Uncharted waters

My husband and I are about to embark on a journey that we could not fathom when we signed up to be parents some 21 years ago. The light at the end of that very long tunnel has suddenly become closer than it appeared.

As our oldest becomes a college senior – how is this possible – and for all intents and purposes is an adult in the eyes of just about everyone, I have to make a confession, WE HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA HOW TO BE PARENTS TO AN ADULT!

It’s kind of like that feeling I had when the nurse wheeled me out to our car, handed me our son and said, “Goodbye, and good luck!” What? No directions? You’re not coming with me? The panic turned into a sense of confidence a few days into it when, even with the sleep deprivation, I realized that (A) we were two adults, he was one baby (B) we were bigger than him (C) we were responsible for his every waking (and sleeping) need and (D) we could handle it because we had to.

And handle it we did. With a little bit of common sense, a lot of luck, and prayer – lots of prayer – Jordan has grown into a wonderful, kind, polite, brilliant, somewhat sarcastic (not a bad thing–gets it from me), head-screwed-on-straight, young man… excuse me, adult.

Now we’re faced with a different dilemma: an adult/child (talk about your oxymoron!) and (A) we are no longer bigger than this “baby” (B) we are no longer responsible for his every waking (and sleeping) need – in fact, he hardly relies on us for much of anything, except help with college tuition and related expenses and providing the occasional place to hang his hat and (C) I don’t know if we can handle it – do we really have to?

I have always been a very literal person, so I looked up the definition of child in the dictionary, just to be sure I was correct in my angst. According to Merriam-Webster Online a child is:

1 a: an unborn or recently born person bdialect : a female infant(2 a: a young person especially between infancy and youth b: a childlike or childish person c: a person not yet of age (3:usually childe \ˈchī(-ə)ld\ archaic : a youth of noble birth (4 a: a son or daughter of human parents b: descendant (5: one strongly influenced by another or by a place or state of affairs(6: product, result, <barbed wire…is truly a child of the plains

Yep. According to the majority of the definitions, I was right. Our son is not a child. He is not 1a. b., 2a. (I’m leaving 2b. out on purpose here – I’ll get to that in a minute) or c. He most certainly is not 3. Where I run into confusion is 4a. b., 5 and 6. By those definitions, couldn’t we all still be defined as children? Ugh!

Back to 2b. If I were to take that definition literally, then, Jordan was never a child. He has always been very mature and responsible. No, he didn’t change his own diaper, but he has always exuded a sense of confidence, from sitting, to standing, to taking that first step, and made pretty good decisions, even as a youngster. In fact, I think he once referred to himself (sorry if I get the age wrong) as “a 40-year-old in a teenage body.”

So I looked up the definition of adult. Webster defines adult as:

1 : fully developed and mature : grown-up 2 : of, relating to, intended for, or befitting adults <an adult approach to a problem>

And yep. Right again. Jordan is definitely an adult. (More so than many 40-year-olds I know – no surprise there.) But, again I digress. Where was I going with this? Ah, yes. The difficulty of knowing how to parent an adult (and I’m feeling a sense of urgency, we have three adults-to-be waiting in the wings). But neither of these definitions helps my immediate problem. After nearly 700 words, I still haven’t a clue.

I guess we’ll just have to handle this “new” parenthood like we handled it the first time.  On the fly.                                                                                                                                                              But this time, it’ll be easier, right? We have help. There are three adults to figure it out.

Friends are the family we choose for ourselves …

My 17-year-old son recently had a brush with the law. No laughing matter, however, in the big scheme of things: he’s alive to tell about it; nobody got hurt; it was a wake-up call for him, and he’ll emerge, I’m hoping (pending a court appearance with the DA next week), relatively unscathed.

I, for one, am glad he got caught before he got used to living life in the fast lane; before things got out of hand and became all the more serious. And I am grateful for having the opportunity to take advantage of this teachable moment.

From this one teachable moment, he has learned all sorts of life lessons: if you’re gonna play, you’re gonna pay; be careful with whom you keep company; make sure the driver of whatever vehicle you get into is neither high nor drunk or both AND that he/she does not possess anything that has the potential to make them so; never, under any circumstances, pick up hitch-hikers, no matter how cute, harmless and did I mention, cute? they appear; every choice has a consequence; owning up to mistakes and accepting the consequences shows maturity, and telling the truth will set you free. A big lesson he has learned is that once the damage is done, it takes even more work to rebuild a good reputation.

He has also learned about unconditional love. His father and I love him, no matter what stupid, bone-headed choices he makes and we will stand by him (as we would all of our children), even if it’s before a judge and district attorney, to support him as he faces the consequences of said stupid, bone-headed choices.

While we certainly don’t condone his actions, we, too, have admittedly made some unwise, unlawful choices and done stupid, bone-headed things that could’ve had serious – if not disastrous – consequences. And hell, who hasn’t? The only difference here is, he got caught and we didn’t.

I have to admit, I have been humbled by this whole experience and I’ve learned, too.

I have been known to “rush to judgment” when reading, and as a former journalist, writing, police reports in the newspaper. I now know, firsthand, there is always a story behind the story. I will no longer be so quick to judge. I have also learned that while we are good parents, and we are doing a fine job raising our children, they are just that – children. And children, as well as adults, make mistakes. How else do the majority of life’s lessons get learned?

Some are just bigger lessons than others.

I have learned that my immediate family is not immune to peer pressures, societal influence and bad things happening to good people. I will no longer ask, why us. I will ask, why not us. I’ve learned, too, that when the going gets rough, this family sticks together. We’re like the six musketeers – “All for one and one for all!” and that makes me proud.

