Posted on by hockeymomlauran

Covid Thanksgiving

“Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence.”

Erma Bombeck

Incredibly, the kids haven’t been home since January! This past summer, they drove the 6 hours to our cabin three times, but here at home? It’s been a while. Consequently, this was the first time my daughter saw that her bedroom was now my office. She hasn’t lived with us for four years, so I felt the transition was ok. She stood at the door in what I can only assume was bewilderment and shouted down the hallway at me, “WOW–it doesn’t even look like my room anymore.”

See, here’s the deal–are we supposed to keep their rooms like a museum? A child’s forever spot? I feel kind-of bad about this. Almost like their childhood bedrooms are the one space they have that is constant…safe. And now all of her memories are boxed up and painted over. But this is all part of the separation and more importantly, growing up. She’s 22 now; almost 23. When I was her age, I was married and had a baby–her. She honestly didn’t seem to mind until I told her that I was thinking of turning Henry’s room into a crafting space. She was enthusiastic about THAT idea leaving me to think maybe she is a bit hurt about not having her own space any longer. This may even that sibling playing scale…

You know what’s awesome, though? The time we spent together. We played games every night and we watched movies. We made candles, and we made sweatshirts. We ate, we laughed until we cried. We screamed WAY too many effinheimers during the family games, and drank WAY too many Bud Light Holiday Seltzers. Umm–have you had the Apple Crisp? AMAZING.

This is exactly what Thanksgiving is for–family. Laughing. LOTS of hugs and kisses. I can’t put into words the actual feelings in my heart, only to say that it is full.

Posted on by hockeymomlauran

What Now?

Getting lost in this new reality.

“When mothers talk about the depression of the empty nest, they’re not mourning the passing of all those wet towels on the floor, or the music that numbs your teeth, or even the bottle of capless shampoo dribbling down the shower drain. They’re upset because they’ve gone from supervisor of a child’s life to a spectator. It’s like being the vice president of the United States.”

—Erma Bombeck

August 24, 2019–my son, and youngest of my two children moved into his dorm room at the University of North Dakota. It was a five hour drive from home, and a journey 18 years in the making.

I have two children, Muriel and Henry. Muriel is almost 22 and Henry as of this writing, just turned 19. They have always been different from each other; one leads with their head, one their heart. One enjoys being alone, the other needs to be surrounded by their friends constantly. One took academics quite seriously, the other questioned the need for higher education. One plans for the future, one lives in the present. You get the gist. For those who only have one interpretation of Generation Z, I challenge you to observe my children and come away with the same assumptions.

So when I sent Muriel off to college, I didn’t worry. In fact, when she travelled the world modeling at the age of 18, I didn’t worry. Muriel left for college determined and ready to create her path. She has always been ready. But Henry…well, he’s a different story.

Henry is bright and humorous. He leads with his heart, and is a deep thinker. He is trying desperately to find his path. He has shown me that sometimes you need to consider things more carefully; that it isn’t always about me, and yet I’m the only one responsible for my outcome.

As a mom, we always worry, right? Are they making the right decisions–going to class, doing their homework, partying too much? I question everything…and yet, I think it’s because I don’t have the distractions I once had when they were both home–hockey, dance, lacrosse, volleyball, drama, pizza parties. See a theme? All centered around THE CHILDREN.

Now what? So begins the journey to figure that out. At 44 years old, I am learning to tackle new things–like this blog. If nothing else, I hope you find a little piece of yourself in this. I will try to be as honest as I can without completely embarrassing anyone. And I would love ideas from you! Our identities don’t have to be our children. It’s time to grow as Lauran–not just Mom.