What The Empty Nester Said To Me That Changed My Life

I didn’t believe it when they said it.

My husband, Scott, and I were parents to two very active boys, four and two, when we visited a family member for a back patio hang time one summer. At the time, nobody in our household was getting any sleep, and I’m pretty sure our eldest was regularly pooping his pants.

A neighbor couple, dear friends of my aunt and uncle, sauntered on over and perched on swivel chairs with drinks in hand. They were newly empty nesters, and you could tell because they had celebrated with the construction of a back yard cabana complete with a thatched roof and swiveling flat screen TV. They sort of glowed, these two. 

Scott and I divulged to the group that we were at a crossroads: we were either going to put an endcap on our family or infuse more life into it. Hovering over our aimless youngest as he teetered around the inground swimming pool, half a hotdog hanging out of my mouth, I was leaning towards the former. 

But then one of the neighbors said something, “You know, we’ve come to realize that the time you get to spend with your kids as adults and friends is double the time you parent them as dependents.” 

Buried so deeply beneath life’s mountain of sippy cups and Legos and socks with no matches, I found myself doubting that this could be true. But then, right there, I did the math. 

We have them in the house until they’re eighteen. Then they move out and become fully adjusted members of society. We invite them over for dinners and we are their friends and we discuss movies and life and religion and politics and parenting. And they produce us perfect little grandbabies that we spoil, repercussion-less, with ponies and presents. This carries on for a minimum of thirty-six years, because everyone in this scenario is healthy and have six-packs and because that’s how the math works out perfectly, until one day we die. 

I was beginning to feel lighter and lighter with each delusional thought. We left the party inflated. 

Then, later that month, when I happened to be on top of laundry for the week, we procreated again to produce our third. Then, a couple years after that, again, to produce our fourth. 

And now I have a couple teenagers and a couple elementary ones, and it’s still hard as hell. But maybe a teensy bit less hard than when they couldn’t swim or hold their pee all night. The challenges don’t necessarily lessen in intensity, they just morph, but at least we’re rested and the cabana is at the end of the tunnel. I’ve still sprinkled a bit of delusion into my retirement vision board – there are lots of peaceful extended family vacations I’m plotting – but I’ve taken the pedal off of many plans of perfection or grandeur. After all, life does its own thing. 

But I’d be lying if I don’t still hold onto those neighbors’ words, basically that our needy kids won’t be the same version of needy our whole lives. In fact, only a third of the time we’re with them is bleary-eyed, hella demanding. 

So thank you, you empty nester folk you, for being the reason we kept going. And - I’ll come back for you when it’s college tuition time.