And the ride ends here ...

Well, I've finally lost the baby weight. All 120 pounds of it. And it only took me 18 years, five months and 22 days.

Earbaby is now at Her State U, thousands of miles away. And my husband and I, who more or less centered our lives around her since we knew she was on her way into making us a family, are empty nesters.

And I must admit, I'm not devastated.

The thing is, EB has been separating from us for a couple of years now. She was never much of a homebody with us. Her homebodiness meant being holed up in her room by herself, texting with her friends, watching Netflix, eating, napping, everything, by herself with the door closed. I've joked to people it's no different now that she's gone. If we close the door to her room, it's like nothing has changed.

EB spent practically every waking hour this past summer looking for the next party. She didn't want to spend any time at all with us, although she and I did get in one scary movie together before she left. She was almost manic in "wanting to spend time with my friends." Even when two cousins from Chicago came to visit for a couple of days, even when another cousin, who lives in China, came for a few days, EB was more hit and miss than sit and visit. Her friends took priority over everything and everybody, including friends that she had only recently made.

Now I understand all of this is normal behavior, that their friends become the priority and why should she spend any time with her parents? Why sit down and have a meal when you can grab what you want, go upstairs and shut yourself off and eat while you search online for some sketchy party somewhere in town?

EB did somewhat enjoy her first real job, although she got paid that last week to do nothing. Literally. The kids' camp ended the week before the program, so there were a couple of days, she was told to stay home, because there was nothing for them to do. She only called out sick one day because she just didn't feel well, but really, this particular summer job program, funded by the city, didn't do much for promoting a strong work ethic. I hope she realizes the rest of the world doesn't work that way. For most of us, if we don't work, we don't get paid. She's had 18 years of watching her parents work for a living, so I'm hoping that's the lesson she will eventually learn.

But the summer of endless partying finally came to an end. EB actually showed a lot less maturity as the time approached to leave. She wouldn't settle in and pack. When the last night came, she stuffed one suitcase full of shoes, and packed so few of her clothes, you would have thought she was leaving for a few weeks instead of a few months. She worried more about makeup and hair products than she did basic clothing like jeans, shirts and tops. When she unpacked at her dorm room, her closet looked woefully thin. She will be getting a big box with the clothes she will need for the fall next week.

We spent nearly the entire weekend at Target, Sally's Beauty Supply, and Bed, Bath and Beyond, all for those thousands (of dollars worth) of things to make a dorm room home. We met her roommates -- she has three of them, and went to dinner with the family of one. Everyone seems nice, friendly, and even though EB was overwhelmed with the newness of the experience, she bonded quickly with the one roommate in the same partition and connected with another friend from her orientation.

Our final night together was the day of the Solar Eclipse. Her dad and I went off to see it and she went with her friends. This was such a big deal, with her school close to the 100 percent path of the phenomenon, they cancelled classes that day and organized trips for the students.
She met us for our last dinner together and our last trip for odds and ends. She cried a little when we said goodbye. I didn't. I'm not sad. We will be seeing her in October for Family Weekend and she will be home in November and then December.

So her first class was the following Tuesday and it was the Modern Dance 2 class, which was kind of like an audition. She would be judged by whether she could keep up. She told us she had a tough time following the fast choreography and wasn't sure she would be allowed in. But of course she was. She also is looking to try out for a hip hop dance team. She worried that she never has had to come with her own choreography, and was already talking herself out of auditioning, until she talked to the team president, who encouraged her to try out.

As for my husband and me, we have our own time of transition. He will be leaving his job tomorrow after more than 30 years. He hasn't decided where his next journey will take him, and like I did a couple of years ago, will have a year's time to decide. He isn't ready to retire, and he now understands why when I left that job I didn't want "a retirement party." We'll see what happens in our lives next, as we rediscover what it is like being a couple without being day-to-day parents. As a night worker, I've always had the luxury of having the place to myself during the day when he was at work and Earbaby was at school. Now, he'll be around the house during the day. I wonder how long it takes to drive each other insane. I've told him my new blog will be Wild ride with My Earbaby's Daddy.

No matter what he, and we, decide to do in our next chapter, this one is over. I have entertained writing occasional updates when we visit EB, or she comes home, but I hope I'll resist. It's been interesting, entertaining, vexing, frustrating, disappointing, and exhilarating to try and rear this child into adulthood. Her time, mistakes, good and bad decisions, and consequences, are now her own. It hasn't always been the best of times and it hasn't always been good. But it's been a great adventure and Earbaby, I only want what's best for you, and wish you only the best. But you've left our nest. We love you, little bird. Fly safely. And soar.

Summer (whirl) winds

Can this child squeeze any more partying out of summer before her college life (of partying) begins?

I think not.

Earbaby seems determined to go to any and every gathering, cookout, hangout, alleged party within the city, all the neighborhoods, and a few of the surrounding towns, before she bids farewell. I guess all that teasing from her dad about going to school with farmers has made her decide that now is the time to practice dancing until the cows come home.

EB has found the perfect job for her new lifestyle we call, what's-for-dinner-can-I-go-out-there's-a-party-at-(fillintheblank)-and-can-I-take-Steve?

Her job is as a camp counselor. The hours generously start at noon, and end at six, which gives her enough time to come home, find dinner, retire to her lair to eat it, take a shower, spend time texting with her friends for the info on who, what, when and where, take a shower, get dolled up, and get out of the house. With Steve.

Steve is what EB has named her dad's car. She informed us his full name is Steven Carmichael Jordan Mullin the 3rd, and even though he may be on his last legs -- OK tires -- he is the traveling companion who safely gets her where she wants to go. And apparently, Steve has never met a party he didn't like or couldn't finagle his way into.

When her dad and I aren't rolling our eyes at her constant search for the perfect dance venue, we're hoping she gets it all out of her system. In three weeks, we expect her to get serious and buckle down with her schoolwork (Yeah, right).

But this has been EB's summer of summers. She always liked going out with friends, especially this past year, when she found herself again and reestablished herself among the people who really care about her. But in the last couple of months there is more frenetic energy, as if she has suddenly realized that everything, and everybody, will be different later on. Even though she knows she'll undoubtedly see many, if not most of her friends over the Thanksgiving holiday, she recognizes that the distance and time will mean they won't have the same friends, classes, likes, dislikes, and general things in common any more.

I've tried to prepare her, but not in a sad way. I had two best friends through most of my formative years, especially through high school. But the three of us went our separate ways after graduation, and we actually never got together again until our 20-year reunion. One moved to California, and that was her first time back. Before there was texting, there was still constant contact. We'd check in every day on what we were wearing, what our after-school activities would be, who the crush of the day, week, month, was, whose turn it was to have drama. EB's friends check in much more, all day, and all night, sometimes. Still, it will be interesting to see how fast the drop-off will be as they all find new friends, and new dramas in new settings.

So maybe I understand that frantic need to connect with somebody every single day. She's not anticipating being lonely in school. But I'm sure she wonders if she'll feel as close to her high school compatriots when she returns. I want to reassure her that even if she doesn't, it will be all right. Life is all about the changes.

I've also noticed a bit of a push-back from growing away from us. We didn't have to push this baby bird from the nest. She has spent quite a bit of time this past year (and the previous one) poisoning it on her way out. But every once in a while the baby bird wants to creep back in. She'll ask me to do something for her she's perfectly capable of doing for herself, she'll want attention, physical affection of a back rub, or she'll nostalgically rub my ear in the way she soothed herself when she was tired or anxious as a baby. Then it was cute. But now she wears acrylic nails and being stabbed in the ear isn't the barrel of monkeys you'd think it would be.

This month has been such a contrast. EB is getting more and more excited about going away to school, and more and more anxious about going away to school. Yes, she will be thousands of miles away. But she's already worked out that she'll see us nearly every month. We will visit for Family weekend in October (I wouldn't be surprised if it's the first and last time she wants us to), she'll have more than a week home for Thanksgiving, and then there will be at least a month for Christmas. And as my husband and I talk about our spring vacation plans, she is already saying, "wait for me!"

So this summer is for eking out the last vestiges of carefree school friendships. It's for establishing oneself as a bonafide city mouse before becoming, or at least coexisting with the country mice. It's for pulling away from mom and dad, while still wanting to be their baby. Finding herself and losing herself.

She's standing on the precipice of adulthood and trying to both jump off and hang on. I feel for her. We all had to do this. So I know she'll do just fine.

Party on, Earbaby. Party on.

Cheers, fears, tears, and the decision

In my idyllic scenario, this is how Earbaby chooses her college: We visit the last three of the four colleges where she's been accepted. She either likes one or two more, or maybe even all three, with all their relative merits. She, along with her dad and I, thoughtfully weigh the pros and cons of each school, taking into account the way they woo her with scholarship and/or grant offers, the opportunities in her particular fields of study (psychology with a strong dance minor) and how they will work to meld those two interests. Knowing that wherever she will choose, it will be far, far away, we then come to a loving consensus that will make us all satisfied, with a little melancholy.

It didn't work out that way.

We (her dad and I) pulled a bait and switch. It wasn't intentional, and I regret the way the decision-making process played out. We're all in accord now, but not with the beatific smiles all around that I pictured in my college decision fantasy.

So here it is: EB didn't know if she would be celebrating being a Bear, Panther, Tiger or Wildcat. Four acceptances meant she would have to make a tough choice, especially if she loved all four, and could see herself on all four campuses. After a day at Morgan State, in which there was a rah-rah open house, replete with tours, marching band, all kinds of bells and whistles, EB decided that the student body of 8,000 in this historically black college/university wasn't the right fit for her. It was nice, but she wasn't feeling it. Cross the Ursine off the list of mascots. Her decision was now down to three felines.

