When Your Grown “Kids” Don’t Need You Anymore

I admit that for the last few years, I've been going through Empty Nest Syndrome. My chicks have flown the coop and are doing what I raised them to do – stand on their own two feet and go out and be men, forging their own road, following their own journey. For the first time in 28 years, I'm living alone and trying to decide who I will be on the next leg of this journey called life. One of the first things I did was to decide to make a career change and I am happily in the midst of doing that. Yet…….

Being Mom has been a HUGE part of who I've been for the majority of my adult life. While, intellectually, I realize that my sons won't need me in the same way they needed me as they were growing up, I admit that I wasn't quite ready for the lack of being needed, at least needed as much. Neither of my sons are mama's boys, so I didn't expect the phone to be ringing constantly asking for advice nor did I expect daily visits or even phone calls. What is surprising to me is that I don't exactly have a place in their lives as men, or to put it more succinctly, an easily-defined place in their lives as men. Sometimes, it seems that I'm this ghost of a person, waiting in the wings, overseeing things from a distance, ready to advance forward and assist, IF needed or asked. Weekend plans don't seem to factor in Mom. If I suggest an activity that includes me, they already have plans that somehow won't accommodate me. It seems that when I am included in an activity, it's for a short window of time, not the entire day or several hours, because they have other plans that don't include me. On some level I understand this. On another level, this kind of hurts. I remember being in my 20's and 30's and spending time with my parents was not a part of my regular weekend activities. Yet, I also remember many times that my social calendar included activities with my parents.

As I was contemplating writing this blog post, I realized that I owed my mother an apology. In an odd segue, I recalled an incident that occurred earlier this year while I was home visiting my family. Now, I should preface this segment with the fact that though (like everyone) I have my insecurities, my cooking ability is not one of them. I am a very good cook and I absolutely love cooking. One evening, I was pan-frying some fish. My mother (whose age I won't mention here, but suffice it to say is several decades older than I) was seated in the kitchen at the time. As I was frying the fish, she commented, "you know, fish doesn't take a long time to cook. It only takes a few minutes on each side. Most people overcook fish." I admit the comment irritated me and I said, "Mom, I know how to cook fish. I've been cooking fish a long time and in fact, I prepare and eat fish and seafood almost exclusively." (I am pretty much a pescetarian [someone who primarily eats seafood and vegetables.]) My response irritated and somewhat hurt my mother and she said, "T nobody knows everything and everybody can learn something from somebody." At the time, I didn't understand her reaction and in fact, thought she over-reacted. Upon retrospection, I understand that my mother, even acknowledging that I am a long-grown woman, needed to be needed, needed to feel that she could contribute something to her grown daughter. I'm sorry for my reaction, Mom. I didn't understand that at the time. I do now.

Several years ago, when my older son was dating a young woman, he remarked to me that "everyone knows the girlfriend comes first." I wondered at the time who in the world had told him this. Everyone has seen the big-time sports star on the field who says, "Hi, Mom" when the camera is on him. I felt small and unimportant when my son told me this. As he has continued on in his journey of manhood, there have been numerous times when I felt that I was unimportant in his life. Not that I sat on the pity pot feeling sorry for myself all the time, but nobody had prepared me for the way my role as mother would change once my sons became men. Don't get me wrong. I know my sons love me, would defend me to the death and would be devastated should anything happen to me. Yet …..

What is the definition, the role, the place, for a mother of grown "kids?" Yes, I know all the intellectual responses to the question. We reforge our own lives. We reshape our lives so, while remaining available should our children need us, we pursue other interests and use our talents and passions in other areas. We take those spontaneous trips out of town that we couldn't take when our children were little. We take a class. We find a hobby. We make new friends and schedule activities with them. We write blogs. J We fill up our time with other things. Yet ….

I miss being needed the way I once was. I miss the filling of the space I once filled in my children's lives. I miss being a participant in their planned social calendar. I guess I just miss being Mom.

