5 things I do different in an empty nest

My nest was full for a good 20-plus years. Then one by one, my three girlie birds flew away.

It took a while to get used to the empty spaces and absent faces, but I'd say I'm now past the mourning phase and well into appreciating that my husband and I have the place all to ourselves.

Things are different in an empty nest. It's not only the fewer family members kicking about the place, but the activities that happen at home now that make for a wee bit different way of life. To wit, the following.

5 THINGS I DO DIFFERENT IN AN EMPTY NEST

I grocery shop only when absolutely necessary. When my nest was full, I had a regular shopping day. Every single week for a bazillion years, I'd make a list, gather my coupons, then head out the door for the chore I hate most: stocking the fridge, the pantry, the bathrooms and more. I'd walk the grocery store aisles and fill my cart on shopping day whether the cupboards were empty and we really needed food or not. Now that the nest is empty, I shop when the fridge features little more than a few shriveled grapes, a jar of pickle relish, and two bottles of salad dressing that likely should have been thrown away months ago.

We eat dinner in front of the television... a lot. When my oldest daughter was about five years old, we moved our big television (ya know, the one in a massive wood console cabinet and weighing 10 tons and having a UHF and VHF channel changer thingee yet no remote) out of the living room on the main floor where it was visible from the dining room, and into the family room in the basement. Watching television during family dinners did not fit my idea of what family dinners should be. So the TV went down the stairs and conversation between family members became the goal. Every once in a while, we'd have a night featuring pizza and movies, a night when it was okay to sit in front of the TV in the family room while eating. Now that the nest is empty, Jim and I have many nights when it's okay to sit in front of the TV while eating. (The TV is still downstairs, though, as I still consider having it visible from the dining room verboten. Interestingly enough, our dining room features far less actual dining than it did in the past.)

I run around the house naked. Okay, I don't really run around the entire house naked, but I do a nude dash from the bathroom to the bedroom to get my clothes after I shower. When my girls were at home, I brought my clothes into the bathroom (not the master bath, which is Jim's... and we don't share a bath... which is one reason we've managed more than 30 years of marriage... but that's another story for another day) before showering, so I could get dried and dressed before even opening the door. I could still do that but I don't. Partially because racing from my bathroom to the bedroom — which involves climbing a flight of stairs — is sometimes the only exercise I get for the day. Plus, as I get a package delivered nearly every single day, I enjoy the challenge of hauling <cuss> before a delivery man appears at the door. (Thankfully for said delivery men, I have never, ever not won the challenge.)

I make my husband breakfast on weekdays. When our children were at home, said children were my primary focus morning, noon and night. Poor Jim never got breakfast on school days unless he was willing to have a bowl of cold cereal — which he hates and I've never seen him eat in all the decades of our marriage — or a bowl of hot cereal, which he hates, too. Those were the main menu options on school days, along with Johnny Cake now and then (carbs were our friend back in the day). Now that the nest is empty — and I'm a work-from-home freelancer — I feel pretty guilty lounging around in my jammies as Jim heads out the door to toil away on bringing in our only stable income. The guilt is compounded if he has nothing in his tummy. So I make him coffee to take with him. And I make him breakfast to take with him, too. Mostly something featuring carbs because though they're no longer our friend, Jim loves carbs. At least he no longer goes hungry on weekday mornings.

And, of course, we eat funnel cake for breakfast, if we want. I admitted this yesterday. Carbs. Grease. No justifications. Enough said.

Today's question:

What do you do different in your empty nest (or hope to do once it empties)?

Picture this: Funnel cake for breakfast

Oh, yes I did!

I had a craving Saturday morning that ended with me making funnel cake. For the first time ever. For breakfast.

It's kind of like a deep-fried pancake or waffle, right? Regardless, one advantage of an empty nest is not having to justify eating food that's horrible for you. (Though, as you can see, Jim and I did have fruit with our funnel cake, which eased the guilt and gastronomical impact a tad.)

If you'd like to make the guilty pleasure — for breakfast or any other time — I've added my Funnel Cake recipe to the Recipe Box. Enjoy!

Today's question:

When did you last eat a funnel cake?

Wherein Grandma whines and wails about not getting her way

For one bright, shining moment recently, all was right in my world as a mother and grandmother.

