Mine is a nest that is empty, but with dogs.
September 16, 2023
I’ve gotten used to the quiet without Colin or Kate; my nineteen year old and twenty three year old have both left for the summer, one for school, one for good, maybe.
I don’t automatically shout at the speaker to play the radio when I walk in the door.
I don’t feel like anything or anyone is missing when I’m home unless Sheldon has the dogs out for a walk.
I miss life ten years ago, until I remember conversations about homework, clothes on the stairs, the phone calls from school.
Then, on the ride to work, Facebook memories turn up on my phone, which I’m staring at because it’s too early for conversation. (Social media is just the right amount of human engagement before 8 am. I can quietly judge people and then step away before I’m disgusted I’m judging people.)
I want time to move backwards. I want to yell out to the adults, standing at the bus stop-“enjoy all of this. It will pass, they will drive, and then they will drive away.”
I spot tired parents, dressed for work parents, and parents who look happy to be there, who know what I know now and didn’t know then, even a little.
I don’t remember the last time I walked Katy to the bus. One day, I was holding her hand and squinting my eyes and the next, she was walking with friends.
It is fall, and I’m settling into the season. I like wearing slippers and hearing the leaves crackle under my feet while I walk in the woods, I won’t miss mud or mosquitos.
As long as no one tries to make me drink a pumpkin spice latte, I’ll be fine.
Seasons change. I have changed.
I wish I knew then what I know now, but at least I’ve learned something along the way.
It is the Sunday night of Memorial Day.
I haven’t attended a cookout, gone swimming, attended a concert, or had dinner with family.
To be honest, I don’t like much of the food that is eaten is cookouts, other than corn, and it’s too cold to swim. Taylor Swift was last weekend, I need to get over it.
My daugher just blocked me on Instagram, she’s nineteen and she had warned me she wasn’t going to let me follow her. But she did, and then two days later, she didn’t.
My husband spent most of the weekend talking about buying a lawnmower and is now working so he can pay for the lawnmower he bought for our tiny, tiny back yard.
My son answered my afternoon group text where I announced I was turning off my phone for a little downtime to ask me why.
He probably still likes me because he is a thousand miles away, so I don’t expect much from him.
On these three day holiday weekends, I want to play frisbee with a large group who knows me well and doesn’t mind that I’m not that good. I want to sleep in late, stay up late and not be the one to do the dishes, unless, the dishes are at someone else’s house, (I’d like to make it clear I am an excellent houseguest because I’m coming across here as kind of a jerk).
I want my challenge to be finding the summer placemats and getting the kids to put away their laundry.
But we aren’t part of large family, and none of us can throw frisbee farther than twenty feet, except Colin. He’d rather throw a football and is currently, like I said, far away.
I like to get up early, I don’t mind doing dishes with the radio on. Besides, it’s just me there aren’t many dishes.
I think life is harder now, than it was, years ago. Or maybe it just feels that way, tonight, on the cusp of summer. Maybe because it’s a holiday weekend, and there’s pressure to have something to say when when someone asks me at work on Tuesday morning- “what did you do?”
I’m not sure what’s coming next, except that if I don’t walk the dogs soon, they will wait patiently until I am ready. I really, really, really like dogs.
Tomorrow, I need to take a ride to the beach, hop on my bike, or head over to the Ponkapoag Pond in the morning. I have a whole day left, and I’m sure as hell not going to spend it negotiating with Katy regarding social media or nagging Sheldon about a lawn mower.
Well, I could, but I won’t, because I did that today.
Life is short. I can do better.
Postscript
I wanted to follow up about yesterday, the event detailed above when at 1 pm, Katy, a newcomer to Instagram at the age of nineteen years old and all around wonderful human, blocked me.
That funk resulted in a cookie binge, a shower that consumed all the hot water of East Milton and an entire bottle of lavendar calm body wash, (no help at all) and a google search about the cost of living in St Croix, because I went there with my parents when I was twelve and had a delightful time.
I am happy to share, I have been reinstated. It was all a minor misunderstanding which if I tried to explain, I’d probably get blocked again.
And today, I’ve done better.
Thanks for reading.
Miracles Happen.
January 16, 2021
For a time, I posted regularly on all channels about my life, including details about my daughter, husband, son, workouts… I shared and shared and shared.
