Empty Nest: Not!

One Mother’s Holiday Answer to Managing Grown Children

by Alicia Wright

Christmas Preparations
An empty nester? Only in my imagination. It’s two days before Christmas. Hubby JT strums his guitar and sings carols. I’ve finally cleared the counters of mugs and Tupperware, paid the bills, mailed the cards, assembled the decorations, and put them in place. I skipped work to put together a pineapple, apple, and magnolia-leaf Williamsburg plaque for above the front door.

Constance stops in after work to pick up her two Chihuahuas. “Are you serious about job sharing with me at the bike shop, Mom?” she asks. “If so, you should have been there with me today.” I pretend to ignore her and stab the last few apples onto the plaque. Connie sits down, watching me.

Four’s a Crowd
David walks in, wondering why Constance isn’t home for dinner. (He knows exactly where to find her.) I get the screw gun ready for JT, so he can put up the plaque. Miko bursts through the front door with his latest invention—a motorized bike. He props it up against the grand piano and puts a rag on the wood floor, under the gas tank. Great—gas on the floor, I think.

I select the perfectly sized screw for JT, to facilitate the hanging of the plaque. (I’d like to hang the darned thing myself, actually.) The four Chihuahuas (two are mine, and two belong to Constance) leap and chorus a greeting for Stas, who wanders in doing his latest Elvis impression, accompanied by “hot chicks” Sherry and Krista.

Life’s a Party
”Should I put the ladder up for you, JT?” I ask my husband. But he’s too busy demonstrating his latest guitar licks for Miko, Stas, and David to hear me. The men have joined JT and Con at the counter. The dogs line up on the back of the sofa. They shiver with anticipation at the prospect, the possibility, the probability that JT will pull out his harmonica, so that they can sing, sing, sing along!

The Williamsburg plaque leans against the ladder. The ladder sits in front of the door. The screws and screw gun lie next to the ladder. Well, now, this is no longer “a quick pick up and haul away the dogs” situation. Laughing and talking fill the kitchen. The coffee mugs are out, and the Tupperware surfaces again for snacks. This plaque will never get hung.

Another car pulls in the driveway. Jill and the kids are here. “Watch the ladder—duck under!” I yell as they come through the door. There’s cooking and eating and drinking and two more Chihuahuas. Who has time to work part-time at the bike shop or even hang a Christmas plaque? This is my group, my gathering, my work, my party, my family. In short, this home is no empty nest. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.