July 2018 - Page 2 of 2 - Adulting: Second- Half

Costco and Aging

I’m about to write something kind of “cringy.” My kids say that I say “cringy” things all of the time, so I guess I’ll just stay on my roll. Today my husband and I are going to Costco and I’m giddy about it. Yes, giddy. I’m pretty sure that my husband’s excited about it, too. It’s on the list of Date Night Options and it makes the cut a lot of the time. I’m not sure why I love Costco. I’ve had a membership for a long, long time and I didn’t always feel this way about it. When I was younger, I think I considered Costco to be more of a “necessary evil.” I hate crowds and our Costco is always crowded, starting with the crazy parking lot. The samples really don’t thrill me. I don’t really like Greek yogurt and quinoa is only good to me if it is smothered in some kind of fattening sauce. The sample “nazis” stress me out anyway. I’m still a little scarred from the time when I accidentally pulled a sample from the wrong side of the little plastic roof thing. That Sample Lady angrily immediately tossed out the entire tray of samples into the garbage can right in front of the hoards of people waiting with drool coming out of their mouths. I think I got the evil eye all at once from at least 60 people that day.

So, I’m trying to figure out why my husband and I like Costco as much as we do. It might be because Costco has a little something for everyone, or should I say a lot of something for everyone. I mean who doesn’t like good books, good gadgets, good prices and mounds of food? I really don’t think that is it, though. Now please don’t quote me on this because I’m not a doctor or a scientist, but I’m almost positive that loving Costco is part of the biological aging process. I think it goes like this: Wrinkles. Readers. Grey Hairs. Achy joints. Enthusiasm for Costco.

When we go to Costco it’s like a Middle Age Reunion Club. Every time we go there we always see someone from the past. We see couples from our former Travel Soccer Club Posse. We see current work colleagues and parents we met at College Orientation in the Book Store. And we all are smiling. And we all have full carts. And we are all going to get one of those delicious, cheap hot dogs wrapped in those steamy, pillowy buns because we earnestly believe that the jumbo size One A Day vitamin bottle that we just purchased will cancel out the guilty pleasure of the hot dogs. Whatever makes me happy about Costco, whether it be a biological switch or not, one thing is for certain. Costco is on the keeper list for my Second Half of Adulting.

Taking the Plunge

My second son, a 20 year old college student, is going skydiving for the first time today. Skydiving. He and his girlfriend both have birthdays in July and they felt that this shared experience would make a great mutual birthday gift for each other. Now my more conservative friends have said that this was the time for me to start threatening to cut off payments for college and living expenses if he goes through with this. My more adventurous friends have asked if they could get in on the experience. After much discussion and prayers and more discussion, my husband and I have reluctantly offered our blessing to this excursion. And I will be able to breathe again when I hear that they have safely landed back on Earth.

My second son has always been my daredevil and thrill seeker. In lieu of a high school graduation party, he wanted a day of jet skiing. He valets as a summer job, primarily so that he can drive Ferraris, even for a short jaunt. He’s not a fearful person. I love his zest for life. But this blog is not supposed to be about my kids. It’s supposed to be about getting “back to me.” Which brings me to this confession. Skydiving has always been on my bucket list. Unfortunately I never got around to it when I was 20 or 22 and by the age of 24, I was pregnant with my first child. Skydiving quickly got moved way down on the bucket list, because skydiving never seemed like an entirely prudent, responsible decision to make as a mother of 4 children. I always envisioned the headlines, “Irresponsible Mother of 4 Children Plunges to Her Death in an Expensive, Frivolous, Unnecessary Skydiving Excursion as Horrified and Forever Traumatized Family Looks On.” I like to think I was being responsible for not doing it, perhaps I was just being chicken.

I think the neat part about this Second Half of Adulting, is the inspiration and learning that you start really gleaning from your aging kids. Now, I’ve learned from my kids my whole mothering experience. It is awesome to rediscover caterpillars and roller coasters and Christmas through the fresh eyes of your children. But as they get older, their experiences get bigger and you are moving further and further away from what the world looked like in your childhood and closer to what the world looked like in their childhoods. In some ways, they are starting to know a little bit more about today’s world, than you do. (They know a hell of a lot more about tech and social media than I do!) This can be sobering, but exciting. The shift from me being a mostly “in the moment teacher” to more of a “wise old sage/wide eyed student” is happening to me as my kids grow up and it’s interesting to experience.

My eldest son had a summer internship in my hometown last summer. Now I grew up in my hometown, as did my parents and both sets of grandparents. I spent all of my twenties there. So, when we went to visit him, I figured I would be the tour guide. Ha! He took us to neighborhoods that used to be “lock your door, don’t make eye contact and drive fast” neighborhoods that are now really cool hipster hangouts with wonderful places to eat, to drink and be merry. He took us to my old familiar “haunts” but with his fresh, excited eye and perspective, it made me appreciate these places in ways that I never had before. When I was willing to let go of my control and my “authority”, I really enjoyed being the student of an old place turned “new.” My son made for an excellent tour guide.