EB had already visited my alma mater in October, applied when we returned, was readily accepted, and given an incredibly generous heritage scholarship. So the money was a major factor. Her dad and I figured it would come down to one of the predominantly white institutions she got into. EB is coming from an incredibly diverse high school after being one of less than a handful of children of color in private elementary school. Good academic education aside, she wasn't happy about going back to feeling like an "other."

Next on our list was another HBCU, even smaller than Morgan State. But EB has a friend at Clark Atlanta, who gave us a tour. EB (and her parents) liked it more than we thought we would, EB liked the vibe of the southern campus, found a positive in the fact that it was in Atlanta, because she despaired of not being near a big city. But there is precious little scholarship or grant money for people in our income bracket (although we're hardly in rich people category, we do only have one child and two incomes). So we're outside of consideration for money at either HBCU. Because we're from out of state, we would be paying full price, so that others wouldn't have to. Although Clark Atlanta had much charm, its facilities were limited, so she wouldn't get what she was paying for. So we had to take the Panthers off the list.

Her dad and I always figured it would come down to one of the large PWIs. Louisiana State had been on EB's list since a college fair a year ago, and then a friend went for a semester. She ended up returning to the Bay State after a semester because of the price tag, but urged Earbaby to go there because it was so great, so much fun, and the people were so nice. So would it be SEC or Big 12?

Well, we visited for their big kickoff weekend. EB was given a badge that stated she was LSU bound, showing she was already accepted, a personalized schedule, which was essentially one visit for a talk in a classroom with a psychology teacher who had only been there two years, and a whole lot of rah-rah places you could go on your extensive free time. The kickoff actually seemed more geared toward the large number of juniors who were looking for a school to apply to than to the students who had already gotten in. There was talk about financial aid and scholarships that didn't apply to her. A couple of promises of one-on-one sessions with financial aid and someone in the dance/theater department didn't come through (EB was given a phone number to call to talk to someone about dance on the following Monday, because apparently only one person in the entire university could speak to a prospective student and they had no idea where she was). At the end of the day, EB's dad just said, "they didn't blow me away."

For EB though, she didn't see the dismissiveness, the lack of personal attention, the casual quick reference to the celebration of "plantation days" (though that made all three of us cringe), as negatives. She didn't want to follow in my footsteps. She was ready to Geaux Tigers, even at $40,000-plus a year. But she also liked the vibe, and it was more diverse than Kansas State. She couldn't quantify why she loved it, only that she could picture herself going there.

We couldn't. But after looking at the numbers, had we really believed she could thrive there and not get lost in the impersonal nature of it all, we would have tried to make it work. At my state U, I wanted her to go for several reasons, including the award she was given which would put the numbers she was paying closer to instate. When they really want you, you don't pay full price. When they don't care, your full price pays so the ones they really want don't have to. We couldn't make her see that.

I decided I would back off until we had time to talk about it as a family, weighing the real pros and cons of culture, diversity, opportunity, and of course, money. College is a business first and foremost. We wanted her to see that the school that was willing to make an investment in her, that kept wooing her, checking up on her, was probably going to be best for her. My sister said, you go with the boyfriend who treats you best. EB was enamored with the one who ignored her.

My husband said he would talk to her. And that's where we both blew it. Instead of us all sitting down, he just told her she was going to Kansas State, and that was that. She cried all night, didn't go to school the next day, she and I talked, then the three of us talked. We apologized for the ham-fisted way of coming to the decision we had told her she would be able to make. But she wasn't able to see the forest for the trees. I did tell her that if she absolutely hated K-State after one year, she could transfer, a gamble I'm willing to make, but a promise I will absolutely keep. She decided she could go to LSU for graduate school. At least this way there will be money for graduate school. And who knows what she will want a year, or four, from now?

Gradually, she is warming to the idea of the Little Apple (the nickname for Manhattan, Kansas). I started warming to it even more when I went through the paperwork and saw the president of the university had sent her a letter way back when, welcoming her to KSU (Where was yours, LSU? One measly folder, two emails, then crickets). Once we signed up for orientation, she started getting more excited.

Yes, we handled it badly. I hope she will forgive us that. But we think this will be a place where she can make her own path, and if not, she will be able to find a new one. It was a bloody battle to get to this point. I hope it will make us all stronger. In the meantime, Go Wildcats.
And you'd better take damn good care of my Earbaby.

Wildcats or Tigers or Bears? Oh my!

We're roughly a month from Decision Day. And Earbaby is going to visit three more places before coming to terms with being a Kansas State Wildcat, a Tiger from Louisiana State, or a Morgan State Bear. Or, to make it even tougher, another acceptance packet means she could also choose to become a Black Panther from Clark University in Atlanta. Oh my, indeed.

EB went from relaxing after her first, early acceptance to K-State (at least now I know I'm going to college) to bemoaning the fact that she only had the one choice after a couple of rejections from places she actually hadn't planned on going anyway, to anxiety about having more choices after all. She hasn't heard from her first choice, which only recently became her first choice. And she's already soured on it anyway, having read a few negative reviews on the facilities at this "prestigious" HBCU. Not to say she won't reconsider it should she wake up to a yay instead of the expected nay tomorrow. The school was put into her head by a casual acquaintance who said she looked like she would be a good fit. She started to fixate on it, then became depressed when she hadn't heard from them, even though she was told they make their decisions on April 1. No matter. Our trip is booked, and should she get in, it's an easy detour.

In the meantime, she's taking note of who is wooing her, and how much. K-State has already offered her money. She will have to lobby to get anything from the other three candidates. She vacillates between wanting to get out of her comfort zone of city folks and ways and visit the country mice for four years, and worrying that she will be bored within a month in the country/college town and would find a southern city more to her liking. It's a tough choice, and no matter how many times I've told her that she doesn't have to stay a full four years to a place she doesn't like, she thinks transferring would mean she's wasted time and money. And she will have made bonds and established friendships that freshman year.

I don't know how to help her. She has been heavily wooed by my alma mater, which is also the farthest away. The closest one, in Baltimore, is still a nine-hour drive, and we are planning a day trip to check out their campus and see what they have to offer. I'm listening to her weigh pros and cons of each of these schools, but I know her decision will ultimately be her own. Still, she knows some of it will come down to dollars and cents. Most of the school tuitions are $40,000 a year. While it is doable, it wouldn't leave her much money for grad school, should she find herself needing even higher education. And that doesn't count unforeseen expenses or trips home for the holidays.

I am proud that she has decided to take her teachers' advice and continue to buckle down on schoolwork. All college acceptances are provisional. I told her the horror story a close friend shared with me of her nephew who slacked off after getting accepted, didn't graduate because of it, and found himself without a college to go to. The teachers have told these kids that they must continue to work for the rest of their shortened senior year. Senior-itis is a thing, but it's not a good thing.

EB's dad and I are also going through an adjustment period. We're readying ourselves for the empty nest. With my return to the workforce (nights again, no less), it will be interesting to see how we navigate the ships passing in the night routine we had for most of our marriage. Luckily my nights aren't as late, and I can work from home a few nights a week. But what worked for us because of childcare may play differently when there is no longer a child in the house. He's already getting nostalgic and a little melancholy. I don't know what I am.

When I left my job in 2015, the hardest part was the loss of identity. I had been in newspapers in one form or another since I was 15. Who was I if I couldn't say what I did for a living? When I got another job after a year off, it was like returning to myself. I was a person again, I did something with myself.

But now I'm losing another identity. Yes, I will always be a mother, but now I'm a parent to an adult (well, legally, anyway). When she goes away, my day-to-day work is over. I will go days without talking to her, months without seeing her. She will be making her own decisions. And the first one has to be just where she will continue to grow and learn. Take a deep breath Earbaby, it's almost time to hit the yellow brick road.

Promposal, wisdom surgery and wonder of boys

In less than 24 hours, my Earbaby turns 18. She wants dinner with us at one of her favorite Italian restaurants, and she's going to get her belly button pierced. I'm good on one of those, unhappy about the other, but now officially letting that battle go. Legally it's her decision to make now.

But this has been a good month in this lead-up to what will be probably be her last official birthday celebration with us in our house. At least for awhile. I expect she will be celebrating the next three or four out of state at some college somewhere and her dad and I will call her, then toast the wonder of our parenthood (and wonder what the heck do we do now?) from afar.

I'm not sentimental about all this yet though. As I said, it's been quite a month.

Earbaby has been reconnecting with a lot of her friends, and despite her ongoing frustration with their lack of planning, promptness, or insight on how their inability to stick to a plan affects others, she loves them, and they love her right back. So when one friend took advantage of a couple of snow days and asked if he could come over to have me re-twist his dreadlocks and brought three others with him, I was glad to see them all, and experience the wonder of boys.

For one thing, they're loud. And funny. They are still kids though, and I found myself feeling very protective toward these young black men who would probably be perceived as a threat by the outside world, but packed their backpacks with board games so they could sit in my kitchen and play Monopoly and Connect 4, while another reveled in getting his hair washed and conditioned. We pulled out frozen chicken wings to heat up and feed the gang and EB's dad brought home pizza and Coke, and I marveled at the difference in energy of teenage boys and teenage girls. Girls tend to be much quieter, conversational, and organized, but boys connect with each other in different ways. They decided they wanted to go to a party at a community center and as I fixed hair on yet another head (my dread-locked friend was under the hair dryer), they proceeded to show another one how to dance. EB was given permission to go to the party with them (I trust her with these guys, who are the brothers she never had), so as she ran upstairs to get ready, I watched the boys talk to each other and demonstrate rhythm in a way I thought only girls did. Boys teach each other to dance? I was tickled by getting this rare view into a world I didn't know existed.

