What would you say?

If you have been hanging around here for any length of time, then you know that Annie and I both have daughters serving missions for our church. The mission itself requires hard work, perseverance, and a good deal of moxie -- since a missionary's main occupation involves approaching complete strangers to talk to them about their religious beliefs. In Jordan's case, she has to do this in French. When I think about her chatting up random French people about such personal topics, I can't help but chuckle since prior to her mission Jordan was reticent to tell a fast food employee she'd been given the wrong order. "Can't you just do it Mom?" Those words still ring in my head.

I wouldn't necessarily call myself a helicopter parent, but I'm definitely hands on and Jordan thoroughly enjoyed me navigating the red tape of her life. Often, I encouraged her to work out her own issues -- like selecting classes, or fixing personal misunderstandings, or negotiating work schedules -- but I was always available for lengthy consults and planning sessions. If she was sick? Shoot, her freshman year in college I flew all the way to Utah to take her to the dermatologist (although, in my defense, her hair was falling out). The weeks before she left for her mission I laid awake at night trying to plan for every last contingency -- umbrella, boots, over-the-counter medications, lotions, prescriptions, bandages. Maybe she'd need antibiotic ointment and bandages! You just never knew.

And then she was gone. LDS missionaries can write letters home, and they have 1.5 hours of computer time per week to send e-mails. Oh, and they can call home for one hour on Christmas and Mother's Day. Jordan left home in the beginning of June 2013. We talked to her for an hour on Christmas day. Also, we knew this Mother's Day call would be our last before she returns home in November. So, last Sunday, at 12 pm central time, my little family huddled around the computer, waiting anxiously for Skype to ring. 

If you could only speak with your child one hour every six months, what exactly would you say?

On one hand the sheer rarity of the situation seemed practically overwhelming. I mean, with only an hour I didn't want to talk about what's for dinner. But at the same time, it's not the moment for big decisions or deep, revealing conversations. My sister jokingly called it a 'proof of life' call -- we could see Jordan was happy and thriving and, at the same time, reassure her that home and hearth were patiently awaiting her return.

In the end she told us about the people she is teaching and what it is like to live in Bordeaux -- the food, the culture, and something about dropping a large, glass container of yogurt while getting on a city bus. Her brother and sisters told her what was going on in their lives here at home. We talked a little about signing her up for classes and where she would live when she returned to college. But mostly, I just sat back and marveled at the can-do woman she has become. She can cook. She can move herself all over the south of France. She is getting ready to renew all of the paperwork for her visa. I realized (shockingly) that she could even procure bandages should the occasion arise. Most importantly, she is happy, which means she knows how to find joy in life -- even without her momma. And while this thought gives me a sharp pain right behind my watery eyes, I'm proud of her. So, so proud.

Now. If I can just make it till November.

Guest post: Flying to the trees

I'm happy to introduce you to today's guest writer, Jennifer Blaylock. Jenny lives with her family in Maryland, where she is the mother of five children--four sons and a daughter. We happen to share a great grandmother (remember the one who said "go easy on the oldest"?) but even if we weren't related, I hope I would be lucky enough to still number her among my wise and true friends. She's currently in the throes of launching her second son, which prompted today's post. 

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The spring of 2014 finds me with the second of my children getting ready to graduate from high school. Honestly, it is still a little surreal to me that these babies of mine have reached such a milestone. “The days are long, but the years are short” is no joke, I’m telling you.

As we get ready for all the busyness that surrounds the end of a senior year, I am making a more conscious effort to savor this time without becoming annoyingly morose and melancholic (you’re welcome, children)—to be joyful in celebrating this launch of my second baby (all 6’4” of him), while making sure he knows how much I have loved the ride. The good, the bad, the ugly, the sweet, the hard, the…well, if you’re a parent, you know. As I think back on my firstborn’s graduation, I am reminded of a little side story that accompanied and paralleled our whirlwind weeks before graduation, and how it poignantly nudged its way into the forefront of that whole experience of graduating a child from high school. I think of it to remind myself that it’s going to be okay.  Life is constantly moving. For everyone. And life is good.

