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Worst Party Ever

Yep, the other guy of the house jumped from the nest yesterday. He asks as he leaves me at the side of my car to return home, “does it get any easier?” Uh, no. Well, actually a little. I mean that first time I had to leave him was horrible. It was way worse than that horrid first day at preschool. He screamed so loud, I could hear him from the parking lot. No, this was leaving him in a strange place, 2 hours away from my house. Three years later, it has gotten a smidge easier. It doesn’t clobber me until I get home. And hear the silence, see the empty rooms of where my first little boys have slept for years. One left his bedroom neat; one looks like he left in a hurry and then a robber came in and tossed the furniture and pulled out all the drawers. I love their differences.

So why do we love pity parties? They are the worst. Change is hard. It sometimes has grief woven through it. A few of my kids have come to me and said their legs hurt so bad, they couldn’t sleep. Within a few months, they’ve shot up two inches. Change is painful. It comes with markers–the empty house, the lower electric bills, less food to prepare, lighter laundry baskets. Change is good. At least for some in the equation. For me, I move on in this house with less people that I enjoy their company so much. For them, they flex their wings, step into another world where they call the shots (hopefully the good ones), and experience things needed to prepare them for the next big change.

I’ll survive. I’ll be okay. It’s the sting of the day after that I get most sad. Alas, there are a few others in the nest I have to tend to. For now. When the day comes that my nest is empty….who knows what kind of party that’s going to look like. 🙂

 

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The Graduate

gradThat picture, minus the date, is how I felt when I sat for hours watching the graduating class of my sons’ take their diploma and walk away into the night. A group of young adults, weathering the tests, classes, and teachers for the past 13 years…out in the real world now. It was surreal. My baby boy. The one who cried so hard when I left him at the little church preschool when he was 4 years old…now a graduate. I remember not being able to take hearing him cry. I called my husband from the parking lot and told him he would be taking him from now on. He couldn’t do it either. So I called my mother to drop him off. Eventually it got better. He acclimated to the other children and settled in. But boy was it tough.

He never gave me any trouble in school. Always a straight ‘A’ student, very conscious of his GPA, and rarely ever missing a day. I had it easy being his mom. And then the night came to see it end. No more seeing him pulling his hair at the counter, trying to squeeze out another page to his already 7 page long paper. No more having him ride the bus for the 45 minutes it took to get to the school. No more curfew to get the bed so he could wake up at 5 in order to ride the bus! He is now officially in limbo until he finds a job and waits to go to college in the fall.

So how do I feel about it all? Old. I no longer can say I have 5 in school. I have four in school and one going to college. Ahh…it gives me shivers. One is out. OUT, I tell you. Out among the other responsible citizens of the world. Able to vote, able to work, go to jail if he’s bad. (although I highly doubt it…still, he could go) I’ve got an adult on my hands. No, I won’t say it too often in my mind. I can’t. To admit it means I’ve lost a little bit of the world I’ve lived in for so long a time. I prefer denial. When I see him meandering in the hall after all the others have gone to school, I simply say to myself he’s just out for the day. It gets me through it. Don’t ask me what I’ll do when fall really comes and I have to leave him at that college. I think he may have to call my mom to take me home because he can’t take the crying! 🙂