Empty Nesting is for the Birds

By Karla Lester

Photos by Christopher Masada

I’m excited to be a new contributor to the mayhem, a place that has served as a connection point and to be honest, where I’ve felt a sense of relief during chaotic times.  I’m Karla Lester, a pediatrician in the community. Most people in Lincoln know me as the visionary behind my nonprofit, Teach a Kid to Fish, I founded with a mission to address the epidemic of childhood obesity. Teach a Kid to Fish has been the love of my career. These days, I have a coaching website and a metabolic telehealth for children & adolescents practice where I treat teens struggling with their weight, health and body image. I spend too much time on TikTok and have a weekly radio show on kzum, 80’s Mixtape with Dr. Karla, where I deconstruct toxic 80’s diet culture, talk about health topics with guests, and play epic 80’s music. 

Nothing compares to the love I have for my family. I get to be married to Darek, a pathologist and avid fantasy sports enthusiast and best Dad around. Our children, who are now adults, Katherine, Audrey and Andrew are my heart. 

 

Darek and I recently became empty nesters. Our youngest, Andrew, went off to college in Colorado and we’re already bored with each other. I will admit the first Monday back in Lincoln, after moving him into his dorm, felt very Zen. To be honest, that first week we were going strong with Goo Goo Dolls and Indigo Girls concerts and local live music. Week 1, empty nesting was great!

 

Logistically, I decided that since I’ve carried the mental load of food all these years, it was time for Darek to step up and plan and cook some meals. Fast forward to one meal later with him putting a weird mix of food together and it was back to me. I was worried I would be unsatisfied and hungry, which is a bad mix for me. That can of baked beans to go with the burgers has a dent in it? He googled it and decided the seam was involved, so according to a YouTube food scientist, we should throw it out. So, just open a can of chickpeas to go with the burgers instead? Um, no thanks.  No one wants to be around a hangry and bored empty nester. So, things went back to him doing the dishes and me doing the planning, the shopping, the preparation, the cooking. Wah! Wah! Wah!

 

We are task-oriented action takers. Parenting has been the perfect job for us. Don’t tell us to organize the junk drawer, the kitchen cabinets, the closets, because, if you follow me on FB, you know he’s already done all that. 

 

We’re both certainly busy enough during the day and we have two Bernedoodles, Buddy and Rudi, who are 21 months old to keep us occupied. There are no excuses for us, other than we are missing our kids. 

 

Motherhood came loaded to me. My own Mom, Barb, was my favorite person, but she was a shade of grey. She was a single Mom, raising three little girls, who struggled after what my little sister called “the vorce”. 

 

When Katherine, Kid #1, was born, I sometimes felt the fear that she was on a raft alone, floating out to sea and I couldn’t swim to her. This came as a recurring scene throughout motherhood for me. It's a loss of control. The antidote was action, and parenthood is full of action. So, years of taking action, having routines, and showing up has saved me. 

 

It turns out being a mom is the thing I’ve been the best at in this life. Not that I’m any better than anyone else or even that great. It’s just in comparison to the other things I’ve done and how I know I feel about my kids in my mind, that has made a recipe for a good mother. I’ve shown up and I keep showing up, except they don’t need me to show up how I used to love to show up. 

 

Becoming an empty nester has allowed us to reflect on our parenting. 

 

What things we’ve done well and other things we’ve bombed at, like when we were potty training our daughter, Audrey, who sat naked, age 2, on the toilet, sucking her thumb and talking around it, telling us, “You don’t control my body. God doesn’t even control my body.” 

 

She’s going to law school. 

 

We were good with food, with sleep, other run of the mill parenting stuff, and bad with potty training.  

 

When Kid #1 went to college, we drove her down to Texas in what felt like a toxic exhaustion. My Mom, her Nana, had died the day before. I was cheek to cheek with her when she died and was running on empty. It didn’t feel like an exciting launch into the world everyone hoped for. Then, during her freshman year, Covid hit the world like a ton of bricks, and everyone moved home, which I enjoyed. My three baby birds were back at home on shore with me. It felt safe. 

 

When Kid #2 went to college, we had to get with the new norm of having one kid at home and we settled into it just fine. The countdown was on for three years until empty nesting. 