May 22

One day, while we were sprucing up our gazebo attached to the deck with a little spring-cleaning and some new cushions, we found a nest.  The most perfect little bird’s nest you’ve ever seen. Inside were three gorgeous blue eggs.

The mama bird was quite put out when the weather turned nice and she found her secluded spot inhabited by a family wanting to enjoy their outdoor spaces.  The nest lies in a perfect spot, nestled between the outside of the gazebo screen and the tall evergreen bush that rests against it. We have an incredible view, and the nest, mama, and eggs are well protected from accidental touches from the humans. Yesterday our babies hatched! They may not be much to look at now. But they will be.

May 28

Birdie Update

Our little birdies’ rate of growth is amazing. Often, we check on them in the morning and by the evening they have changed. They are getting so big—and even a little fluffy now! Quite a difference from the squirmy, weak, naked-bald babies that came out of those gorgeous blue eggs.

June 6

Today after church I went out to the gazebo to check on our baby birds.  As I opened the door, I immediately froze. One of our baby birds was perched on the ledge next to, but out of the nest. He turned his head all the way around to look at me and then nervously took a few steps—hops really—back and forth; a few inches away from the nest, a few inches back. Time was frozen: me standing there, he making his decision. I watched silently, mesmerized. 

And then, he flew away to the trees.

I walked slowly to the nest. The other two birds were snugly inside and showed no signs of unrest. There they sat, perfectly content, looking up at me. I went around to the side of the gazebo where the nest was secured in the tall evergreen bush and I searched the ground next to the elevated structure and then all around a large nearby tree in our yard. I breathed a sigh of relief. He was not there. He was in the trees.

I had mixed emotions of sadness and pride that our little birdie was ready to fly so fast (only sixteen days!), and felt a strange comfort that the other two remained tucked safely in the nest. I wasn't ready to see them go just yet.

At lunch I told the kids I had been able to witness the little bird flying away. "It was exciting," I said, re-telling the story of his back and forth hopping before his decision to fly away. "But the others are still there." I said.

After lunch we all went out to look.

The nest was empty. 

I thought about it for the rest of the day.
And couldn't help thinking of my own emptying nest. 

Graduation night, a few days ago, was very unemotional for me.

This surprised me a little.

Maybe it was the after effects of such a busy swirl of events that was the month of May. (I am still reeling!) Maybe it was the 400+ graduating class sardined into a high school gymnasium with moms, dads, grandparents, and siblings. Maybe it was the woman sitting next to us who had maybe started celebrating a little early and stumbled and fell every one of the many times she trekked up and down the bleachers during the ceremony (or maybe the fact that she kept yelling for her daughter to turn around through the entire thing). Or maybe it was the heat.

Maybe it was because of the impersonality of it all or the quickened pace of names read and seniors parading across the stage.

A name called; applause, a yell.

Next.

I thought maybe I would be more emotional at home during our own little "after party." Seeing all of my children together. Watching Jameson read the sweet cards his brothers and sister had made for him. Fun, yes. Emotional? Not really. “What’s wrong with me?” I thought.

And then there were things to take care of. A summer job in a different state meant a flurry of last minute things: packing, flight check-in, good-byes to friends.

The mucking out of his bedroom. (Yes, son, I'm sorry, it is no longer yours. Twenty-four hours gone has found another's sleepy head in "your" space. Being the oldest, it happened to me as well, and is often the way in large families.)

And then, due to a planning oversight and major error, Bruce and I attended seminary (four-year scripture study) graduation ceremony alone tonight, with our graduate settling in far away on the other side of the country.

The chapel.
The quiet.
The peace.

The images of my son as a baby flashed on the large screen as part of a slide show honoring the seniors. The "awwww" from the crowd.

It hit me then. My son had flown away to the trees.

I was filled with that same strange mix of emotion I had felt for our baby birds: happy-sadness (is there such a thing?), and I no longer held back my tears.

I thought about the empty nest from earlier that day. I thought about how this is the beginning of the emptying of my own little nest.

My little nest that I have carefully, and painstakingly labored over. My little nest that I have kept tidy and nourished my babes in. My little nest that I have kept watch over and made valiant and vigilant attempts to keep predators at bay. And that image of the empty nest filled me with great sadness at what will inevitably come. Until…I had another thought. 

