I miss group texts and other strange things that happen when your kids go off to college

My son went off to college a few months ago, and I thought I was prepared. I did all the things mothers do in advance of their youngest leaving the nest – I planned graduation parties, bought gifts, doted on my “baby,” commiserated with other moms in the same boat, vowed we’d keep in touch even more with the kids gone even though we knew we wouldn’t and spent an entire Saturday driving around crying. I was ready.

But, just to make certain, I made plans – lots and lots of plans. I would clean out every closet. I would clean the garage.  I’d redo the backyard, the front yard, heck, I would even clean out the attic!

“The house will be spotless when you come home for Thanksgiving,” I told my son. “I’m going to clean every nook and cranny, get rid of things, paint …” the list went on and on to which my son responded, “I’m glad I’m going to school,” followed by what I thought sounded like “poor Dad.”

And then in the midst of all the planning and preparing and buying cleaning supplies – for him and me - the day came. The day I would hug him and say good-bye – for now. I prided myself on staying positive all the way home and didn’t break down inside Bass Pro Shop and accuse my husband of leaving me lost and alone after I went to the ladies’ room and couldn’t find him after I got out as I did when our daughter went off to school. I’ve got this, I thought.

Then came the text. It said simply, “You have been removed from the youth group list.”

That stung.

“Wait, what? He’s only been gone a day. Isn’t he still in the youth group?”

The answer is, of course, and he is still a vital part of the church, but I was no longer the mom of a youth. I didn’t need to know every function they were having and at whose home and who would bring the potato salad. For the first time in 24 years, I did not have a youth. My kids were and are, for all intents and purposes, grown.

So, I tried to recovered from this hurt by walking around naked since I no longer had to worry about privacy. Frankly, for those of you with kids still at home, it’s overrated.

My mood was upbeat, however, the next day until I got another notification, “You have been removed from the football notification list.”

Oh. Oh. Oh, wait, but I’m still on the board. Don’t I need to know when practice is cancelled and when the team meetings are?

And, just like clockwork, I heard a ding on my phone. The high school was removing me from their group text list.

“Wait, hang on, not so fast,” I thought. “I’m not ready.”

Then it dawned on me; I mean REALLY dawned on me. I do not have a high school kid.

Of all the things that could trigger tears, the irony of it was not lost on me. I hated group texts! While I appreciated the information, I complained the loudest about all of the texts that I got - the vibrations during important meetings, the alerts going off in the middle of the night with unnecessary information, the endless reply alls!  

But now, I missed it. I missed all of it. I missed my son. I missed my daughter who is now a senior in college and will be out on her own soon. I missed spending more than I earn at the bulk food store. I missed the shoes on the floor, the dirty laundry, the stinky knee pads and shin guards and all of the things I swore I never would. Those things, those every day, mundane, sometimes - OK, often - annoying things? Well, those are the things I miss the most.

But, alas, time marches on. If I were a member of a group text, I’d send one out now to tell you just how great my kids were doing and how incredibly proud of them I am and how they’ll always be my babies. But, I am not a member anymore, which is probably just as well. I will soon be too busy organizing and cleaning to chat– summer is gone and Thanksgiving will be here before you know it. I’d better get started.

The bear went over the mountain

I've always heard that if you're lucky enough to have one true friend in a life time, then you're lucky enough. My friend Carol makes me the luckiest person on Earth.

We first met 26 years ago when are then boyfriends - now husbands - were neighbors. We made an instant connection over our love of the South or more like our hatred of cold weather up North. We both shared bathrooms with our sisters (plural in her case) as teenagers. We could relate to Alanis Morissette’s songs (that has passed), and we worshiped Prince (that remains). But, the best part of being friends with Carol – then and now - is that I can always be my true self, my silly, happy, fearful, sometimes neurotic self, and she still loves me.

Carol is the type of person whom when they threw a party, and I had terrible migraine and not be able to lift my head up from the couch, would come over and hang out with me, so I wouldn't feel left out. We would go on to be pregnant with both of our children at the same time - twice. And, after they were born, we would walk miles and miles pushing them in strollers together, solving all of our problems and the world's in the process.

Carol eventually moved across town, and our kids went to different schools. It’s hard to fathom, but we lost touch for around eight years, only seeing each other here and there when our paths would occasionally cross. It's hard to believe I made it that long without her now.

We blinked and our children started high school, reuniting like long-lost cousins while Carol and I picked right up where we left off. Since that times, she's been there for me at my highest of highs and lowest of lows. My kids are like hers, and hers like mine. Our friends are all mutual, and our enemies? Well, they’d better watch out. With the two of us combining forces, those against us don’t stand much of a chance.

