There's still a kid living upstairs, and I'm in no hurry for him to leave home

You don't have to watch any of this video, let alone all 4 minutes of it. I'm not even sure why I include it here, since it's only tangentially related to the subject of today's post. These are scenes from our house on Christmas Eve 2006, Jack's first Christmas. It makes me feel nostalgic.

Terry and I find ourselves in this interesting period of life in which four of our kids have moved out and we have a grandson, yet we also have a child of our own still living with us.

This isn't a case of, say, your 35-year-old son moving back in with you, either. Our youngest, Jack, is only 20 and a sophomore in college. He lives in the big bedroom on the top floor of our house.

For as much attention as we give grandson Cal, we still haven't finished the job of raising our own children (not that you ever really do finish). While Jack lives a largely independent life – as college students do and should – he still needs us for a lot of things.

We see him every day because he's a commuter student at Cleveland State University, so it's not like he lives on campus and is gone for weeks at a time. The way his class and work schedules are structured, he's at home a lot more than he's away.

The happy result is that we get to talk with him, eat dinner with him (sometimes), and play a role in his search for a career and a direction in life. Years after having done all of that with Elissa, Chloe, Jared and Melanie, I'm glad we still get to do it with Jack.

A lot of parents are excited to enter the empty-nest phase of their lives, and I'm sure we will be too when the time comes.

I'm just not ready for the time to come quite yet.

For one thing, Jack is fun. And funny. He probably plays the same role my siblings say I did for our parents, which was living at home throughout their 50s and early 60s and "keeping them young."

I love going to hockey games with Jack, talking about his plans for school and a career, trading funny YouTube reels with him, and generally having him around.

I can't imagine not hearing his footsteps upstairs when gets out of bed in the morning and heads to his bathroom.

I don't know what it will be like not having him around to gather the upstairs trash when it's time to take out the garbage on Sunday afternoons.

I simply can't fathom the idea of Jack and his cat Cheddar living anywhere but with us.

But it's going to happen, and probably sooner than I think. Like his brother and sisters before him, Jack will reach a point when the need to be on his own outweighs the financial and practical benefits of living with Mom and Dad.

I get that. Terry and I bought our first house when I was just 22 years old. The second we got the keys, I was anxious to move in and live by myself for a few months. That very weekend I moved out of Mom and Dad's place, the only home I had known to that point in my life. 

We're all programmed to seek independence in young adulthood. Whenever Jack is ready for that, we'll be there to support him.

But it's OK if it takes at least a few more years for it to happen. I really love having him around.

The tenuous reality of the blessed life

I don't spend a lot of time on the Threads social media platform, but recently I found myself there. I came across a post from a fellow Gen Xer lamenting how difficult it is to be in your mid- to late 50s.

At this age, the person wrote, you're sometimes caring for elderly parents AND your older children AND even grandchildren.

You're often slogging toward retirement with insufficient savings and no desire to play the corporate politics necessary to get ahead...all while reporting to a boss 20 years younger.

And you're starting to experience the feeling that the world might be passing you by, both culturally and technologically.

Those are all valid points, and I see them up close and personal in many of my peers.

Which is why I'm somewhat embarrassed to tell you that, so far, my 50s have been the greatest decade of my life.

I feel wonderful, I have lots of energy, I've learned some things, I get to do engaging work every day, and I'm blessed to have hobbies I enjoy. I have an amazing wife of 34 years, five great kids, and the best little grandson anyone could ask for.

I also have a relatively short runway ahead of what is shaping up to be a fairly comfortable retirement.

And while the reason for it is sad, I don't have any older parents or in-laws to care for simply because they have all passed on. I miss them terribly and often wish I had that sort of "burden" in my life.

By any definition, though, mine is a blessed existence. I couldn't relate to that post on Threads.

But here's the thing: All of it can change in a second.

One grim medical diagnosis. One corporate restructuring. One stock market crash. One disastrous car accident.

Any one of those things (and any of a thousand other imagined calamities) would immediately transform my sunny situation to one of worry and despair.

I am acutely aware of this. I know how close I am to being in very different circumstances. "There but for the grace of God" is a thought that runs through my head multiple times a day.

You never know what life is going to throw at you. I'm not owed anything. I've done nothing to deserve the good things I have, any one of which could go away tomorrow.

(This is not meant to be pessimistic, by the way. Just realistic.)

Many of us in this part of the world live in an artificially comfortable bubble. We are seemingly immune to war, famine and persecution. We have access to advanced medical care. Our social safety nets are deep and wide.

This is especially true if you're of my particular demographic. Socioeconomically speaking, the system is constructed so that people like me will probably succeed.

