Empty Nesters

**This article was first published as "Empty Nesters, Yay?" in the American Mothers Inc. blog in March 2014.  We all know how it turned out! -G**

My husband and I are about to become Empty Nesters.  Our only child, Kyle, will soon be off to a university half way across the country.

Many of our friends have recently murmured their sympathies: “Your house will be so quiet/empty/lonely,” and “How sad he’ll be so far away from home,” and “Why doesn’t he go to an in-state college so he can come home on the weekends?”  

Yes, Todd and I love and will certainly miss our son – he has been the main focus of our lives for the past 18 years, after all.  But Kyle hasn’t been our only focus, and being his parents hasn’t been our only role in life; Todd and I have jobs and friends and each other; we share interests that don’t involve parenting; interests, that, before long, we’ll pursue whole-heartedly when we find ourselves unencumbered by the day-to-day responsibilities of child rearing.  

We are proud that our son has grown into the well-adjusted young man he is today, and pleased he chose the college that best suits his strengths (even though it is four states away).  Now is Kyle’s time to begin exploring the world independently without his parents by his side and, née, his beck-and-call (although technology like Skype and Facebook and cell phones and airplanes will keep us in touch).

Besides, Todd and I have plans: after first taking over Kyle’s newly vacated bedroom for our hobbies, we will begin doing the things we’ve dreamed about for years, such as traveling on a whim; no longer having to schedule vacations during school breaks; spending entire days wandering museums or walking foreign cities together (without worrying whether our child is bored or tired or hungry); dining at restaurants that don’t feature mainly chicken fingers and French fries; booking at a B&B without having to ask, “is there space in the room for a child's cot?”  

Most of all, Todd and I look forward to reconnecting with each other, spending time as a couple, exploring the world together.  We’ll take advantage of this maybe-more-than-once-but-rare-in-a-lifetime chance to enjoy being a married pair without children around.  Then, these Empty Nesters will look forward to, eventually (we hope), sharing some wonderful out-of-the-nest stories with our future grandchildren.  

Your Child Might Not Be the Next Mario Andretti if...

**This article was first published in the American Mothers Inc. blog in August of 2014. Enjoy! -G**

After 15 years and countless hours spent taxiing my son to and from school, hockey practice, study groups and more social events than Prince William, I admit to being more excited than he was to become eligible to get his learner’s permit.

When Kyle can drive himself, I daydreamed, I might have hours of actual "free time" with which to do stuff that doesn’t involve seatbelts and stop lights! Cool stuff, like mastering jiu jitsu, crocheting stuff, and ridding Washington DC of corruption!  Well, maybe not the latter, but the anticipation of replacing a carload of smelly hockey gear with pretty yarn things inspired me to offer a driving lesson that very day.  “Meh,” the boy shrugged.

Whaaa???  Why wasn’t Kyle chomping at the bit, pestering me for the keys?  Didn’t every teenage boy dream of cruising solo down the road blaring awful dubstep remixes with enough bass to give you a nosebleed?  Apparently, my child was content to play games on his phone in the back seat, earbuds firmly in place (so as to more easily ignore the Carpool Girls), and leave the responsibility of Getting There to mom.  Well, I was determined this teenager must learn to drive soon, if I wanted any hope of tapping out Chuck Liddell or crocheting something any time this decade. 

Somehow, my efforts to get my son interested in driving failed: Hours of telepathically beaming Kyle images of himself sliding into the driver’s seat did not get my son behind the wheel.  Super fun-sounding enticements like “See more friends, more often!” and “Go wherever you want, whenever you want (within reason)!” were met with indifference.  Even shouting “Driving is FREEDOM!” like William Wallace in Braveheart failed to produce the desired response.  Until one day…

We were idling in the school pickup zone, again waiting for the always-running-late-singing-annoying-Justin Bieber-songs-followed-by-nonstop-chatter Carpool Girls.  I focused my Mom powers and sighed at my son in the rearview mirror, “If only you could drive yourself, you wouldn’t have to be in The Carpool.”  

One hour later:  Despite the fact that my son’s heretofore “driving experience” consisted of ramming carnival bumper cars and beating Level 7 of The Simpsons Hit & Run Xbox game, his first lesson was happily devoid of insurance claims.  Yes, there was enough rapid-fire brake pedal stomping to wear out a dashboard hula girl, but I only had to grab the steering wheel twice, I yelled only once, Kyle didn’t crash into anything, and, impressively, I didn’t even swear.  We both consider that a success. 

Chivalry is Not Dead

**This article was first published in the American Mother's Inc. blog in April 2014.    -G**


For my birthday, my husband surprised me and at least two strangers.

It started when Todd asked me what I wanted for my birthday dinner.  "Oh, I don't know. I haven't really thought about it."  Todd handed me the iPad and said, "Maybe you can find something you like here."  The tablet was open to the website of the best restaurant in the valley, a place we'd never been to because every time we'd wanted to go, there were no tables available, or we couldn't find a babysitter.  "Our reservation is at 6:30 tonight."


The young couple seated at the table next to us was quiet and a little nervous, perhaps not entirely comfortable being alone together at this white-linen-tablecloths-spend-your-whole-paycheck-on-dinner restaurant. The two were dressed up for the occasion, though, and spoke softly and sparingly to each other over their meal.  Todd and I smiled and nodded in greeting, and settled into our table.

As we were enjoying our first course, I saw Todd's eyebrows raise and he whispered, "I think he's proposing!" I glanced to my right just in time to see the young man on bended knee before his girlfriend, opening a ring box with shaky hands.

