Today begins a new phase. I think this is called boomeranging. It’s “temporary,” we’ve been told. Although soon to be employed, albeit locally, that’s the status for now. With the return of the prodigal son comes the boxed college stuff with the big stuff arriving this weekend. The two overstuffed Lazy Boys have been donated, at my strong suggestion, to the frat house. Whether they’re used for their intended indoor purpose, for roof top seating or lawn art, they were enthusiastically welcomed into their new home. Little did the men of Theta Chi know a monetary bribe was pending if necessary.
For the past four years as if on cue from other parents who had gone before me, I gradually found the lack of daily worry of “why isn’t he home yet, it’s getting late, did the car breakdown, is he laying in a ditch somewhere…”, that we, as parents, especially moms, seem pre-programmed to go from zero to sixty in two seconds – wonderfully absent for the most part. In my role as the empty nest mom, I accepted and was grateful for the once-a-week Sunday night phone calls. They absolved me from the daily worry and gave my sons the freedom they should be experiencing at this time in their lives. Of course, by the time Tuesday rolled around with no word, I sent the email with the words in the subject line – “Busy? Studying? Ditch?”. Message received.
In the meantime, there will be a new learning curve for us living here. For my son, it’ll be the revelation of, guess what – mom doesn’t cook dinner anymore like she used to when you were in high school or for those holiday visits. Perhaps once in awhile but don’t count on it. The fridge will be stocked but you know where everything is in the kitchen. Luckily you’ve been washing your own clothes since middle school. I’m sure you’ll continue this stellar habit.
For me, it’s realizing you’re a grown man. Intellectually, I really do realize you’re capable of knowing when to put your jacket on. Be patient with me should I falter. Old habits are hard to break even if I haven’t used them for four years. As for any late night arrivals? Sorry, that “ditch” gene is programmed.
I also promise to not take off my bra until one of us goes to bed first.