Benjamin Franklin got a tremendous amount of mileage out of platitudes. We are still stitching in time, going to bed early and rising thus, and trying not to be fools easily parted with our funds. The truth in these old sayings is self evident. Or is it? Despite “Chicken Soup” books, there are many youngsters who don’t know how to actually apply the wisdom of the ages in their day to day lives. So I am here to help. I have chosen a very popular saying: “When life hands you a lemon, make lemonade.” Let’s just look at the many ways this simple adage can be applied.

AT THE STORE: Did you forget your list? Company coming? Don’t fret. Instead of making that Chicken Marengo recipe that calls for all those ingredients you can’t remember, just buy a jar of some sort of cooking sauce and some rice. Those sauces were concocted by professional chefs. You can trust them. Chicken, delicious sauce, with some frozen peas and a nice Sarah Lee dessert, and you are golden! Lemonade.

IN THE FITTING ROOM: Oh, my gosh. Size 12 doesn’t really seem to be as roomy as it used to be? But you look great in the 14’s. And have you noticed that skinny women get TONS of wrinkles as they get older? Plump women NEVER look their age. Lemonade.

AT THE HIGH SCHOOL REUNION: This is a huge opportunity for growth and development. I think it is actually an underlying rule of the universe that the most popular and beautiful girls in high school invariably marry the wrong men. Those nerds they always made fun of are guys like Bill Gates. Lemonade.

AROUND THE BLOCK: The Joneses? Don’t even TRY to keep up. As I age, I have come to realize that the Joneses AREN’T EVEN PAYING ANY ATTENTION. They are too busy acquiring cars, houses, and boats that they can’t afford to even notice whether or not your watch is a Rolex. Get a good Timex, a car that runs well, stay at Motel 6, and enjoy life with your family. Lemonade.

IN THE GAME OF LIFE: We all get slammed. Some of us are visited by disease; some have divorce and other family problems. There are drugs, crimes and wars all over the world. Rain falls on everyone. At my advancing age, I have discovered that the horrors of my existence have led to new insights, new friends, new respect for life, and renewed dedication to happiness. Making lemonade in this scenario is the hardest of all. But with courage, optimism, and an openness to change, lemonade can still be made.

Life is a challenge. But lemonade awaits.

As a “mommy blogger,” I spend my writing time chronicling the events surrounding my empty nest. I write about housework, give parenting tips, and sometimes venture an opinion about the world at large. I read quite a few books, and sometimes watch things on HBO that are a bit racy.

I am starting to have a small presence on Twitter, and I really enjoy all the jolly folks I have met there. The fact that the cyber world is a bit like the “wild west” has never even occurred to me. Until the day I got the email from a fan whom I will just call “Mr. Foots.”

I tweet many things, including character names for novels. So far, none of my names have become famous, but I keep on assigning names to fictional secretaries (Minerva Pickles), stamp collectors (Cyrus Manacle), pig farmers (Sam Hockstein), and damsels in distress (Cecelia Flopworth). But Lauren Teeters, the girl with bunions and stilettos, brought me a genuine fan.

Mr. Foots emailed me with a request to “flesh out” Ms. Teeters in a short story for his “private collection.” He offered to pay me. Ever on the lookout for paying gigs, I referred him to my agent. She is a real go getter, this woman! Her goal is to make me as famous as Erma Bombeck. The fact that my agent is also my daughter is a mere coincidence; I am sure she would want to represent me anyway. But I digress.

Mr. Foots began a correspondence with my agent, which I observed via the “cc’s” on the emails. I began to get suspicious when the “private collection” was mentioned, but kept silent. Mr. Foots then sent some samples of what he desired to my agent. My wonderful agent is very busy, and simply forwarded the samples on to me without a look.

I opened the sample document and began reading. “Sylvia’s throbbing bunions cried out for attention. She slipped off her heels, while running a bath. Her roommate Sarah approached with a smile.” ALARM BELLS RANG. I frantically emailed my lovely daughter, who had in the meantime sent Mr. Foots a message requesting $500 as a starting figure.

