Empty nester or just a clingy mom?

I've heard that change is good for the soul. It's said that it helps us grow as an individual. Personally, I believe that's what peanut butter M & M's are for but who am I to criticize if someone wants to make the glorious journey to self-discovery.

Me? I've been too busy agonizing over every possible lost moment of my childrens childhood, cherishing every small memory and making a complete nuisance of myself by phoning and yes texting each of them at least once a day. (I refuse to talk about my Facebook Stalker Mom habits, I plan to deny everything)

So this is me. Clingy mom. Not to be confused with a Klingon mom, though I reckon at times my kids thought they were one in the same.

But here's the thing; I thought--somehow--

I'd be cooler than this. It's down right embarrassing at times but I've accepted the inevitable truth--

It's all their fault.

As best as I can recall, the threats of hating and leaving me started when my oldest was 5 and I caught her stealing from the grocery store. She sobbed all the way home. Once there she sat in time-out with her arms defiantly crossed and glared as she uttered the words, "I hate you."

It wouldn't be the last time I'd hear those three words and of course both of her brothers followed suit at one time or another. By the time my youngest was 18, "I hate you" had transformed into, "When I move out, I'm never speaking to you ever again." (Ah, those blissful teenage years, if only they'd follow through on their threats!)

And while I'd spend the hours after those confrontation telling myself they didn't mean it, I could never quite shake it off. I dreaded the day all of them would be grown and on their own, (that is when I wasn't looking forward to no more jars of moldy Jello in my son's sock drawer).

Little did I know that I'd been given the key to my fears years ago.

Five years ago:

I was married a second time for the briefest moment and he-who-never-was (marriage was annulled so I figure--that's his name now) kept complaining about my kids leaving their water cups on the counter next to the fridge. I tried to explain to him that we had developed the system of reusing a cup instead of dirtying all of them. (It's the reasonable thing to do when you live in the desert. We conserve on water by having less dishes to wash. At least that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

That argument ended with me telling him, "Oh get over it--one day, soon enough, there won't be any pink cups on the counter to complain about."

My son, who had a habit of standing at the top of the stairs, eavesdropping, overheard the conversation. And in his usual way (mainly cheeky mingled with hilarity), came down, grabbed a pink cup from the cupboard, (glanced at his step-dad) filled it with water, took a sip and left it on the center island but not without a grin aimed my direction.

So back at the ranch:

Moving day for my last child was an emotional one. I watched as the bed, dresser, couch and chair I'd given him, paraded one by one, out the door and onto the truck.

When I wasn't helping, I hid in my office pretending that I had much to do until it was time for him to go. For a clingy mom, you have no idea what it took to accomplish that feat.

I waved to him and closed the front door without a tear. After all, I had a plan. I was set to have a fabulous pity party (yes it involved indulging in chocolate and watching movies till dawn) but not until I walked through the rooms my children had occupied. I readied for the good cry I'd promised myself when I opened the door to the closet in the computer room. (best laid plans, right?)

Stuffed knee deep were books, towels, discarded old t-shirts and a three foot sized Pokémon. I swear, I've thrown that giant yellow, (what the heck is Pokémon anyway?) out at least half a dozen times and he just keeps reappearing each time in different closets of the house. Can you imagine the headlines?

"Empty-nester gone mad, due to haunting by the ghost of Pokémon past".

After giving the yellow beast a firm kick to the back of the closet, I grabbed the clothing and headed for the laundry room when I spied a pair his shoes, right in the middle of the floor. "Stephen!" I said through gritted teeth. In the hallway sat two more pairs of shoes and dirty socks adorned the laundry room floor.

Back upstairs I found blankets, notebooks, scrapbooks and various odds and ends in my daughter's closet. My oldest boy had left his box of scouting memorabilia, Hardy Boys and more than a dozen Animorphs books. (Now I understand the Animorph books, no 22 year old is going to be caught dead with them on a bookshelf in his college apartment).

Room after room had little hidden treasures and remnants of the time they spent with me. A printer still sat in my office that was meant to go with my youngest son. My daughter's favorite doll and basket were in a box in the storeroom along with old tutus (what is it with girls and pink netting?) and I found a small Jazz basketball tucked away on a shelf...behind wads of old school notes, gum (both used and unused) and candy wrappers.

The basement room floors where my youngest had his "pad" were cluttered with papers and bits of left over things he couldn't be bothered to pack.

"Dang it. He promised he wouldn't leave a mess." I said, completely forgetting to feel abandoned or clingy and stood glaring

at the mess. "I'm going to call him, right now and tell him to come back and finish."

I stomped up the basement stairs and into the kitchen where I'd left my cell phone on the counter next to the fridge, ready to get after him but was caught up short by the sight that greeted me as I entered the room. There, sitting on the center island was a pink cup, half full.

And like magic, it reappears every Sunday when he comes home...