Somewhere along the line, though, things will get harder. It's inevitable.

In the meantime, all I can think to do is live a life of cliches:

I take it one day at a time.

I help others when I can.

I frequently take stock of everything I have, and I thank God for it all.

Someday, when the rain falls a little harder (maybe sooner than I realize), I hope I continue thanking Him. I hope I will be humble, grateful, and happy. I hope I will appreciate the valleys after spending so many years on the peaks.

I don't know what lies ahead, but I do know how good I have it right now. And for the moment, I hope that's enough.

Whatever happened to that old song, to all those little girls and boys?

 

I go through periods in which I'm very sentimental and nostalgic for the years when my kids were young.

They're still "young," of course, but I mean school-aged young. Back when every day brought one challenge or another, but the good always outweighed the bad by a wide margin.

What I miss, it seems, are the little things.

I miss the seven of us going to church together on Sunday mornings, even when I had to tell them over and over it was time to wake up and get dressed.

I miss family trips to the library when we would walk out with several pounds of books each.

I miss dinners when we all crammed around our little kitchen table.

I miss wrestling matches in the living room.

I miss vacations to Hershey Park or Sandusky or Philadelphia or wherever. The destination rarely mattered. It was the fact we were all together.

I miss "Clean the Whole House" weekend afternoons when we started in the basement and worked our way to the top floor, picking up misplaced garbage, half-finished food and dirty laundry along the way.

I miss school concerts and plays and programs of all types. I miss the excitement and pageantry of the first and last day of school.

I miss the chaos. I miss the sounds of a full house. I miss friends coming over and movie nights together.

I miss it all.

I'm not often asked for parenting advice, which is a good thing since I don't have much to offer. But when it does happen, I always say the same thing: Even in the hardest of times (especially in the hardest of times), try not to lose your perspective.

Don't forget to stop and appreciate what you have. Don't miss the opportunity to revel in the noise of young children you exhaust yourself taking care of every day.

You're going to miss it all in ways you can't imagine when you're 25 or 30 but know all too well when you're 50, 60, 70 and beyond.

That's all I have for you, but believe me...it's enough.

The Tooth Fairy always stocked up on quarters in our house

Strangely enough (to me anyway), one of the most-read posts in the history of this blog is one from 2013 in which I wrote about the fact that our children never received as much money from the Tooth Fairy as other American kids.

For those scoring along at home – which is to say only me – that post is #2 all-time in blog page views, a distant second to one in which I offered up my top five daddy-daughter songs.

Anyway, I thought about the Tooth Fairy again recently when she was the subject of a New York Times Strands word search.

The rule in our house when our kids were growing up was that, when you lost a tooth, the Tooth Fairy would give you one quarter for every year of age. So if you were 10 years old, you ended up with $2.50 in coins under your pillow the next morning.

This system mostly worked well, though it made quietly placing the coins under the sleeping child's pillow a little trickier than using paper money. There was always the risk of the coins clinking and awakening the little guy/girl.

It never happened, but we came close a couple of times.

I recently asked Google how much kids nowadays receive from the Tooth Fairy. The average amount, according to the good folks at Delta Dental, is $5.84 per lost fang.

A child's first lost tooth commands even more cash, averaging $7.17.

Either way, and even when accounting for inflation, that's more than we ever gave our kids.

Seven bucks = 28 quarters. Good luck slipping that under a pillow without making any noise.

It may simply have been that we were young parents who didn't know any better. Or maybe it was that we had five kids and lacked the disposable income we have now.

Either way, I feel like we owe our children some sort of dental reparations. I'll be sending them each five pounds of quarters to make up for it.

Our $50,000 hockey investment has yielded a million dollars' worth of family fun and memories

I had never been a season ticket holder for any sport when the Lake Erie Monsters came to Cleveland in 2007.

But I knew I liked hockey, and we had a bunch of young kids who I thought might feel the same. So Terry and I took the plunge and bought two season tickets for the Monsters' first season.

Actually, we got involved so early that the Monsters didn't yet have a name when we wrote our first check to "Cleveland Pro Hockey Ltd" or some such legal entity. I was at then-Gund Arena when they later announced what the team would be called.

Since then they have morphed into the "Cleveland" Monsters, and we recently finished our 19th year as full season ticket holders.

That puts us in relatively rare air. Back in 2016-17, the team's 10th year of existence, they put the names of those of us who had been full season ticket holders (officially "Monsters Hockey Club members") from the very beginning on one of the dasher boards at ice level. Here's Jared and me posing with that list of names in February 2017:

While there may appear to be quite a few people there, it's still a small list when you consider the team now averages more than 11,000 fans a game and annually leads the American Hockey League in attendance.