Now that our youngest children are now young adults and will be off to college soon, Carol and I have grown to realize more and more just how lucky we are. So much so, that during a recent girls’ trip, while we were on an early morning hike in the Blue Ridge Mountains, we began talking about our friendship and just how valuable it is, especially the older we get. As we hiked, we talked about our hopes and dreams for the future and how we never wanted to stray apart again.

"We will always be best friends, no matter what,” I said. "Even when we are old and gray, we can spend our days in the nursing home side by side."

"I'm fortunate to have a friend like you," she said.

“No, I’m the luck ... EEEEEEEEEEE …

About that time, I heard a very low growl from what could have only been a bear cub guarded by its angry and ferociously protective mama. So, it was then I did what every best friend would do ... I stuck my arm out to block Carol from taking the lead, and I ran like hell!!

To my which my best friend who heard what she thought was a bird, and not a bear, chuckled and said, "I've never seen you move like that before."

Needless to say, I have a lot to learn about friendship, but, fortunately, I have Carol to show me.

Born to ride

My husband and I cruised into town and slid to a stop on our bikes yesterday. Bikes as in bicycles. An older man soon rode up on his bike, very similar to ours, and asked how we like the fat

tires.

“We love them!” we said. “We can go anywhere.”

 To which, he looked down, and I saw his friendly smile begin to disappear.

“Wait a minute,” he said, sounding outraged. “You have some kind of motor on yours. That’s, that’s, that’s ….CHEATING!”

Mind you, it was not the first time since we got our new electric bikes that I’ve heard someone 

say that, which is why I responded swiftly by

saying, “But, it’s better than sitting on the couch, don’t you agree?”

He begrudgingly admitted it was.

I then walked off while my husband explained our bikes’ many advantages. 

We can peddle as much (or as little) as we want … It’s just peddle assist. We can turn it off (we never do) … We can go as far as we want without worrying about having to get back (this is true – unless our batteries are down to two bars as mine was the other night).

I could go on, and he did, and before the older man left, he said, “Well, my wife doesn’t really like to ride that much. She might go for this.”

We should get commission.

But, instead of feeling satisfied that we’d made another imaginary sale, I got mad. And, the more I rode, the madder I got. It wasn’t until I was flying down the hill, wind in my hair, hands on my brakes, when I suddenly exclaimed, “If only I had this bike as a kid!” that it dawned on me THAT is why I am so defensive or sensitive (or both) about my bike.

Everything really does relate back to childhood.

Here I am, quite the adult, and I still recalled the sting of being teased about my bike like it was yesterday. It was old with a banana seat and more than likely a rescue from the dumpster up the street. It didn’t have brakes, so I had to jump off and let it fall while I ran to a stop. My neighbors always had the latest and greatest models. I had my little old faithful Rusty.

Now, do not get me wrong. I loved it. I parked it under the house in the creepy crawl space just to keep it dry. But, I did get tired of being last because I was afraid of going too fast down the big hill near my house without brakes.

My neighbor’s teasing finally got the best of me one day, so I told him if he said one more word about my bike, I was going to punch him in the face.

He said one more word.

I don’t remember what the word was, but I do recall the punch. Only he hit back, and before I knew it, we were in a full on fist fight in the ditch in front of my neighbor’s house. It went on for what seemed like hours. I remember thinking, “For God’s sake, won’t someone come and break this up?” It was the dinner bell that finally did, and, boy, was I glad of it.

Fate was looking out for me, though. Not long after, my dad came home and said, “Leigh, there’s a Huffy at the recreation dept. (where my dad worked), and if no one claims it in six weeks, it’s yours.”

I am sure my dad wished he would have waited until the 5^th week to tell me because I asked every single day, “Did anyone claim the bike?”

At the end of the longest six weeks of my life, I went to the rec dept. to check it out. It was all that I could imagine and more – a Huffy with a square puffy seat and cushy handles. And, best of all – brakes.

My neighbor pointed out it was a boys’ bike because of the location of the bar, but I disagreed. She was a she, and she was mine, all mine. I brought her home and felt like a queen riding her. She even had a kickstand. I wouldn’t need to find a tree to prop her against. I could park her anywhere. But, best of all, I

could ride her anywhere - even down the big hill.

That’s how I feel now when I ride my electric bike – like a kid on my “new” Huffy.

At one point during our ride, my husband turned around and said, “Why are you smiling?” I couldn’t explain it then, but this memory is why.