The first of January one of my first orders of business was less time on social media- scrolling through my feed, checking likes, fussing about how to share the challenges and bliss of my new position at Blue Cross MA, obsession with spin class at home, (support your local gym, they are struggling,) and clicking on all links that left me sprawled on my sofa for hours.
Social media made me put off conversations with my daughter, and the exploding number of plastic containers in my cupboard without lids intended to store food I am not making because I am on staring a screen looking up someone from middle school.
I have written numerous posts about Sophia the Sweet, a pitfall border collie mutt, struggling with liver and kidney disease. Six months ago, Sheldon and I sat in the parking lot at the vet waiting to hear if it was time for us to “end her misery.” She was walking into walls, not eating scraps of Sheldon’s Italian subs, barking at neighbors, or lifting her head when Maurice the Cat strolled in the room.
It came out of nowhere, we said, but not really. We were busy with Covid, Colin, my 20 year old pain in the ass, oh-so-charming, son, and weren’t paying attention.
These days, mid January, Sophie seems fine.
We stopped taking her to the vet for check-ins; the visits made her tremble and cost a fortune.
We are feeding her a low protein diet topped with oven fried chicken, tenderloin, or slow cooked ham.
She won’t walk at Cunningham Park, but is happy to stroll the neighborhood.
Sophie likes to take me round a long slow mile as long as I don’t tug on the leash. She is not comfortable being photographed, sniffing or rolling. She is comfortable with the current covid restrictions because she is shy and anti social.
I am doing quite well because Sophia sleeps on my feet.She doesn’t get up when I do; (remember, I have a job, and it does require I get up in the morning).
I am a woman whose emotional health is tied to whether her dog looks happy to see her.
Oh, yeah… This isn’t about me.
Miracles happen.
Deep sigh…I don’t know where to start.
I started a new job that requires eight hours a day of training, in a tiny office just off the tv room, next to the pellet stove, five feet away from the back door. I work in front of one lap top and two huge monitors, one of which is pushed to the back of my desk and is dark. The training is challenging, the others in my class are rock stars, my leader is patient, funny, and patient.
I start every morning at 8:50 am, and am in my chair until 5. Lunch is glorious, and usually consists of avocado toast, eaten during class time so that during my allotted hour, I can take Sophia the Amazing for a walk, clean the kitchen, or workout in the living room, while Sophie watches from the couch or tries to climb up my thigh.
Dinner is a work in progress, either oven fried chicken, (Sophie’s favorite,) smoothies, (Katy and I ate too much at lunch,) or whatever looked good the night before when I googled recipes for what we have in the fridge.
Most nights, there is a workout, just because my body and my soul feel the need to jump around after spending the day in a chair learning things.
When I’m lucky, there is tv with Katy, at the end of it all. We watched Anne With An E and have moved onto Designated Survivor. I miss commercials, sometimes. Sometimes, I remember the pause button.
Sometimes, I wish life had a pause button, and then I remember it does.
Bed is early. Before sleep, I watch The Office, because it’s leaving Netflix, and there is pressure. I read.
From time to time, I collapse on the mattress, find the sheet, turn out the light, and fall asleep, like it’s easy to sleep, these days.
In between, I floss, sweep, check the headlines, call my mom, fold laundry, wander around Amazon, sip coffee, ask Sheldon if he’s ok, use my water pick, sweep, argue with Katy over the state of her room, how to load the dishwasher, or whether or not it is bad manners to not respond to a cheery “Good morning”. She says any response, even if it’s a sigh, behind a door, under sheets, blankets, and a cat named Maurice, counts.
I miss Facebook and Instagram- looking at pictures of what everyone else is eating for dinner, hearing about bad days, and victories, checking out dogs, cats, kids, and home renovations.
I miss likes, conversations, writing things out, rewriting, saying something, and being heard.
We are all missing so much right now, and making adjustments.
My life is good, and different. I am lonely as hell, contented, scared, and grateful.
How you doin’?
Day Two I walk the dog and make some cookies
March 21, 2020
Day 2
Breakfast
Morning meditation w Kate. Sophie decided to sleep thru it.
Katy did homework.
Lunch.
Homework.
I scrolled Facebook and rearranged the furniture so I’d have room to exercise. I tried hip hop cardio, a little dance fit, and a tiny tabata.
I scrolled on Facebook more, read a book, wiped surfaces, washed my hands, woke the dog.
Made oatmeal peanut butter snacks, read the paper, read a book.