Of course I am also fascinated by how EB interacts with them, and they with her. When she's wearing her sweatpants and has her hair pulled up in a bun, they tease her mercilessly and she gives it right back. But EB reappeared after a fashion, ready to go out dancing and looking like a goddess. The boys fell silent for a millisecond, and then went back to pretending they don't notice that she's beautiful. They went to the party with her, made sure she got safely into a Lyft for the ride home and it was another successful day getting back to her old, better self. And yes, her friends are foolish, but she loves them.

Then there's the big dance. EB started talking about her senior prom months ago. We had to iron out some bumps in our relationship after the debacles of last year, but now that for the most part, she's finding her way back to sanity, it's been pretty good. So when she started talking about going all out for prom, I was more on board than last year when she started talking big money.

She also was OK about possibly going on her own, or just with a few friends. That is until she decided to invite a former classmate who transferred to a different school, but still liked hanging out with his old classmates. Even though there was no romantic entanglements between them, EB decided she couldn't just call or text him and float the idea of going to the prom. She created a poster, conspired with mutual buddies to show up and videotape the event and of course, got an immediate affirmative hug.

The dress shopping this year also was less stressful. Her first choice dress was $650, which she dismissed as too expensive even before I had time to object. We went to a great place one afternoon, pored through many styles and colors (she looked fabulous in every one of them), and finally selected a gorgeous gown that was simple, elegant, and different from the current mermaid trend. I told her she reminded me of Diana the Huntress. Now comes the hunt for the perfect shoes and a matching tie for her date. Since there may be several friends going together as a group, I told her we should explore limousine services. Even though she has her license and drives to school most days, she has no interest in chauffeuring herself to the prom in formal dress and heels. I figure this is her last hurrah, she should go in style.

Then there was the wisdom teeth surgery. EB had to have all four impacted teeth removed and chose to have it done right before winter vacation. Good thing too, since the anesthesia made her emotional and loopy for a few hours and the subsequent pain knocked her out of commission for five days. It was necessary to have them all done since the bottom ones were growing in sideways and her bottom teeth were being pushed out of alignment, an enormous problem for someone who has already had two stints wearing braces. It was more than a full week before she stopped being achy and miserable, but still rallied to go out with friends, because she just didn't want to stay in the house, in her room, in her bed, for another day.

As for that belly button thing? That's EB's present to herself. She's wanted one for awhile and so the day she turns 18 will be the day she will strike out on her first act as a legal adult. She knows it will be painful, take awhile to heal (and after last week's surgery that she doesn't have the highest threshold for pain), but has already decided if she doesn't like it later, she will just let it heal over. A friend told me that if that's the worst thing, let it go. So I have. In the grand scheme of things, this first strike for legal independence is minor. She's got a whole lot of days ahead where her decisions will be good ones or painful ones. It's just part of becoming an adult.

Ouch.

Are we there yet?

I am so ready for summer to be over.

Which is a surprise, since it also pretty much means my year of no work at full pay is pretty much over too. But as I start to both ponder and prepare for another career (I am studying for one, but still holding out hope for contract work with another), I am thinking that this last month of summer has been anything but the hazy, lazy dog days. It's actually been a trip. Or two.

College tour time has started for Earbaby and us. There seems to be a lot to figure out as this rising senior starts her search for where she will spend her next four years. She signed herself up for a tour of Syracuse right before she left school for the summer, so we found a couple of colleges out that way that we could also visit. She unequivocally expressed no interest in attending, or even visiting the school her incredibly cute boyfriend will be attending. In fact, we drove through the campus (it was on the way) and she wouldn't even get out of the car. She emphatically said she was not interested in going to school in Massachusetts, or even New England.

But upstate New York was a possibility. Our first stop was Union, a small college with an idyllic campus and a student body not much bigger than the high school EB is attending. It's also expensive and extremely competitive to get into. And EB liked it. Our campus tour guide talked glowingly about all the possibilities for study, combining majors and minors for unique programs tailored to the student's needs, research and opportunities to study abroad, etc. EB continues to surprise us. She was quiet during the tour, but whispered to her dad, "I like it here." We talked later, and I said she should be able to picture herself on a campus. She said she could, although the price tag was a little sticker shock for her.

Our next visit was to Ithaca, another nice campus, with lots of opportunities, but EB wasn't feeling it. No matter. Sometimes knowing what you don't want is just as important as knowing what you do. She also wasn't feeling the vibe at Syracuse. We had a more expansive college tour, with lunch, a presentation in a too-warm auditorium (it was August after all), more talks and presentations depending on the college of your interest, a walking tour of the campus with a tour guide who talked way too fast, and options of talking to financial aid advisers. But there was no need -- EB couldn't picture herself going there. We grabbed some smoothies and went back to our hotel room.

We would have liked to have more time to look at more schools. EB's dad devised a spreadsheet of a few that might hold her interest, and she promptly added a few schools on the Left Coast. There's no chance we're going to visit any of those. We have one more tour booked. We're going to my alma mater, Kansas State, for a fall weekend. Now while I would love for her to be a Wildcat legacy, I would love it even more if she found just the school that suits her. I've repeatedly said that I've had my college experience, she should have her own. While I'm excited to go back to a state I haven't visited in more than three decades, I am looking at it more as the chance for her to take a look at a bigger campus. She knows what city universities look like, having grown up and traveled along routes that take her to Boston University, Northeastern, and marginally, Boston College. She knows she doesn't want to go here. Getting a look at a Division I school in a bona fide college town will give her a different prospective.

But I'm ready for EB to get cracking on her last year of high school. As usual she has had summer reading, which she has waited until the last minute to begin. And I refuse to stress about it any more. She already knows she will have a challenging final year. She decided to take two AP courses, will be dancing at two studios again, will be babysitting regularly and cheerleading again is in the mix.

And in the midst of all this is EB's hankering for her license. She still has one more class to make up, but she is almost through with her 40 hours of parent-supervised driving. She has gone from a Nervous Nelly behind the wheel to a pretty confident and observant driver. She is constantly questioning signage and signals and has gone from being a zoned-out passenger with earbuds practically surgically implanted, to watching every step of the whole process. Although she still worries about parallel parking and is too much of a weenie to back up our narrow driveway, she has come a long way in a relatively short time. I'm no longer stepping on the imaginary brake or giving her multiple instructions about the obvious. By the time she takes her test for her license, I have no doubt she will be more than ready.

This is going to be our last year with Earbaby home full-time. By this time next year, God willing, we will be empty-nesters and she will be off somewhere starting a new journey without us.

I must remember to cherish this last year of high school with her. We're not there yet, but we're heading into the homestretch.

Disappearing acts?

As we head into the final full month of summer, I'm struck by how different things are this year from last. Not working has changed so many perspectives both for Earbaby and me. For one, I've become a full-time chauffeur, and that fall weekend where EB pleaded with me to take the company's buyout so we could have more time together is a long-gone memory. It was great in concept, but it was also before the Incredibly Cute Boyfriend became such an integral part of her social life.

So it will be as interesting in the month ahead as it has been in the previous one to see how EB's relationship plays out with ICB. Can we say separation anxiety?

It all started with the end of school. Our little family unit of three, EB, her dad and I, took a trip to Ireland and Scotland with her school group. It actually was EB's idea a couple of years ago, after her foray into Paris and Rome. The teacher who leads these EF Tours is amazing and EB had such a great, fun and safe time on the last trip, we figured we could go as a family to at least her dad's "homeland." (At least kind of, his family is from the other side of the island.) We went to Dublin, Belfast, and Edinburgh, Scotland. And although her dad and I were on the same trip, we didn't try to cramp her style. She always roomed with her friends and most times hung out with them. A few times she wandered over to spend some time with us, but we didn't want to spend time "parenting" her. She had done just fine without us in Paris and Rome two years ago; she didn't need us checking up to see if she was eating her vegetables and getting enough sleep.

The only hiccup in the trip was EB's burying her head in her phone, staying in touch with friends (especially ICB) every day despite the time difference. We had an international plan for emergencies, but EB assured us she was only using WiFi to communicate. Well, we all found out differently when the bill came a couple of weeks after we got back. There is no WiFi chatting or Face timing on our model of phone, and the international minutes bill came up to more than $1,300! After her dad hit the roof and left the bill for me to see, I took a closer look. Turned out the international plan hadn't been implemented, so a call to the carrier revealed the error and almost $1,000 was taken off. Problem solved, but I still made them both say out loud, that yes, I am a Queen.

But it also showed the intensity of the relationship. It doesn't seem dangerous, manipulative, or coercive. But she had to see him the day we came home. We got in July 4th and she must have been jet lagged. And it was like that practically every day, except when she went to a concert with a girlfriend. Then he and his mom went on vacation. They hung out every day after work before he went, even the night before, despite his early morning flight. Exasperated, I told her she had to come home, he was going on vacation for a week, not off to war!

