Most of my friends are doing it. I've always been a little stunted so I'm not quite there yet. It will come soon enough.
The next stage.
From what I can tell, it's one of rediscovery, independence and running to the store together for milk. (Because you can.)
I still have kids at home. I stretched this whole parenthood thing out about as far as you can stretch it. My friends who were more streamlined with their timelines are finding themselves with spare bedrooms, full refrigerators and empty nests. And, for the most part, they are enjoying it.
This gives me hope for my own future happiness. If they can adapt, so can I.
I already feel the winds of change sweeping in. On weekends, the members of our flock who still live here no longer wake early to watch Saturday morning cartoons. Gone are the days when the one we called "Rooster" used to rouse us an hour before sunrise by calling out for a sippy cup of strawberry milk. Rooster has become a hibernator and currently prefers sleep over early morning anything.
Sippy cups and cartoons and strawberry milk in bed have become things of the past.
For our part, my husband and I try to sleep in, but rarely make it more than an hour past our regular waking time. Since our offspring are all capable of getting up and finding their own breakfast (or lunch, given their sleep habits) we experience the freedom of an unencumbered day. The hours stretch out enticingly in front of us. What shall we do? Where shall we go?
One of our current favorite Saturday morning destinations is the home improvement store where we walk the aisles and discuss home improvement possibilities. Afterward, we'll stop at the fleet supply store to peruse the various implements and other necessities we probably won't ever need. Sometimes they have fuzzy little baby ducks and chicks there in large metal tubs. We talk about the logistics of raising chickens and the benefits of having access to an infinite supply of fresh eggs. Then, if we need milk or bread or just want to get something fun for dinner, we'll head to the grocery store. We linger in the meat section. Because we can.
All these everyday activities, for now, feel luxurious. Out of necessity, we used to split our time and attention. One ran errands while the other watched the brood. We spent so many years dividing and conquering and fighting just to keep the toilets flushed and the cap on the toothpaste that going to the home improvement store (together) for something as simple as a new power tool feels almost like a date. What can I say? It doesn't take much to impress me.
Perhaps in time we will progress to activities even more date-like: going out to lunch, a trip to the mall or maybe even a movie (matinee, no popcorn).
For now, though, I'm satisfied with errands. And time spent together. Enjoying the small things. And feeling glad that we do. Looking forward to the future. Learning to sleep in on Saturday mornings. In this, the nearly next stage.
There will be others, of course. Stages, that is. And perhaps there may even come a time when we are ready to be responsible again for tiny beings that rely on us for sustenance and daily care. A stage when we choose to have a nest that is no longer empty - but full.
With baby chicks. But no roosters.
- Jill Pertler's column appears Thursdays in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
The next stage.
From what I can tell, it's one of rediscovery, independence and running to the store together for milk. (Because you can.)
I still have kids at home. I stretched this whole parenthood thing out about as far as you can stretch it. My friends who were more streamlined with their timelines are finding themselves with spare bedrooms, full refrigerators and empty nests. And, for the most part, they are enjoying it.
This gives me hope for my own future happiness. If they can adapt, so can I.
I already feel the winds of change sweeping in. On weekends, the members of our flock who still live here no longer wake early to watch Saturday morning cartoons. Gone are the days when the one we called "Rooster" used to rouse us an hour before sunrise by calling out for a sippy cup of strawberry milk. Rooster has become a hibernator and currently prefers sleep over early morning anything.
Sippy cups and cartoons and strawberry milk in bed have become things of the past.
For our part, my husband and I try to sleep in, but rarely make it more than an hour past our regular waking time. Since our offspring are all capable of getting up and finding their own breakfast (or lunch, given their sleep habits) we experience the freedom of an unencumbered day. The hours stretch out enticingly in front of us. What shall we do? Where shall we go?
One of our current favorite Saturday morning destinations is the home improvement store where we walk the aisles and discuss home improvement possibilities. Afterward, we'll stop at the fleet supply store to peruse the various implements and other necessities we probably won't ever need. Sometimes they have fuzzy little baby ducks and chicks there in large metal tubs. We talk about the logistics of raising chickens and the benefits of having access to an infinite supply of fresh eggs. Then, if we need milk or bread or just want to get something fun for dinner, we'll head to the grocery store. We linger in the meat section. Because we can.
All these everyday activities, for now, feel luxurious. Out of necessity, we used to split our time and attention. One ran errands while the other watched the brood. We spent so many years dividing and conquering and fighting just to keep the toilets flushed and the cap on the toothpaste that going to the home improvement store (together) for something as simple as a new power tool feels almost like a date. What can I say? It doesn't take much to impress me.
Perhaps in time we will progress to activities even more date-like: going out to lunch, a trip to the mall or maybe even a movie (matinee, no popcorn).
For now, though, I'm satisfied with errands. And time spent together. Enjoying the small things. And feeling glad that we do. Looking forward to the future. Learning to sleep in on Saturday mornings. In this, the nearly next stage.
There will be others, of course. Stages, that is. And perhaps there may even come a time when we are ready to be responsible again for tiny beings that rely on us for sustenance and daily care. A stage when we choose to have a nest that is no longer empty - but full.
With baby chicks. But no roosters.
- Jill Pertler's column appears Thursdays in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