Next season is the Monsters' 20th, and I hope they do something similar to recognize those of us who took the plunge early and never left.

More importantly, I can't say enough about what a great thing the Monsters Hockey Club has been for our family. 

In 2020, the team was kind enough to make a video about us that was shown several times on the arena "Humungotron" and shared on the Monsters' social media channels:

Of greater worth is the one-on-one time I've spent over the years with Terry and each of the kids at those games. Sometimes we watch and comment on the hockey, other times hockey is just the background to deeper conversations about life.

We've also met many wonderful fellow hockey fans who sit near us, some of whom I chronicled in this blog post.

We've cheered game-winning goals, mourned lost opportunities, and eaten more arena popcorn than anyone probably should.

Recently I tried to calculate how much money we've spent on Monsters hockey over these two decades. I don't have records of how much we've paid each year for our tickets, but I seem to remember them being as cheap as $1,700 total for the first season and as expensive as $3,000 for the 2026-27 season (which in fairness includes a couple of hundred additional dollars for the AHL All-Star Game being held next year in Cleveland...also in fairness, we have really good seats).

Figure our average ticket outlay over the years has been somewhere in the middle, say $2,300 a year. Multiply that by 20 years and you get $46,000. Then there's the food and team apparel we've bought, which is somewhere well north of $5,000 at this point.

All told, we've sunk $50K+ into this team – and it has been worth every penny.

I had no idea it would last this long for us, and now I can't foresee a time when we're not season ticket holders for our favorite local hockey team.

I've already told my 9-month-old grandson Cal how much I can't wait to take him to the arena. He smiles back at me indulgently, figuring that whatever Grandpa is saying, it must be something fun.

Oh, it is, buddy, it really is.

Go Monsters!

Hang in there, Bus Stop Dad, you're doing great

My morning drive to the office takes me through 6+ miles of mostly residential streets. I see people walking their dogs, little kids playing in front yards, and bathrobe-wearing senior citizens fetching the newspaper.

The cast of characters varies, but there are three people I see consistently. As I head down Lander Road, I always notice a particular dad standing with his two little boys while they wait to catch the school bus.

The boys wear Minecraft-themed coats in the fall and winter. I would guess them to be maybe 7 and 9 years old. They are always moving, chasing each other around or running up and down the driveway to blow off morning steam before having to sit still for several hours at school.

Their dad is a tall fellow with a beard. Usually he's holding a mug that I assume contains the coffee he needs to jumpstart his day. That day, I imagine, consists of getting the boys onto the bus, hustling to get himself ready, then heading off to work to put in 8-10 hours in support of his family.

I have seen the mother only a few times, because (I'm guessing) she needs to be at work earlier than her husband, so it's his job to make sure his rambunctious little sons get to school.

"Rambunctious" is a word my mom would have used for them. "Spirited" is another euphemism meant as a polite alternative to "occasional pains in their teachers' asses."

Maybe I'm wrong about the boys, though. They could be angels in the classroom and hellions at home. I can only go by what very little I observe of them as I drive past at 35mph.

The dad, however, I do know. I don't know his name, of course, and I don't know what he does for a living or where he grew up.

But I know the life he leads. I know the things that keep him awake at night when he thinks about his wife, his boys, and what he needs to do to make sure the lights stay on and food appears on the table.

I know the uncertainties he has even after nearly a decade as a father. I know his often-troubled internal monologue and the confident front he puts on for others.

I don't know him personally, but I know him as a member of the Brotherhood of Dads.

He's out there day after day with his kids, his coffee, and his anxieties.

And there's no place in the world he would rather be.

Part of him looks forward to the day they can drive themselves to school while part of him dreads it. He knows these exhausting mornings are the stuff of memories and that someday he'll miss all of it.

I don't think I'm reading too much into this situation, even though I see him for only 2-3 seconds at a time, three mornings a week.

Because I've been him.

And I'm here to tell him, whatever his name is, that he's doing a great job. Much better than he thinks he's doing. And that those boys have a million reasons to know they are loved, including the fact that their father uncomplainingly stands outside with them while they wait for the bus in heat, cold, rain and snow.

Keep going, my friend. In case no one has mentioned it today, you're an amazing dad.

We go to a lot of hockey games, often more for connections with family and friends than the actual hockey

We have been full season ticket holders for all 18 seasons the Cleveland Monsters hockey team has existed.

While the Monsters are a minor league team (playing in the American Hockey League, which in baseball terms is equivalent to the Class AAA level), they play in a major league facility in Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse, and they put on a major league game presentation.

