Watch out, Gumby. I’m Back!

Watch out, Gumby. I’m Back!

Flexibility is a necessary skill for teachers and parents of young children. When I taught school and had young kids at home, I was flexible enough to give Gumby some serious competition.

These days, not so much.

An empty nest doesn’t require flexibility. Some days it’s so quiet and orderly around here, I can almost feel my joints locking in position, my heels digging in, and my thoughts petrifying into a solid, immovable lump.

The temptation to remain in one place is enticing.

On busy weekends, like this past one, the challenge is to shake off comfortable and inflexible habits, to stretch and embrace what is good and true. Can I change with the times? Do I want to? Am I too old to try?

Maybe I am. Too old, that is.

That’s the conclusion I settled on yesterday, right before remembering the turkey carcass waiting in the cold on the porch. Waiting to be brought in and boiled in a big pot of water. Waiting for the water to turn into rich broth as it simmered on the stove. Waiting for the meat to turn tender enough to be picked off its bones.

Not worth the effort.

I quelled the voice inside my head and put the carcass in a big pot of water and hoisted it onto the stove. A few hours later, I picked through the broken down mess. The bones pulled apart easily. The meat fell off the bones. Enough meat for three pots of turkey noodle soup and eight pints of broth besides.

All from an old turkey carcass.

But I had almost believed the voice in my head. I almost turned away from the effort required to harvest good from what looked like nothing much. I almost chose comfort and quiet over what was good and true.

Maybe because there aren’t children around to keep me flexible.

Or maybe because I believe getting older means I’m not worth the effort. But if the old turkey carcass yielded enough food for many meals to come, surely my bones have more to give, too. But only if I choose to move ahead, prepare for change, and stay flexible with or without kids stretching me this way and that. It will never be easy, but it’s good. And true. Which means Gumby better step up his game, too. I plan to give him a run for his money.

As soon as I force myself out of this comfortable chair.

Top Ten Things I MIss Now that the Kids Are Grown

Top Ten Things I MIss Now that the Kids Are Grown

Last week’s top ten list highlighted the positives of living in an empty nest. In the interest of full disclosure, this top ten shares what I miss now that the kids are grown and gone.

10.  Getting the kids out of the house was always a good excuse for going to the pool.

9.    Watching them play and wondering what they’ll be like as adults.

8.    Getting goofy and giggling together.

7.    Seeing them learn from simple things like water, wind, and dirt.

6.    Belly laughs.

5.    Dressing up in costumes and playing make-believe.

4.    Reading aloud and getting lost in books together.

3.    Snuggles.

2.    Walking down the street, holding hands.

1.    Looking at the world through a child’s eyes…again.

What do you other empty nesters miss about having little kids at home? Those of you who are raising youngsters, what will you miss when they’re grown? Leave a comment.

While I Was Sleeping

While I Was Sleeping

It snowed in the night, while I was sleeping. I woke to a changed world. This morning the yard glitters with three inches of soft, white coldness covering every blemish. I hated to mar that smooth perfection, but scooped a small path to the garage. Then I put the shovel away and went inside, determined to enjoy the beauty before it melted away.

While I ate breakfast I noticed the spruce trees in the back yard, their tips dusted with snowflakes. Every few minute a bit of snow fell from a branch and exploded in the silent breeze. I looked at the trees and wondered, as I have so often in the past year, when they grew so large.

Hiram and I planted four blue spruces when our children were little. Allen was about ten, and Anne was four. The trees were tiny, less than a yard tall when Hiram dug holes and the kids and I dragged the hose from hole to hole. We never watered the trees again, just trusted their roots to find water and their branches to soak up the sunshine.

The trees are so tall now, and I marvel. When did their branches grow strong enough to bear the weight of the snow? And when did my children learn to stand and accept the weight of adulthood?

It happened in the night, I think, while I was sleeping.