...to do his laundry.

Empty--nester? Please. As if!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have three phone calls to make.

Ice cream lessons from the freezer aisle

I hate shopping. I've been this way, my entire life. My kids hate shopping with me because I'm that mom who marches right through the store, I don't linger and I head for exactly what I need. I bet you think I'm a list maker too. Oh no, not this girl. My mind is so regimented in getting in and out of the store as fast as possible it remembers everything I need. I have simple rules: no impulse buying, avoid the candy and cookie aisle and above all else don't linger over prices, you should know that going in. My biggest pet peeve is when people ask me to go window shopping. To me, that's like saying, "here's a Snicker's bar--you can't eat it--just admire it." That's just not going to happen.

So when it comes to shopping for anything and I mean anything, I have developed this aversion and almost deep seated anxiety when I know I have to go to the store. However, being the practical person I am and always looking for ways to overcome my phobias (don't ask), I have developed a plan for surviving it and it was working pretty well for me.

However, these days with my limited budget, the only stores I grace have food in them (they say eating is a necessary way of staying alive though my waistline and wallet are encouraging me to try the no-food diet). As always I head for only those aisles that contain the items on my list. Thanks to the slender size of my wallet I've been forced into a new way of shopping.

I now stand for a long period of time checking out how much per ounce the item will cost. Surely this is the prudent thing to do but it's really winding up my phobia about cluttered store shelves and too many colors and choices and that piped in music from the 80's and flickering florescent lights ( I told you, you didn't want to know.)

So the other day, I went in search of ice cream and pizza for my family. Now to those of you who revel in the delights of shopping this may not overwhelm you but have you seen how many choices are out there these days?

There I stood in the frozen food section (which by the way is set up totally for the impulse buyer, having frozen pizza and ice cream side by side forcing us to look at all the different brands and choices) and it occurred to me that they purposely try to confuse you by making sure that every single item is just a little bit different from the others. I was completely baffled as to what pizza to buy and if I thought there were a lot of choices for that--well! The types and brands of ice cream were so vast that I'm convinced it's an indication that we are just too fixated on choices--but I digress, that's a topic for another day.

As I stood there going over every tidbit of information available to me, I looked around to see if anyone seemed friendly enough to approach. Luckily, on that day, the lady next to me, also looking at the ice cream, seemed just as engrossed as I was so I decided to take my chances.

"How on earth do you choose the best yet cheapest ice cream?" I asked her.

She didn't even take her eyes of the freezer but said, "Depends on your objective in buying ice cream."

Wow, did she have my attention or what? You mean to tell me there's an objective to buying ice cream other than the totally obvious desire to eat something totally yummy and totally bad for us?

"Oh?" I nodded, "I see." I said, pretending to know what she meant.

Clearly she didn't buy my act because she replied, "Yes, there's an actual science behind the choices you make."

"I don't normally buy ice cream." I confessed. "I no longer have a gall bladder." The moment I said it, I wondered why on earth I'd say that to a complete stranger.

"Oh no!" she said horrified. "That means it's completely out for you." She shook her head. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, I can once in a while. Tonight, I'm trying to find something to make milk shakes out of with frozen strawberries for my family." I held up the package from my basket.

"You'll be wanting a bucket."

"A bucket? That's a lot to freeze."

"True." She paused. "Okay well then, since it's just for milkshakes, get the cheapest brand and oh, you need to decide--do you want Vanilla Bean or French Vanilla." I must have looked confused because she added, "Vanilla Bean is kind of gritty."

"Okay." I said as I grabbed a carton of French Vanilla from the freezer thinking that gritty wasn't a texture I wanted to experience in my ice cream. "Is it my imagination or are these cartons a lot smaller than they used to be."

"Oh wow, you really haven't bought ice cream in a long time, have you?" Her face grew solemn. "Seems they are downsizing everything these days."

"It seems so." I shook my head in unison with her.

"You should be okay with that one." She pointed at the carton I still held in my hand. "You won't mind the lesser quality with fruit in it."

"Yeah, and it's really for the kids." I mumbled feeling cheap.

"No gallbladder." she clucked. "That must really suck."

"Yes, it does." I turned to face her." Thanks for helping me. I was completely lost without your help."

She smiled for the first time since our conversation began and I realized that we'd been talking for ten minutes and had barely made eye contact.

"Oh, you're totally welcome. It was fun."

We nodded and grinned as we passed each other on another aisle and I thought how shopping had just taken on a new perspective for me. It was no longer just wasting my money and my time but I had learned something about the current economy's effect on a product, the texture that Vanilla Bean had on ice cream and that I could actually bond with another person in the coldest aisle in the store.

When I arrived at home, I also had the pleasure of being my son's hero. We hadn't make milkshakes since 2000. (I'm not joking, it's been 10 years) and I'd managed to do it for under twenty dollars. See! Shopping isn't totally bad!