Even when the team itself isn't playing so well, the experience of going to the games is still fun.

What I've come to find out during these 18 seasons, though, is that while the hockey game is the focus, the benefit has a lot more to do with human relations than anything else.

For one thing, it has given Terry and me plenty of one-on-one time with our kids. We've always had two season tickets, so for years it was usually the two of us going together or one of us plus a child.

Nowadays, with the kids all grown, they often take the tickets themselves and attend with their significant other or a friend.

Still, we have lots of great memories of attending those games and cheering on the Monsters together.

Beyond our family, we've also bonded with the great group of fellow season ticket holders (officially "Monsters Hockey Club members") who sit around us in section C108.

Right next to us is Mike, a retired anesthesia tech who is always quick to laugh and takes genuine interest in what's going on with our family.

Behind us are Dave and Karen. Dave is a retired postal worker, while Karen is an artist whose talent amazes me. Like me, Dave is a fountain of random (and generally not entirely useful) knowledge, and we often trade baseball trivia questions while watching the hockey game.

To Mike's left is Perry, one of the most genuinely nice and hilarious people you will ever meet. Perry survived a medical scare a few years ago, and we're all grateful to have him with us on game nights.

In front of us are Anthony and his family, who like us have used Monsters games as fun nights out together over the years. To their right are Scott and Dart. Scott spends a lot of time in Las Vegas these days, so we don't see him as much as used to, but Dart is a regular and a graduate of Brown University, so he's both smart AND funny.

I only see these people at hockey games, but it's like we're old friends. Anyone who has ever been a long-term season ticket holder for any sport knows what I'm talking about.

Whether or not the Monsters win on a given night, the time spent with family and friends is always a victory regardless.

Helping your kids navigate the job hunt

There are certain things for which you go to Mom when you need help and certain things for which you generally go to Dad.

In our family, the kids approach Terry for assistance on a myriad of topics, especially anything having to do with cooking, owning a home or tackling the day-to-day challenges of domestic life.

The list of things in which I specialize is perhaps not as long, but I like to think it's equally impactful.

One of my areas of expertise is the world of work. Often when the kids create or update a resume, write a cover letter or fill out a job application, they ask me to review it.

I'm happy to do this. I also coach them on job interviews and proper methods of follow-up.

"What do I say if they ask me about my salary expectations?"

"What am I supposed to tell them if they ask me what my biggest weakness is?"

"How do I get across all of the reasons I'm a good fit for this position?"

I have ready answers for all of these questions because I've been involved in dozens of interviews in my life, both as an applicant and as an employer.

My daughter Melanie recently got a job working with a financial services firm. We talked through each step of the process, and I hope what I told her along the way was helpful. Well, either that or she managed to impress the firm's owners despite my counsel.

I don't think I've been quite as helpful getting my children to understand the realities of work once they actually get the job. That part I suppose you have to learn on your own.

I've just not been able to bring myself to tell them, "Hey, congrats on the new job! Now all you have to do is work full time for the next 45 years or so, try everything you can to save up enough money to retire, and live out your remaining years in more or less decent physical shape until you die and your kids pick up where you left off."

I have a feeling Terry would deliver a more positive message there.

When I was growing up, this was about the time we would get out of school

It was only when I became a parent that I realized how amazingly short our kids' summer break from school really was.

At least in our district (though I think this is common), they don't even have 12 full weeks off before they're right back in the classroom.

Not that I think there's anything wrong with that, by the way. Indeed, during my time working with The Cleveland Foundation, I came to see some advantages to having year-round school with extended breaks between quarters/semesters.

It's just that, when I was a kid, summer vacation seemed to go on forever. It was great. We would get out in mid-June and not be back until after Labor Day.

I don't remember a single summer ever flying by or seeming too short, which may suggest that my friends and I did it right and made the most of our vacation time.

Later on as a parent, however, those 11 1/2 weeks would fly by in an instant. That's probably a function of time in general passing more quickly once you become an adult, but I could never reconcile the fleeting nature of my kids' summer vacations with the seemingly longer breaks I had as a kid.

In any event, as today's headline suggests, this is about the time of year in the 1970s and 80s when we would have our last day of school. That seems quaint now because, as far as I know, no local school district has been in session for at least a week, and many for longer than that. The kids almost universally get out in mid/late May or early June these days.

I don't know that that's any better or worse than the way we did it in my youth, it's just different.

Even with my kids grown, I still can't get used to it.

32 years later, here we are

 

This shot was taken many years after we were married, but it was a re-creation of a photo we took on our honeymoon in 1992 at Universal Studios in Florida.