Brianna, my oldest, was happy with herself, happy in her job, happy with her Harley-riding boyfriend.

Andrea, my youngest, was happy with herself, in her job, and with her camera-toting boyfriend, too.

Megan, my middle daughter — mother to my grandsons and a teacher, too — was happy with the prospect of the school year ending, happy with her ever-so-helpful hubby, happy with being Mommy to my grandsons.

And I, mother and grandmother, was happy not only because they all were happy, but also because Megan mentioned she and Preston had accumulated enough Southwest rewards points that Megan and my grandsons could possibly, nay, probably, visit Gramma and PawDad at the end of May.

A probable visit meant my entire family (except Preston, who would have to work) would soon be together for the first time since June of last year.

A probable visit meant we'd all get to celebrate Mac's birthday and Bubby's birthday — which are both in June — while they're here.

A probable visit would mean Megan would get to meet her sisters' boyfriends who just might one day be more than that.

And a probable visit meant Bubby and Mac would finally get to dig for treasure in our back yard again, something Bubby had wished and wished and wished for during my visit a few weeks ago. (That and to watch Gramma make popcorn in the popcorn cart again, too.)

All was right and good in my world.

For one bright and shining moment.

Alas, how quickly those bright, shining moments fade.

Megan told me this past weekend that the possible trip to the mountains had become a definite-no-question-about-it no go. With many changes on the horizon for them, she and Preston would be consumed all summer working out important details on the this and that for their family.

Plus, when not working on this and that, they'd be using their Southwest reward points to attend the wedding of Preston's cousin. With no Southwest rewards to spare, a trip to the mountains to see family was simply not going to happen. Not soon. Not in the not-so-soon either.

*Poof!* My bright, shining moment vanished, with no reappearance likely for quite some time. At least when it comes to having my entire family together. At my place, at any place.

Sure, I will likely (I hope) get to see my grandsons before the end of 2013... at their place. But they — and Megan — won't get to visit my place. Worse yet, they won't get to see PawDad, Aunt B or Aunt Andie. And PawDad, Aunt B and Aunt Andie won't get to see them.

I get that other things must take priority at the moment. I sincerely get that. But that doesn't mean I can't be disappointed. Yet the word disappointed doesn't begin to explain how it feels.

Yes, I know it could be worse, that people are dealing with devastation beyond compare to my relatively trivial complaints. And there are innumerable parents and grandparents who have it far worse than I do, parents and grandparents who get to see their loved ones far less often than I do... if at all.

Perhaps I'm being silly. Jim and I have three daughters, and we get to see two of them as often as we — or they — choose. Two out of three ain't bad... or so I'm supposed to believe.

Every once in a while, though, I want more than two out of three. I want the trifecta of daughters all at one time — plus a double dose of grandsons, too. With PawDad. At our house. More for the sake of Jim and my other two daughters than for myself, as I do get to see Megan and the boys far more than the others do. But it's important the others see them, too, for it's hard to create close ties with family if chunks of the family never see one another. I want my grandsons to have close family ties — with all the chunks of our family.

For now, though, it's not going to happen. Definitely not this summer, and for who knows how long after that.

Priorities. I get it. I do. And I don't begrudge Megan doing what she must in figuring out important matters, doing what's right for her family. I really, truly, honestly get it.

But that doesn't mean I — and PawDad, Aunt B and Aunt Andie — can't be disappointed... or whatever the word for mega-super-duper-disappointed might be.

(It also doesn't mean I'll whine and wail forever. Just for today.)

Today's fill-in-the-blank:

The last time my family was all together was _____________.

Ornaments of Christmases past

At tree-trimming time every Christmas, I gave each of my three daughters a new ornament, beginning when they were all still quite small. Some years the ornaments given reflected a passion or hobby of each individual girl; other years, all three received similar ornaments with only a slight variation on a common theme. Every year, all were dated and hung upon the family tree.

With three new ornaments added for the girls each year plus a new one for Jim and myself annually, too, our Christmas tree became jam-packed with ornaments by the time the girls were ready to leave the nest. The paring down of the baubles was far more abrupt than the collecting. First it was Megan's collection that we wrapped up and sent with her once she became a newlywed. Next, Andrea moved up and out and on, taking her ornaments with her. Then, just a few years ago, Brianna and her seasonal stash found a new home, as well.