Communication is key when you’re an empty nester. That means mindful communication with each other and how we communicate with our adult children. 

 

Darek’s not a syrupy person and is not a nicknamer. That’s what happens when you marry the “nice pathologist” as my mom used to call him. “Now, tell me, have you heard from the nice pathologist,” she would ask. 

 

He decided to give me a nickname, since he doesn’t call me honey, sweetie, babe or any of the typical terms of endearment. I would think he had a quick lobotomy at work if he called me, “Dear”. 

 

Butterscotch is his favorite flavor, so the declaration was made that I would be called Butterscotch. Then, the declaration was that Butterscotch was too long and I would become the character, Butters, from South Park. He doesn’t call me Butters. 

 

My nickname for him is, Remembers Everything He Googles.

 

“Look at this map of Lincoln,” he says. 

 

“First, look at this TikTok of Tiki, the foster dog,” I respond.  

 

He’s obsessed with the topography of every place we’ve ever lived. FYI, St. Louis has an elevation of 600 feet and is the lowest point in elevation we’ve lived, in case you were wondering. 

 

Since nicknames and terms of endearment are out, we are working on our relational health and communication. Staring at each other, reminding each other how bored we are while staring at each other isn’t going to work for much longer.

 

There are things to work on that have become glaringly obvious since becoming empty nesters. Listening is key.  

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear what you said.” 

“How could you not? You’re literally inches away from me and we’re eating dinner.”

 

Phone conversations with young adults can be unfulfilling. 

 

Kid #1: “I can’t talk. I’m studying.” 

Kid #2 has her phone on do not disturb at all times. 

Kid #3: “Why’d you call?”

 

“Sorry, that was a butt dial.”

 

I’ve learned the hard way, don’t call them. Let them call you. 

 

I’m learning to fill up my own bucket by building community with intention. The timing of 5womenmayhem is great for me. It’s a much-needed addition to my life and I am grateful to the 5womenmayhem. They are the GOATs as women and writers and to be honest, it’s intimidating.  But I will rise to the fearless occasion. 

 

Thank you for reading. 

 

Send tips and tricks for successful empty nesting. 

 

Send me your 80’s requests!

 

 

Bridges take us through the mayhem

This week we introduce Karla Lester, a new member of the 5 Women Mayhem bloggers. We're excited about Karla joining us to spread the mayhem. You're gonna love her writing. She'll offer up a full blog next week and introduce herself further at that time. Meanwhile, enjoy a sample in this week's group blog on the bridges that take us through life. And thanks to our loyal readers for following us through this mayhem.   

My sweet farm Grandma

 

By Karla Lester

Growing up, I thought everyone had a sweet farm Grandma with a big farmhouse filled with

wonderful food like my Grandma Mershon made. Every time my mom, Barb, drove my two

sisters and me the twenty minute drive from our house to the farm in the clunky Ford Fairmont,

it was always the same when we got there. Grandma would meet us at the side door. Her face

would light up when she saw us. We’d walk in and wrap our arms around her waist. She smelled

like Estee Lauder and powder and wore a house dress. Hugging her felt like the safest place in

the world. I’ll remember the feeling forever.

Her house was pristine, and her food was the best. She always had the fridge, and the pantry

filled. There may be some leftover meatloaf or her pork chops, the favorite, stored in tin foil.

 

I still know exactly what her hands looked like with her crooked knuckles and how her arms felt

when I used to rub my face on them hoping mine would be as soft as hers someday. She would

waddle on her arthritic knees, never complaining about the pain, except when she got up from

the living room chair, she’d say to herself, “Mercy.” 

 

The best thing she did for me was show me unconditional love. No matter how I acted, or if I was sad or mad, it didn’t matter. She would pat me on the knee and say, “You’re awful sweet and you’re mighty fine.” 

 

She was a bridge to so many things in my life and out of so many things in my life. My Grandma

Mershon was the only person whose face lit up when she saw me. 

 

Every now and then, when I’m feeling down or being hard on myself, I feel a pat on my knee

and hear, “You’re awful sweet and you’re mighty fine.” 

 

(Picture of my Grandparents from 1924)

 

One step at a time … crossing paths on a trail

 

By Mary Kay Roth

I’m not sure how long ago this happened, certainly it’s been three decades or

so. My son was around 12 at the time and now he’s 41.