When the youth was seated back in his chair, Todd asked him, "Did you two just get engaged?"  The young man held his breath, tense, until his new fiancé smiled and showed her ring.  The boy visibly relaxed and nodded "yes!"  We congratulated them, then turned back to our own table.

Todd and I discussed how nice it was to see that some traditions continue. We reminisced quietly about the day he proposed to me, nearly 22 years before, on the beach, on a lovely June afternoon.  A twinkle caught Todd's eye, and he whispered to me, "Do you want to pay for their meal?"  Without hesitating I nodded, and Todd called our waiter for a quick, discrete chat.

I'll never forget the look on that young man's face when he called for the check, and his waiter informed him that we had already paid their bill. For a split second, he wore a completed stunned expression, realizing he was the recipient of an unexpected act of kindness (an expression seen far too rarely, in my opinion).  The couple thanked us heartily and left the restaurant giddy with plans for their future together.

Word quickly spread among the wait staff - not that someone had proposed marriage in their fancy restaurant, but that Todd and I had secretly paid for these strangers' special dinner.  At the time, I didn't think it was a really big deal, but, over the course of the rest of the evening, one by one, each of the waiters caught my eye, smiled and nodded approval at us across the dining room.  One stopped at our table to say, "That was so kind of you." Another told us, "That couple was ecstatic!"  Yet another stated, "You have restored our faith in -- well, what you did was really cool."

As Todd and I strolled out of the restaurant arm-in-arm, I silently marveled how our small, spontaneous gesture of celebration and goodwill seemed to have made such a big impact, and how grateful I am that my husband, after 20 years of marriage, continues to surprise me with his generosity and romance.  I truly wish upon that unnamed young couple a happy life together, and I hope that she is lucky enough to witness such thoughtful chivalry by her own husband someday.

I miss my dad

One year ago today, the world lost a wonderful man.  I'm on the Mississippi Gulf Coast this week celebrating my dad's favorite holiday, Mardi Gras, with family.

The following tribute was originally published in the American Mothers Inc. Blog in March 2015:

A mother thinks of her son and remembers her father, who was recently buried with full military honors in Biloxi, Mississippi.

I never got the chance to share this joke with my dad.  I think he would have laughed. 

One Sunday Pastor Joe played hooky to golf.  He was enjoying himself on the course, when an angel said to God, “Are you going to let him get away with this?  Do something!”  God said, “Watch this.”  Just then, Pastor Joe hit a beautiful 425 yard tee shot right into the cup for a double-eagle hole-in-one.  The angel exclaimed, “Why did you reward him?!”  God replied, “Who’s he gonna tell?”

Me and my Daddy

I’m not sure it was a Sunday when my dad hit the only hole-in-one of his life, but none of his friends saw it, either.  He was trying to catch up to them, but they were still one green ahead.  That was some 40 years ago, and might have been the last time Dad was ever late for his foursome’s Tee time.  But it made a great story!  

Dad had a lot of great stories.  He’d had a lot of great experiences.  Fortunately, he loved to share them, with both words and deeds.  

My dad was an avid scuba diver.  When I was small, there were big sea shells and hunks of coral perched all around the house to supplement tales of his encounters with eels and sharks.  When I was 3 years old, Dad taught me how to snorkel, so that I, too, could see what was beneath the waves.  

Dad was a skydiver, too.  Instead of tossing me out of a Cessna (for surely my mother would have disapproved), he took me on a roller coaster and together we laughed down the big hills with the wind screaming in our ears and butterflies in our stomachs.  After, Dad told me that it felt a little bit like jumping out of an airplane.  

In 1976 my father took me to his US Naval Review office way up in the World Trade Center.  We looked out the window onto a panoramic view of New York Harbor where dozens of ships filed past the Statue of Liberty for the International Naval Review, part of the US Bicentennial celebration.  With fervor, Dad pointed out to me every boat in the harbor by name and type: vintage tall ships, the boat that the President was on, and the vessels of all the visiting nations.  He was like a kid in a candy store!  “This is history in the making,” he delighted.  “Nobody will ever see all these ships together like this again.” 

When I was preparing a vacation to Barcelona, Dad told me that our ancestors could be traced back to Spain, to a little town north of Pamplona, where they do the Running of the Bulls.  On the map, I found the town called Olague, my maiden surname.  My whole life, wherever I went, or wanted to go, Dad could tell me something cool about the place.  

After retiring (first from the US Navy, then from the family restaurant, and finally from the Mississippi Department of Tourism), my dad volunteered as a tour guide at Beauvoir, Jefferson Davis’ last home.  For many years, he dressed in period costume and happily beguiled thousands of Gulf Coast visitors with lesser-known facts about the place and its people.

I credit my dad’s enthusiastic stories for my own sense of adventure, love of travel, and joy in learning new things.  

Three generations

My Brother and sister and I have Dad to thank for more than just our good looks (and our height).  Also, too, our natural sense of rhythm, ready humor, easy-going manner, fondness for science fiction, love of playing card games, and penchant for serving others.   

Everyone who crossed his path witnessed my father’s joie de vivre, through his wonderful stories; appreciation of other cultures; affection for animated jokes; his laugh; his love of music, cooking, wine, dancing, animals, and cool cars; and his passion for our nation’s history, that he is now part of.  

I’m glad that my child had a chance to know my dad, and hope that Dad’s marvelous traits have passed down from grandfather to grandson.

Thanks for the memories, Dad.

In loving memory of Jerry G. Olague