This post should technically appear here on the blog tomorrow, seeing as how Terry and I celebrate our 32nd wedding anniversary on June 6th and not today. But my Monday-Wednesday-Friday posting schedule yields to no milestone or special occasion, thus making me 24 hours early in wishing my bride a very happy anniversary.

However long you've been married, you can't help but notice, as the number creeps higher and higher, that the years pass impossibly fast. Father Time is, without a doubt, undefeated.

And he's running up the score on some of us.

I am grateful for everything and everyone I have in my life, but my wife is at the top of that list. I don't necessarily deserve someone as wonderful as she is, but I take some small amount of credit for recognizing that fact and being grateful for her.

Thirty-two years ago tonight we had our wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. I look back at those grainy old videos and realize we were just kids at the time. I was 22 years old, having only graduated from college a few weeks earlier. Terry was 23.

And here we are now, somewhat older than 22 and 23.

Our kids marvel at the fact that we were married so young, and even more so at the fact we were the parents of three children before either of us had turned 30.

It was a different time. Everyone lives life in their own way and at their own pace.

Our chosen pace, in those early years, was "frantic."

As I type this in mid-May, I have no idea what Terry and I will do tomorrow night to mark the passing of 32 years. Probably dinner out and an early return home to watch TV. (EDITOR'S NOTE: It turns out we'll be attending a playoff hockey game...at the insistence of my awesome wife.)

Happy anniversary to the best wife a guy could ask for. Without her, this blog could only be called "5 Kids," and well, that just wouldn't be as exciting.

When your life is no longer governed by the academic calendar

The AI Blog Post Image Generator tried so hard.

Every weekday morning on my drive to the office, I pass an elementary school. Unless I'm especially early or late, or unless it happens to be a bank/government holiday, the 20mph school zone lights are always flashing as I approach.

Recently, though, for the first time in a while, the lights weren't on.

Initially I didn't understand why that would be. It was 7:45am, prime school arrival time. It was a Wednesday. I couldn't imagine why the kids might be off that day.

Then it hit me.

It was late May. School was out for the summer. The kids wouldn't be back for nearly three months.

It was the first time I realized that virtually every school district around me was on break. It just hadn't occurred to me before.

Not coincidentally, this past year was also the first time since 1998-99 that Terry and I had no kids in school.

For 25 years, we lived within the confines of the academic calendar. Our lives were directly affected by teachers workshops, spring breaks, band concerts, sporting events, and everything else you as a parent experience in the course of the school year.

And now, apart from my PA announcing gigs, that schedule means almost nothing to us. The last day of school – an annual milestone that would have been ingrained in my mind in years past – was irrelevant.

To the point that I didn't even know the kids were on break.

It was strangely disconcerting. Just another little thing to adjust to in our post-secondary parenting lives.

When you're raising kids, there are all kinds of "firsts" and "lasts." And when you have multiple children, the "lasts" aren't truly "last" until your last kid.

Then they go away forever. Just like my recognition of where we were in the year and how teachers and kids had already been set free for the next 11 weeks without me being the least bit aware.

Cut me a little slack. I'm still an empty nester in training.

Losing your tribe of fellow parents once your kids grow up

If you have a child between the ages of, say, 5 and 17, and that child is active in some sort of group activity like a sport or music or theatre or whatever it might be, there is a good chance you have a parental tribe.

By that I mean a group of people whose kid/kids is/are involved in the same activity as your kid. You see them at ball games or concerts. You drive each other's offspring to practices, tournaments, rehearsals, etc. You may have an active group text chat or even a Facebook page where you communicate.

You sit bundled up in all kinds of weather (if your shared activity is outdoor-focused) and cheer on your team as one.

You are brought together by pleasant circumstances and quickly develop a close bond.

Then your child either walks away from that sport or activity, or else your kids age out of it together, and suddenly you don't see those people anymore unless you make a real effort to keep the relationship going.

There always seems to be something that gets in the way of that, of course. We're all busy. You still run across each other at community events or graduation parties, and you enjoy catching up, but it's never quite the same again.

Our kids were active in a range of sports and musical activities, so we ended up with multiple parental tribes. In some cases these tribes were separated by the distance of many years. We had one group of people we hung out with when our oldest, Elissa, was in school, and a distinctly different set of people we ended up seeing all the time with our youngest, Jack, more than a decade later.

While many of the Elissa-era parents were enjoying empty nests, we were still doing school field trips, plays, and track meets.

I miss the old group. And now, with Jack having graduated, I miss the new one, too.

