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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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