And yes, they were communicating every day while he and his mom were in London and Paris and she and I picked them up from the airport (we live very close by) when they returned. I am trying to be sensitive to the fact that he is getting ready to go away to college and their lives will change quite a bit in another month. I know I can't shield either of them from what might inevitably end in heartbreak, but I would like to see more of an expansion in their friendship base. When she stays out later than she says she will (1 or 2 a.m. is unacceptable even in the summer), she comes home with a pissy attitude. When she does go out with others, or when he spends time with his friends, she is more open and less defensive and sullen about coming home at a decent time.

And there is the hiding. Before ICB, she would have friends, both male and female come over to the house. It wasn't unusual for her to ask if friends could sleep over. But that was also before her irreparable falling out with both Brenda and Maria. She has a new BFF in a lovely girl, Charisse, so I'm not too worried about the full isolation. EB tells me she doesn't bring ICB around (and even he wants to get to know us a little better) because her dad is too corny and tries too hard, and she thinks I might "bother them" with snacks or whatever. I think it's because she is embarrassed and self conscious about just how much she cares about him. Am I worried that this relationship includes risky behaviors like drugs, alcohol or (gasp!) sex? Honestly, I don't know. EB knows all the dangers and consequences and I have to at this point trust her to make intelligent choices. If she makes all the wrong choices, well, those will be hard lessons learned.

No matter. I would have liked us to spend more time together before I find another job. This summer has been a waste in that department and I have sometimes wished I had ignored those pleas to spend more time as a family and just kept working. I actually do acknowledge the intensity of first love and I even understand she needs to detach from us. As we start our college search season, I'm preparing myself for her exit from the nest. I just wish she didn't feel the need to poison it first.

Lessons learned and silver linings

Summer's in, school's out and Earbaby is officially a Rising Senior.

Wow, where did junior year go?

I know time has moved the same rate as always, but it really seems that this, EB's penultimate high school year, just flew by. Maybe it was because I was able to be somewhat more present for it since I took the buyout from my job in October. Or because we only had a couple of big snows this winter after the hellish storms of early 2015. When I could be truly grateful I didn't have to venture out into the raging snowstorms, it didn't happen. But I was still grateful I could stay in those few cold nights I would have had to worry about scraping ice off my windshield and trying to charge up a partially shoveled driveway in the middle of the night.

I never could have predicted how the last four months of the school season would go. Having another teenager in the house changed so many dynamics. Sadly, it didn't end well. But thankfully, it did end.

And that's where a few of our best lessons were learned.

I'm hoping that the trials and tribulations of living with Maria won't sour EB on having a big and generous heart. She invited her friend into our home because EB is a child who has never known want. But when you pair someone who has only had stability with someone who hasn't had much at all, the results can be disastrous. Maria was a sweet girl. But she lacked the ability to grasp basic hygiene, both personal and in her surroundings. When one can come into a house and turn a small living space into your most disgusting episode of Hoarders, all the talking and understanding in the world isn't going to help. An agreement, a very small effort toward appeasement, and a day or so later, it was back to intervention time. It got exhausting, exasperating, disgusting, and eventually simply unworkable. When EB finally blew up, the tension in the house could be cut with a knife. Maria and EB had drama from a multitude of things, but even though Maria sincerely tried to repair the damage of that fallout, EB couldn't get past her disgust with the living situation.

Maria had only planned to stay until the end of the school year, so that at least worked out. Still her propensity for lashing out, her terrible judgment, irresponsibility, and poor impulse control showed us all what her true colors are. EB was just too angry to try to work things out with her. They will never be friends again.

By the time Maria came late at night to get her things, EB wouldn't even look at her or say goodbye. The room had to be thoroughly cleaned and she left many of her things to be thrown out. It was a sad sight as she and a friend struggled with two backpacks and a dufflebag to get up the street to catch a bus to a sibling's house. But she didn't want any more help from us. I had been angry too, but I'm a mom first. So when I hugged her goodbye, I whispered that if she ever really needed me, I would be there for her. No one, not even messed-up, emotionally immature teenagers who bite the hands that feed them, should go through life without at least one lifeboat.

I hope that EB doesn't learn the cynical lesson that no good deed goes unpunished. I don't want this episode to sour her on reaching out to people in need. And the silver lining is that when she does go to college in a little more than a year from now, she will be more familiar with the art of conflict resolution, instead of waiting until she just can't stand it anymore. By then I hope her own emotional maturity (and ability for forgiveness) will be better developed.

And I got a silver lining lesson also. One can try really hard, but there's only so much you can do when someone isn't ready, willing or able to receive your help. We were very clear about the rules about cleaning up after yourself and keeping her room clean. But I learned there are some people who truly lack the capacity to either understand what that means or have no self-awareness of how to live with other people. Would I do it again? My heart says yes, my head (and my daughter) say no.

We're also learning lessons about EB's growing independence. She and her incredibly cute boyfriend are still an item, but she still manages to spend time with other friends. With Maria in the house, EB spent as much time as she could outside of it. It bothered me tremendously that she didn't feel comfortable bringing him around because of Maria. With her gone, let's see if that changes things much. There will be separations soon, we'll be going on a vacation and he will be going away to college in the fall. I worry a little about hearts broken, but that will be a lesson learned too. If they can remain friends, or at least friendly after a fashion, this will be a good experience for her.

Then there's the lesson of driving. EB is determined to get her license in the coming months. That would be a boon for all of us, especially when (and if) I find another job. I'm not ready to retire, but while I look for the next opportunity, it will be nice not to have to factor in all her comings and goings and how I have to be responsible for that.

The warm weather beckons. The summer promises dance lessons, driving lessons, trips and college tours. No matter what the future holds, as a family, we're all good.

Chaos, confusion, conflict (and Prom 2)!

There's nothing more glorious than this time of year with recitals, proms, driving school, and college testing, said nobody, ever.

Could there be more days filled with running and strife? Well, let's see, the great sibling experiment has gone from sweetness and light to epic failure to communicate, we're counting down to the last two recitals of the year (with two shows in one of them and enough dress rehearsal machinations to choke a horse), driving school for four hours on Saturday mornings, and just to make things interesting, the first go-round of SAT and ACT testing, which apparently will determine if she gets into college or becomes homeless. No pressure, right?

Now is the time of the year when every day is a challenge, a game of beat-the-clock with all the things that need to get done, worked on, studied for, and other things that should, but won't be dealt with, so will be avoided.

Things at home began to sour between EB and her friend Maria, about three weeks after Maria moved in. At first, it was great. They would go out together, or if they were out separately, would meet up to come home together. The first hiccups came when Maria kept having to be told not to borrow EB's things without asking. Small things, mascara, clothing, towels, earrings, would inexplicably wind up in Maria's room after she was asked about it and denied knowledge. But unbeknownst to me, EB never got over an earlier problem with the house keys. See, Maria had "borrowed" her purse, and then made an incredibly stupid decision in which she collided with a parked car when she had no business driving (no license, no permit and apparently no common sense). EB's keys were lost in the car in the confusion of the crash. So EB knew about what happened, but was sworn to secrecy. When the keys finally came home because the owner of the car (who stupidly had allowed Maria to drive) showed up with them, but looking for money to fix his damaged car, the story came out.

From then, the "hiccups" got bigger, and more annoying. Maria still keeps her room like a pigsty, so while once we had thought we would allow her to stay until she finished high school, we've decided it would be best for her to find other arrangements. She finally stopped "borrowing" from EB, but only because the two had a huge argument that involved another friend. While Maria is pleasant enough to EB's dad and me, the two former good friends are more like ships that grudgingly pass in the night. And yes, I'm still telling this grown woman she has to get up and go to school, make her bed, clean her room. EB is disgusted by her and tries to stay out of her own house as much as possible. I've talked about forgiveness and compassion with EB, consequences and cleanliness with Maria. I'm just ready for both girls to get over themselves.

Then there was prom No. 2. EB again couldn't find a dress she liked and I refused to pay $200 or more for a dress she would more than likely wear only once. So we went back to Burlington Coat Factory, found an $80 dress that needed just a few adjustments to work for her. Luckily, one of my best friends knows how to make those kind of sewing miracles happen, and EB ended up loving the dress that she was first ready to throw a tantrum about. She seemed to think I cared that she threatened not to get anything. The (il)logic of a teenager is astounding. Tantrums were brewing though. She decided she didn't like the way the woman at Ulta did her makeup, although she didn't tell her. She waited until we got back in the car and then blamed me. I told her if she didn't like it, she should have spoken up, it's her face. She said I always get mad if she says something. That just wasn't true. She was just anxious and frustrated (the hairdresser was late, and traffic stunk, so once again we were rushed for time), so she decided to have a show about how ugly she looked and how it was my fault. Sorry sister, this is where I came in 15 years ago. If I could ignore your crazy rantings when you were two, I can certainly ignore them now. By the way, she looked beautiful.

Anyway, once she got home, got dressed, took a few pictures before and after incredibly cute boyfriend showed up, Cinderella was off to the ball again (good riddance). And this time, she had a ball. She got home late, exhausted, and happy. They had a great time, music and DJ were "lit" and she danced the night away. Two other girls had the same dress, another had the expensive one she wanted but didn't buy, and yet the world kept spinning on its axis. I only have to do that particular nightmare one more time. These are the times I wish I drank -- and am glad that I don't.

But we still have recitals, rehearsals, college testing and graduation (not hers, his) to get through. The calendar is filled, the tension is high and there is little relief in sight for the next month. Once again, I'll just keep swimming. I just wish it didn't feel like it was all upstream.

Prom! (Chapter One)

Well, the first prom of Earbaby's year is over and done with. On reflection, she says that it was just "OK." But it was such an undertaking, just getting this first one in the books.