Went on two hikes, picked up prescriptions at cvs, cauliflower at stop and shop, made dinner, made cookies, made calls, cleaned the kitchen, again, read a very long poem recommended by a friend, and
now, I’m sprawled on the sofa.
I’m not going to make coffee for the morning.
It snowed this morning.
We meditated together in the living room. The pellet stove was on; it was cold. Mostly, Katy and I were quiet this morning.
When it was over, she read out loud the poem recommended by Steve Dooner, and I fell in love with her voice and her delivery of the words, even those she mispronounced, but had no idea what the poem about, except it was sad and beautiful.
When Katy went upstairs tonight, we agreed that for a time, she will only walk outside with me and Sophie.
Michael the cat may follow, but he’s getting tired and stays close to the stove, mostly.
She can use her phone a little later to FaceTime her friends.
Katy is sad and beautiful, tonight, day 2 done.
Parenthood 2016
May 29, 2016
Dear Teenagers,
I’ve heard from a couple of parents that they are having similar struggles with their kids based on some stuff that I’ve written on Facebook and WordPress.
So I thought I’d fill you in on our perspective, or at least our perspective from my point of view. I’m going to tell you some things you might not know.
You probably won’t read this. You’re on snapchat, instagram, and a whole of lot other places I can’t even remember.
(I know some of you are on Facebook, but you probably signed up when you were 12 and probably aren’t reading this.)
Nevertheless, here goes-
You know how we’re always coming at you with an angry look on our faces, launching into long speeches about laundry, social responsibility and the importance of schoolwork? While we sit on the end of your bed and peer around your room with an undisguised look of irritation on our faces?
Yes, we are pissed. At least I am. But I’m about 5% mad, 75% petrified, and 20% totally without clue.
I know that all the experts say I’m supposed to be a parent and not a friend. They say it’s important to set boundaries, maintain expectations, hold kids responsible. In other words, be a parent.
I don’t know how to be a parent to a teenager. We want to hug you, you look at us like you want to spit. Or run out the door. Or slam the door so hard it breaks into a thousand pieces, but you won’t do that because then you wouldn’t have a door to slam any more and you really, really like slamming doors.
Many of us did the same stupid things you are doing now as teenagers. Not all us, and not all of you, are experimenting with drugs and alcohol. But a lot us did. And then, as we got older, we were either front and center watching someone we love struggle because of drugs and alcohol. Or die. Or dealing with addiction battles on our own.
How are we supposed to sit by and watch you the same things we did, or watched so many of our generation do? When I see a teenager stumble out of the woods and stagger across the street bare feet, even though 30 years ago I was staggering out of the bathroom, I can’t sit by and say that’s okay. I’ve been to the meetings, picked people off the sidewalk, said prayers at funerals.
What are we supposed to do about all the pictures you post? The bare asses, the clouds of smoke, the n word this and the ho that?
I know not all of you drink or do drugs. I know not all of you post crazy stuff. I know a lot of you talk to your parents, do community service, excel in school, and are amazing people.
I’m also aware thatt there are many of you that drink, do drugs, snapchat pictures that would make a blind person cringe and are failing school will go on to do amazing things. You might even be doing amazing things at the same time you’re getting naked on your finsta and stuck in summer school.
I’m just saying- a lot of the grownups in your life are totally without a clue. We walk around dazed. We have whispered conversations at work, (far away from the childless or the blessed, still dealing with bedtime drama and indelible ink on the walls,) where we compare notes. We try to figure out if we should take away your phones, call in a therapist, or just let you be.
You might be saying- let us be.
Personally, I’d love to. I’d love to step away from my kids, stop nagging, worrying, tracking, and even talking about them.
But what if I did that and something bad happened? Because I stopped paying attention?
So I’m scared. We are scared. And pissed. And hopelessly confused.
Cut us some slack. Put away the laundry.
If you are going to be foolish and silly, enjoy the moment. Laugh with your friends. You don’t need to document every single stupid, funny thing you do.
Alcohol isn’t going anywhere. It looks like pot is going to be legal any minute. Can you just wait a little while? There will be time for grown up mistakes, and you’re going to make lots of grown up mistakes.
You’ve got time. Lots of time.
So if you could give us a few minutes once a while, that would be nice. A smile would be awesome.
I think I can speak for most parents, We’d be thrilled if you could just maybe listen to what we say, some of the time.
I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.
Love and faith,
Mom
julierichmond 