I’m really excited for the upcoming tours and adventures that all four of my children will lead me on. I’m looking forward to the upcoming tours and adventures that I’ll be leading myself on. I’m also grateful and inspired to remember those items that have been placed on the back-burner. Skydiving has just moved up a little on my own personal bucket list.

That Woman

I have become That Woman. That Woman who drove Young Mama me insane. Young Mama me met That Woman several times throughout the child rearing years and it was never pretty. Typically, it went something like this. Young Mama me would be in the grocery store. I would be wearing the stained sweaty clothes from the day before or perhaps clean clothes that came off of the top of giant Mt. Laundry. We all knew that these clothes never really had a chance to make it into closets and drawers before being soiled again anyway. Young Mama me would be donning a pony tail that was starting to turn into an unintentional dreadlock. Young Mama me would be trying to keep the four kids organized in the grocery store by screaming at the top of her lungs, “Get in a line!!! Like ducks in a row!!” (All four kids still do a great impression of Young Mama me attempting to do this feat.) Back in those days the kids, of course, were very similar to marbles on the shiny, hard floor of the grocery store, bouncing, rolling, bumping into displays, spreading out in every which direction. Nothing at all like ducks in a row.

So, then Young Mama me would finally navigate the grocery cart overflowing with diapers, paper towels, family sized Cheerio boxes and a bunch of other things that the kids managed to sneak into the cart, to the checkout lane. Young Mama me usually eventually managed to get to the checkout lane with all four of her marbles in tow. Then, it never failed. That Woman was right behind Young Mama me, smiling serenely and winsomely at the crazy marbles, like they were Harry Winston diamonds that had just fallen from Heaven above. Now That Woman looked very different from Young Mama me. She was middle aged, wearing clean pressed clothes and donning a nice leather purse instead of a stained, smelly 3 ton diaper bag. Her hair and make-up were neatly done and her cart was near empty. She may have a container of sushi, a slab of cheese with a name Young Mama me could not pronounce, or perhaps a bottle of French wine, a baguette and a sleeve of fresh flowers. And she was at the store, peacefully, all by herself. And just in that moment when Young Mama me was desperately looking into the ether space for the fast forward button that would get me to That Woman’s stage in life, That Woman would look at Young Mama me, all doe-eyed, and say something like, “Oh honey, just enjoy these times, these kids. It all just goes so fast. Before you know it, they’ll be grown and gone.” In that moment, Young Mama me would desperately want to hit That Woman. While holding a death grip on my cart handle, I would be thinking, “WTF?!? What on Earth could possibly make you think that I need a Guilt Trip on top of all of this fun, you evil witch?!?”

Now that I am That Woman, I have a much better understanding of what she was trying to convey. It was not a guilt trip at all. That Woman is just not very good at communicating because she has a lump in her throat. That Woman can’t go back to herself as a Young Mama and say, “Honey, cut yourself a break. You are doing the best you can and what you think is so important, really isn’t. Those babies are going to be fine and as much as that little boy of yours, having a tantrum is driving you crazy, you are going to miss stroking his sweaty little red curls. Because one day, very, very soon, those curls will be on top of a 6’2″ man and you won’t be able to reach them. And he won’t be around anyway because he’ll be several hundred miles away in his new job, probably in a meeting room or eating lunch with colleagues. Yes, that little sweaty marble will have colleagues.” So, all that she is trying to do is to pay it forward because she can’t go back.

I really think if Young Mama and That Woman could see each other’s lives through each other’s eyes, they would really appreciate each other. It would be such a good reminder to not live too much in the past, but also not to try to rush into the future too quickly. Both ladies would realize that they have it pretty good in their current stage of life and then they would feel grateful for that and for each other. Then, as they were leaving the grocery store, they both would feel lighter, connected and excited to see what the rest of the day would bring.

What Next??

So yesterday I allowed myself a pathetic pity party. I thought it felt good at the time, but it got old fast. I think part of the mopefest was because I’m avoiding the hardest part of the Second Half of my Adulting. For me (and I suspect for a majority of women in my position), this is the trying to figure out the big ol’ What I Want to Do Next.

I recently saw a picture of a rally in which a woman held a poster that read, “Teach our Daughters to be Somebodies, Not Somebody’s”. I don’t think any of us made our minds up from the get go, to lose our “somebody” quality. I take pride in being J’s wife, and my kids’ mom. But over time, those identities did seem to swallow up most of the whole. Those identities did seem to make the first half of my adulting simple. Simple, mind you, not easy. When your family is young, your purpose is very clear. Keep the kids alive, keep them fed, keep them focused. We are a “traditional” family, so my husband is the primary breadwinner and I am the primary “cat herder.” Now as the cats are starting to leave the herd, there are a lot more options for me. This is exciting, but also bewildering.