Dress shopping for this one actually ended quite painlessly. After trying on and rejecting countless dresses with prices ranging from $200-$600, we finally found one for only $30. It was almost identical to one she tried on that cost $440, so I was thrilled. She settled on this one because "this is only junior prom. I will wait and go all out next year." I wonder who she thinks is going to pay for all that.

But prom, even junior prom, is an all-day affair. She convinced me that the teachers were OK with her being signed out of school early, to keep hair and makeup appointments. Besides she only had a couple of quizzes and she promised to make up anything she missed in her last two classes. She was more excited than she let on.

And of course this was a double dose of prom for me. Maria, even though she currently is going to a different school, was still going to the prom with a former classmate. After back and forth negotiations on the renting of a dress from a former schoolmate, she decided to go in on a party bus which was going to be departing from another friend's house. I found myself driving all over the city the day before, shopping for strapless bras and clutch bags at the last minute, figuring out how to get Maria's dress to the house where she was going to be getting ready at the following day, and trying to figure out all the logistics of the following day's activities. There was less stress and turmoil on my wedding day -- and I had my whole family coming in from out of town.

EB planned on having her makeup done after getting her hair done (both projects cost several times more than the dress, so you pay and pay no matter what). After we got back home from school, raced out to pick up lunch on our way to appointment No. 1, she started to get a little anxious. We were on time though, the hair got finished early and even though we were far south of the city, we were early for the makeup appointment north of the city.

Our plans for actually getting things done early fell apart when she couldn't get in any earlier than her appointment and the makeup artist took more than an hour. EB finally got the false eyelashes she fought me about for her sweet 16 party last year. She hated them. Said they made her eyes feel heavy. Even though they did look good and she kept them if she wants to wear them again, they weren't what she expected. Sometimes, Dorothy, you have to learn it for yourself.

Now let me say one thing. Sometimes you have to bite your tongue. I wasn't especially crazy about the makeup job that was done, but EB wanted very dramatic eyes, which added up to a lot of eye makeup, including false lashes and heavy eyebrows. With her delicate features, I thought it was a tad overdone, but she did look beautiful, so I didn't criticize. This was her prom after all, and I remember how hurt I felt when my mother criticized the turquoise nail polish I wanted to wear on my toes to match my prom dress. She told me it made my feet look dirty (it did). The fact that I could remember how badly I felt more than 45 years later kept me from saying anything to make her feel less than gorgeous. Even if in later years she'll look at herself and wonder why she wore such heavy makeup, she'll also know that she wanted to look and feel that way that day.

And worst of all, we only managed a couple of shots with her and the incredibly cute boyfriend, before she, cold and exasperated by the mere presence of her parents with cameras, decided they really had to go! For all those parents whose children patiently allowed them to take picture after picture to commemorate more separation of your money, I envy you. EB barely stuck around long enough to snatch a $20 from her father's hand before she was off and running.

So it was a little disappointing that she said the food wasn't great (pizza and chicken nuggets, what are we five?), the dance floor was small, there was no professional photographer and although other people were taking pictures, she didn't get any more. Then she went to bed, slept until the crack of noon and got ready to go out and later meet up for another friend's birthday party. I felt a little better when Maria came home and raved about how much fun she had. At least it wasn't a total washout for both teens in this house.

Well, it could be worse. I could have to go through this all over again with Earbaby next month. Oh wait. I do.

Gratitude

The food coma is over. At least for the weekend. There are still leftovers in the fridge, and as we await the next full-on culinary attack, I figure this is a good time to count my blessings (which thankfully are mainly calorie free).

I'm eternally thankful for Earbaby. She is a royal pain in the (well, you know) many days, but she's also healthy. And anyone who has been even a little ill knows that without your health, you have nothing. EB has always been a healthy kid, which I'm assuming comes more from God's grace than the nutrition(less) diet she has been on. Apparently there's enough in her DNA to counteract a lifetime of sandwiches, not enough sleep and probably too much exercise.

And I'm grateful for the good moods. She's funny, insightful, loving, giving, forgiving and generous to a fault (especially with our money). She doesn't seem to lack for friends and when I hear of other people with teens who struggle in that department, I am a little more grateful. Someone with 11 children recently told me "only children are lonely children." She seemed to pity me. I told her she was mistaken. Outings with friends and sleepovers are always encouraged and granted. Friends are welcome here always. She cherishes her alone time, such as it is. Teenagers are always connected. They text and facetime constantly and can be in a room alone and still be with a group of people.

Even as I try to figure out what I'm going to pursue for work the rest of my life, I remain grateful for the time. The first few weeks of being unemployed were a blur of busyness and panic, along with recurring doses of depression. Lunch with a friend and former colleague gave me the perspective I need, and helped me to see that I'm not alone. But I won't lie, slowly disconnecting is still disorienting.

I'm grateful for my in-laws. I've been truly blessed by being a part of my husband's family. When others are frustrated by snarkiness, digs, passive-aggressive and downright insults from the relatives they acquired through marriage, I can only listen and sympathize. But I can't relate. I've always liked them and they seem to like me. When my father-in-law died at the beginning of the year, my husband's family pulled together, not apart. No one took opportunities for nastiness or visitations to former fallouts or perceived slights. As someone who has seen firsthand how death and/or divorce changes people for the worst, I was pleased, but not at all surprised, that none of those traits came to pass. I married into a truly classy clan.

I have nothing but gratitude for the sacrifice my younger sister makes every day in caring for our elderly mother. It's not easy to be the primary caregiver of a parent, even when the parent is relatively healthy. It's a constant battle when one person wants to be treated as the adult she is and the other struggles to keep the former parent-child paradigm. My sister is truly a saint, even though I'm sure there are plenty of days when her saintliness is truly put to the test. I appreciate her, even when she thinks no one knows how hard it really is for her. I know. We all know.

And then there is also gratitude that my mother is still alive. She is blind, which limits her quality of life. But at 92, she is otherwise still healthy, fully cognizant and still engaged in the goings-on of her family, to the extent that she can be. If she weren't blind, she would probably be more adventurous, but she does get some enjoyment from time spent with her family. My hope is that she will be able to spend more time with EB in the coming year. But I'm grateful that EB has at least one grandparent left. It's an important bond for both of them.

I'm grateful for my husband, who still seems happy that I'm home every day. This change in our life plans has been jarring for me, but he has embraced having me home full-time for the first time in more than 15 years. The days of juggling have gotten a lot easier for both of us. I had figured after a couple of weeks, he would be begging me to find a job, any job, just to get out of the house. Instead, he's been encouraging me to just relax, take time for myself. Everyone is telling me to give myself permission to take it easy for awhile.

I'll be really grateful on the day I figure out just how to do that.

Autumnal transition

Well, here we are again, falling into another roller coaster. I thought with all the machinations of August, change wouldn't be coming soon for our little family. But this time the transition and scary ride was mine. And I'm still not sure when, or how I'm going to get off.

I'm now a homebody, a full-time wife and mother for the first time since the day I gave birth and the six months of maternity leave that followed. I have joined the ranks of the gainfully unemployed. And for someone who has only been unemployed four months of her entire adulthood since graduating college, I'm still not sure how to feel. I'm being congratulated, but I don't call what my new status is retirement.

Of course there's a story behind all of this.

Our company has been undergoing quite a painful transition over the last few years; new ownership, new rules, and of course cost-cutting, which means buyouts, layoffs and other losses of jobs. We knew there were going to be lots of emotions here at home following the layoff and then lay-back-on of my husband. But even as his job stabilized, more cuts were coming and tough decisions were being made all around.

My job changed, and not for the better. As I learned new duties, I realized I was being trained so someone else could be let go. The person who was to be fired had a different job classification, but if others could do his job, there would be no need for him. That caused me some anxiety, for several reasons, but the kicker came when I was informed my days off would change from Sundays and Mondays off to Mondays and Tuesdays off. That translated to no more days with the three of us able to spend time as a family. Since Earbaby dances both Monday and Tuesday nights, we would all become a blur of work, school, dance, eat, sleep, do it all again. As it was, I would drop EB off on Tuesday afternoon and not see her again until Saturday morning! Not having at least a Sunday evening to catch a movie with my husband proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

But it wasn't the only thing. Even as we talked about this new, worse change in our lives, a friend who is 10 years younger with a wife and four children died of a sudden heart attack. It was one of most devastating things I'd ever heard, and a wake-up call. So after his funeral, we all talked.

My husband wanted me to reconsider taking a buyout, something which truly wasn't on my radar. You're supposed to work until your kid is out of college and you can safely and sanely take retirement, right? You suffer through the years of getting only three or four hours sleep, sacrificing your health, because you have a family to raise and college tuition to pay. You and your husband are ships that pass in the night during those child-rearing years so that your child always has a primary care-giver at home.

And then, your hours change for the even worse. Your health suffers more and you realize that being tired all the time is not the way it's supposed to be. Your beloved spouse tells you he misses you and would like to spend some time with you. Your daughter (!) wants to spend time with you and enjoy home-cooked dinners instead of quick sandwiches and takeout. And one of the nicest people you'll ever know didn't live to see his children grow up.

So after working nights, weekends and holidays for 38 years, I decided to temporarily join the land of the unemployed. EB was the deciding factor. She will only be with us two more years and then will be off to college and a life that only peripherally includes us. I want to be there to cheer her on at the football games, be able to spontaneously go out on a date with my husband, cook a dinner, sleep eight hours in one stretch, have lunch or dinner plans like normal people.