Blessings,

T

Conversations

Today, I sat in a chair in front of my family's home in Pittsburgh and attempted to read a book on my Kindle. It was a beautiful, somewhat overcast, summer day. Though the book was very interesting, I found myself continually being distracted by the conversations around me. Usually, when we think of conversations, we think of the conversations of people – conversations between people around us, conversations in the immediate area, conversations on the television, conversations on the radio or even the conversations in cars that pass by on the road. I'm talking about different kinds of conversations. Because of the absence of people and their conversations, what I heard was the conversations of nature, of God's creations. I heard the conversation of the wind rustling through the many trees. I heard the conversations of different species of birds as they chirped, tweeted and sang back and forth. I heard the conversations of the leaves as they brushed against each other in the trees. I heard the conversations of the insects as they flew around me. I even heard the conversation of the wind as it caused the blades of grass to brush against each other. All of these conversations caused me to stop and give pause. So often we (humans) see ourselves as the largest and perhaps most beautiful and important of God's creations. We get so got up in our own world, our troubles, our challenges, our goals and our plans that we forget all about the other creations of our Creator.

Though the conversations I observed today were in a language different than my own, the conversations were beautiful and awe-inspiring. For a while, these conversations caused me to cease concerning myself with problems that had been occupying my mind. I was reminded of Mathew 10:24-31 in which Jesus says that if God takes care of the sparrow, He will certainly take care of us. As we get caught up in the worries and concerns of our daily lives, we often forget this.

Take time out of your busy day sometime and just sit and listen to the conversations around you and be reminded that we are His creation and He will provide for us just as He does the sparrow.

Blessings,

T

And the greatest of these is Love

It's been a long time since I've regularly written on this blog. A lot of things have transpired in my personal life that had, somehow, stalled my creativity, including writing. I don't usually blog about things of a very personal nature on this blog because of the nature of the Internet itself, and because I am, by nature, an extremely private person – a person who bottles up her true emotions deep inside, hidden from the world including close friends and family. By nature, I am a person who loves people and someone who is always there for others, especially emotionally. Yet, at least as an adult, I have always kept my innermost feelings locked away deep within me, far from the eyes and ears of those who might judge me. A therapist once asked me if I thought I was unworthy of being loved and suggested that though I made myself available to others in their times of need, that somehow, I felt I didn't deserve the same in return. Of course I rebelled at the suggestion. "Of course not," I remember replying, "it's just that everyone has their own problems and issues and I don't want to bother them with mine." I think a part of me knew at the time that it was a copout, another way of bottling up what I truly felt.

A little over two years ago, I lost my father. Dad was 82 and had been in poor health for a few years. Though I had lost other loved ones during my life, Dad was the closest person in my life to pass. To say I grieved him deeply would be an understatement. For the longest time, I couldn't bear to think of him or hear his name mentioned without feeling a pain deep in my gut and tears forming in my eyes. I have always struggled with the concept of death. I was raised in the church which preached about a heaven where "all God's children will dance around in golden shoes." In my young adulthood, I studied with the Jehovah's Witnesses who taught that the soul dies at death and the spirit returns to God and that certain dead will be resurrected after Armageddon. The combination of the two teachings left me really confused about death – and other biblical teachings. Sure, I read a lot of books and the bible, but really, nobody has ever come back and told us what death is truly like. And sure, many people have given me their version of what they "think" happens after death, but again, where's the proof? After I lost my father, I became even more confused. I couldn't believe that the wonderful, baritone-voiced man I had loved all my life simply didn't exist anymore. How could he have simply closed his eyes and POOF, was gone? Forever? Of course, being who I am emotionally, I rallied around my mother, siblings and other family members, supported them and for the most part, locked my feelings away. My father's sister told me that I was questioning my faith in being so uncertain about death and where my father was now. I disagreed with her, telling her that I had a very strong belief in God but that didn't answer the questions I had about death and what happens when someone dies. When I returned home to San Antonio, I pulled out the Ouija Board and attempted to contact my Dad. (I seriously considered not including that information here – fear of being judged, but more on that later in this post.) I communicated with someone who appeared to be my father and the first thing he told me was not to cry; he was fine. I guess this was comforting on some level, but the doubt in me remained. Where is he? What is he? What is that place where he now resides? DOES he still exist somewhere? The intellectual side of me knows that it's the selfish side of humans that still wants our loved one here despite how ill they may have been. Yes, I know that, intellectually, but the emotional side of me still wants my Dad here, here with me, with the family. So, I guess I was, as my aunt said, struggling with my faith – not my faith in God, but my faith that any one interpretation of the bible was correct about death and the hereafter.

