Some days are tougher than others when it comes to missing the kids. We just don’t get to see each other very much.
This reality relates to what psychologist John Rosemond has counseled generations of parents all along: raising children is all about getting your fledglings ready to leave the nest and be on their own. In Ellen and Reid’s case, that is precisely what has happened. They have flown the coop. In no way are they dependent on their mother or me. They are forging their own way in life, and in subtly doing so, they have left their father behind. I say that in a highly positive sense. But don’t construe that it makes our enforced absence easier to stomach. I miss them terribly. Not that I tear up about it, but it’s crossed my mind now and again.
None of us can afford to jet around the country. Reid will get down here soon enough – June, most probably – but Ellen follows her own drummer and in a show of where her priorities are, her new hubby, Tim, and new home take precedence. That is wholly as it should be.
As has been noted here before, we chat weekly and text with some frequency. But the calls don’t drone on with long periods given to idle chatter and hardly feature ‘I miss you’ mushiness. Letters, then, fill that void at least for me. I need to maintain the contact, keep up the connection, and hopefully, their ability to read between the lines is continuing evidence to them on a weekly basis that they are missed. Letters, I think, are paper hugs.
But enough waxing poetic. Another letter went to my parents this morning. About 10 minutes worth of joyful effort.
March 26, 2010
Mom and Dad: The kids sent me joyous text messages last night after Butler made a late charge to upset Syracuse. Of course, I was snoozing on the couch when all this came to pass so I had to depend on the late sport news at midnight after I couldn’t get back to sleep. This is the best of all sports seasons with March Madness, the Masters and the start of baseball. I think this year I will get to more games of the local team, the Knights. They play their games just over the border in South Carolina which is sort of weird. The stadium here in the downtown has been blocked by some nutcase lawyer – that’s not an oxymoron is it? – who contends we’re a big league town. Uh huh.
I am anchored in last place in your other son’s NCAA pool. I mean, my teams have all been blasted into submission. I picked all the wrong ones: Kansas, Syracuse, Villanova and West Virginia. They’ve all been sent packing with their tails firmly between their legs. My misguided effort to pick teams causes no end of glee for your other son who rubs it in, deeply, at every opportunity. He reminds me of my ineptitude as often as possible.
The weather here continues to brighten a little bit although the mornings remain on the cool side of the ledger. There won’t be much golf for me this weekend as I will likely go hiking tomorrow in what passes for the “mountains” although I may tee it up Sunday with my friend Mike at his course in Rock Hill, South Carolina. It’s supposed to rain and he’s served notice that he won’t play in the drizzle. Wimp.
My lettuce is making substantial progress. The seedlings actually look like little lettuce plants now. I am religiously applying Miracle Gro once a week. Looks like next weekend will be devoted to herbs and such if the weather looks like it will maintain sustainable warmth.
The bank made a good move this week on principal forgiveness of some shady home loans made by Countrywide. We were kind of bullied into it by attorney’s general who took Countrywide to task. I don’t know why we didn’t finger those guys throughout the process because that’s where the fault rested in almost all instances. But that’s not how it’s done but this latest move has been greeted with universal acceptance.
Ellen continues to outfit her new home with accessories. I need to correct a misstatement in that she informed me the other day that it would be the second weekend in May when she, Tim and Reid will pay you both a visit. They are excited about seeing you two. This reminds me to get out the wedding CD and make you a couple of pictures of the wedding day. To my chagrin, there aren’t any photos of the event in my own house, so I’ll make enough copies for the both of us. Word is that Reid is playing it cool with his squeeze, but that’s as much as I’m allowed to know.