I had lunch with my teen and her friend the other day. They were between classes at the local community college, I had a rare break between patients. We met at Woodlands Market. You know, the one that is near a community college full of impoverished students and yet is in Kentfield, so a simple sandwich costs $59. I bought them lunch. After I paid for it, they were less impoverished than I was.
Having consumed her tiny containers of salad that cost $6.59 each, Jessie was keen to eat an orange. Her friend had just finished one and was building a tiny house with the peel. Jessie headed back into Woodlands but returned with no oranges. Mom, there are twenty million children swarming in there! I pointed out that the children were probably all older than her, as she is a high school senior taking college classes. But it turned out the local grade school was out for lunch, so they really were children. And she was right: I stood up and peered in the doors. They were swarming.
This provoked a discussion about how she herself has only four-and-a-half months of childhood left. We pondered this. What will it be like to become an adult in a single moment? I have a friend who told her daughter when this moment occurred now you can vote and go to jail! I’m hoping only one of these applies in the case at hand. Because apparently you can’t do one if you have done the other.
As lovely as it was to sit outside Woodlands Market eating expensive food in the late January sun and thinking about the end of childhood, the moment inevitably arrived and we had to return to work and school. As the teens ambled across the parking lot to Jessie’s car, I heard my daughter say languidly why do we have to pack so much IN?
In her defense, she really does pack a lot in. But she often does it in this languid sort of ambly way, so it can look to an outsider like quite the relaxed life. I long ago learned that this is just her style. She has an incredibly full schedule: she just makes it look kind of easy. This can work against her. For example, when her mother overheard her lamenting how much she has to pack in, her mother laughed out loud. Right there, in the parking lot of Woodlands Market. Look at you both, said her mother, compounding her less than supportive response, you’re hardly RUSHING AROUND. As uninvited as this opinion was, even they had to laugh.
Then I headed off for my toddler fix. A patient of mine has caregivers with a 2-year-old. She has a fascination for my retractable hospice badge, so I brought her one of the retractable clips. It was purple plastic with a long piece of elastic that stretches out so you can bring your badge up to those panels that open doors for you at your workplace. I clipped a random piece of paper to it so she would have a badge.
She walked around the house importantly with her new badge, looking down lovingly at it and now and then pulling it all the way out and letting it sproing back so I had some moments of horror that I would be directly responsible for some horrid eye injury. But then she started to get creative, as only 2-year-olds can. While following her mother around the place, she pulled the badge right down, stuck it under her right foot and slid along with it under her foot for a while. I would never have thought of doing that with my hospice badge. Two-year-olds. You can learn so much from them if you just stop and watch.
While I was there, the Medline supplies arrived. This was a rather large cardboard box full of adult diapers, paper pads and various lotions and shampoos. I don’t think the Medline delivery guy had ever before gotten such an exuberant response to his prosaic delivery. Mommy, look! Presents! Apparently this happens every time supplies arrive. She pushed the box laboriously across the living room floor and after her dad opened it for her, took the contents out one by one, each item accompanied by shrieks of mommy, look!!
It was better than Christmas. Look mommy! FitRight Ultra Large Briefs with Anti-Leak Guard! Look! Medline Soothe & Cool Cleanse Shampoo & Body Wash! After the goodies were all spread out on the floor and we had admired them sufficiently, fun with the box ensued. It was large enough for her to crawl into, so for a while it was her house. Then she put it over her head. A large cardboard box with tiny feet tottering round the house banging into things and giggling. The hilarity was without end. Now and then the box with feet would pause for a minute and I knew that inside, she was gently pulling her retractable badge in and out, in and out.
Eventually I had to wrap up my assessment of my patient, order his med refills and tear myself away. As I drove past the community college, I thought of my almost-adult daughter sitting in her environmental science class, soaking up knowledge, taking notes, packing it all in. The kid has been on her way to being an adult since she was eight years old, but in a few short weeks, it will be official. Look mommy, off to Europe! When you are the parent of a high school senior, people drone on endlessly about empty nests. They forget to mention how astonishingly wonderful it is to watch those fledglings fly.
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