Nancy Bartholomew

Back in the day, before kids, before major responsibility came my way, I would squirrel away all my vacation days and take 2 long weeks off to "Evaluate my Life."  I had a 20 year plan.  Really.  With goals that could be measured by the month, the year, five years on up to 20 years.

I did not take into account the wisdom that comes with time and age.

This probably explains why I don't have a house in L.A (Lower Alabama a.k.a Panama City Beach, Florida) with a private landing strip for my own airplane.  Thank God for that!

The first week of my 2 week retreat, I would spend frying myself to a cinder on the beach and drinking wine spritzers on the roof-top deck of my boss's beach house.  But the second week signalled the time of introspection and reevaluation.  I had goals for everything- my career, my personal life, my friendships.  No stone was left unturned.

This week away, up here at the cabin, felt like a miniature version of those old escapes.  I still have goals.  I still reappraise them and evaluate my progress, just not with the rigidity of my youth.  I was, however, able to hear the sound of my own inner voice again.  I did write- almost 50 pages- of something new. 

But I covet the old days of 2 week chunks.  I love the bliss of this place. The thing that comes with time and age is the knowledge that one day, all too soon, I'll have a lot of time alone.  My boys will be grown, with lives and families of their own.  So the good stuff, the memories and treasures, for now they're at home, in town. 

I'm big on being with my family in the moment, savoring every single bit of that experience and hoarding it for my motherhood retirement.  

That, and the taxes MUST be done... 

What happened to Bailey shouldn't have happened to a dog...

On the floor at my feet, poor Bailey the Big Dog, is sleeping, gorked on painkillers.

As if it weren't enough that I gave him a VERY bad haircut on Sunday, today we added insult to injury and sent him to the vet to have his teeth cleaned. They pulled four of his front teeth! Poor guy. Now he'll look like one of my nursing home residents...I wonder if his lower lip will pull in eventually and pucker up around his gums?

If Bailey were morphed into an old man he'd wear faded blue jeans a few sizes too large and big red suspenders. He'd totter down the hallway, pushing his walker- which would have a plastic flower-trimmed, white, fake wicker, bicycle basket hanging from its front bar.

And he'd have an I-pod.

Bailey always roams along to the beat of his own peculiar drummer, so if I turned him into a human I'd give him a real soundtrack. Probably the Beatles- Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. He'd sing loudly and out of tune as he strolled through the house and out into the backyard.

"Back in the US, back in the USSR," he'd wail.

I'd walk up to him as he sniffed along the back fence and tap him on the shoulder.

"How you doin', Bailey?" I'd say.

He'd slowly whirl around and squint up at me, recognition slowly dawning as I came into focus.

"It's all good, man," he'd say. Bailey as an old man would be the Maynard G. Krebbs of old people- a stringy goatee clinging to his chin, his brain always slow to make the connection between what is real and what is imagination.

"At least it was all good 'til the day you whacked off my hair and had my teeth pulled...It's been downhill ever since...But you meant well, I suppose."

He'd heave a big sigh and keep on moving. "Those were the days, my friend," he's sing softly.

Thank God he's too old to remember that little neutering incident!

The Wild Ones came home from college and set out to make a movie. 

It was a great beginning.  The Eldest's BFF's Mama makes the best pork chops and mashed potatoes in the Universe.  So, fortified with yummies, they decided to start with Wardrobe and Costuming.  I have no idea what the movie was going to be about but the trip to Goodwill took all day.

They were resplendent in their 80s "Look."

 Okay...maybe resplendent is taking it a bit far.  Perhaps frightening is more like it...

And to think they came from such humble beginnings...

I am blissfully dreaming of which roses I will soon plant along the new fence-

When the Eldest Unnamed One calls from his off-campus apartment.   "Hey, babe," I say.  "What cha doin'?"

"Enjoying our new fountain," he says.

I am a mother.  We know when our children are enjoying a fountain and when they are sitting on top of a geyser.

"Your new fountain?" I echo. 

"There's a gap between the crown moulding in the bedroom and the sheetrock.  It's about 4' long and rain is streaming down the wall like a fountain." 

He sends a video to my cell phone and I am horrified.  It sounds like the creek up at the cabin should sound- if it were full of water and flowing along at flood level.  In the video Lovey is holding a blue bowl up to the wall and it is water fills it at an alarming rate. 

When the Eldest calls thirty minutes later, they have placed every bowl they own beneath multiple leaks and the ceiling is splitting at the seams- but only, he assures me, in the bedroom.  It's under control, he says.  They've managed to move the bed out into the tiny apartment's only other room.  Their landlord has called and breezily assured them "Someone will be out to fix the ceiling tomorrow."

Tomorrow?!  It's pouring down rain.  What about tonight?