That has now changed for me. This week, I had an epiphany. Merriam-Webster™ defines epiphany as: (1) a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something; (2) an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking; and (3) an illuminating discovery, realization or disclosure. The definition that applies most to me is the first one: …"sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something." What caused this epiphany for me? Reading The Shack. Reading this book was for me life-changing. As one friend described it, it was "riveting." For me, it filled in many of the gaps I had been missing in my faith. Yes, the book is fiction, but it is a book that explains God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit in a way I had never before considered. As I read it, tears continuously flowed. I sobbed. The book moved me so much that at one point, I had to put the book down and go do something else. I couldn't take any more. I don't want to give the storyline away or give any spoilers, but it put our relationship with God in a way that will help me not only to deal with my father's passing, but also will help me to develop my relationship with God in a way He desires. The book is not "preachy" or one that beats you over the head with religion, scripture or holy commandments. It will make you think, consider, cry and probably sob.

My signature line in my e-mail for a while has been "And the greatest of these is love" The Shack really helped me to understand the meaning of those words. If we approach things and people with love, we will not judge, attempt to change others, attempt to make others fit into our ideals or even judge ourselves or fear being judged. At the base of everything, and I mean everything - our relationships, our attitudes, our ethics, our morality – is love. If we strive to approach others from a base of love and live our lives with love, the rest is gravy.

