BoomerGirl Diary

It seems like as soon as I get the hang of being an empty nester something new arises. But that’s actually not true. My techniques wear out, get old, and become even transparent. I thought I had this one down. Being the nag is old hat for me and usually necessary. So my new technique for dealing with “young” adults or overgrown adolescents, however you cut it, was the use of e-mail.

I’ll give you a few examples. To my son in college I write in November, “I don’t mean to pester you, but I hope you have bought some new shoes. Those Birkenstocks had a huge hole in them this summer. Dad and I are coming next weekend and I’ll be very unhappy if you are wearing those birks.”

This discussion did not end well. I saw the Birks in the kitchen at Christmas and threw them away, deep under lots of wet garbage. So my son switched to some slip-on Keds. I accept progress, no matter how small.

I know it seems silly, but I e-mail Arna all the time, even when he’s right downstairs. I try to remind him gently, “You have not given me the e-mail your school sent with the tuition that’s due in three days. I think we better do something about it.”

And then there are my weekly e-mails to Arna at school, “Don’t forget that if you do not vacuum for three months they’ll be a layer of dust and you will have horrible allergies.” Or another e-mail, “I realize that you haven’t had any fruits or vegetables in three weeks. This can make you feel bad.”

I think though this Christmas holidays I have been trying to hide the interfering nag mom and morph into the accepting-my-son-as-an-adult mom and it didn’t work out too well. We were all packing for the Orange Bowl in Miami. In case you’ve been in a submarine in the Indian Ocean for the last month, the University of Kansas football team (11-1) made it to a BCS Bowl. Anyhow, I looked up the weather and saw that it was going to be low 50s and rainy. So I initiated a flurry of e-mails, buttressed by various phone calls. Since I’m upstairs and Arna is downstairs, the phone is often our main communication.

“Mom, quit calling me. I’m doing something really important.”

“What?”

“I’m in the middle of a video game and almost ready to beat Paul.”

“Don’t call for 15 minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later he picks up the phone, “I’m an adult and am perfectly capable of packing for this trip.”

“You’re 20. Bring pants, a jacket, sweat shirt, a hat.”

“Got to go. New game is starting.”

At least he won’t be wearing those Birkenstocks. After many phone calls and numerous e-mails, I hope that my son is ready for the trip. I keep trying to surreptitiously peek at his suitcase, but these games go on night and day.

While we’re in Miami, the weather is freezing. It was windy and cold the whole time, except for a few hours. I wander around with Arna and Paul. Arna is wearing a very light jacket and a t-shirt. Finally, Friday the big game day comes.

The phone rings.

“Mom, I’m sick. You need to call the doctor for an appointment tomorrow. Aren’t they open on Saturday?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m right here in the suite. I just can’t get up. I feel really bad.”

“What do you mean? You’re sick?”

“I got so cold yesterday and now I have a cough and a bad headache. I’m just sick. Will you call the doctor?”

“You know you’ll have to go to the pediatrician.”

“ That makes me so mad. That’s so annoying. I’m an adult. I’m practically 21.”

“You turned 20 one week ago. We haven’t done the paperwork to get you a different doctor so it’s pediatrician with the cool playroom and the other kiddies.”

“Just get an appointment, please.”

Notice how my whole body aches. I want to say, “Why didn’t you bring more clothes? I told you to bring a jacket, a sweatshirt, and a hat….”

Then I remember this will make things worse. Besides, I’m sitting there in Miami wearing socks on my hands and begging Walgreens to check the storeroom for a hat so I don’t have a leg to stand on. I never said that I take my own advice.

So I beg the doctor’s office for an appointment, lots of medicine.

“Arna, it’s all set up. You’ll see Randy, a nurse practitioner…11:00 Saturday.”

“Thanks, mom. I know you told me so. You don’t even have to say it.”

I hang up the phone and Arna is coming in the room.

“We’ll make it through the game. Put on a couple more t-shirts. And wear socks.”

We all head for the big game. It’s exciting. We’re happy at the end. KU won 24-21. We open a big bottle of champagne. We’re all in the same room, no e-mails and no phones. Then we head for the hospitality suite and celebrate with other KU people.

“Mom, I’m going back to the room. I need some sleep.”

“Wake up call?”

“Got it.”

“Bags packed by 10 and left by the door. It’s 2:30 am now.”

“Got it… hey, thanks for calling the doctor.”

Life goes on. We head home.

“About that tuition stuff. I’ll give you all the information when we get home.”

“Great.”

I heard a rumor that e-mails are for old people. Now, college kids text message and never even look at their e-mails. I’m calling my cell phone company to add text messaging. I wouldn’t want to get behind on my nagging. It’s time for an empty nester to learn some new tricks.