Team—another birdie left the nest this fall. What the heck? For those of you who are just joining us, G Man and I have four kids: three in college now, and one in high school. Things are so quiet on Boston Street guys—we’ve gone from Grand Central Station to a library that occasionally asks to borrow the car.

Since the beginning of my parenting time, September has been a volatile month in our home. To this day, all of my kids’ fittings need a bit of tightening in the fall. And it’s critical for me to remember this now because—it always passes. It is one stage of the game. It comes with its dukes up, it throws punches, we dodge, we take a few on the chin, and then it ends. Same thing, every single year.

Team, the amount of texts and calls I get from the middle of August till right about now—they make me want to launch into an in-person hug tour that would hit all my college kids’ cities. But the gas and plane tickets could cost G and me an extra semester’s tuition. So instead, I stay home. I stay home and I listen. I listen to how difficult and how horrible it is. I listen to dreams of transferring schools, giving up on college altogether, and the baffling allure of gap years. I listen to completely blessed kids share about how tough they’ve got it at their gorgeous schools. Pretty much exactly what I did to my mom thirty years ago.

So, instead of hopping in my car, or catching the next redeye to Montana, we talk about how gentle we have to be to ourselves during transitions. We acknowledge how fortunate we are to have the problems we have, but how that doesn’t erase the fact that there’s true and real pain in change. I urge them to reach out to their tribe for extra support. And Team, in telling them, I’m telling me. 

The reality is, they’re not the only ones going through transition and loss. I pass a photo in the house of the four of them all together looking sweet, and small, and so much less expensive, and I’m immediately transported back to the feelings of joy and the laughter that we shared. My bones ache thinking about how friggin’ cute each and every one of them were. Then, in about twelve seconds I start to feel like I just got dumped by my high school crush, so I immediately try to focus on how much tidier my house is now that three of them are gone. 

But honestly, Team—that sinking feeling is the exact emotion that can trick me into booking a plane ticket. And yes, sometimes that’s the right move. But, more often, it’s not. And it’s detaching with faith—trusting that all the discomfort will pass—that keeps me in Guilford. Well, that, and my clean house.

Thanks for listening~