The nest at the gazebo's edge was empty. Completely empty. That mother and father had flown to the trees, too. They did not wait and fret over an empty nest. They had joined their children in a chapter of new adventures high in the trees.

And they sang.

Launch lab: Planning to plan

Good morning Monday! I'm here with our second installment of lab work. (You can see Annie's first experiment here.) The idea is to try out new practices both in our homes and in preparation for the  launching / life-after-kids stage we are all flirting with at the moment. We want to DO things that are active and practical to see if they can better our lives in some small way. Play along with us (if you dare).

This is not ALL I plan on doing today. But I did need to get the picture taken. . .

For the next two weeks I'm going to have a small-ish planning meeting (with myself) each morning and evening. With the relatively unstructured days of summer looming large, I have a desire to be more deliberate in my life. I don't necessarily want to accomplish MORE THINGS, but I do want to be more mindful and devote my time to those tasks that will bear the most fruit. Lately, I feel myself giving up on the day by about 3 in the afternoon (sometimes watching House on Netflix while eating chocolate doughnuts). But then I'm frustrated by my lack of progress in many areas of my life (on the upside I could probably diagnose Sarcoidosis or Wegner's Disease with just a bit of bloodwork).

I've bought myself a new, fresh notebook, and I plan to make a list each morning of things I want to accomplish throughout the day. I'm going to purposely keep my list short (still working on three main things a day), but I'm also going to focus on being more specific within those three big things (ie exactly WHAT I will research/write that day, WHAT I will do to entertain the kiddos). Then, in the evening, I'll evaluate what ACTUALLY happened during the day and make notes about what is working and what isn't. Hopefully, this will make me more productive and give me some insight into those activities that are trivial or redundant or just not working. 

In the past there have been times when I've been a semi-planner in the morning -- jotting down a rough list of to do's. However, I've never finished the day with an evaluation/planning session, so that will be completely new. I'm committed to trying this out for two weeks (M-F, and then Saturday morning and Sunday evening), and I'll report my findings on Monday, May 19th. I know you'll all be waiting with baited breath!

Coming home

At the airport.

My girls have now established a tradition of botched plane rides home from college. I won't bore you with the lengthy list of airline mishaps, but let me just say Maddie arrived home a full day later than her ticket indicated and THIS IS PAR FOR THE COURSE. But we gathered her up from the airport Sunday after church and brought her home for a full day of naps and lemon squares.

I can see that my interaction with my grown kids is becoming a series of arrivals and departures. I'm not so much a part of their everyday lives, but I do get to be there for the special stuff -- the holidays, the big occasions, and the vacations. More than anything, I want my kids to feel special when they are home -- to know that we value having them with us and that we are interested in what they are doing and who they are becoming.

I did a cursory search of the Interwebs to find out what the more experienced parent knows about welcoming adult children home, and there are a number of articles like this:  "7 Great Tips For When Your College Kid Comes Home For The Holidays," which tells you to have lots of good food in the house and give them some space. There are also a number of articles that talk about how to navigate rules and expectations with kids who have had an entire year of relative independence -- like this one. 

Admittedly, I don't have oodles of experience with this adult-kid-at-home phenomenon, but here's what has worked so far.

• Curfew: My college kids seem fairly nocturnal -- staying up into the wee hours of the morning and then either sleeping late or napping during the day. Unfortunately, our home is pretty much in bed by 10:30 on weeknights, and I'm way too uptight to sleep while they are roaming the streets. While home we pretty much keep our college girls to the midnight curfew initially instituted for our high schoolers. If they are planning to be out later, they arrange things ahead of time. They understand that it's as much for my sanity (and sleep) as anything else. (I'll also say here that our kids have been home for such short periods of time, that up to this point the curfew hasn't been much of an issue.)
• Chores: I'm not super proud of this, but we don't require too much in the way of chores on a regular basis. Everyone has a dish day. Everyone does their own laundry and keeps their own things picked up. We all chip in if there is a big job to do. The college kids are definitely scheduled back into the dish rotation. (There may even be some college-educated weed-pulling soon.)
• Lunch: When Jordan was home last summer, she and I had a great time going out to lunch together (just about every day). Often she visited with her friends in the evenings, so this arrangement made everyone happy. Madison asked me last week if we'd be going out to lunch while she was home. Here's the downside: I gained a full five pounds in the six weeks Jordan was home last summer!
• Preparation: I stocked Madison's bathroom with all new supplies -- shampoo, conditioner, lotion, hand soap, razors, tissues . . . and some fluffy towels. I made sure her bed had clean sheets and that her room was tidy. It wasn't a big deal, but I did want her to feel like her space was ready for her (instead of stale and crusty since it had last been used in December). 

