My little, almost 17 yr old, scientist, still trips over himself–from the dinner table to the front porch–calling to the rest of us–Come see! A rainbow!
Category: Mid-Life Mama
Summer’s passing…
I consider it part of my parting duty to impart beach culture to my mountain grown sons.
Lose the hikers.
Let the hair become wild with humidity.
Get sand… everywhere.
Let it stay.
Smell the air.
Feel the spray.
Sample slices until you find the best pizza.
Welcome the fog. The rain. Let it all be one.
Thick hoodies. Leisurely breakfasts. Coffee. Music. Chaos.
Beach chairs. Flip flops. Fudge.
Salt water taffy. Beer bottles. Bar flies. Bare feet. Sunburn.
Shellfish. Sandcastles. Donuts. Surf shops.
Waves. Seagulls. Lifeguards. Sunsets.
Salt. Sea.
Devotion. Sensuality.
Creation. Myth.
Belonging. Return.
Devotion.
Womb.
Flip the morning!
(Something to remember in September.)
Communal first. Personal last!
Because I didn’t figure this out until my second TEEN, and since my nesting days are numbered, I wanted to share this stroke of brilliance with others in case you’ve been suffering too.
I don’t know about your teens, but ours rarely had time to make themselves breakfast or even eat the one prepared for them, let alone contribute in the kitchen, without keeping a ride waiting or missing it altogether, particularly after the sink hole of showering & biological/sociological-mandated prepping which led to forgetting homework or instruments or cleats; so now we’ve flipped the morning:
Downstairs first–packing up, contributing, eating, and then as much time as they want upstairs, Ie. whatever time they’ve left for themselves.
(ps. as parents, try reversing the order for yourself. personal first. communal last.)
The Empty Nest Diary 