Now that Jim and I decorate our tree with many old ornaments of our own, plus nearly just as many new ornaments to take the place of those relocated to our daughters' Christmas trees, it's been especially heartwarming this past week while visiting my grandsons to see many of the familiar ornaments of Christmases past hanging on Megan's tree. Not only those I had given her through the years, but ones she had made herself or received from others, too.

 

Equally heartwarming to see hung in a place of prominence at Megan's house was an advent calendar I had made for my daughters many years ago, now providing a chocolate-y countdown to Christmas for my grandsons.

It's bittersweet to see old, familiar seasonal decor adorning a home so far removed from mine, in years and in geography. Every once in a while during this visit, I've been hit with the overwhelming realization that things will never go back to what they were, that time has indeed ticked along, those days are gone, and this is where we as a family are, what we will be from now on. Not that I didn't realize that—or be okay with that—already, but the confirmation of such sometimes comes in unexpected and occasionally uncomfortable waves. No more kids' ornaments hanging on the tree was and is just the beginning...and the end.

That serves as the bitter. The sweet? Seeing the enjoyment my grandsons now get pulling foiled Santas and chocolate balls from the very same crudely numbered pockets their mom and aunts once did, counting the days until Santa's arrival. Days that to a child move far too slowly. Days that to a mom—and now a grandma— moved far too fast and somehow, without proper notice, became years.

Today's question:

What holiday ornaments have you passed down to your children?

These are a few of my favorite (Thanksgiving) things

What do you love most about Thanksgiving?

Sodahead, an opinion-based community, recently asked its members exactly that, then made a nifty infographic of the answers. Here are some highlights of the results:

 

 

The full Sodahead infographic on Thanksgiving favorites can be found here.

Sodahead never asked me about my favorites, but here are a few of them:

• Tops is spending time with my family. Many years we've taken a trip to South Dakota to spend the holiday with Jim's extended family. Two years ago, our entire family celebrated in the desert, with Megan and Preston hosting. Most years, though, have meant a houseful of people, with extra chairs and table leaves (sometimes extra tables) added in my dining room. This year, for a variety of reasons, will be our smallest Thanksgiving ever. Jim and I will spend it at home, with our youngest and oldest daughters as our only guests. To be honest, I'm kind of looking forward to the intimacy of such a low-key, low-stress gathering.

• As far as food goes, I must say that mashed potatoes with lots of turkey gravy is one of my all-time favorite foods, and not just at Thanksgiving. But as the nest has emptied and mashing potatoes doesn't happen often around here anymore, I definitely look forward to those made at Thanksgiving.

• In addition to the mashed potatoes, I truly love my cheesy corn casserole. And pumpkin pie. And this year I'm going to try out a new addition to the dessert selections—a cranberry-apple cobbler which will likely become a fast favorite.

• Favorite things to do on Thanksgiving, other than eating? I particularly enjoy baking the day before. And on Thanksgiving day, I used to enjoy watching bits and pieces of the parades with my little girls. Not anymore, as my little girls are now big and no longer around at parade time. I do still love watching the performance of The Rockettes in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade—if I remember to turn on the TV in time.

• I also love gathering around the table and giving thanks before the meal. We always say grace at dinner in my house, but I get especially verklempt when doing so on Thanksgiving. (Sheesh...I'm getting verklempt and teary just writing this.) Because every year, no matter how freakin' difficult the year has been—and let me tell ya, this last one has been a doozy beyond compare—there is so, so much I'm thankful for, so many blessings that make my life full in ways I never imagined, ways that make up for those not-so-blessed moments. I love giving thanks for those...and listening to what others around the table are thankful for, too. One good thing about this year's smaller gathering: The thank yous and amens should be completed before the food has gotten cold.

• A new favorite: Last year, Jim and I established a Thanksgiving tradition all our own. With there typically being so many pies to choose from after Thanksgiving dinner, we decided last Thanksgiving morning that our breakfast should be the pumpkin pie I had made. I'm pretty sure pumpkin pie has never tasted sweeter. I look forward to us doing that again this year.