What I'm saying, I guess, if that if you're currently in the chaos of having school-aged children, you should recognize and enjoy the connections forged with other parents – people with whom you may not otherwise get the opportunity to hang around.

These connections are fleeting, but they are valuable. They flame out as quickly as they spring up, but they are memorable.

Embrace your tribe. You only have them for a relatively small portion of your life before everyone moves on.

Despite what I thought, an empty nest can still sometimes mean an empty wallet

 

My longtime Wickliffe friend Laura Jones got a kick out of it some years ago when I posted the image above in reference to how expensive it can be to have kids.

This was back when most of our children lived at home and there were always school fees, sports fees, large grocery bills and related accounts payable to attend to.

My assumption then was that one day, when they moved out, the constant outflow of cash would cease, and Terry and I would live in peace and financial prosperity the rest of our days.

What can I say? I was young and naïve.

The reality, I'm now finding with only the 18-year-old living under our roof, is that while there are fewer kid-related expenditures now than they're used to be, we still end up funding our offspring from time to time in various ways.

For example, the rule in our family has generally been that, if you decide to move out and live on your own, this is an admirable choice that comes with certain realities and consequences. Like, you need to get your own car insurance and start paying for your cell phone.

That kind of thing.

This doesn't automatically occur the second the child gets his/her own house or apartment, but over time it does become reality.

In the meantime, during the transition period, we end up providing unintended subsidies to ensure our kids are driving legally, kept connected to the outside world with a functioning phone, and, you know, eating regularly.

We do this willingly and lovingly, of course. But the point is, we do it.

So does Laura with her two daughters.

And probably so do you if you have older kids.

You never stop being a parent, but eventually you do stop being a savings and loan for your children.

It just takes a bit longer than you might think.

And that's OK. Particularly if you don't mind eating cat food in your retirement years.

My daughter turns 30 on Sunday, and I hope you'll watch this short video and read this old blog post

 

In two days, my daughter Elissa turns 30 years old. I could go on and on about the things that make Elissa an impressive force of nature, but if you know her, you're already aware. And if you don't know her, I hope you don't mind if I indulge in a bit of nostalgia. I originally posted this video (and the words below) on the blog on January 22, 2021. I bring them back today because, no matter how old Elissa and our other kids get, there's always a part of me that will think of them like this. At this age. At this particular stage of life...

A few years ago, I posted this video on Facebook, accompanied by these words:

Parents of young children, I know you're tired. I get it. I spent several years living the life you're living now. But believe me when I say you're going to miss the chaos. It's a lot of fun having older kids, but I would love to go back and relive moments like this one every once in a while. Which I suppose I could, but I might not survive if they all smothered me like this now. This was shot in late October 2001, which would have made Elissa 7, Chloe 5, Jared 3, and Melanie a little more than a year old (and Jack that proverbial twinkle in the eye).

All four kids shown in this video are at this moment in their 20s. And as noted, our youngest was still 4+ years away from being born.

Having little kids is an exhausting business. It requires constant mental alertness, emotional investment, and physical exertion. You are part teacher, part caretaker, and part goat herder.

When we were in this stage of parenthood, people often told me to enjoy it, that someday it would be gone and I would miss it, etc. It's not that I didn't believe them, I just never really thought very far ahead in those days. It was always about getting through that particular week.

Not that life suddenly becomes a cakewalk when your kids get older, but I do find I have a lot more room to breathe in 2021 than I did in 2001. Just from a stress perspective, it's better to be here than there.

But every once in a while, when it's quiet in our house in the evening, I find myself missing the chaos of two decades ago. There was always a diaper to change, a child to feed, a crier to attend to. It was all Barney, Teletubbies, Winnie the Pooh, and whatever PBS Kids had to offer up that day. It was loud, tiring, and frankly annoying more times than I care to admit.

But it was also wonderful. All of it. I realize the distance of time accentuates the positive and diminishes the negative, but even then, there was a part of me that knew I had it good.

I still have it good. I wouldn't go back to that time permanently for all the money in the world.

Maybe just a 10-minute visit, though. Just long enough to hold a happy baby, do zerberts on some toddler's soft belly, and get in a quick game of Candyland.

That would be nice.

Maybe that's what grandkids are for...reliving the best parts of the maelstrom of parenthood that, in truth, passed by all too fast without you realizing it.

I wouldn't know. We're not in that stage of life...yet. But it's coming.

In the meantime, I have the memories. And thanks to digital technology, I have the videos.

For now, that's enough.

When people ask about your older kids, be ready to quickly recite their age, job status, and one interesting factoid about them

This is us with our kids (and our son-in-law Michael thrown in for good measure) at Disney World a couple of years ago. I've always liked this picture.

