It has been a while since I posted a blog. I've seriously thought about not blogging any more, shutting this down after three posts, since this was going to be about adjusting to life as an empty nester. But perhaps getting an empty nest these days is a bit like retiring. It doesn't happen all at once. You go from one job, or in this case, child, to another.
My own kids are far away. But within two week of my son's leaving for Spain for the school year, my nephew's girlfriend needed a place to live. Her current accomodations weren't working out--mismatched expectations, it sounded like. It took very little time or even thought for us to say yes. My husband and I believe very much in helping people where we can, and we know she is working hard to get through college. We were happy to say yes.
Although I had no problem with the idea of her moving in, I had a little harder time giving over a bedroom to her. It shouldn't have been that hard--we had three to choose from. But my son's bedroom was not really available; after all, he would be coming home in the spring, and who knows how long she will live with us? Besides, his room has the only spare queen size bed for when my husband's parents visit.
OK then there's the spare bedroom. Isn't that the obvious choice? Yes, except that it has become the "black hole" of the house, storing spare scrap-booking materials, art materials, my son's extra stuff from his dorm room, boxes of books, quilting supplies, gift-wrap, party supplies, and whatever else came out of our storage unit that we cleaned out this summer. Unless we rented a storage unit again, which we didn't want to do, that room was a no go. At least for now.
That left only my daughter's bedroom. It has been used as a spare bedroom for company, for my daughter's visits, it was relatively empty compared to the others, and it was the obvious choice. Why my reluctance? I pondered my ambivalence, surprisingly strong. I liked the girl, was perfectly happy to have her move in, but I wasn't sure I wanted her in my daughter's bedroom. Gradually I came to realize it was because she shared some similarities with my daughter, but of course, wasn't her. I missed my daughter ever more acutely as I thought about this other young girl, also an artist, also a fun bubbly personality, yet not my daughter, living in what I still considered to be "her" space.
I know my daughter isn't coming home again. She's 23, has a life of her own. We get along fine, but she has her own household, and once you have been in charge of your own life, you don't want to live back home under your mother's roof again. I know I love my mother but I wouldn't want to be the daugher in the home again. I want my own house, my own kitchen, my own place. I am sure my daughter feels the same way. We probably get along better because there is some space between us. Instead of grieving her being gone, I need to celebrate her gaining her wings.
Gradually I talked my way through it, and talked it over with my daughter (that was important to me), who was OK with it as long as she didn't repaint it. The paint job is very unique--my daugher is an artist, after all, and I must admit that I liked it that my daughter still felt like it was her room. I finished cleaing the final things out and was ready.
Then about the time my nephew's girlfriend moved in, she and my nephew broke up. AWKWARD!!! Actually it wasn't too awkward. He is far away this year. We simply expressed our support to each of them, made ourselves available if they wanted to talk, and that was that. Out of respect for these young people I am not going to write anything more about their relationship. Relationships are hard enough when you are young. And when you are old. Having your aunt/housemother blog about them would be just uncomfortable. So I won't.
So she moved in. She is busy, and as life has a way of doing, I entered an extremely busy time at work and home, preparing for a certification exam, helping my sister prepare to sell her house and move, attending various church and social functions. I barely see her. She is a considerate person, who keeps her belongings strictly in her room, and we barely know she is here. In fact it almost feels like she avoids us. I've begun to wonder if she had some sort of 6th sense of my initial ambivalence, and is uncomfortable here. I hope not. I really do want, above all, to have a warm, loving and welcoming home to all who enter. Even if they aren't my very own kids. They're someone's kids.
