So, let’s see. She has: Gloves. Scarf. Raincoat. Snacks. Toothbrush. Spare toothbrush, for when the first one falls in the toilet. More snacks. Compass. Notecard reminders to floss. Notecard reminders to set alarm clock. Notecard reminders to wake up for alarm clock. Notecard reminders to get on the bus. More snacks.
There’s a lot that goes into prepping for a week-long middle school trip to Washington D.C. That’s what my house has been undertaking for the past week or so: Setting up my 14-year-old daughter for a big bus trip to the nation’s capital.
There she will journey to some of our country’s most historic sites and museums: the White House, Mt. Vernon, the National Archives for the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, a side trip to Philadelphia for Independence Hall and, of course, the Medieval Times restaurant and jousting show.
If that doesn’t scream, “America!” I don’t know what does.
It should be a pretty incredible time, filled with history, fun, friends and, no doubt, lots of before-bed flossing. (We do have notecards!)
But getting ready to send your only daughter on her first big journey away from home, and without her parents, has turned into an adventure in and of itself. The packing. The planning. Trying to figure out D.C.’s weather, which has swung from predictions of snow to 50s with rain. Only a slight difference in how you pack for those two!
The school knows its audience. Knows they’re all Floridians. So they sent an email that explains that hoodies are not winter jackets. I mean, they are here. In Florida. Heavy weather gear, at that. But the north is cold. Like frostbite on your hiney cold. And not all of us Floridians get that, and sometimes need a little explaining on appropriate northern weather attire. I’m sure that the school has hear a lot of: “So, you’re saying shorts are no good in D.C. in January? OK, how about flip-flops?” We Floridians … we’re a special breed.
But here’s the thing: Of all the things we prepared. Of all the things we thought about. Of all the things the school told us, there has been absolutely no mention of what we parents are supposed to do without our children for an entire week.
That’s been sitting with me. Hovering over me. Haunting me. My daughter is an only child, and normally my house is filled with the sounds of YouTube and requests for bowls of ice cream.
I’ve been away from her – short trips or overnight retreats she’s gone on – but never this long. And it has me in a swirl of emotions. First off, what do my wife and I do without a kid around?
Talk? Read books? Drive our regular route to school so we don’t get out of practice? Figure out what that “Clean” button is on the oven?
When you’re a parent, you lose a lot of your identity and individuality. You’re no longer just “you.” You’re “parent of so-and-so.” Inmate No. 40592. You drive a car. You make a lot of sandwiches. You do a little rudimentary algebra … poorly. And you scream a lot in the morning: “First bell rings in 5 minutes … GET OUT OF BED!!!”
That is who you are.
But who are “you” when you don’t need to do all of that? When you’re just … GASP! … you? A person with no paternal responsibilities? An individual again? Someone with their own decisions and free time? HELP … ME!!!
She hasn’t even left yet and I already feel lost. Unneeded. Adrift. I’m thinking about taking up stamp collecting … and the kid will only be gone 5 days!
Worst of all, it seems like a harbinger of the future. A taste of what is coming. Or a test. Can we hack it? High school is next year, and that seems like a high-speed on-ramp to a post-parenting world. What’s the expression: Empty nest syndrome? It’s not that far away.
Am I ready for this?
For now, I have to push it out of my head. Too much planning to do. All those reminder notecards to write. Might need a spare for the spare toothbrush. I’ll deal with the quiet, empty house when I get to it. And if I have to fall back on stamp collecting or hitting that “Clean” button on the oven, so be it? I’m sure lots of pre-empty nesters have had to go there, too.