Blessings,

T

Somebody’s Baby

Today, I read the online version of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette©, my hometown newspaper. I read the stories of not one, not two, but three young men arrested for the murder of another young man. The stories were accompanied by photos of young, fresh-faced young men. I found myself thinking as I read the stories and looking at the pictures that this was somebody's "baby," someone's "grandbaby," someone's baby nephew. I found myself wondering, once again, "what is going on with this younger generation?" Some will, and have, argued that these things have always gone on, that we just hear more about them now because of the prevalence of the media in our lives, both through the Internet and through 24-hour new channels. But, I beg to differ with those who espouse such a sentiment.
I believe that my generation has largely failed our children. Each generation has an innate desire to give their children more than they had. Children of my generation shared bedrooms and often beds. The homes had one television and often only one phone on each floor. We ate dinner together as a family. We went to church AND Sunday School and often Vacation Bible School during the summer. Many of us had school clothes, play clothes and church clothes. Tennis shoes were for gym class. You had dress shoes for church and regular, leather-soled shoes for everything else but gym. At most, most kids had three, maybe four pairs of shoes. When you came home from school, you took off your school clothes and put on your play clothes. Some children wore the same outfit two days in a row and no one teased them about it because they did the same thing. Sure, there were the exceptions. I knew a few girls who had "stretch pants" in every color of the rainbow, but for the most part, we were all pretty much the same. Adults were to be respected, whether it was Mrs. Gaines next door, a teacher, Mrs. DeLuca at Pompa's Grocery store or Sister Staunton at church. In my family, we even had to call adult cousins by a title, such as Cousin Susie or Cousin Bobby. The line between adults and children was clear – and enforced.
In my home, we were not even permitted to raise our voices to our parents. I remember clearly my father saying, "who're you basing at?" Suck your teeth? We never dreamed of doing such a thing. Roll your eyes? Sure, if you wanted to get slapped. Children had chores around the house which were required to be done before we could go play. The girls in my family had kitchen duty. My mother cooked all the meals and we did the cleanup afterward. My two brothers took care of the bathrooms and the garbage. I clearly remember being so anxious to go outside and play that we rushed through our chores so we could get outside. At most, we spent an hour or two a week watching television. Jacks, hopscotch, kickball, jump rope and just about anything outdoors occupied our time. We were sent to school to LEARN, not to be involved in any foolishness. A note sent home from the teacher resulted in a whupping and/or a loss of privileges.
As my generation matriculated into adulthood, we went off to college or got jobs. I can't think of a single childhood friend who chose to just laze around in their parent's home after high school.
Despite all this, somehow, our generation dropped the ball when it came to our children. We've somehow managed to raise children who expect, not appreciate. We gave them their own bedrooms. We first gave them a phone extension in their bedroom and later cellphones. We gave them a television and a stereo for their room. We began buying them video game systems and the games they required. When a later model came out, we often stood in line to be sure they had the latest model. We gave into the pressure to buy them brand-name clothes and tennis shoes. We allowed them to decide IF they wanted to go to church. We stopped giving them regular chores. We allowed them to spend hours in front of the television or talking on the phone. We allowed them to erase the line between adult and child. Worst of all, we listened to popular thought and decided we wanted to become THEIR FRIEND. We began to believe their side of the story when they got into trouble at school. We challenged the teacher's version.
Then our children matriculated into young adulthood. Who do you think many of them became? They became a generation of adults who wanted, expected and having lived a childhood where what they want was given to them and not having learned the lesson that there is consequence for every action, didn't want to work, be educated or trained for a job that would provide the means to get the things they wanted. They just wanted. I have a relative who, after dropping out of high school and finally obtaining a G.E.D. told me "I'm not about to work for no minimum wage." Having such attitudes, the allure of selling drugs was powerful – and addictive. Why flip burgers at McDonald's™ for minimum wage when you could earn thousands a week selling drugs. And so it began.
Along with the selling drugs, of course, came the violence. I listen to and read story after story of young people being killed by another young person. The underlying cause is usually D.R. – that's Drug-Related – for the un-initiated. A drug transaction gone bad. Someone selling drugs in another's territory. Someone attempting to rob a drug dealer. Someone selling fake drugs.
Then we have the gangs. Children and young adults who don't even own a piece of real estate who claim certain neighborhoods as their own. People who DEMAND respect that they've not earned. Wear the wrong color in a certain neighborhood? Be shot or killed. I know of neighborhoods where senior citizens who've lived in their home for decades are afraid to venture out their front door after dusk. Where are the parents and grandparents of these young criminals? With what values were they raised? Where was God, Allah or Buddha in their lives when they were raised?
I am by no means demonizing every parent of my generation or their children, but the numbers continue to alarm and frighten me. It seems we've a whole generation of young adults currently in prison, recently released from prison or headed that way. These young people are Somebody's Baby. I can't stand the thought of some hysterical mother on television, bemoaning the loss of "her baby." It breaks my heart. It should break all of our hearts.
Blessings,
T

Odd and Interesting Tidbits

From time to time, I come across what are, to me, very interesting and sometimes odd tidbits that surprise me. I've also discovered that, for the most part, if you have a question in your mind about something, the chances are great that someone else has also wondered that same thing. Notice that when you type a question in Google, the auto-fill completes your question. This means someone else has asked Google the same question.

Recent oddities and tidbits:

• Is ear wax really a wax? No, ear wax isn't really "wax" as in the candle wax (paraffin) sense. Skin contains many tiny glands whose sole purpose is to secrete a variety of substances. Ear wax is one of these substances. The main purpose of ear wax is to trap anything foreign that flies, crawls or is blown into the ear canals. Ear wax protects your ear canal and ear drum from foreign materials.
• Most of us probably know that when a female horse and a male donkey mate, the offspring is called a mule. But, did you know that when a male horse and a female donkey mate, the offspring is called a hinny? Did you also know that when a male zebra and a female donkey mate, the offspring is called a zedonk or a zebrass?
• If you are right-handed, you will tend to chew your food on your right side. If you are left-handed, you will tend to chew your food on your left side.
• If you stop getting thirsty, you need to drink more water. When the human body is dehydrated, its thirst mechanism shuts off.
• Chewing gum while peeling onions will keep you from crying. (I'll have to try this one.)
• The Titanic was the first ship to use the SOS signal.
• Laughing lowers levels of stress hormones and strengthens the immune system. Six-year olds laugh an average of 300 times a day. Adults only laugh 15 to 100 times a day. We grownups need to laugh more.
• Dalmatians are born without spots.
• Your left lung is smaller than your right lung to make room for your heart.
• When you blush, the lining of your stomach also turns red. (Now, how is this known?)
• When hippos are upset, their sweat turns red.
• Google is actually the common name for a number with a million zeros.
• Switching letters is called spoonerism. For example, saying jag of Flapan, instead of flag of Japan. (And here I thought I was exhibiting early signs of Alzheimer's when I did this.)
• Intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair.

Now, go enjoy your day!

Blessings,

T

Loss of a Musical Genius – R.I.P. Michael Jackson

MICHAEL JOSEPH JACKSON – AUGUST 29, 1958 – JUNE 25, 2009

Last evening, as I sat on my sofa watching the CNN story about the passing of Farrah Fawcett, I saw the scroll at the bottom of the screen stating that Michael Jackson had been rushed to the hospital after suffering cardiac arrest. Minutes later, it became the lead story. To say I was stunned would be putting it mildly. As the story developed, I got a sinking feeling in my heart – somehow, I knew he wouldn't survive.

What can one say about Michael Jackson? Talented? Gifted? Weird? Sad? Lost? Genius? Probably all of these and more. But, who among us doesn't have some type of issue and idiosyncrasy? As Michael grew older, quite different-looking and embroiled in controversy after controversy, my heart always held a certain sadness for Michael. His often almost child-like persona always made me feel sad for the childhood he never experienced. From a young age, he was pushed into the public spotlight. Raised in a home with a devout Mother on the one hand and an abusive, driven father on the other, Michael didn't have a childhood. As it became evident that he was the clear star among his eight siblings, he was pushed further and further into the public eye. I remember thinking this when he built and developed Neverland and when it was revealed that two of his closest friends were Macaulay Culkin and Emmanuel Lewis (the boy who starred in the series, Webster ). He was trying, as an adult, to create the childhood he never experienced. Michael became the major breadwinner for his family at a very young age.

I remember when the Jackson Five appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show during my early high school years. Everyone I knew immediately fell in love with them, especially little Michael. Here were these cute, darker-complexioned boys with big Afros who could sing and dance their butts off. Other than Nat King Cole, the Jackson Five were the first black folks I remembered seeing on The Ed Sullivan Show which my family watched faithfully every Sunday. Girls would debate about who was the cutest, Jermaine or Michael or Jackie. When I got my first six-transistor radios and a Jackson Five song came on, you would find me with the radio glued to my ear and me dancing around doing, or trying to do, their steps. Later, when they appeared on The Mike Douglass Show and American Bandstand, everyone I knew was glued to the television. I spent my teen-aged years being one of their biggest fans. They had these cool, matching outfits and big Afros. Their dance steps were coordinated and smooth everyone tried to copy their moves and always, there was cute, little Michael with the brilliant smile and shining personality.

As I grew into early adulthood, so did the Jacksons, and Michael broke from the group to start his own career and what a career it was! Got to Be There, I Wanna Be Where You Are, Ben (who but Michael could have a hit with a song about a rat?, With A Child's Heart, Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough, Rock with You, Off the Wall, The Girl is Mine, Billie Jean, Beat It, Thriller and so many, many more, too numerous to name here but we all remember hearing them and dancing to them. When Thriller aired on MTV in 1984, it was the first time a video by a person of color appeared on MTV and the video was hot, smoking! It was more like a mini-movie than the standard music video. It was choreographed perfectly and those zombies were jammin'! It remains my favorite Michael Jackson video.