• This year we'll try another new activity: going to a movie—Lincoln—after stuffing our tummies with turkey and trimmings.

Other things I love about Thanksgiving: a fire in the fireplace, delectable scents wafting through the house from early morning til late at night, the stillness of the holiday as work and worries of the everyday are put on hold.

Bottom line: I love pretty much every little thing about Thanksgiving. Well, everything except getting the leftover turkey off the bone and bagged up for leftovers.

Oh! Speaking of leftovers, I also love turkey sandwiches the next day, with lots of salt and mayo (not Miracle Whip!).

Today's question:

What are a few of your favorite Thanksgiving things?

Grandparenting as a second chance: 15 things I'd do this time around

Some grandmas and grandpas consider being a grandparent their second chance at parenting, their opportunity to do things right, do things forgotten.

Not me. I don't see my time as Gramma being a do-over for my time as Mom. I've already had the headache, hassle, heartache of being a parent. I'm happy now to enjoy my time with my grandchildren without feeling the need to make good on all the things I neglected, all the ways I screwed up with my children. For one thing, there's no way to make up for what was—with those kids or with the kids of those kids.

If it were, though, if being a grandparent really did provide an opportunity for do-overs, here are a few things I'd do better the second time around:

• Go on more family bike rides.

• Complete a doll house for the girls. Boys, too, if they wanted one.

• Be more adamant about flossing.

• Allow them to order dessert now and then when dining out. Or an appetizer, instead of saying the budget's too tight for either.

• Teach them to sew, regardless of their gender.

• Not allow them to quit musical instruction, be it band, choir, guitar lessons.

• Not allow them to quit sports mid-season, either.

• On the other hand, I'd be more adamant about them quitting bad relationships sooner.

• Take them camping as teens, even if they didn't want to go. Once they got out in the boonies, they'd surely appreciate the s'mores, stories, and sky of endless stars regardless of their protests from home.

• Go on more picnics. And Sunday drives, with no particular destination, agenda, goal.

• Buy them each a camera at a younger age. (A far easier consideration now that the cost of developing photos is no longer a factor.)

• Allow more slumber parties. Though not co-ed, as seems currently in fashion.

• Sing more.

• Hug more.

• Remember more.

Today's question:

What would you do differently if given parenting do-overs?

Four 'fun' parental duties I didn't find so fun

Tooth Fairy duty. Tuesday's question about Tooth Fairy rates reminded me how much I didn't like playing Tooth Fairy when my daughters were young. I didn't like it at all. Not because I didn't want to reward my girls for having lost a tooth but because playing Tooth Fairy scared the <cuss> out of me. Seriously. Every time one of the girls went to sleep with high hopes of finding a dollar under her pillow upon awaking (yes, our rate was $1 per tooth), I dreaded having to sneak into the room, stealthily remove a tooth wadded up in tissue from under the pillow, and replace it with a buck. I just knew I'd be midway through the task, with my hand under a sleepy head while feeling for a papery wad, when the little girl's head would slowly turn my way and her eyes would pop right open and stare at me like a crazed Chucky-type doll.

Considering such scenarios scared me to no end. In fact, it scared me so much I sometimes accidentally on purposeforgot one of my children had gone to bed with high hopes of a dollar magically appearing in the night. 'Twas so much easier and less anxiety producing—for me, at least—to apologize come morning for the Tooth Fairy's poor scheduling then pretend she (or he?) had shown up and made the tooth/dollar trade while the girls were at school. Or, to out of guilt give my daughters their proper due, I'd just steel myself all day for the task, then come nightfall get the stupid duty over as quickly as possible. Which is why the Tooth Fairy would sometimes forget; a day or two preparing myself helped. Get in, grab the tooth, drop the dollar, get out. As quickly as possible! And don't look at her face while doing it!

Oh, the lengths we moms go to in order to convince our kids it's okay to allow charming characters with tooth fetishes into their rooms at night.