I'd love to add to this list. Any seasoned college parents out there? Or what do you remember from your own college days?

The Braxton-Hicks of launching kids

Yesterday Sam left on a school trip to France. For a month.

Look at that I'm-going-to-France smile! Or is it an I'm-getting-outta-here smile? I'm going to tell myself it's the former.

I know! A month?!  My reaction exactly! It's not the school trip of my own high school experience but apparently, if you are a school in Australia planning to take a group of students all the way to France, you go big or stay home.  At Sam's school most kids take a trip like this at least once in high school. It's a big part of the school's global education focus and we feel really lucky that they value and support these kind of experiences for their students. (And, since the two-week term break is coming up, he'll really miss just 8 days of school overall.) Sam's had his eye on this trip for a long time and has been counting down and preparing for months. The all-over-France itinerary has me alternately super excited for him and wildly jealous. I mean. April in Paris! They write songs about that kind of thing.

Sending him off on this trip has reminded me once again that, ultimately, one of my mama roles is to stand at the doorway and wave goodbye, over and over and over again--handkerchief waving optional. Launching implies a leaving place, a launching pad to push against and leave behind. I am that person, that place. I've had my turn at the launching myself; now I'm the launcher, not the launchee. That's the deal. (See: The Lion King.)

I have been remembering those pesky Braxton Hicks contractions that plagued me in the last part of my pregnancies.  Life has a way of warning us, of designing rehearsals into our systems so that we can gradually prepare ourselves for the real deal.  I've come to think of these adventures and field trips as another set of Braxton Hicks experiences, just preparing me ever-so-slightly for the time when he--they--get on the plane and fly away into a new life. Ever since their births, the leavings just get longer and more distant, more thrilling and bittersweet.  But it's what I signed on for and I have to remind myself that healthy, sprouting, blooming independence is a thing to celebrate, not mourn. Right?

Go, Sam!  Now go bring us back something delicious. And remember to pick up your socks and towels at your host family's house.

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Hey, N&L friends! Thanks for the comments on our first anniversary/giveaway post. As we have probably said before (and will probably say again), comments are one of our love languages.  We've been on cloud nine reading through your comments and feedback. If you haven't already, remember to go and comment on that post by Thursday at 8 p.m. (Texas time) to enter to win our prize package filled with 12 of our favorite things. 

Daring to (let your kids) fail

Dare to Fail print by Lisa Mann Dirkes

There is a well-worn chapter in a book I love. The book automatically flips open to it, proof of the many times I have returned there for a pep talk. It's the chapter "The Blessing of Problems to Solve," from Wendy Mogel's fantastic parenting tome--drawn from both parenting research and Jewish traditional teachings--called The Blessing of a B Minus. I don't happen to be Jewish but that detail doesn't really matter here; the wisdom in the book transcends religious affiliation and speaks to the heart of parenting teens (and if you were a very early Nest & Launch reader, you might remember I also reviewed the book here).

A while back someone wrote in to us with a question about what to do when your child fails or is going through a rough patch: "I have awesome kids, but even so, sometimes they fail at something. It is bad enough when MY best isn't good enough, but I can hardly take it when their best isn't good enough for something they really want to do."  I've started to draft several responses but then I realized that this chapter nails it and applies really well to the reader's question about how we as parents can respond to our children's problems and failures.  Here are a few highlights:

"If we want to raise young adults who know how to solve problems, we must let them have problems to solve while they are still adolescents. Yet it's harder and harder to find parents willing to expose their children to difficulty. More often, parents keep their teens busy in adult-supervised activities so there is no time for trouble, or rush in to solve problems instead of leaving the solution in their teens' shaky hands...

