The Not-Quite-Empty Nest

Now that summer's ending, it’s time to
visit the whole empty nest concept again. It turns out to be even more complicated than I thought when I wrote about it for Chicken Soup for the Soul, back in 2008. At that time two of my sons had already moved out and my youngest was a senior in high school. I knew that for the first time in 24 years, my husband and I would be facing life without kids.

Anticipating how much we'd miss them, and the life we had when we were all together, we decided to make a pre-emptive strike. We sold our house in the suburbs and moved to the country. Our hope was that hard work in a new setting would help take some of the sting out of the adjustment phase. We would spackle over the empty spots in the nest with our own projects and challenges. And in the end we would have a new kind of life we had built together, just the two of us, just as we did when we were first married.

But it didn’t exactly work out that way. It seems that “empty” is one of those fluid words, at least in the context of the nest. Over the past two years, all three of our sons have lived with us for short periods of time. It's ironic, given that one of our primary reasons for moving was to live in a house that wasn’t filled with memories of them.

It turns out that we were wrong about that part. In fact, their presence here has helped make this house feel like home, in a way that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. They’ve helped us strip wallpaper (ugh, a job I hope never to have to do again as long as I live!), put in a vegetable garden, build a waterfall in the backyard, install shelves in the basement, even stack hay in the barn.

On a practical level, this help has been invaluable. But the true value is in the pleasure of working side by side with them, talking about everything and nothing, admiring their skills and their confidence, appreciating the good and accomplished young men they’ve become. It's a unique experience, living with your children again, getting to know them after they’ve moved away and have come back all grown up. It's something we never anticipated but feel lucky to have had.

It's also gratifying that all three have been comfortable and happy here. They've taken to this peaceful country setting in a way they never would have before, when their lives revolved around friends, school, sports and a million other activities. And since they’ve each lived here for a time, they don’t feel like they’re just visiting Mom and Dad’s house—they feel like they’re coming home.

The downside? Besides having to share a bathroom with boys again? For me it’s that the process of letting them go has been prolonged. Each time one of them stays for a few weeks or months, our lives take on a new rhythm. We learn to share the bathroom and the washing machine. We help take care of each others’ pets. We remember that a large pizza will barely go around, let alone provide a few days of leftovers as it used to do. We watch family movies and laugh about the old days. I never get tired of looking into those grown-up faces and seeing my sweet little boys there.

But then the day comes when their plans take them away again. For me this just never gets easier. While helping them pack I’m already anticipating the loss. Then for weeks afterward I bump into it at every turn—their car no longer in the driveway, their cat or dog not there to greet me when I get home from work, their favorite foods now sitting uneaten in the cupboard.

And it’s not as if they are just moving across town—currently they live in three different states, none of them ours. I think it's this "all or nothing" aspect that makes it so hard for me. Either they actually live in my house or they are far away—there's no in between. Now we won’t all be together again until Christmas time, and that’s only if the stars align.

So here we are, my husband and I, once again comforting each other. We know that having our sons here for a while has been worth the grief of seeing them go again. We also know that there are much worse things than having a family that misses each other when they’re apart.

Now it's time to adjust to the suddenly quiet house again and to start making plans for the fall. As some incredibly wise (though somewhat naive) person once wrote in her story for Chicken Soup: "After all, life doesn’t run backward. There is only forward. There is only the never-ending challenge of keeping your balance. I know I'll be fine if I just keep pedaling." I think it's a lesson I'll need to learn over and over again, at least for a little while longer.

Page to Screen

I’ve been seeing commercials lately for the upcoming movies Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and Where the Wild Things Are. Both are based on beloved children’s books, by Judi Barrett and Maurice Sendak, respectively. (That's my son David in the photo, at age 2. He absolutely adored that book!)

Now, it’s no surprise that I’m a big fan of children’s books, and I happen to consider myself a movie lover, too.* But instead of feeling excited about these particular movies, I find myself apprehensive. The chances of either or both of them being terrible are, I'm sorry to say, excellent.

It seems to me that really good movies based on children’s books are few and far between. And of the ones that are good, very few are recent. In fact, one of the best ones turned 70 this year. In 1939, MGM did a masterful job bringing

L. Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz to life. They had to leave out some of his original story, of course, but they managed to capture its essence—a farm girl’s thrilling/terrifying journey into an unknown and often hostile world, and her triumph over adversity by virtue of brains, heart and courage.