I plan on working again. Maybe I'll go for something I can do from home, or work out of an office a few days (!) a week. I'm still feeling a little untethered. I'm used to rushing around trying to get everything done before 5 p.m., so I can start my second shift that ended at 1:30 a.m. Suddenly, I can breathe, start dinner, watch a little television, read a book. And sleep when the rest of the world sleeps. It will still be awhile before my body realizes I don't have to keep vampire hours any more, but I'm ready for that challenge too.

I have to acknowledge the fear of never working again, and the fear of getting another job before I've had a chance to enjoy some of the things I've missed through the years. I'm not sure where this new path will take me. But I have a couple of great people around who want to be with me as I find my way.

Profile of courage and compromise

Sometimes things just don't go as planned. And as with many setbacks, lessons are learned, grudgingly.

July was supposed to be Earbaby's defining month. Sure, she's just going into her junior year in the fall and she shouldn't feel pressured to decide what she wants to do for the rest of her working life, but going into a monthlong dance program was supposed to help narrow her choices, and her focus.

It hasn't gone as planned.

The first week of EB's program began the day after school ended. She went through roughly four hours of dance class on day one. She marveled at how tired she was, and it wasn't even a full day. The next two days started earlier and by the time the July Fourth weekend came up, she had done all of three days of intensive dance classes, was very tired, very sore and pretty pleased with the program and her fellow dancers. "I'm so tired, and it's just the first week!" she said. But a four-week journey lay ahead, so she comforted her sore muscles with Epsom salt baths and celebrated the nation's birthday with friends.

Monday morning she was packed and ready to get back to work. Her dad and I planned to spend the morning together with a walk and a brunch, so we dropped her off and went on our way. We had been out walking for about an hour and were just starting to head to breakfast when my phone rang. When I saw the caller ID number, I knew it couldn't be good news.

EB was in ballet class at the barre, and when she went to turn, her left knee didn't. It momentarily dislocated, she collapsed, and the month of dance took a different turn. Fortunately we weren't too far away, and the rest of the day was spent at the hospital and making appointments to see an orthopedist the next day. EB was in incredible pain, but she was also embarrassed that she had gotten hurt. She didn't want to be the center of that kind of attention, didn't want to take up class time while the EMT attended to her, and didn't want to cry (she didn't, with great effort) and make an even bigger spectacle.

And she was in unfamiliar territory. Incredibly, despite 13 years of dance and eight years of gymnastics, she had never suffered a serious injury. She suffered from Osgood-Schlatter in both knees, a condition that was painful and annoying, but she has rarely had to sit out even with that during gymnastics competitions.

The next day her dad took her to the sports orthopedist who diagnosed her with a sprained left medial collateral ligament, gave her crutches and said she should be healed in four-to-five weeks. That's when she cried. Because that would end the program for her, and that's when it was apparent how much she loved it.

Now a mild sprain can heal quicker in motivated 16-year-olds who listen very carefully to the doctor who says he's seen these things improve drastically in 48-72 hours. Physical therapy was necessary to start her on the path. And when I told her she could try out again next year (the program limits kids to only two years and they try out each time), she said she wanted to be in this year's with this group. So it was time to get to work and see if we could salvage the summer of dance.

EB's convalescence rivaled Lazarus. She was on crutches three days, switched to the initial brace she was given when she first went to the hospital, had friends come to visit her (and even insist on carrying her up the stairs so there would be no more damage), and started her first physical therapy session before a full week had passed. In the meantime, the program director told me she could keep coming to observe the dances until she was able to participate again (she had to be cleared by a doctor). She would more or less switch roles with the high school intern, who would understudy EB's part. It wasn't a great solution, but it kept EB in the loop and motivated her to stick with her exercises.

By the time a full week had passed since the injury, EB was ready to go back and be cleared by the doctor. Yes, her knee was a little sore from the PT exercises and the injury, but she was ready to reclaim her spot. Truth be told, her nose was a little out of joint at being replaced and she felt isolated and frustrated just watching as everyone rehearsed for the two-week tour that was to follow.

So we went back to the doctor. He cleared her, with restrictions, gave her yet another brace, one a little less cumbersome that kept her knee literally on track, and told her to keep up with the therapy. EB was ready to jump in with both feet. The program director was more cautious and wanted her to ease back in. EB was frustrated and crabby.

I talked to the program director and told her EB would let her know when she had enough. Although the doctors, the physical therapist, the dance teachers and her mother had told EB to take it easy so she wouldn't further injure the MCL, she couldn't hear us. She was ready to go and she didn't want to switch off with the other dancer, this was her spot and she wanted it back. All of it. It didn't help that the other dancer borrowed one of her shirts to perform in and kept trying to discourage EB's comeback.

Still, my Earbaby had to learn that desire isn't commensurate with ability when returning from an injury. After her first full day back participating, she had to acknowledge that she was in pain. And she wasn't fully healed. "I had a reality check," she said. "I guess I'm not invincible."

Now she and the other dancer switch off. One day EB does all four dances she's been choreographed in, the next day she only does two and the other girl steps in. EB is learning that with compromise, everyone is just a little unhappy, but everyone gets something. It's been an interesting month, for the lessons learned, the frustrations expressed, and growing that only comes through a little pain, suffering and sacrifice. EB is pondering if she wants to try out again next summer. Most of her friends have jobs, and she would like to join the workforce, we would like to travel, and college tours are a real possibility. If the entire month of July is accounted for again, that changes the equation.

But EB didn't get the dance experience she wanted and needed. She'll continue with physical therapy for the short term, return to dance at two studios again in the fall, begin cheerleading practice in two weeks, and then take a look back at this month and figure things out. This was a rough ride for her. I'm so proud that she was able to hang on, hang in, and tough it out.

Spring Favor

We finally achieved vacation nirvana, or at least the closest we will come for the forseeable future with Earbaby. My husband and I couldn't believe it, but EB actually spent time with us for a week in Florida at our favorite spot, complained only minimally, rolled her eyes infrequently, and thanked us repeatedly. Yes, you read those last three words correctly. She thanked us repeatedly.

Now, the rest of the story.

A couple of months ago, when my husband first started making plans for spring vacation, I asked him if he might consider allowing EB to bring a friend along. Our vacation spot is a beautiful Gulf Coast town in Florida, too rich for our blood to consider as a retirement destination, but nice and quiet enough for R & R. We had gone almost every year since he and I have been together, save for the year of EB's birth, last year when she was in Europe, and maybe one other year when the timing just wasn't right. She knows the island and loves any condo we rent, but truthfully, there's not much for a teenager to do. The prospect of having to spend a week in paradise listening to her complain about being bored filled me with a little bit of dread.

It must have struck my better half the same way, because he readily agreed. We had talked about this when she was much younger, and it seems that time has come. Usually Beth is the go-to best friend for travels, but she already had other plans for the spring break. When I asked EB if she might want to bring someone, she immediately asked for Delilah, with whom she happened to be actively texting at the time (aren't they always actively texting someone?).

The answer was immediate. Yes! She could come! And EB was grateful and ecstatic.

Delilah is also an only child and has slept over several times. She and EB are close, but EB has many close friends and usually more than one friend is staying over at a time (or she joins a group of people who invade other homes for sleepovers). Her main worry for a couple of months was keeping it quiet so there wouldn't be hurt feelings from those who weren't invited. And yes, the plane ticket was a little expensive, but it was, in the long run, a very small price to pay.

Since my husband and I both have siblings, I am constantly worried about EB being lonely when we're no longer around. The ship has long sailed to have another child, although I've already told him that my lottery dream is a bigger house, and a whole lot more kids. Every horror story about abused children makes me wish for the opportunity to become a foster parent, although realistically, with two parents working full time and living in a cracker box house, it's not feasible.

But should I ever really win some money, I'm retiring immediately, and we're moving into a great big old shoe!

Anyway, I had two babies for a week at least. Delilah and EB have their own language the way teenagers do. Because they go to school together and share friends, although no classes this year, there were nonstop snapchats, instagrams, texting and various data-eating activities. Because they were also narrating their vacation time with their friends back home. It's funny how this generation lives in the moment, while simultaneously recording it for posterity. It's like the millennials are on one long episode, like the movie The Truman Show.

But I marveled at the simple words my husband and I heard all week -- Thank you.

Having Delilah along also gave us more access to EB. When you're an only child, conversation with your parents may feel like you're being ganged up on. A simple conversation suddenly turns into a lecture, an argument, and ends in sullen silence. When your friend is with you, your parents are probably on their best behavior (!) so there are no lectures or harangues, conversations don't suddenly take a turn for the worst, there are easy four-way exchanges, and your friend thinks your parents are these cool, interesting people.

And the two only children were also OK taking out time for solitude without the anxiety of one believing the other was angry.

We did a whole lot of nothing last week. And yes, that included the homework they were assigned (I still believe it's unconscionable to assign homework during school breaks, we all need real down time). But they got right back to it on the way home, tanned, relaxed and rejuvenated.

After Delilah's mom picked her up at the airport, I turned to EB and said, "Oh no, I had two babies for a whole week, and now I only have one!" She rolled her eyes (first time all week!), but then laughed and told Delilah what I said. Yes, they're already planning to do this again next spring break. I'm open to it. I could do this again easily. EB's friends are always delightful, funny, respectful, grateful, and intelligent human beings. I've heard rumors she's like that too, when she's not with us. And after her repeated words of gratitude, I can now finally believe it.