ME:  Stop! Stop! Mr. Foots is a PERVERT!

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  Huh?

ME:  Did you even LOOK at the sample he sent?

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  No, why? What do you think if we ask for $500 for one story, and then additional $700 per on follow-up work?

ME: For God’s sake, open the attachment Mr. Foots sent you, and read it to me!

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  (after a fifteen second pause) Her aching foot traced a path down Sarah’s….OH CRAP!

ME:  Yes, and it gets much more savory. Look at the part about the Brazilian and the piercings…

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  OH MY GOD!  Is this PORN?

ME:  Well, it isn’t “Little Women,” now, is it?

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  Should I ask him for more money? Say, a thousand dollars?

ME: I AM YOUR MOTHER!

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  Oh, yeah. I guess you want me to turn him down, huh?

So my pornography career ended before it got rolling. However, if times get any tougher, I might reconsider. What might Erma Bombeck have done?

Her feet were killing her. As a matter of fact, she ached from head to foot.  All that carpooling takes it out of a gal. As she carried her groceries into the house, a thought occurred to her: “I wonder what it would feel like to sit on the vacuum cleaner?”

Thank heaven there isn’t the equivalent of a Nobel Prize for parenting. I wouldn’t even get a nomination. Oh, I did all the right things: I fed my children organic food, limited the amount of “sugar cereals” consumed, exposed them to books, culture, and diversity. They received all their vaccinations. But in the midst of all of my efforts, I did make a few mistakes. These mistakes are what my children remember.

For instance, when both children were in elementary school, I happened to read an article proclaiming the positive effects of a high fiber diet. Experts concluded that people who ate lots of fiber had lower rates of cancer, heart disease, constipation, and other health threats. That was enough for me. I rushed out and bought little plastic shakers for each family member, which I filled with BRAN. The instructions were to keep the shaker on one’s person at all times, and to shake it vigorously on all comestibles. We all dutifully did this for about a week, until we began to gag at meals and spend extended time in the bathroom. The girls also reported that they were becoming the targets of bullying. The bran experiment was suspended.

During the bran interval, I also began to hear bad things about hormones and antibiotics in beef. Apparently, American children were developing breasts too early, and getting cancers! I did not want my girls to look like Mae West at age nine, nor did I want them to get cancer, and so after one particularly disturbing newscast, I rushed into the kitchen and heaved all meat products into the trash. This abrupt dietary shift caused anguish and withdrawal, plus some nasty attitudes!

As a nurturer, I was a “helicopter” parent. In an effort to ease up on the controls, I gave permission for my eight year old to go to the park near our house unsupervised. For the first time. She returned home missing one shoe, with a sprained ankle and a concussion. We spent a tense night in the ER, and the local CSI team became involved! The police determined that she was not abducted and drugged, but simply fell off the monkey bars at the playground. But not before all the neighbors were involved and the populace of our little suburb experienced widespread panic. The helicopter RETURNED.

One notable year, when the budget was tight, but vacation time loomed, I did a little research into low cost vacations abroad. I spent hours on the internet, and pored over travel books. More than one travel “guru” recommended trips to tropical countries, and I decided that we could become eco-tourists. Taking two teenagers to a third world country where perhaps five people speak English is a mistake. Going on nature walks where backpacks and fitness evaluations are required beforehand is a mistake. Standing directly below a volcano as it begins to erupt is terrifying. The whole trip was a nightmare, yet the girls LOVE reminiscing about those bugs that stood up and hissed.

A mother with no regrets is TELLING LIES.

Ladies, please join us in welcoming Molly to our staff of regular contributors. Molly’s monthly column “View from the Empty Nest” takes a fun and engaging look at life after the kids leave home.

My generation of women demonstrated against the Vietnam War, burned our bras, and founded the Women’s Lib movement. Along the way, some of us discovered drugs and free love. My friends and I wore bell bottoms, competed for corporate jobs, and had nannies.

Our daughters watched. They watched their Mommies pack lunches, wear pearls and pantyhose, write business plans, and worship Steven Covey. They also watched us cook meals, schlep them around to soccer games, and bake cookies. Our daughters were much more observant than we thought they were. They learned from us.