Not that they didn’t try to mess it up. At least three different directors worked on it—never a good sign. One director had Judy Garland in a curly blonde wig and heavy kewpie-doll makeup. Another had the brilliant idea of cutting the “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” scene, saying it slowed down the action too much. The composer and lyricist had to beg to have it restored.

In fact, I would give those two much of the credit for the success of Oz. The songs they created were not simply interludes that interrupted the action, as was the case with most musicals at the time. These songs contained storyline elements; they defined the characters and moved the plot along. You knew as much—or more—about Dorothy Gale from that song as from anything that “happened” in the film. This approach truly changed the way musicals were written.

OK, I seem to have veered off onto the yellow brick road here. My point was supposed to be that for every good film made from a children’s book, there seem to be an awful lot of terrible ones. I think this especially applies to picture books. A picture book story is intentionally short. Making it long enough to fill up a 90-minute movie completely changes and, more often than not, ruins it. And it doesn’t help that most of the additions tend to fall into these unimaginative categories: zany hi-jinks, sappy sentiment and potty “humor.”

Author Chris Van Allsburg once said that those who write for adults have to worry about what Hollywood screenwriters take out of their book when adapting it for the screen. This holds true for longer, more sophisticated children's books as well—think Harry Potter and Little Women. But most children’s writers have to worry about what screenwriters put in. He was right to worry. Jumanji looked like a movie with ADD. And despite the state-of-the-art special effects and presence of actor extraordinaire Tom Hanks, The Polar Express has little of the magic and charm of the original picture book. Turning that hushed and lovely train trip to the North Pole into a roller coaster thrill ride was both unnecessary and obnoxious. (Sorry, Tom! Still love you, though!)

Other terrible film adaptations? Rod Howard, a guy you can usually count on for high-quality entertainment, has much to answer for with his wretched version of Dr. Seuss’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It wasn’t just that he stuffed it with all kinds of senseless, boring plotlines, he actually changed the story so that the Grinch ends up teaching the Whos not to be materialistic. Just unforgivable.

Conversely, some of the best children’s movies have been from original screenplays. The geniuses at Pixar, for example, wrote incredible stories that became Toy Story, Toy Story 2 (see, Tom? You were brilliant in these!), Cars and Up. All the characters and situations in those movies are organic—they feel as though they belong there, instead of being grafted on to fill up time or to meet "famous actor" quotas. Maybe Hollywood should consider keeping its grubby paws off beloved children’s books—especially picture books—and just hiring talented screenwriters instead.

So what are the chances that Cloudy and Wild Things will retain the magic of the books? I’m not optimistic, but would love to be pleasantly surprised.

While you all wait breathlessly for my verdict, take a look at these other page-to-screen projects for children's books, in no particular order except the one in which they popped into my head. I didn't repeat any I already mentioned. Feel free to chime in, challenge, or point out any you love/hate that I may have missed/boycotted (yes, I’m looking at you, Cat in the Hat!)

Pretty Good
The Snowman (Raymond Briggs), 1982 – gorgeous, inventive, charming, and the only picture book in the bunch
The Brave Little Toaster (Thomas M. Disch), 1987
Because of Winn-Dixie (Kate DiCamillo), 2005
Holes (Louis Sachar), 2003
Sounder (William H. Armstrong), 1972
Call it Courage (Armstrong Sperry),1987
Flight of Dragons (Peter Dickison), 1986

Pretty Dismal
Ella Enchanted (Gail Carson Levine), 2004
The Tale of Despereaux (Kate DiCamillo), 2008
Stuart Little (E.B. White), 1999
Heidi (Johanna Spyri), 1937 Shirley Temple version
The Borrowers (Mary Norton), 1997

James and the Giant Peach (Roald Dahl), 1996
Little House on the Prarie (Laura Ingalls Wilder), 2006 ABC-TV miniseries

*Oh my gosh, do yourself a favor and run to the theater to see Julie & Julia. It’s just delicious, pun intended. Trust me, you’ll never think of butter the same way again!