Dark places

Some heartbreaks don't heal. We spend our lives telling our children that time heals all wounds (and sometimes wounds all heels).

But the reality is, some heartbreaks are forever.

This was a hard week that ended yet another hard, cruel month. A lovely family lost a child.

Like ripples in a pond, the reverberations of a suicide reach far and wide. And even though I never met this beautiful young man from a really nice family, I just can't stop being so very sad.

The last week in March started out badly enough. I had been suffering from a cold that forced me on the DL (that's disabled list for you nonsports speakers) for the better part of a week. It was the first really bad illness of the winter (being sick of shoveling actually doesn't count) and I missed work, but couldn't even revel in staying home because I felt so very awful.

And Earbaby hasn't been ill, but she's been so overwhelmed and overwrought, I didn't even know how to comfort her. This is just a tough year in a really tough school. One subject has really been kicking her butt, a college-level course with too much reading in too short of a time. She had to skip dance several times because she just had too much homework. One day she got in the car and just cried. There was too much to do, and she's not getting any sleep. And she says even the smart kids are staying up until 1 or 2 a.m. And they're all up by 5:30 a.m. to start the whole process over. She's barely staying awake in class, she's running as fast as she can and still believes she's falling behind, and there just aren't enough hours in the day.

And all I could do was tell her to breathe, make a cup of tea and take 15 minutes to decompress and gather her thoughts. Before she got back into the rat race.

And I started to wonder, are we just making everything too hard?

Now I'm no helicopter parent. EB has plenty of freedom, because that's the only way she'll ever learn how to make good life choices. She has to have the practice. And a little hard work isn't bad. But when you're 16, you agonize that not making the honor roll will doom you to a life of the permanent underclass of barely working poor. That a missed homework assignment or a failed geometry or physics test means your life's work will be forever defined by the words: "Do you want fries with that?"

So we've been trying to balance encouragement and help, as in finding tutors for her tougher subjects, with assuring her that doing her best, trying her hardest, really is OK. How do you add encouragement without making it feel like pressure? How do you convince a teenager that sooner than they think, school will be over and education will be what they have left long after they've forgotten what they've been taught?

And we know that life isn't supposed to be easy. Learning how to struggle now and come through the storm will prepare her for life's challenges that will come when she's responsible for her own food, shelter and well-being.

But it isn't supposed to be so hard that we lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel, or that we stop believing there really is a light there.

So this was where EB was when she read a text from a friend who told her that her brother had killed himself. Only a couple of years out of high school himself, he apparently had slipped into one of the dark places where one believes there is no light ahead.

EB was devastated, for her friend, their family, and many others left with a break in a heart that won't fully heal.

Parents, teachers, extended family members, don't fool yourselves. The siren song of suicide is out there. EB has had at least one close friend who attempted it (thankfully unsuccessfully), others who are self-mutilating; children, beautiful, bright, intelligent children, who are in so much emotional pain they don't realize that the light may be dim, but it really is there at the end of the tunnel. EB gets afraid when her friends go into the dark places. We've talked about it; I've let her know that her dad and I are always here, we're always in that light -- not just for her, but for anyone else who needs a soft place to land.

In the few days that followed came a wake, a funeral and EB reaching out to her friend time and again to make sure she was OK.

This is a family of faith. My fervent prayer is that their faith will sustain them as they rebuild their lives around the hole left in their hearts. I wish them God's love and peace.

I've told EB many times when she is in despair that asking for help isn't a sign of weakness. As human beings, we are social animals, our strength is in the comfort we give and receive from each other. Sometimes those dark places overwhelm and threaten to overtake us. Those whispers that tell us that everyone is better off without us become louder and more insistent. But those whispers speak a grave untruth. We all matter.

Let's continue to talk to our children, our teens, our young adults, our family and friends. Let's be better and kinder with each other. Let's remind each other that we all matter, we're all important and we're all loved.

Let's shine a light on all those dark places, through therapy, through medication, through understanding without stigma.

Please God, let's not bury any more of our babies.

Sweetest 16

Oh. My. Goodness.

I never thought a birthday party could involve more moving parts than planning the invasion of a small country. And when one thing doesn't go according to plan, it takes the active intervention of an angel to make these things happen.

Earbaby's birthday celebration was the Sweet 16 to end all Sweet 16s. And yes an angel did intervene, and the party went off very well. Very-well dressed teenagers in either black or white, or both, were well-fed, well-danced and well-exhausted. For any parent whose teenager slept past noon after EB's party, sorry. And you're welcome.

When all was said and done, EB's grand coronation for the act of turning another year older -- apparently the first person in the world to have accomplished such a feat -- was pretty darn good. Of course she spent the last six months, haranguing, begging, nagging and then obsessing about it, with the previous month leading up to it sending her anxiety levels off the chart. February was a long, cruel month.

Beginning with T minus 27 on February 1, our region endured three massive blizzards for the first three weeks, mostly on weekends. When all was said and done, 95 inches of snow had fallen, the snow days are now at eight, although the school year has only budgeted for five, there was noticeable slippage of the final grades with the new term starting somewhere in the midst of the snowy mess, and everyone was snow weary and in what appeared to be permanent bad moods.

So the last thing I really needed to talk about was the dress she bought but didn't want the wear, the tiara she insisted on buying and then refused to wear because it didn't match her shoes, the rehearsal space paid for so her dance team could practice their dance they would be performing for the party, the constant reworking of the guest list as people slipped off, then back on, then off again. And most of EB's worries she relayed to me every night by text when I was at work, usually on deadline. This was her most pressing concern, having the perfect party that no one could complain about.

As for me, I had been beside myself for the better part of the month every time she turned into Teenzilla. I had taken to advising people with daughters that if their daughter didn't want a Sweet 16, don't offer one. Just shut up. You'll thank me later. Every facet of this party was a battle. She wanted false eyelashes (!) and pouted for hours because I told her no. She was consumed with people who asked to come, but she didn't know well enough to invite. She worried that too many people would come. She worried that no one would come. We all worried about another blizzard like the ones that paralyzed the city and shut down the public transportation system.

By the time the day came, we had figured out how to get the hot food to stay hot, when everything would be delivered and set up, I had an hour by hour schedule for food, balloon, cake pickup, and had even managed to score free parking less than half a block away. I was ready to pull off the perfect party.

Of course, we all know what happens with the best laid plans. Things started going south after she had to redo a manicure that didn't last, but that was just a small financial glitch. The biggest glitch came when her hair appointment started almost three hours late. That changed everything. By the time we got back home, I had to scramble to get to the venue to set up without the promised help of EB and her friends, who all had to get ready.

If not for the angel, a friend's mother who dropped off her daughter early and stayed to help set up tables, chairs, linens, center pieces for the tables, food, drink and then, slipped off without leaving so much as a silver bullet (I did however get a chance to thank her, unlike the people saved by the Lone Ranger), I never would have pulled it off. It really is true about God putting people in the right places for you.

Anyway, EB, who was by this time was absolutely insane because she had been getting cancellations all day long from people who suddenly had something come up, was sure this would be a disaster. I tried to tell her, if you invited more than 100, even if only 50 showed, that's a decent-sized party. She had upwards of 75. I also told her at the end of the day, she would know who her real friends were. And she did. They were the ones dancing with her, applauding her, taking hundreds of pictures, and singing Happy Birthday to her (even adding the Stevie Wonder version) in a five-hour party.

The one good thing about this wonderful (and horrible) experience is that I won't ever have do this again. The one bad thing is that I won't get to do this again. I've figured out all the bumps in the road and could do such a better job. A tiny bit less food and a tiny bit more drinks, especially water. Get the first hair appointment of the day, or go the night before. Secure parking early and then you can put maps and directions so more people can't claim they have no way of getting there. And above all let the guest of honor know that once the party starts, don't stress and have a good time. Even the day after, EB was worried people didn't really have a good time, they just said they did and would complain about it later at school on Monday. Her next big lesson will be to just let it go. All the right people came and had a good time.

Earbaby, you're 16 now. Happy Birthday. You are very much loved.

But please, elope.

Saying goodbye

January of 2015 has gone out like a lion. And she took one of the best people on earth home with her.

EB's grandfather, her dad's dad, died a little over a week ago. And while it was not totally unexpected -- he had been in a nursing home for more than a year following a minor stroke -- it was still a shock, and still sad. Because Grandpa was a man who had been in her life, and her cousins' lives, forever. Earbaby was devastated.

When someone is old, you know that it's just a matter of time. But no matter how much you try to prepare, you're just not going to be ready and it's not going to be easy. And especially when that person, the last of his generation in the family, will leave such a void.

I came late to the party in knowing Jack. He had already been widowed by the time his son, my husband, and I came to know each other, date, fall in love, and marry. In this world where people are so entrenched in their own beliefs we ask only for "tolerance" my father-in-law was way ahead of his time. He fully accepted the brown-skinned woman his only son chose, and then fell in love with the only brown-eyed granddaughter in a blue-eyed clan, his son's only child, and the one who bears his last name. If Jack had any concerns about an interracial union or a biracial grandchild, he was way too classy to let it show. But I don't believe he ever really did. He genuinely loved us all. And we all adored him.

EB, like his other five grandchildren, had her own special relationship with Grandpa. When he was more mobile, he was a part of family trips. We took him with us to upstate New York, he went to Florida and Maine with other grandchildren and their families. He was part of every birthday celebration, every birth. There are so many pictures of him holding newborns, including greatnieces and nephews. This proud World War II veteran and former Navy submarine radioman was not above wearing a silly birthday hat, a mask of feathers, or even a Darth Vader helmet. He was never too uptight for silly. He was the big kid who gave his first grandchild his first taste of whipped cream, encouraged every child to surreptitiously steal a fingerful of any cake in any celebration.