 

But I remember it with such clarity.

Josh and I were climbing our first mountain together in Rocky Mountain

National Park. We had chosen the Chasm Lake trail. a very tough climb with

countless switchbacks, rock scrambles, pine forest and alpine tundra.

 

Perhaps around halfway up, weary and sweaty, reaching a moment we were

ready to give up, we sat down on a huge rock to chug water.

 

Right then an older couple came strolling along the trail, heading down from

the peak, noticed us and asked if they could sit beside us.

 

They sympathized with the rigor of the hike and offered us apples.

 

The man chuckled and said the combined age of his wife and him was 160

years. They had been climbing mountains forever.

 

“And do you know the secret to climbing mountains, young man,” the

gentleman asked Josh.

 

My tired son shook his head.

 

“Here’s the secret: Don’t think about the mountain and the long trail ahead.

Always take it one step at a time. As long as you keep putting one foot in

front of another – just one foot – then you’re making progress. And I

guarantee you’ll make it to the top.”

 

Eventually the sweet couple wished us good luck and headed down the trail.

Josh and I looked at one another, smiled and started walking.

 

Step by step. One foot in front of another. Glory be, we made it. I danced a

happy dance when we reached that sparkling gorgeous lake at the top, both

of us pumped with a giddy sense of accomplishment.

 

We probably spent 15 minutes with that couple, no more. Yet I’ve never

forgotten them. And to this day I never climb a mountain without thinking

about their words. Step by step. One foot at a time.

 

I wondered if my son remembered their words, so I texted him this week.

 

“Of course, I’ll never forget that hike,” Josh texted back. “Made me want to

hike for the rest of my life.”

 

Of course, both of us did keep hiking, eventually conquering most of the

trails in Rocky Mountain National Park.

 

One step at a time.

Building bridges to possibilities 

By Marilyn Moore 

Mrs. Teter was a most unlikely teacher at Wilsonville High School in 1967. The school, like many small schools in Nebraska, was mostly staffed by new graduates, starting their first teaching jobs, and experienced teachers who were members of the community and had been there for years. Mrs. Teter was a little of both…. She and her husband were farmers in a nearby

community. Like many women her age, she had taught in rural schools when she graduated from high school, then stayed home to be a mom and farm wife after her children were born.

The summer of ’67, she decided to renew her teaching certificate with coursework from what was then Kearney State Teachers College and return to teaching. So, in her late ‘40’s, she did ... and became my high school senior English teacher. 

She was not conventional. She asked interesting questions, she taught us to explore divergent

paths as we read literature. She directed the senior class play, and filled it with sight gags and

one-liners that were genuinely funny. (And she cast the lead, written as an older teenage male,

with a female, the best athlete in the class.) Being the mom of children the age of her students,

she knew all about teenagers, and she liked us anyway.

 

She assigned the usual senior research paper, with what were all the usual steps at the time:

identification of topic, starting outline, research recorded on index cards (remember those?),

second outline, first draft, second draft, final paper. And she read it all at each step of the way.

I do not remember the topic I chose. I do not remember the grade I received. I will always

remember the comment she made on the last page: “Well-researched. Good organizational

structure. You will use these skills when you write your dissertation someday.”

 

That comment planted a seed I had never considered. Me, write a dissertation? I just wanted

to graduate from high school and go to college…not much thought beyond that. But once

again…she made me think.

 

Teachers build bridges in all kinds of ways…from one grade to the next, one reading level to the

next, one discipline to another, one student to another, one reality to one future. The bricks at

the Teachers Fountain are filled with names of teachers who were bridges to their students.

For the 1967-68 school year, Mrs. Teter built that bridge for me…not just to a dissertation, but

to a possibility, to a writer and a scholar. And I am forever grateful.

 

Sometimes you’ve got to just close your eyes and trust 

 

By JoAnne Young

Thirteen months ago, in the Friday dusk of a September evening, I missed a step off an unfamiliar deck, and fell hard onto a concrete slab. The left side of my pelvis sacrificed itself so that my upper body, my head in particular, remained safe and secure and able to process what was happening then and all that was to result when a pelvis cracks into several pieces. 