Nowadays when I talk with family members, co-workers, or my children's old teachers, I am expected to give a full report on how each of the kids is doing.

"How is everyone?" will come the question. Usually the person asking wants more than just "They're all good!" and something significantly less than a 20-minute dissertation on the health and wellbeing of our offspring.

I have answered this question so often that I can usually give them the information they want in less than 60 seconds. It goes something like this:

"Well, Elissa is 29, lives in Willoughby, and is the Content Marketing Manager for Citizens Climate Lobby, a climate change advocacy nonprofit. She was recently voted Funniest Staff Member there.

"Chloe is 27 and lives in Akron. She is a few months from finishing her PhD in Neuroscience and eventually wants to go to medical school. I know, crazy, right?

"Jared is 25 and living in Tampa. He works in communications for the Tampa Bay Rays baseball team. He and I co-own a fantasy hockey team, though he's really the one who knows what he's doing.

"Melanie is 23, living in Wickliffe, and has her degree in marketing. She has somehow learned to stop looking at her phone all the time and be present in the moment, for which I admire her. I want her to teach me.

"Jack is 17 and the only one still living at home. He is working at Sweet Berry Market in Wickliffe and considering a career as an electrician. I like a quiet house, but I also like having him there with us. He can stay pretty much as long as he likes."

And so on...

Even when people are genuinely interested, that's really about as much as they need and want to know.

And about as much as I can remember off the top of my head.

Here's how we're adjusting to having no kids in school

It has very little to do with the topic of today's post, but I wanted to show you this photo, the result of me prompting an online artificial intelligence blog image generator to create a graphic depicting "parents of older kids." This is what the AI image generator returned. None of these are actual people, but I do feel bad for #4 and #5 and whatever led to their, um, unique facial features. Clearly some online AI tools are better than others. Let's move on...

Our youngest, Jack, graduated from high school nearly six months ago. This is the point at which we're supposed to be missing it all and figuring out what our new normal looks like.

Which I suppose is what we're doing, but it's somewhat different for Terry and me.

For one thing, I'm at Wickliffe High School (sorry, the Wickliffe Upper School...or the Campus of Wickliffe, if you prefer) just as often now as I ever was. My PA announcing hobby/side business has me showing up at the school dozens of times a year for football, soccer, volleyball and basketball games, along with Wickliffe Swing Band performances.

So it's not like I don't still see the place with some frequency.

As for Terry, she maintains close ties to the Swing Band. If she's not at the school itself, she's texting or visiting with her friends from the Wickliffe Band Boosters.

On one hand, none of our kids are Wickliffe students anymore, so we've been getting used to that part of it.

But Wickliffe being Mayberry and all, we couldn't entirely extricate ourselves from the school system if we tried.

I can't speak for my wife, but I will say I feel a little pang of nostalgia nowadays when I see other people's pictures from homecoming, band concerts, sports awards and the like. That used to be our life and now it isn't. We're not the first to transition away from it, nor will we be the last.

On the plus side, our family calendar is much more open than it used to be, and there are undeniable benefits there. I don't entirely miss the days of rushing around to get the kids wherever they need to be.

There's also a "been there, done that, no need to go back" aspect to it. We put in our time and now there are new adventures ahead, which is exciting. I've never been one to want to return to the "good old days," as I've always felt I'm living the good old days now, at every moment of my life.

In sum, while our case may be a little different from others, we're still getting used to not having kids in the local school system. Like anything else, there's some good, some bad, and a whole lot of in-between.

Half a year into this phase of life, we're doing OK.

The kids are grown, the swing set remains

I'm trying to remember when we bought our backyard playset from the good folks at Playground World. It was probably 15 years ago, and the set is showing its age.

The plastic slide is disconnected, the canvas awning is worn, the climbing rope is frayed, and everywhere there is stripped paint and general wear and tear.

You can count on one hand the number of times each year the playset gets used, which is only when someone with little kids visits and we happen to be outside. At this point, it's serves more as an annoying obstacle for our lawn mowing guy than anything else.

For a while we figured we should keep it for when grandkids come along, but (a) I don't know that that's happening any time soon, and (b) Even when it does, there's no guarantee they'll live near us or that the swing set itself will survive that long.

There is of course also an emotional component to tearing it down. It would be an admission that the years when it was the focal point of our backyard and was used several times a week are gone.

The playset is in some ways the last vestige of a time when ours was a home to multiple small children, all of whom are now grown up and most of whom have flown the coop.

