Why I should have had more kids

Finally! All the clothes for rush are purchased. Tessa had to buy more clothes this year to be on the initiated side of the sorority than last year when she was trying to impress everyone into offering her a bid to join. A dress of a specific color (can't mention what color because the rush wardrobe is a secret until rush week) with matching shoes-any shoes will do, as long as they are brown or metallic, but not tacky metallic, and no wedges. And who sells chocolate brown dresses in July? Oops, did I say brown? Anyway, isn't that a winter color? There are a million little black dresses out there, but noooo chocolate brown ones. We finally found the perfect chocolate brown dress, but only after dragging her into a store she wouldn't ordinarily be caught entering. I suggested she cut the tag out so no one will ever know she set foot in Dress Barn. Oops. I did it again. Good thing her sorority sisters don't read a middle-aged woman's blog. Her secrets would all be out. Still lots to do before she's off to "spirit week" on Sunday. In the alternate universe that is sorority life, all 90 girls pack into a house meant to sleep about 60 for one week of "fun" before actual rush begins. If they don't kill each other first, they'll be friends for life. Presumably on the agenda: Practicing walking down the central staircase in heels while simultaneously singing and trying to remember the name of the PNM (potential new member) you are paired up with for this round; exactly how to cuff those dark wash jeans for maximum cuteness; how to wear pearls without looking like your mother (not that HER mother wears pearls.)

We were laying on my big bed last night chatting before I nodded off and Tessa went to do whatever she does in the wee hours of the night, when she reminded me of just how few hours we have left before she's gone again and the house is quiet. While Mark and I truly enjoy the empty nest thing we've got goin' on, there's always a period of melancholy and sadness when she leaves. Angela has been gone for a while now. Tessa's making that transition to independence. Kinda makes me wish we'd had more kids. I've been trying to think of what advice I can give her that would actually stick. Apparently "make your bed every day, study hard, get enough sleep" wasn't particularly effective. "Write your own story" is what has been rattling around in my head recently. Feeling pressure to be like anyone else is really just time wasted. So while you're learning to live in the house that estrogen built, I hope you remember it's your story and no one else's. Write it well. Write it with passion. Write it with beauty. But make it your own.