The kids are gone, the Christmas decorations are put away, the decadent treats are now on my thighs or in the trash; all that is left are dirty sheets and towels, assorted droppings from the offspring, some Metamucil crackers, and a paltry looking refrigerator. Post-holiday blues in the empty nest. Even the puppies walk around in a state of perplexity. Why so quiet? Where are the pets, snuggles, and romp sessions? Where did everybody go?
Just as I was making peace with our childless situation, they all come home again and fill our house with GEN XYZ music, snacks, laundry and laughter. We get used to having them around and fall back into our pre-college era ways. Not to say the holiday season is all bliss and happiness. Not in the least. We are now a mix of part-time parents who act like full time parents, teens that think they are adults but still act like teens, and young adults who think they know more than their parents. Trying to navigate these ill-defined roles is challenging. We are still parents who worry about their whereabouts, health, and future. We still feel the need to give them advice on any and everything it seems. They are adults, who spend more time living without us than with us; they are still dependent on us financially but make their own sometimes good/sometimes questionable choices. They are getting an education, so they feel pretty smart, but they are far from wise.
The first few hours are great, we get hugs, updates on school, sports, and friends. Inevitably one of us does something annoying, and the eyes start rolling and they re-engage with their handheld devices (attached to their appendage like a rabid alien sucking the life out of them). The giddiness of being home wears off quickly and we all struggle to adapt to our new positions. After operating in our respective Id like existences, we have to hit the reset button and figure out how to function as a family again. Having been free of my maidly duties for several months I start to feel unfairly burdened by the expectations of meals and clean clothes. I want to be that mom that cooks and takes care of everything but find myself disgruntled. My husband immediately gets back into “Dad” mode and finds teachable moments at every turn, which is not met with much enthusiasm. I should say “humor your dad by listening to his advice and please put your dishes in the dishwasher to help your mother.” They are only home for a short time, and I don’t want to start nagging at them so soon. Consequently, mutual resentment mounts resulting in palpable levels of silent but deadly anxiety.
I have been made aware by well-meaning friends that my expectations for Christmas are over the top. I imagine a hallmark movie where we make cookies, decorate the tree, go sledding and ice skating together, listen to Christmas carols and do snowman puzzles while drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows. We did do some of these things and if you follow my Instagram account, you probably think I might actually live in a Hallmark movie – being in a snow filled resort town and all. What I didn’t include in my posts was the complaining, arguments, Netflix binging, and overall laziness that took place most days.These things don’t happen in the world of Hallmark.
“Can’t I grow out of some of these traditions?” my son asks as he decorates an anatomically correct gingerbread man accessorized with blue balls.
His idea of Christmas music is now a thumping piece of techno “music” called Red Light Green Light by Duke Dumont (kind of catchy, but definitely no Sleigh Ride or White Christmas). My daughter shows interest in the holiday festivities, but I know some of it is just for me. Lurking in the back of my mind is the reality that this is probably the last Christmas where we will have 2 full weeks to spend together. Next year my son will hopefully be fully employed and probably not inclined to spend his entire allotted vacation time with his family over the holidays. I’m reluctant to let go of our precious time together as a foursome even if the conditions are not perfect.
We live in the age where instead of waiting for Christmas to get things we need/want, we buy them when we need/want them. Gift giving during the holidays is anti-climactic at best and at worst involves a lot of returns. Even though we toned it down a lot this year, the boxes and waste fill our truck bed as we head to recycling. I’m thinking of getting rid of the gifts all together in 2020. The years when you spent $100 at Toys R Us to watch them exclaim in delight and play for hours are long gone (along with Toys R Us!). I find myself appreciating the quiet moments sitting around the tree or walks with the dogs at dusk when all of the Christmas lights begin to twinkle around town.
By the end of the break, we reestablish or redefine our familial jobs. I decide to stop cooking and cleaning. Mac picks on Shaye and Shaye picks on Mac, we all cuddle the dogs at every opportunity, and Blake realizes that perhaps the kids have to actually make mistakes to learn a lesson instead of being instructed on what to do (like driving out of the garage without adjusting the position of the mirrors so they don’t hit the side of the garage and snap off). Before my son returns to school he says, “I’m trying to picture what you and Dad do here by yourselves, I think of it as something out of zombie movie where you stalk around aimlessly and grunt at each other and race to the door when the doorbell rings to eat your next victim.” He punctuates this remark by doing his best zombie impression in the living room. This made me laugh out loud as it is nowhere near the truth. I will admit that our wardrobe choices when home by ourselves are not vogue worthy, and we do occasionally grunt at each other, but mostly we are content. They cannot envision a life for us without them in it and for a while, I couldn’t either. We will probably have a few more years of trying to figure out the ever-fluctuating landscape of having grown children, but at least we will be well equipped for the zombie apocalypse.
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