"Do you want to go to a hotel?" I offer.

"Nah," he says.  "We're okay."

Then I remember.  When you're 19, it's cooler to stick around your apartment awaiting the advent of unknown catastrophy than it is to play it safe.  After all, when you are young, you are invincible.  Life is full of glorious and dangerous possibilities.  

When you are young, you think of the stories you will one day tell your children... "We rode out a tornado!" the legend will begin.  "The roof caved in on top of our heads but we survived.  It was a miracle!"  The adventurers will shake their heads, grinning wistfully as they recall the audacity of their youth.

Their children will beg to hear the story again and again, staring up in wide-eyed adoration at their larger-than life, heroic parents...(I'm not saying Lovey and the Eldest will be getting married, mind you. I'm only making a speculative illustration for the sake of the story.  It's called fiction for a reason...but I digress.)

Tonight the Eldest and Lovey will brave the elements - "Man vs Wild" and "Xena, the Princess Warrior."  But tomorrow they will face down the soggy reality of stinky carpet, mildew and a cold front that whistles through the 4' gap in the ceiling.  

Life is just one big adventure after another.

 Spending the weekend with your college student, on their turf, is a wonderful way to-

1. Bust through the Mama Denial Factor.  The Eldest Unnamed One and Lovey come home almost every weekend.  They do laundry.  (Okay, so Lovey's Mom usually does the laundry.) They laze around on the sofa, watch TV and eat almost whatever I cook up.  So it's easy to pretend nothing's changed.   They're temporarily away at school but they  live here, at home.  Just Like Always. 

Not.  

And certainly not... 

But when I went to their apartment, I was forced to realize they have a routine.  There are backup toiletries on the bathroom shelves.  They have groceries in their refrigerator and candles on the windowsills- candles that have actually been burned.  It takes time to burn candles.  Lots of time.  Longer than a weekend.  If they are burning candles in Chapel Hill for hours at a time, they are no longer living in Greensboro.

OMG! I must have...an empty...nest!!! Almost (I am still holding the Youngest Unnamed One hostage and will not give him up until they pry him....Well, until he's accepted at college and forced to report, kicking and screaming, to his dorm.)

2.  Spending the weekend with your almost-Adult child is a wonderful way to- Get to Know this Wonderful, New Adult-like (I'm not giving him up yet) Friend.  We shopped at the Weaver Street Market and he showed me all of the new foods he's tried and come to love.  We shared a soft pretzel-And found we both have a love-hate ambivalence toward the things as they are delicious and somehow disgusting at the same time.  We tried a Tapas bar and amid the high-brow ordering, he loved the fact that I mispronounced "croquettes" and called them "croquets" instead.  But was impressed when I knew the difference between a dilettante and a philistine.  

3.  The Youngest Unnamed One was also a key player in this "away from home" weekend and I think being on his brother's new home turf leveled the playing field for all of us.  He sees his brother relating to his mother as a peer rather than an authority figure and it's freeing.  I get to be viewed as a human being...albeit an OLD human being and most certainly ASEXUAL, I was still almost a human this weekend.

Me as a....gasp!...Young Girl...At the same age as the Eldest Unnamed One is now!

4. Being on your kid's turf is a mainline feed back to "The Day."  We went to see Lewis Black last night and he was hilarious.  As I followed my kids across the quad last night, staring down at the uneven brick sidewalk, I was suddenly back, walking to my own apartment, crossing the old campus, with no heavier responsibility than my courseload.  Of course, I was looking down so I wouldn't stumble and break my leg because now I'm OLD, but still, I was once again the girl I once was.  And yes, I was walking 3 feet behind them as they were lost in their current world and weren't thinking about me, but still, it was cool.

5.  But the best part about spending the weekend with the Unnamed Ones in Chapel Hill was realizing what a compliment it was to have even been invited.  It's a tribute to the relationship we have with each other that they'd even want their old mama hanging around with them. 

 Being "The Mom" is a heavy responsibility.  It is both my top priority and my most precious indulgence.  I know there are a lot of books out about how to parent properly, but they fail to take into account that every child is an individual and while some rules may hold true for most kids, there isn't a one-size-fits-all advice book.  You do what feels right in your heart and try to learn from your mistakes but we all screw it up now and then.  That's why a tribute like this weekend means so much. 

Me and Dad...Hangin'

In a perfect world, I would parent my kids like my dad raised me- with open, unconditional love and a non-judgemental mindset that allowed us to all mess up without hearing "I told you so" or the eventual, dreaded "Remember the time you..."  My dad was just there, a fellow, encouraging, sympathetic traveller on Life's road and it meant the world to me. 

But I digress...

This weekend, the sacred and the profane, was totally, awesomely, wonderful and I wouldn't give nuthin' fer it, not even a croquet!