My close friends to whom I’ve confided and from whom I’ve sought comfort and support throughout this experience have not let me down. They’ve called to get the truth. They’ve called this a speed bump on the road of life for my son – a little blip on the radar, if you will – something that certainly won’t kill him (or us) and will only make him (us) stronger. They’ve called to see how the first court appearance went. They’ve called to see how we’re doing. But they’ve called.

Although disappointed with my son, today I became even more disappointed with our extended family.

One of my favorite nieces had booked our son, prior to the publication of his stupid, bone-headed choices, to babysit for her children this weekend. Today, she asked one of my other sons to babysit in his place. Apparently, she has tried and convicted the son who currently needs family now more than ever, and doesn’t want him around her boys. Apparently, she thinks he doesn’t deserve a second chance. And apparently, she doesn’t think he is worthy enough to have received the news from her, learning it instead from his “replacement.”

The funny thing is, neither she, nor anyone from that side of the family, bothered to call and show any interest in finding out his side of the story. They haven’t called to offer their support – emotional or otherwise. They haven’t called, in disbelief, to have us “say it isn’t so.” They haven’t called to let him know they think he’s a stupid bone-head, but they love him anyway. They haven’t called.

Another funny thing is, I can remember some of the stupid, bone-headed choices my niece has made. But she didn’t get caught, that’s the difference.

Ultimately, she will have to teach her sons the lesson of unconditional love. Every parent, at some point, does. Hopefully, it won’t involve the law. Hopefully, she’ll be humbled by the experience. Hopefully, she’ll learn to not rush to judgment. Hopefully, she’ll learn that everyone deserves – no, needs – a second chance. Hopefully, she will remember how she wasn’t there for her cousin. And hopefully, she’ll wish she had been.

Yes. Friends are the family we choose for ourselves and now I know why. Because they’re there and they’re loyal, when family isn’t.

Take two aspirin and call me in the morning

I’ve just returned from the doctor and the good news is that I’ve lost 25 pounds in the past year! No, I’m not really trying despite the fact that I really should be, but the stresses of grad school, full-time employment and raising a family of four young adults, PLUS a daily prescription for a chemical imbalance that curbs my appetite, seem to have helped. If I could lose about 25 more, I’d be happier and more near what I should weigh, but I don’t consider myself fat – perhaps just pleasingly plump or “chubby.” Chubby, however, is not as cute on a middle-aged women as it is on babies. Naturally, I feel better without those added pounds and am wearing clothing that hasn’t fit me in years (yep – I have a chubby wardrobe and a thin wardrobe) – an added bonus – “new” clothes without spending any money! I’ve joked that I’m a dyslexic anorexic. You know how anorexics look in the mirror and no matter how thin they are, they see themselves as fat, well, I have been looking in the mirror and no matter how much my weight has ballooned, thought I looked o.k. (Not thin, by any means, but o.k.) – a dyslexic anorexic.

But I digress. The real purpose of this musing is to express my frustration at the health care system. I did not go to the doctor’s of my own free will. I went after numerous “threatening” letters from someone in the office at the practice to which I go. The letters threatened to cut me loose from being a patient there if I did not comply with the insurance company’s recommendations for a yearly physical; complete with blood screening and other indignities that women undergo. I felt I had pushed the envelope far enough and besides, I needed a health form filled out and signed for admission to a new graduate program, so I went.

Mind you, I am normally a very healthy person – I haven’t visited the doctor in over two years (I’m somewhat of a rebel) and except for the prescription for treatment of migraines believed to be caused by a chemical imbalance, my vitamin B-12 and my annual flu shot (administered at my school) I don’t need doctors until I need them. (My grandma swore B-12 improved her metabolism and energy levels, so since hitting the magic 40-something, I have popped one everyday … she, however, got regular B-12 shots and I would too, except that would mean a monthly trip to you-know-where.) I spent probably about 5 total minutes with the actual doctor (physician’s assistant – PA) after the nursing staff completed all the incidental stuff. And after looking in my eyes, ears, nose, throat and listening to my heart and lungs (and filling out the form – I did not forget the form!), the PA sent me on my merry way with a fistful of orders (separate co-pays for each, of course) for lab work, mammography, etc. with the promise to call me with any results that are less than favorable. I know I won’t be hearing from her. (If I hear anything, I’m sure it’ll be from the person in the office who sends those annoying letters.)

Now, I have to admit I totally get that insurance companies are trying to be proactive (preventative) rather than reactive. I realize that nipping something in the bud is a lot less expensive than rounds and rounds of treatment for something a lot worse. But I resent the fact that it is the insurance companies (IC) rather than my own trusted physician (whom I know has that person send out those letters in response to pressures from the IC) that drives the appointment schedules. I miss the good old days when you could call the doctor’s office, actually speak with the doctor, and he/she would call in a prescription, order lab work etc., only summoning you to the office should there be something amiss.

All I know is that I, in spite of finding out that I lost some desperately-needed-to-lose pounds, felt guilty –guilty– sitting there in my healthiness while others in the waiting room toted their portable oxygen tanks, crutches, inhalers, allergies and other medical apparatuses, waiting miserably to see the doctor. When called, and I sprang from my seat, I could feel all eyes on me and I felt even more guilty for taking up the precious time of a doctor and staff they needed so desperately to see.

Hello, world!

Well, here it is. My first official blog. I’m a blogger! Wow. I have to admit, I’m a little bit excited (and quite a little bit more nervous) about writing just for the fun of it – publicly. There are a couple bloggers in my family already so I know I have a reputation to uphold. Hopefully, they won’t be too embarrassed by my musing. Hopefully, they won’t be too critical. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll learn a little something about me that they don’t already know. In the meantime, I’m going to fasten my seat belt (and perhaps you should, too) I have a feeling it’s going to be quite a ride.