Why Rule the Roost When the Nest is Empty?

            I can't wait for my children to move out. Is that wrong? I have always reared my children with the intent that they would one day, sooner rather than later, spread their wings and take flight into a world of their own. On a more selfish note, I think I've earned the break. I love them all very much but having never lived on my own I look forward to the days when laundry will not suddenly appear ten minutes after I have finished it; cheese wrappers find their own way to the trash can; snacks don't get devoured before I have a chance to smell them; people don't walk into rooms as though I was waiting in limbo to be graced with their presence; and quiet isn't conceptual. I am aware that once they are all gone I will still have a husband to contend with, but at least the odds will be even-- and I think in his weakened state I could take him.

             I've never quite understood the whole empty nest phenomena. I have been led to believe the natural state of a mother when this time comes is to mourn the loss of the child-like adult; to wander aimlessly through shrine-like bedrooms and lovingly fondle their cast-offs, while telephoning incessantly to inquire, "Why don't you ever call me?" I know that's what my children expect. They seem to labor, erroneously, under the belief that I desire to hold them back; keep them children forever and impede their progress at every turn-- as though all logical advice comes with that objective. As though every time someone has hastily announced, "As soon as I'm 18 I'm outta here." wasn't always met with an enthusiastic "I'll help you pack."

            I never thought it would be overly difficult to have them head-off on their own. I'm not a particularly clingy mother. None of mine ever looked back on their first day of school. They never hung on my leg and cried to go home, or hesitated on any new, mom-free adventure. I've taken a fair amount of pride in that over the years, recognizing it symbolized their security in the world and in me as a constant. And though I may have indulged in a moment of, "Why don't my kids miss Mommy like those other kids?" I have always managed to remind myself that it's a good sign. So I am confident in their ability to navigate the world of adult independence effortlessly.

            As they grow-up they spend less and less time here at home. My oldest, with her exciting new job, school, friendships, and the life of a modern young woman rarely makes an appearance. At first, a few years ago, her consistent absence was notable, but I feel I've adjusted to our 'I only see you when I need you' lifestyle pretty well. She believes my desire to know where she is and when she intends to return home is a need to exercise some type of control over her life. Honestly, I just want to know when I can lock-up and go to bed, worry-free. My son, who shockingly turns 18 next month, would choose to spend his every waking moment in the company of his girlfriend rather than anywhere else. The youngest two have lavish social agendas and activities which ensure that the most time I will spend with them is in route to some other location. None of them will have any trouble adjusting to life without Mother.

            It's my own ability I've begun to doubt. Despite my resolve to finally reign over my own tiny, empty, kingdom I have begun to note cracks in the castle keep. What I had not realized until recently, is how much I miss them already. When you dedicate your life to rearing children, you put all your other activities on the proverbial back- burner. For 20 years, while they have been growing into confident independent adults, I have been immersed in their lives. All my 'best of the best moments' have revolved around them and their accomplishments. My biggest achievements have been theirs. The events of my day were the events of theirs. My important questions or pressing problems have been theirs. My stories were all about them. My social circle diminished. My skills were honed in a strictly motherly direction, PTA, Scouts, Taxi driver, advocate, shoulder to lean on and person to unload your frustrations on. The one to cry on, count on, yell at, blame, and the one to fix it. Everything in me has been about providing for them, preparing them, pushing them, dragging them, lifting them and letting them fail.

            While I thought I had maintained a friendly parental relationship with my kids, I never realized what good friends they had become.  They are the people who make me laugh, and sometimes cry. They are the ones I talk with about life, politics, tv shows, romance and which shoes match this outfit best. They are the heads I have bleached and dyed; the ones I have pointed out and cheered for with pride; the first ones with whom I have wanted to share my own exciting news or accomplishments. They are the voices I look forward to hearing every day, and the faces I want most to see. They are my best friends. I have accepted their absence, but I have not enjoyed it.

            I am jealous of the whole world because I have to share them. I am jealous that they get their advice from others now. I resent that other people are the ones they lean on, count on, spend time with and love. I am sad when they don't have time for me, or are not interested in my story or news. My feelings are hurt when I feel like I am intruding on their lives. I still feel the pain from where they used to hold my hand, but let go. I feel lost and abandoned when they are all off living their lives. I cried at Toy Story 3 because I empathized with the toys! I am crazy and pathetic!

            I know the silence of an empty nest will be deafening. I know I will call them and ask what they are doing and when they are going to visit me. I know I will cry when I unwrap cheese. I know I will fondle the discarded things they leave behind in the garage (because I draw the line at shrines.) I know the most important and exciting moments in my life will always be theirs. I know, like all the pain of becoming a mother I'll survive this too, because it's best for them. The thing about being a mother is, while the job may one day be considered, at least legally, officially complete, the space you made in your heart will never be filled by anything else.