 

The next day, through a bit of an opioid cocktail fog, I heard a recommendation for a surgeon who had a gift for putting Humpty Dumptys back together. I’ve always been pretty careful about choosing a doctor, and I was unsure about this one ... I’d never heard of him and he was in a solo practice. So I had to take another unfamiliar step, one that was important to get right. I did a little research and with a bit of hesitation said OK. 

 

Dr. David Samini turned out to be the absolute right choice, and the first step onto the bridge that would take me from this foreign land of disconnection, change and at times frustration, to finding my way back to normal. I needed a Golden Gate magnitude span in front of me, and he and his team were there to get things rolling with support, confidence and encouragement. 

 

Bridges provide a path over the obstacles between where we are and that sometimes faraway destination we want to reach. While it would be nice to be able to always rely on our choices of people, places and things that serve as our bridges, we sometimes have to hold our breath, lift our feet, and trust.

 

Dr. Samani started my journey and stuck with me for a good long time, while my husband, children, good friends, and a line of enlightened, problem-solving and compassionate physical therapists and other health professionals accompanied me. I pitched in with a bit of resolve and persistence also needed for the crossings. 

 

I have now pulled up to the destination and am eternally grateful for the sweetness of this year-long passage. 

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Our disappearing rules

By JoAnne Young

We are seeing every day, and everywhere around us, the rules we have lived by for so long are changing, disappearing. And what can happen when we live without rules: People act in their own self-interests. Order breaks down. Conflict occurs, and a general lack of fairness, safety, and predictability results.

 

Consider for a moment ... our laws violated by our leaders, the power of Congress usurped, authoritarian tactics employed, masked men in our streets, dissent challenged, our cost of living climbing. 

 

It’s frightening, this no rules thing, this new disorder. Rules of privacy of our personal information have been changed. Our personal information is in danger. Diversity, Equity and Inclusion programs are ending or at risk. Schools have been restricted from lessons on gender identification, racial issues. An executive order has also tried to end birthright citizenship. Free speech is being challenged. 

 

This is the kind of speech we are hearing from our leaders. 

 

* Secretary of Defense? War? Pete Hegseth, calling generals and military leaders to Washington from across the world to tell them: “Should our enemies choose foolishly to challenge us, they will be crushed by the violence, precision and ferocity of the War Department. In other words, to our enemies, FAFO.” 

 

* Stephen Miller, Trump’s deputy chief of staff for policy and the United States homeland security advisor, speaking at Charlie Kirk’s funeral: “And to those trying to incite violence against us, those trying to foment hatred against us, what do you have? You have nothing. You are nothing. You are wickedness. You are jealousy. You are envy. You are hatred. You are nothing. You can build nothing. You can produce nothing. You can create nothing.” 

 

* Pam Bondi, U.S. Attorney General: “There’s free speech and then there’s hate speech. And there is no place, especially now, especially after what happened to Charlie in our society, we will absolutely target you, go after you, if you are targeting anyone with hate speech, anything.” 

 

It’s hard to listen to what people who lead our federal government are saying these days that sounds violent, sounds hate-filled and illegal, and seems to go against our Constitution. I’m so nostalgic for our former leaders, in that time not too long past, when the people of this country elected heads of state who had their better angels in mind when they addressed the American people, the people of the world. It’s how this country became a world leader. 

 

In a speech last year, Gov. Spencer Cox of Utah talked about his “Disagree Better” campaign. He said, “The good news is that there is a market for something different. Seventy percent of Americans — the exhausted majority — hate what is happening in politics and media today. It’s not too late to find our better angels.” 

 

After Charlie Kirk’s death in September, a New York Times reporter wrote: “It is far from clear whether the country’s better angels can still be reached.” 

 

I’ve been reading a book I bought a couple of years ago at a wonderful Jackson, Mississippi, bookstore, Lemuria Books. It’s a heavy one called “The Book of the Dead,” and contains 320 obituaries of “extraordinary people,” that ran in the New York Times. It includes some of our dead presidents, including President Dwight D. Eisenhower, who I learned a lot about from his obit. 

 

He was an Army general and a World War II hero, said to be in all corners of the world associated with victory in war and a tireless crusader for peace. He had a devotion to duty, and was somewhat of a visionary. He famously said in his 1961 farewell address: “In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.” 