"How to strike the right balance between appropriate guidance and restraint? The story of the Israelites' trip out of slavery in Egypt offers some clues.

"The book of Exodus describes the quality of God's presence during the Israelites' travels as a 'pillar of cloud by day...and a pillar of fire by night.' This beautiful image is a model for parents whose children are wandering in the wilderness of adolescence. Like God, you stand by, providing shade and light when needed, but mostly you stand back...you give him the freedom to make mistakes, even big ones.

I love that image of parenting--cloud and fire, shade and light. Mogel gives the following strategies for parents when their kids are faced with problems or failure (and each are described further in the book):

- Give them good suffering
- Wait it out
- Be empathic, not entangled
- Normalize setbacks
- Encourage them to enlist the aid of other adults
- Demonstrate confidence in your teen's problem-solving skills
- Distinguish dramas from emergencies
- When they create their own problems, let them experience the consequences
- Be a counselor, not a servant

"Our challenge as parents is to foster a loving attachment to teenagers' large spirits and ragged souls but stand slightly apart from their daily theatrics...the rhythms of parent-teen relationships change every day, which means you will succeed today and screw up tomorrow.

"Expect to be confused. Expect your sleep to be disturbed...Remind yourself, daily if you have to, that we serve our teens best not as active protectors or problem solvers but as tender, compassionate, composed listeners..." 

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Okay, friends, we're going to be trying out a MWF posting schedule for the next while so Sarah and I can each make a dent in our academic writing loads. In the meantime, we'll continue to share good finds and links on our Facebook page throughout the week.  You can follow us by liking our page there. Okay, over and out.

Road tripping to college

I'm just barely returned from an epic road trip to take Maddie to college in Provo, Utah -- that's approximately 2800 miles round trip. Originally, our plan had been for Sterling and I to fly out with Maddie, get her settled, and then fly back home. But then we found out that our younger kids' first day of school was two days BEFORE Maddie could even move into her dorm. And then there was the matter of the STUFF. Airline baggage restrictions are annoying aplenty when you are going on vacation. Bringing an entire year's worth of super important belongings? It's sketchy. 

The lucky part was that my nephew was going to the same university. And my fun-loving SIL needed to move him and his ginormous computer tower to the exact same place. And thus, the road trip was born.

Unlike trips of younger days, when my husband would convince me to drive straight through (24 hours), Debbie and I planned ahead and booked hotel rooms in Albuquerque. Yep, this was a trip planned and executed by women. We had maps (both electronic and paper), we made frequent pit stops, we stayed at a hotel, we even stopped at each and every sign indicating we were entering a new state -- FOR PICTURES. [Note: This is not to say I don't love traveling with my hubs. He's pretty famous for doing all of the driving.] But we did spend about 20 minutes in Clovis, driving up and down the main road, Internet researching a good place to eat. Who does that? Women dedicated to good road trip eats. That's who!

In between food procurement and picture stops, we talked, and laughed, and marveled at how easy it is to travel with two 18 year-olds. (Except for that one time Maddie passed her fruit snacks to the front because she couldn't open it. And I totally teased her about who would open her fruit snacks at college. But then I couldn't open it myself. Huh.)

Guys, the drive from Texas to Utah is breathtaking. It's 97% wide open spaces -- rolling fields and farmhouses, desert plains studded with scrubby bushes -- framed by a series of plateaus, winding canyon roads hemmed in with red rock. I can't help but wish I could live out in that lone beauty. Just a small cabin, a four-wheel drive vehicle, and Amazon Prime.

The bonus is that I traveled the same roads, daydreamed about the same plateaus, stopped at the same diners and gas stations when I was a hopeful 18 year-old college student. It doesn't seem so long ago really. The trip has become a pilgrimage of sorts, traveling back through time in a way, sharing my experiences with my own daughter, looking forward to her adventures. 

And then there's also knowing she's only a three-hour plane ride away. That works too.