Our daughters learned how to multi task. Some of them became techno geniuses and helped invent the gadgets that have made multi tasking so manageable. Others used their burgeoning awareness of opportunities for women to become highly paid professionals in careers that were not yet open to their mothers’ generation.

This group of talented girls, now into their twenties and thirties, makes achievement look like a walk in the park. They have careers. They run marathons. They cook like Ina Garten. They look like Cameron Diaz, and they entertain like Martha Stewart.

I have observed my two daughters become women that I could never imaging being. One speaks Spanish fluently, teaches high school, and mentors inner city children, while keeping horses and showing them regularly all over the country… My other daughter is a talent agent, a wine consultant, and a professional hostess who schedules wine tastings and dinner parties several times a week

I have been in awe of both of my girls since they were teens. They do things right now that I still have on my bucket list. They are confident, bold, and a little sassy! They lead their lives instead of following life, a job, or a man around.

Now they are approaching parenthood. I know my girls won’t be the Mom I was. They will be efficient, involved, inspiring, and yet nurturing. They will tire themselves out and sell themselves short, just as we did raising them. But just as our generation learned from our Mothers, this group of enterprising young women has done the same. Unlike us, they won’t put off adventure in favor of parenthood. They won’t worry about starting families in their thirties or beyond. They won’t work for others—they will create their own enterprises. Our daughters will be their own bosses. Call the shots.

My girls don’t think I am watching them. But I do. And what I see them doing each day enthralls and astounds me. This generation of young women is ASTOUNDING.

Their Mothers and Grandmothers take all the credit.

Submitted by Molly Campbell (http://mollyc-lifewiththecampbells.blogspot.com)

I watched the young mother load up her car. First the kids, one in a baby seat, followed by two whingeing toddlers into their little seats. Then the gear: a stroller for three, a diaper bag, and finally, some packages. She looked over at me long enough to give me a piteous sigh, and then got in herself, off to her next errand, a playdate, or the pediatrician’s office. I sighed in return. I remember those days of exhaustion, frustration, and challenge.

When I was young, I thought that life would stay the way it was forever. My children seemed as if they would never mature. My housework never seemed to get done. Scrambling around from one activity to another took inordinate amounts of time that I couldn’t devote to more important things like thinking, noticing what season it was, fantasizing about sex, or combing my hair.

There was a frantic quality to life as a young parent. Experts advised all kinds of activities to enhance the mental acuity and physical prowess of children. It wasn’t enough to just squire them around to pre-school, give them nutritious food and daily baths. It was also recommended that parents PLAY with their children, encourage them to help with meal preparation, engage them in artistic projects, and tussle with them in the grass. My husband and I dutifully followed the experts, and became generally exhausted.

As our kids grew, the sophistication of their activities grew with them. Now there were debates, horse shows, dances that required chaperones, and lots and lots of homework that necessitated proofreading. I became very good at sizing up boys by the hang of their trousers and the subject matter of their tattoos. Driving lessons replaced nature walks, and curfews had to be enforced. Still tired, my husband and I gamely attended soccer matches, listened to rock music, and became familiar with instant messaging, Ipods, and Rap.

But as suddenly as it all began, it ended. The kids left for college, and the world changed. There were books again. Meals could be enjoyed slowly, and no one had to jump from the table, race to the car and go somewhere. There were no shoes, schoolbooks, or sporting equipment left on the floor of the kitchen. My God, the phone didn’t ring any more! My husband looked at me, and I looked at him, and we SMILED.

Life in an empty nest is so enjoyable! We watch public television, and there is classical music in the air. I can take a nap if I want to! There are days when I actually GET BORED. The people at the library know me by my first name! I wear pajamas all day on days when I am not even slightly sick. I can think about politics and ponder the impact of the newly passed healthcare bill. I have conversations!

To all the young parents out there, coaching T-ball, baking cookies, housebreaking puppies, cleaning up fingerpaints, and wiping noses, I have soothing words for you:

ALL CHILDREN LEAVE HOME EVENTUALLY.