There's a practical part of me that wants to get rid of it, and another part of me that still enjoys looking out the back window and seeing it standing there.

Maybe we'll keep it just a while longer.

The three things I've told each of my kids the first time they got into the driver's seat

Our youngest child, Jack, recently got his temporary driver's permit. We have been down this road four times before, and each time, it has fallen to me to guide the kids through the early stages of the driver education process.

Considering the number of cars that have been totaled by our family, you could argue that perhaps I am not the world's greatest driving instructor. However, I stand by what I've told each of the kids the moment they've sat down behind the wheel and before they're allowed to drive even an inch:

(1) You could kill someone with this machine

Yeah, it's a little harsh, but you absolutely have to understand the power, responsibility and potential to change lives (your own and others) every time you're on the road. You're suddenly in charge of a ton or two of steel and glass that could maim or murder other human beings. I don't want you to be tight and nervous every time you drive, but I also want you to be constantly alert and aware of the consequences of not paying attention.

(2) Be patient...this takes a little time

Some people are just natural drivers and they understand the rules of the road and the nuances of maneuverability instinctively. Most of us, however, are not like that. There's a reason they want 50+ hours of on-the-road experience before you take your test. It takes that long even to start to feel truly comfortable and competent as a driver.

(3) There are no dumb questions

Ask me anything. It may seem like your friends already know this stuff, and you may feel stupid, but you should absolutely ask if you don't understand something about the rules of driving, road signs, which buttons and levers do what in your car, etc. Don't be embarrassed. ASK.

Jack knows the pressure is on him to become the first of our kids not to get into an accident within a couple of years of obtaining their license. I'm confident he can do it.

I will never forget the feeling of moving into our first house

I was 22 years old and hadn't even graduated from college when I made my first mortgage payment.

It was March 1992 and Terry and I had just got the keys to our first house. We were going to be married that June, so I lived there by myself for a few months while finishing up my undergraduate degree at John Carroll and working my first full-time job at The News-Herald.

It was a hectic, heady period, and I still consider it to be one of the most exciting times I've experienced. For several weeks there, it was just life milestone after life milestone.

All of it was great, but nothing quite beats that first time we walked into the house when it had become ours. Houses belong to grown-ups, and suddenly this particular one belonged to us. We were little more than kids, yet we were responsible for everything that happened in and around 1913 East 300th Street.

That was admittedly a little scary, but the thrill of it far outweighed any dread.

Nearly 30 years later, we still have a mortgage. And we've moved on to another house where we've lived for 18 years. And of course we managed to fill up both houses with children, laughter, and memories.

And I'm still cutting the grass. Until I break down and hire someone to do it, I hope to be cutting the grass for years to come.

It's a life that began three decades ago in that beige house with the enclosed front porch and the (seemingly to us) big backyard.

What a ride it has been. What a ride it will be.

I wouldn't trade it for anything.

It’s never quite the same once they leave home

Four of our kids are in their 20s, but they’re at very different stages of their lives.

Elissa is 27 and has a thriving career as a marketer and a long-term partner in Mark.

Chloe is 24, married, and living in her first house with her husband Michael while pursuing her PhD.

Jared is 23 and less than four months from earning his undergraduate degree before embarking on a career in sports communications.

Melanie is less than a week shy of 21 and in the middle of a 5 1/2-month stay in Orlando as part of the Disney College Program.

The former two live on their own, while the latter two live with us (or at least Mel does when she’s not baking in the Florida sunshine operating a water slide at Blizzard Beach).

What they have in common, though, is that all of them have spent at least some period of time living away from home. And my observation is that once they do that, once they spend even a semester or so living at school or whatever, everything changes for good.

Yes, they may come back and live with you again, but the dynamic is forever altered. They suddenly feel much more on their way out, no matter how long they remain under your roof.

And that’s a good thing. Your job, from the moment they came into the world, was to help them eventually become responsible, productive, independent adults. If they’re close to doing that, then kudos to you, Mom and Dad. Ya done good.

That does not, however, mean we as parents are always thrilled with the idea. It was maybe 7 minutes ago that all of them were toddling around the house in diapers, a sippy cup in one hand and a stuffed Barney toy in the other.

And now, they’re a lot closer to their permanent departure than they are to their arrival.

Again, that’s good, but it makes me a little sad. A mixed blessing if ever there was one.

Jack, fortunately, is only 15, so we’ve got time there. But it’s time I now know will go by way, way, way too fast.

And, if I’m doing what I’m supposed to do, I’m bringing his flight from the nest closer to reality by teaching him the things you need to know to live on your own and be a grown-up.

Maybe just this one time I’ll slack off a little.