Bath time. Yes, bath time for many is a lovely and peaceful nightly ritual shared by mother and child. Not when you have three children to bathe at one time. Bath nights were hell, I mean, <cuss> in our household when the girls were little. At least for me. Thirty minutes of three little girls complaining the others were taking all the space...or all the bubbles...or all the water—yes, all the water!—was not fun. Thirty minutes of repeating, Look up! Look up! Look up! as I shampooed and rinsed and listened to at least one of the girls—sometimes all three of them—crying that they had soap in their eyes was not fun. Even the Rub-A-Dub Doggie with the swivel head wasn't distraction enough to make for fun and frivolous tub time. For any of us.

Sure, it would have been smart to bathe one girl at a time. But with a husband working three jobs, thus gone during bath time, who the heck would have watched the other two (remember, the girls are consecutive ages—16 months between the first two, 19 months between the second two) while I joyfully splished, splashed, and shampooed one at a time? Wasn't happening. I was quite thankful when Brianna became old enough to shower instead of being one of the bathers.

Interesting aside: As a grandma, I still dread bath time...at least when I have to bathe both Bubby and Mac at the same time. When I bathe them separately, it truly is one of the most enjoyable of all grandma duties. When they're together, not so enjoyable. So we opt for individual bath times—as long as there's someone else to entertain the non-bather while the bather and I splish, splash, and enjoy the moment.

Slumber parties. As a mother to three daughters, you'd think I'd be a pro at slumber parties. The girls had a lot of them growing up. Heck, I threw a few of my own accord, as I was a Girl Scout leader for many years and slumber parties were a great bonding experience for the troop. At least that was the original intention.

Just like the slumber parties thrown for my daughters' birthdays and more, though, good intentions at the outset of a slumber party flew out the window sometime soon after midnight when the cattiness of tired and cranky girls brought out the worst in everyone. Including me. By 2 a.m. I was usually gritting my teeth and saying to myself, "I wish they would just go home!" Funny thing is, that was often about the same time whichever daughter of mine was hosting the event would creep up the stairs and into my room to say exactly the same thing: "I wish they would Just. Go. Home."

Of course, we'd all forget about how very un-fun slumber parties were come time to consider having another...and another...and another.

Mall shopping. Being mother to three daughters also meant I was supposed to love clothes shopping with my girls. Seems having my kids at a very early age led to me missing that memo, that lesson in the parenting preparedness classes, for I didn't simply dislike shopping at the mall, I hated it. So much so that I did all I could to avoid it.

Back-to-school shopping was particularly dreadful, at the mall or anywhere else. Reason being, for the most part, because money was always tight, and trying to please three fashion-conscious girls on a limited budget was impossible. Which resulted in many tears—and not just from them. Even when we did manage to have enough money for a planned purchase, there were still tears, especially from one particularly difficult shopper we won't name or point out that she's my middle child and mother to my grandsons.

Ironically, Megan loved shopping most of all, was the one most distressed by my aversion to shopping. Strolling the mall together was supposedly the ultimate mother/daughter activity, the best way for girlie-girls to bond with their mamas. Only, I wasn't the girlie-girl kind of mom Megan longed for. Add my hate for shopping to the long list of other girlie things I didn't do—paint my nails, accessorize correctly (or at all), chat endlessly on the phone for no reason—and it's clear why Megan thought for many years that she had surely been adopted.

As a mom, I was supposed to have fun doing all those things above. I didn't. Maybe you feel the same.

Fortunately my list of things I did have fun doing as a parent is longer. Simply remove from the job description the four duties above and all that's left is what I had fun doing.

Well, for the most part.

Dropping a child off at college wasn't all that fun. Saying goodbye as they packed up the last of their closets and left the nest for good wasn't so much fun either.

Maybe you feel the same.

photos: stock.xchng (click photos for details)

Today's question:

What supposedly fun parental duties did you find not so fun?

Photo replay: Ah, they grow so fast

It's been only ten days since I wrote HERE about the baby robins hatched just outside my window.

Look at them now. Already, it's nearly time for them to leave the nest.

I'm thankful human babies don't fly away as quickly as robins, with barely any time to get to know them before they're gone.

Happy Sunday to you!

Some day is now

Like many mothers, things I wanted to do and achieve for myself during the childrearing years were put on the backburner in favor of what my kids wanted, what they needed. In a busy nest filled with babies to birth and bathe and feed and teach how to fly—protecting and doing my best to form them into fine, functioning, happy, kind and compassionate contributors to society—there was no time to consider much less execute my plans for personal goals. So they were set aside, placed on a list of things I'll do some day.

