The partially empty nest doesn’t clean itself. On the day my firstborn moved into her dorm, my SUV was stuffed to the gills, complete with a large, man-sized duffel bag strapped to the roof. One would think there wouldn’t be much left at home … but one would be wrong. I warned her I was going to be merciless about purging the things she left behind, and she told me that was fine. After all, if it didn’t make the cut to college, how important could it be?
With a mix of nostalgia, melancholy and a little bit of glee, I emptied her desk and nightstand. I filled the recycling bin with old school papers, and tossed empty pens and dried-up markers in the trash. Half-filled spiral notebooks littered her drawers, the loopy cursive of her handwriting sprawled on pages sometimes a decade old.
My daughter has always loved to write, and her stories are strewn about the house like dust bunnies. When I discover one, I tuck it away to respect her privacy and preserve a bit of the little girl she used to be.
I don’t read her stories without permission, but always read her essays and papers. As early as age 10 or 11, she knew that a thorough proofread and edit could strengthen her pieces, and she took advantage of my eagerness to go to town with my red pen. Having a fresh pair of eyes helped her hone her writing skills and improve vocabulary and grammar.
At college, my daughter has many fresh pairs of eyes to choose from. There is a writing center, peer editors and any number of kids on her floor who’d proof a paper for her. But she and I have a rhythm, and I’m more than happy to read a paper about Shakespeare as long as I don’t have to write it.
I prefer to edit on paper instead of computer, but long-distance editing is best done via email. A month into the semester, I read a comparison paper on “The Merchant of Venice” and “A Jew in Venice,” an adaptation of “Merchant.” (“This class SUCKS,” my college freshman informed me multiple times.) I read for style, grammar and clarity, which is all I can offer since I have not read either play.
I added my comments and suggestions in red, and emailed them back to her. I finished a piece I was working on, not quite satisfied with the ending. A fresh pair of eyes helps me, too, and my husband is my usual editor. Why not have my daughter do it this time? The piece is about grandparents and grandchildren, and her perspective could be helpful.
As I was reading the final draft of her paper, she read my essay. The two pieces passed one another on email as they were returned to their writers, and I smiled when I saw her red comments peppered in between my own words. She caught a verb tense shift I needed to correct, and she tightened up a few phrases and ideas. She even included a comment, “(lol this last sentence made me laugh).” It was intended to be funny, so I was happy to know the sentence hit its mark.
I didn’t use all of her edits, as I’m sure she doesn’t always use all of mine. But our exchanges over text and email gave me a “Mom Buzz” — the joy from feeling close to my children even when they aren’t with me. She needs me less and less as she finds her own way in this world, but my fresh pair of eyes will always be here.
Even when they get a little misty behind my middle-age reading glasses.
A Baltimore native, Dana Hemelt lives in Howard County with her husband and two teenagers. She blogs at kissmylist.com and tweets @kissmylist.
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