I was a marketing major in college, a textbook sales person before my kids were born and I had a few part-time jobs over the years that were also mostly sales oriented. So, I suppose a sales job is a possibility. I had a small accessories business on ebay several years back. Perhaps I could start my own business again. My volunteer positions over the years have all centered around my kids’ schools and sports. Maybe I could branch out in the volunteer realm. I honestly feel no strong inclination or passion about any of these ideas just yet.

I’m very envious of people who feel a strong lifelong passion for their occupation and/or their hobbies. I’ve always felt like more of a dabbler. I tend to lose interest quickly. I read recently that to find a passion, you should follow your interests. Learn more about them and see where this leads you. There are so many gurus these days that advise to follow your heart or to follow your bliss. But if you have spent a lot of your life filling your heart with your family and following your family members’ bliss, it’s puzzling at first to find your own pathway back to your own bliss. So, I will take baby steps in getting to know me again. What are my interests? What are my favorite things to do just for me? What books/music/activities/foods really speak to me and how can incorporate these things into my second half?

Just like when my kids were born, I long for a detailed instruction book to guide me on exactly what to do, step by step, with guaranteed results. You’d think by my Second Half, I would have figured out that those instruction manuals really don’t exist, at least not in a traditional sense. I guess that I am going to have to trust that my internal life manager who has gotten me this far, will lead the way, if I just remove the impatience and fear that is clouding the path.

Keeping it “Real”

Well, here I am at Day 2 of my Second Half of Adulting. I wish I could say that the watermelon sized lump in my throat has gone away, but it hasn’t. In fact, I woke up in “Moody Trudy” mode for sure. Then I did the worst thing you could ever do. I fed Moody Trudy by going to Facebook, which is not something that I even do very frequently. So even though I am having a nice summer and we had a truly awesome memorable family vacation before my son left home, the comparison monster, made me feel even more miserable looking at everyone’s happy faces on their delightful summer adventures and travels. Then I slogged Moody Trudy for not being a better person and feeling happy for all of her dear friends and family, which just spiraled me even more. This is not a good way to start the day nor my second half of adulting, but it is what it is and the truth must be told.

Now, in the first half of my adulting, I learned that we women need each other. Yes, we can be each other’s worst enemies or passive aggressive “frenemies” (on an aside, when I started my first job out of college, I asked a female manager what was the hardest thing about being a professional woman and without a blip of hesitation she said, “other women”), but in the end, no one “gets us”, like us. I have gotten discerning over the years and I have learned to put up better boundaries. This has helped we whittle it down to primarily two solid groups of women friends with whom I can keep it real. Really real. So, this morning, I texted both groups. Turns out, I’m not the only Moody Trudy today (which is not surprising in a group of chiefly middle aged women, many with a few teenage kids in the mix) which helped me feel supported, eased me into a lighter mood and got me “out of myself”. I was then able to help other friends with their own problems which helped me to put my issues into perspective.

Bottom line, today emphasized something very important to keep and to treasure in my second half of adulting – the awesome support of true, kind friends. Maybe I should keep a list of “keepers” for my second half?!? Number one on the keeper list: Solid female friendships.

Adulting – Second Half

Today is the first day of my second half of “adulting.” Some people would say, “Whoa Nelly! Don’t jump the gun!” You see, my eldest child, my 22 year old son started his new adult life today, but I still have three kids in the cooker. That said, I’ve always been one to look ahead and I think I saw the writing on the wall when my eldest got his driver’s license. The fact that this new phase of my life was right around the corner became even more evident when he went off to college, which involved study abroad and internships in which he lived far, far away and came through the experiences alive and well and an even better, more interesting young man than he was before the adventures. So obviously, I see where this is going with the rest of my brood, soon to be following suit.

I had my eldest son when I was 25. I have spent most of my adult years being a mom. “Mom” has been my primary title, identity and structure of my life until yesterday when I “let” one little birdie fly the nest. At that moment, I felt that structure crack a teeny little bit. Seeing my son off to his new adult life was surreal and sort of anti-climatic. You drop your child off at his new apartment, you wish him luck on his first day of his exciting new job, you make sure he has groceries and you sit on your hands and wallet, knowing that he can well afford his own groceries now and your major work with him is done. Your part of the masterpiece has mostly concluded and your role has changed from nurturer, teacher, mentor, protector, provider to mostly now, just an excited observer. The scale has slowly shifted from predominantly shared adventures to now sharing with each other our mostly individual adventures.

As any parent having gone through this transition knows, the mixed bag of emotions being felt is tumultuous and almost undefinable. I have heard that we can fit all of our emotions into four simple categories: mad, glad, sad and scared. Well, I’m here to tell you that it is possible to feel all of those emotional categories all at once and deeply!

I have started this blog for me, but if it is helpful to others that would be grand. I have always felt that when people truly share what is really on their hearts, the world is a little less lonely. I don’t know where my second half of adulting leads me but I am certainly in the contemplation stage. And this new stage of my adventure is probably very similar to my son’s new experience – exciting, scary, exhilarating, freeing, introspective and necessary for us both to further develop into what we are meant to be in this mystery called Life.