 

I truly respect that, coming especially from a man who rose through the ranks to be a commanding war general. It shows, by comparison, the lack of experience and reason of Hegseth in his speech to generals and military leaders.

 

Another of our former leaders, President Jimmy Carter: “The bond of our common humanity is stronger than the divisiveness of our fears and prejudices. God gives us the capacity for choice. We can choose to work together for peace. We can choose to alleviate suffering. We can make these changes and we must remember that there are many ways to accomplish our goals, together.” 

 

Harry S. Truman (1945-1953) approached his presidency with humility: “There are probably a million people who could have done the job better than I did, but I had the job ...” 

 

And this by Lyndon B. Johnson, who was thrust into the presidency on the death by assassination of John F. Kennedy in 1963, and became the leader of a nation divided by the Vietnam war. 

In a speech in 1965 to Congress, he said: “This is the richest and most powerful country which ever occupied this globe. ... But I do not want to be the president who built empires or sought grandeur or extended dominion. I want to be the president who educated young children to the wonders of their world. I want to be the president who helped to feed the hungry and to prepare them to be taxpayers instead of tax-eaters. I want to be the president who helped the poor to find their own way and who protected the right of every citizen to vote in every election. I want to be the president who helped to end hatred among his fellow men and who promoted love among the people of all races ... .” 

 

And can I speak to at least one former Supreme Court justice. In a 1943 Supreme Court case on compelling school children to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, Justice Robert H. Jackson said: “If there is any fixed star in our constitutional constellation, it is that no official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nationalism, religion, or other matters of opinion or force citizens to confess by word or act their faith therein.”

 

We have been confronted this month by the deaths of good people. I can’t leave this writing without mentioning anthropologist Jane Goodall. 

 

“Somehow we must keep hope alive -- a hope that we can find a way to educate all, alleviate poverty, assuage anger, and live in harmony with the environment, with animals, and with each other.” 

 

This member of the exhausted majority misses our past leaders, and longs for the return of our better angels. 

Sometimes you just know...

by Mary Reiman

Timing is everything. Just do it. 

Things to do. Places to go. People to see.

There are so many phrases to describe the importance of moving forward. Making changes.

Sometimes you just know, but it takes a while to actually say it out loud. 

Today I am saying it out loud. This is my last 5 Women Mayhem blog post. 

Life is such a grand journey. Really, when you think about it, don’t you sometimes get overwhelmed by the number of experiences, the number of people you meet along the way. The impact they make and the many ways they shape us. 

I’ve learned so much about myself in the last 5+ years. 

I’ve learned I love to write about my family. They may live much too far away, but they are always near in spirit. 

I’ve learned that I love to find new bits of trivia to share with the world. I will still read the Interesting Facts each day and think of all of you (today: ‘How much sleep you *really* need?’). I will continue to learn the Word of the Day (today: salubrious) and think of how I could use it in a sentence...or not! I will read Word Smarts (today: 5 Nouns We’ve Turned into Verbs).

I have learned more about the importance of the word and the power of the story. I will return to reading more Kristin Hannah and Brad Thor, Isabel Allende and Leonard Pitts, Anne Tyler and William Kent Krueger...and many, many more! (My favorite quote: 'I have always imagined that paradise will be a kind of library.' - Jorge Luis Borges)

I have learned that I will always have a folder filled with articles I 'should' read, and ultimately will throw them away...unread. 

I might keep the folder of blog ideas. It includes everything from jello (really...don't we all have jello stories from our childhood?) to ChatGBT (Did you know it will write thank you notes for you? Perhaps it will also write letters to our government officials that they will actually read!) 

But not all stories need to be told.  Sometimes it's OK to let them go, and move on.

Worry not, my adventures will continue, just a bit differently. Taking action and using my voice in different ways. 

Thank you to Mary Kay for inviting me to be part of this group. It was an honor.

And thank you to you, our readers. 

What a fabulous experience it has been.

I’ve been wrapped in the arms of powerful voices. Strong women who do not back down from political discourse, or shy away from the mayhem. Thoughtful, caring, insightful women.

As I leave this journey of writing with the Women of Mayhem, I take their strength and goodness with me, and I am forever grateful.