary to my work.  I know that He can bless me to be healed in an instant.  But this time I needed to feel some understanding for people who do live in pain.  Luckily for me, He also knows me enough to know that too much demanded patience would put me over the top.  He has begun this process of healing for me, but is giving me the time to learn to be more compassionate to others and to my own self--where my body isn't doing things as fast as I'd like.

This healing process will be steady and over a longer period of time that just a few days, but I'm on the mend and getting back to what I do every day.  Simply getting out of bed without help is a plus.  Being able to tie my shoes or pick up something on the floor is a big deal after how badly I hurt last week.  So that was the extent of my story this week.  I wish we could arrange a few days of bed rest to just catchup on sleep every couple of months or so, but that isn't real life.  I am grateful for the rest I've had and for the relief the meds and the therapy have given me.  Now to do the hard work of remembering these little exercises and condition my back muscles and core muscles to avoid this again.

 

Getting older really sucks.

My Body Is Turning Against Me

Last week, before the holiday, I went to the local Red Cross location and tried to give blood.  I know that blood donors are desperately needed--especially in the summer--and I have always felt a responsibility to donate as often as I can.  When I got there, they had very little wait and they got me right in.  See?  I told you they are desperate for donors.

Well, to make the story a little shorter, my blood pressure was too high to be allowed to donate.

This was the second time in as many attempts to donate that my BP was too high.  My body is fighting against me.  I hate when that happens.

At my annual check ups the doctor always tells me that I need to loose some weight and should do more exercise and eat better.  But these are standard reminders, aren't they? 

It makes me discouraged.  I had figure as long as my cholesterol has stayed in check--with medication that has the same dosage I've been on since I started a decade ago--I'd be OK.  The doctor orders blood screening and lipid panels and all the other blood work to see that I'm healthy.  I figured the worst thing I had to deal with was the summer of the bad mammogram a few years ago.  Even that has seemingly worked itself out.

But not being able to donate blood--something that I have done for 20+ years because I feel it is important--is a real kick to my motivation.  I 'd like to chalk it up to age--everything else seems to be related to that.  But I am sure it is more than that.

I'd like to blame the genetic markers I have inherited from my Scandinavian/Viking ancestors.  They get the blame for a lot of my physical issues--at least in my head.   But I'm not sure that is it either.

I'm just a chubby aging gal who has never like to sweat.  I prefer chocolate to exercise and now have a semi-sedentary job.  My kids no longer need me to chase them in the park, or the back year, or around the pool.  We eat cheap, fast and easy most of the time--even at home.

I've got to come to terms with it.  I'm my own worst enemy, physically.  And I'll figure something out to solve this, right after I have a diet coke and get my head on straight.

In Case I Haven't Mentioned Lately.....

....I am not liking the process of getting old!  Lately I am discovering, or remembering, things that my body no longer likes once I eat it.  I'm not talking about not enjoying something to eat...I mean, my body actually makes attempts--against my will--to spew it out when I eat certain foods.

Watermelon is not much of a desire any more.  It gives me an upset stomach shortly after eating it.

Fried foods, which I realize isn't what I should be eating anyways, doesn't make be feel good--and not just when I eat the whole order of cheese fries on my own.  That churning feeling that follows is not something I look forward to anymore.

Now, I need to add one more thing to the list: milk shakes from my favorite burger joint.

After a Family Home Evening lesson last night, the three of us headed out for a FHE treat at JCW's--lovingly called "The Barn" since I return to it like a cow to her barn.  But my Reece's Peanut Butter Cup shake wasn't all it was meant to be.

I got almost down to scraping the Styrofoam cup's bottom and my stomach started the familiar churning and  rolling.  Not a good sign.  It isn't lost on me that I am having these reactions to foods I really shouldn't be eating in the first place.  But that still doesn't make it fun.

Reaching New Lows

This post might be too much information for some of your gentle readers, but you be the judge.

I think I may have reached a new low point in my aging process.  I have had clicking knees and ankles for ages now.  My metabolism has turned against me and my memory comes and goes anymore.  My parents have not given the "aging gracefully" much heed, and I really don't want to do it after watching them--but it depends on the day.

Yesterday was one of those days when I realized I certainly did NOT want to get any older.  My body has revolted and I've gone over the hill.  I was eating an apple yesterday afternoon and suddenly began to choke.  You know that feeling when you inhale enough of whatever you are eating that you wonder if you are going to have enough air to cough it out.  That was my first worrying though--BREATHING.  Then, in quick succession came the second and third thoughts.  My thought process was this:

1)  MUST breathe

2)  Holy Cow!  I hvae to pee!

3)  What the.....?!?  I hope I make it to the bathroom....or at least not drip on the carpet.

Yep.  I wet my pants because of a choking fit.  How pathetic.  My bladder is super tiny, but the pressure had been building but it took the sudden, blunt force of the coughing fit to make me loose control of my bladder and peed right though my jeans.

So sad.

Dang abdominal muscles.  Or, the lack thereof.  While Genius Golfer and The Boy laughed at me as I ran through the front room in a towel--having dropped all the drawers in the washing machine straight away--I told The Boy to stop it.  He is half the reason this happened. He did stop laughing at me out loud, but I suspect that he seriously wondered about this mom.

Getting old sucks.  Have I mentioned that lately?!?

How Many Years Has It Been?

This weekend a new musical movie comes out.  "Rock of Ages" is based on the Broadway show of the same name...and contains music from Big-Hair 80s bands.  Just my style.

Actually the setting of the movie is 1987.  That is the year that I graduated from high school.  In fact, this week on Facebook, a fellow graduate and friend posted that "25 years ago today we were let loose on the world".  Yikes.  Has it really been that long?!  Twenty-five years ago?  That is crazy.  How did that happen?

I'm hoping to make trip to the movies tomorrow...probably during the cheaper, matinee screening. Man.  Maybe it has really been 25 years.  I sound like an old lady.

Unstructured Time

I am not sure what The Girl was doing this particular day. Her best friend, Nicole, was over and they were painting, but I believe more paint got on them than on the paper.

There is something to be said, however, for their self-motivated creativity. I recall hours on end spent outside doing heaven knows what but having the time of my life as a kid.

I don't think kids have that kind of free rein anymore. I wish they did. Sadly the world is full of, what my friend's mom called, "pre-verts", so it is honestly more difficult to let them alone with quite the same abandon as when I was a kid. BUt they do well to learn how to entertain themselves.

As the kids get older, they seem more and more reliant on electronics and gadgets to fill their time. They need a game boy, an iPod, or a cell phone to find their own amusement. Too bad they grow out of the stage so quickly where the box is more exciting than their present.

I bequeath each of you at least thrity minutes of unstructured play time this weekend. Don't plan it too much, though. Just play. And don't be too worried if it even gets a little messy.

Just Had to Share

Dear Friend Karen sent these photos to me in an email and I liked them so much, I had to post them. There must be some kind of warning embedded here, but I just can't seem to narrow it down. Might be: Don't go to the beach with friends, or stay away from the water at the beach, or keep your personal space at the beach, or maybe it is just Legs + Time = Not Your Friend.

Happy Wednesday!