When EB was little and Grandpa was living independently, she and her dad would frequently visit on the weekends while I worked. He introduced her to Chinese food and pineapples. He showed her the fine art of shaking hands and leaving a bill behind in the little hand. He generously gave his grandchildren the maraschino cherries out of his beloved Manhattan drinks. I only learned this last week sometimes those cherries weren't rinsed out as well as they should have been.

My own lasting memories come of conversations with him when he assured me that my husband's mother "would have loved me." I remember on our wedding day he and my father, who like Jack, never knew strangers, only friends they hadn't met yet, chatting as if they had known each other for years. On Jack's last day, when I whispered goodbye in his ear, I asked him to say hello to Daddy for me.

EB is getting better after the first big loss of her life. She had grown sadder and sadder with the sight of Grandpa slowly withering away, sometimes forgetting who was in front of him, other times being sharp as a tack.

In the previous weeks she had been focused on her upcoming sweet 16 party, driving me to distraction with constant texts on this dress, those shoes, more outfits than Cher wore in her five most recent farewell tours, and unbelievable stressing about the drama created by inviting "only" 100 of her nearest and dearest friends, only to have several of the less near and dear get their noses out of joint. Oh, the pressure of having the perfect party!

Then suddenly something important happened. Grandpa was ready to go home. He had already stopped eating, although the man could still suck down the sweetness of a Dunkin Donuts coolatta if it was offered. He was still happy to see visitors, and there were plenty, but five minutes later, he was trying to shoo them out the door. He tired easily, but we weren't tired of being with him. He was surrounded by family and staff when he drew his last breath. They all mourned and comforted the family. I had taken EB home, and decided to let her sleep through the night, instead of waking her with the news.

Of course Dad had the last laugh. The night of his wake was the beginning of a blizzard, forcing the postponement of the funeral for a couple of more days. When we finally did gather again, after 2 1/2 days of shoveling, there were still plenty of tales to be told, songs to be sung (after a lot of Manhattans, mind you) and celebration of a life well lived and a man well loved. EB got a long look at the extended side of her dad's family. She and I agreed that yes, her Irish-American half is just as crazy as her African-American half. Just different kinds of crazy fun.

Jack, Dad, Grandpa, we're just going to miss you. But this world is a much better place. Because for 91-plus years, you were in it.

So this was Christmas

It's two days before the end of this year and the beginning of the next and I'm finally pretty much over my pre-Christmas funk.

There was no real reason for the blues, but I felt a lot like Charlie Brown when he first bemoaned the lack of Christmas spirit, way back in 1965. Earbaby also said it didn't feel like Christmas, but she attributed it to the lack of snow. I attributed mine to a lack of sleep. With every day chock full of a to-do list before I start the second half of my day at work, I was seriously more sleep-deprived than ever before. I relied on sugar and caffeine to get me through the night working hours, only to be wide awake at 3 a.m., trying to sleep so I could get up and start my day again around 9 a.m. The few days off for the holidays were a welcome respite from the hamster wheel.

I didn't feel Christmas-y though. I waited until two days before Christmas Eve to start my shopping, relied on gift cards for my stocking stuffers and mailed my Christmas cards off in time to arrive before the New Year.

But it was a lovely holiday. EB got a chance to spend time with her cousins (again, we didn't host, so there was less pressure there), I only had to show up with a pie and a big doll for the youngest member of our extended family (oh to have a five-year-old again!), and get the requisite sleep whenever my eyelids drooped.

This year was different somehow. We have always overindulged EB. In years past, there were so many gifts for her, they spilled from under the tree onto the couch, chairs and tables. We have a small house, and we always made the case for the next episode of Hoarders for the next two weeks after Christmas. This year I said I absolutely didn't want more things I didn't need and EB is old enough to appreciate gift cards and money to do all her shopping herself. Granted the couch wasn't filled, but she got what she needed, wanted and then some. And she was grateful.

Our kids are all growing up. One nephew, the oldest of EB's cousins on her dad's side, is studying in Egypt. Even with Skype, he was missed at the table. And EB's grandfather is in the nursing home now, unable to attend the family functions he always so enjoyed. Everyone went by to see him Christmas Day, but still, his presence at the table was missed.

When I think back on Christmases past, I remember the excitement of milk and cookies and Santa, the chaotic joy of a houseful of relatives all having lots of food, talk, drink, games and conversations all at the same time. I remember the stress of getting the house ready (hiding the junk under tables and in the closets), but being glad I could host. We didn't have extended family celebrations in my family when I was growing up. Seeing all the relatives on this special day has always been a big treat for me, even with all the work involved.

EB liked it too. She said later in the week her cousins missed Christmas at our house. They find their huge (!) house boring. Sometimes excitement is just going somewhere else, even if it seems too small to be comfortable, I guess.

My daughter, nieces and nephews are all growing up or already grown. I realize I only have a couple of more Christmases left before EB will be coming home for Christmas, from wherever her next school and next life takes her. I've wanted to see, and simultaneously studiously avoided looking at the old videos of EB as a little girl. She's a young woman now, surly some days, pleasant some others, but not a baby anymore. Her life revolves around her friends, her school, her dance, and her future.

I'm trying not to get too melancholy about Christmases past. They were fun, stressful, chaotic, but ultimately satisfying. As some family members leave the table in the next few years, others will come and take up spaces.

Life really is about change. We may not want it, may try to hold on to the past with clenched fists. Or we can open up, embrace what's ahead, and receive the best that is yet to come.

As John Lennon once sang, "So this is Christmas, and what have you done, another year over, and a new one just begun ... A very merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, Let's hope it's a good one, without any fear."

Showing up and giving thanks

Football season is over, thankfully for Earbaby.

Her first year as a cheerleader is in the can, with team disbanding for the time being because there is no cheering for the winter sports. At least not this year. Now that her schedule has freed up again, I wait in anticipation of the next overwhelming thing she decides to do to fill those six or seven minutes of her week where she isn't going 100 miles an hour.

But one thing I realized during the fall fiasco of planning, driving, spending, driving, working, driving, etc., is that about 90 percent of my duties as a parent now is just showing up -- usually bearing either money or food.

When EB was younger, my role was easily defined. I had to make sure she ate well, slept well, wore clean clothes, got her homework done, got to school on time, got to her activities (dance, gymnastics, piano, voice, baton twirling) on time. Her schedule was in my head, even as my husband constantly asked what was going on that particular day. I took pride in always knowing where she was supposed to be (although there was a time when my car turned to go to work when I was supposed to be taking her to gymnastics).

As she grew older, the activities changed, and so did my responsibilities. She knows how to do her own laundry, so I'm no longer responsible for her wearing clean clothes, she can do that. She can also make sure she gets up and gets to school on time, she is responsible for her homework and even though she constantly complains that she's starving (could it be that you're probably burning 3,000-4,000 calories a day?), she can feed herself.

So getting her to her activities is now the biggest job I have. We must coordinate where she is supposed to be with who can take her (usually me), who can pick her up (usually her dad), and how many other people he has to drop off along the way. We've become chauffeurs with wallets.

But the most important thing we must do is show up.

I had a recent conversation with my younger sister on my way to one of EB's games. EB had told me where the game was, but found out later that it was at another stadium. I had already gotten turned around because of a series of construction detours (coincidentally I actually drove by the place the game was playing but didn't know it at the time). When I got back on what I thought was the right track, I got a text saying the real place. Which meant I had to backtrack for the third time in a half an hour. Because I was already running late because I had to first go buy her food (she was starving!), I was headed for a meltdown.

When my sister called, I was in full martyr/meltdown mode. What is it, I asked her. Why do I have to be the one to bring everyone pizza, provide the rides home? Am I a martyr or a sap or the only parent who cares? Are all her friends orphans? Don't their parents care how they get home?

Yes, she replied with the wisdom of one whose daughter is now a fully grown and functioning adult. You will find that you're all those things. You care how everyone gets home, so yes, you will be providing the rides. But, she reminded me, she will remember that you were there.

And we reminisced about how Daddy was always there at the football games when I was on the high school dance team. And he came to every one of her dance team games and track meets. Mama worked Saturdays, so she missed those activities. But she came to the night performances of my high school chorus. I remember the one she missed when she had to try to dig the car out during a snowstorm. A neighbor helped, but I think she got there just as the curtain was closing. I understand now how frustated she must have felt.

This past season has been equal parts pride and frustration. The early afternoon games were ideal because I could try and get there for her halftime performance before scurrying off to work. But the traffic at the time I had to leave was always, always, always horrendous and several times I was in unfamiliar parts of the city. I had more near meltdowns this fall than I've had in probably 20 years. But I needed to see her, needed to let her know that what is important to her is just as important to me.

I told my sister that it was important to me to be there for EB because if I fail as her mother, nothing else I do in this life matters. Gee, dramatic much?

I enjoy football. I enjoy watching my daughter cheer for her high school team. EB, the typical teenager, kept telling her dad and me that we didn't have to be there, take pictures, take video and act as if she's the center of the universe. But I know she was glad to watch the video later and thankful that we were there to support her.

She probably will never know how important it is for us. She will only be with us a couple of more years after this and then out on her own. Right now we're giving thanks for the time we have and the opportunity to do our most important job at this stage of her life.

Show up -- bring money. And pizza.