As Michael's looks changed over the years and stories of his low self-esteem about his looks began to surface, I was mystified. I always thought Michael was cute and attractive. I never noticed what he referred to as a nose so big that he father called him Big Nose. I found his dark, Hershey Bar-colored skin one of his most attractive features. Though his music continued to evolve and excel, his physical appearance changed to that of someone I could not recognize. This did not diminish one iota my admiration for his musical genius.

Rest in peace, Michael. May you finally find the peace and serenity you long sought.

In tribute, here is the link to my favorite Michael Jackson video, Thriller http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtyJbIOZjS8&feature=featured

Blessings,
T

Everything I know about the male species, I learned from raising sons

Well, not really, but I've learned a lot.

Since I grew up female, I've learned I was, in many ways, clueless, about the male species and their thoughts and habits. For example, I could never understand how males can miss that big hole in the center of the toilet. It's so big, how can they miss it and end up with a bathroom that smells like urine. Why do they urinate on the sides of the seat and toilet? Finally, when my youngest son was a teenager, he told me, "Mom, you have to understand the sprinkle effect." With a, I'm sure, puzzled look on my face, I asked him, "what is the sprinkle effect," thinking of the lawn sprinkler. He then explained that unlike what I (and probably most women thought), the stream of urine is not one stream that stays in the straight line as it enters the toilet. Rather, it is a stream with lots of "sprinkles" on the side that fall off the stream as it enters the toilet. These sprinkles are what hit the sides and the raised seat on the toilet. It seems that, with the exception of aiming for the basket on the basketball court, men can't aim worth a hoot. This applies to the toilet, the hamper, the sink when brushing their teeth, or even the trashcan when aiming some balled-up piece of trash at it. I won't even go into the need to ball up something and throw it at the trashcan rather than simply walking to the trashcan and dropped it in. I'm assuming it has something to do with basketball.

I also learned that, once they get to be a certain age, boys do not want to be seen being dropped off at school, or work, by their mother. "It's like being dropped off at grade school on the first day of school." Later on in life, many men would rather drive their wife to work and keep the car rather than being dropped off at their job. Hmm, seems like there is something testosterone-like about being seen driving a car.

It's easier to get males to do something if you ask them rather than tell them. "Will you take out the garbage?" "Will you unload the dishwasher?" Being told to take out the garbage or to unload the dishwasher results in a sullen, begrudging look from a male teenager and a job poorly done at best. In an adult male, the task usually won't get done. Males like to be ASKED to do things.

Males don't like to accompany us to buy bras. One Saturday, when my youngest son was a teenager, I asked him if he wanted to go with me to the mall. He asked me what I was going to get and I told him I needed several things and perhaps we could have lunch when we were through shopping. After stopping at a few stores, I started to go into Victoria's Secret to buy a few bras. He decided he would wait for me in the mall. Later that night, he told his older brother "Mom, tried to trick me into going with her to buy a bra." When I was married, my husband ALWAYS declined to enter either Victoria's Secret or Bath & Body Works. Now this reluctance I just don't understand. Are they afraid that some male friend will spy them leaving Victoria's Secret or the lingerie department of Dillard's? If they are seen, so what? What will be the implication?

Now this one has been written in granite since probably the caveman was around. MALES DON'T NEED DIRECTIONS AND WILL NEVER ASK FOR THEM. THEY ALSO DON'T NEED MAPS AND WON'T USE THEM EVEN IF THEY'RE LOST. Once my sons got to driving age, they knew absolutely everything. This, of course, included the directions to places they had never in their life seen before. I learned not to offer directions and only hope that they arrived at their destinations. Last year while in Pittsburgh, a male friend travelled to the house where I was staying. It was about an hour's drive from his home and he was totally unfamiliar with the area. I gave him directions and he picked me up. As we were leaving the house, I began to give him directions to our destination. He stopped me and said, "I got this. If I need some help, I'll ask." My older son recently told me the same exact words, "Mom, I got this."

I suspect the GPS Navigation Systems in cars and on smartphones was the brainchild of a male. This way, they never have to admit that they need directions.

Blessings,

T