Some day arrived last Saturday. With a nest that's been empty for some time now, I finally—finally, I say—plucked one of the items from my "Some Day I'll..." list, gathered the goods, and accomplished something I had been wanting to do for years.

I made bagels.

Homemade bagels.

From scratch. The kneading, the forming, the boiling, the topping with yummy cheeses and cinnamon (not on the same ones, of course), and the baking to golden perfection. I did it all.

Yes, indeed, I made bagels.

And yes, indeed, they turned out awesome.

So awesome, in fact, that I called Jim out of bed earlier than he wished to be called on a Saturday morning. "Come look at what I made for breakfast," I coaxed him. "I'm so proud of myself! You will be, too!" And he was.

I texted my three daughters with photos of my achievement. They oohed and aahed and said "Yum!" and Brianna texted, "Can I come over for breakfast?" And she did. And I shared.

And I grabbed my camera to share my bagelicious beauties with you, too. 

See what I mean? They look good enough to rival those we spent years and years purchasing from the bakery, the bagel shop. I can honestly say—and Jim and Brianna concur—they tasted as good as they look. So not only will I share with you the photo, I'll share with you the recipe, too.

This is a combined recipe, a melding of one from Taste of Home Cooking School Cookbook and the one included with my bread maker. Yes, I used the bread maker for the kneading, so this recipe is geared toward placing the ingredients in that, but you could surely make them without one.

Homemade Bagels

1 1/4 cups warm milk

1/2 cup butter, softened

1 egg yolk

4 cups bread flour

1 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons sugar

1 1/2 teaspoons active dry yeast or bread machine yeast

Melted butter, for brushing on tops

Toppings such as cinnamon sugar, cheese slices (I used cheddar, colby/jack, and pepper jack), poppy seeds, sesame seeds, onion bits, if desired

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Place all ingredients except melted butter and toppings in machine in order listed, making a well in the flour for the yeast. Let the machine knead the dough one time (about 10 minutes), then turn off machine and let dough rise 20 minutes in the machine.

On floured surface, divide dough into 12 circles. Push your thumb through center of each circle to make the hole, and stretch to form bagel shape. Place circles on a well-greased baking sheet, cover, and let rise for 15 to 20 minutes.

In nonaluminum pan, slightly boil two inches of water. Slowly submerge three or four bagels at a time into the water. Cook for about 30 seconds on one side then flip and cook about 30 seconds on the other. Carefully remove bagels with slotted spoon and place on wire racks to let excess water drip off.

Place bagels back onto well-greased baking sheet. Brush tops with butter then add toppings, if desired. Bake 8-10 minutes or until slightly browned.

Makes 12 medium bagels (though I ended up with 13 because one of the 12 was huge so I divided it)

A little time consuming, yes. But hard? Not at all. And definitely worth it. I kept asking myself—after Should I have another...and another?—why in the world I didn't try making bagels sooner. Like when my bagel-loving daughters were still at home. They shouldn't have been placed on a some day list, they should have been made now, even back when the now seemed so impossibly busy.

Those boiled and baked delights have me looking at my some day list in a new light. In a nest emptied of kids but filled with time and possibility, there's no stopping me now. That's the kind of wild woman I've become, by golly—a wild, homemade-bagel-making woman, that is.

Like I said: There's no stopping me now.

Today's question:

What's your favorite kind of bagel? Have you ever tried making them yourself?

Missing the ordinary everydayness

Now that my kids are long grown and long gone, I occasionally miss the little things about having kids in our midst. Like watching them fully engaged in and enjoying ordinary, everyday activities. No posing or posturing, just playing.

Fortunately I have Megan to text me photos of ordinary everyday moments that, to a grandmother, are not that ordinary at all anymore and are truly something special to see.

To wit, scenes from a recent playdate—an afternoon hosted by Bubby and Baby Mac, featuring a car wash, snack time, and play pals:

So cool to see Baby Mac hanging with the big kids. And Bubby, too, obviously relishing his role as king of festivities.

Today's question:

What ordinary everydayness do you miss from your childrearing years?