one bird closer to an empty nest
Well, vacation is over. Just like that. The leftover food is back in the refrigerator, the bags are (still packed) in my bedroom, and the teenage girls are off to a friend’s house like every other Friday night.
The house is officially too quiet.
And it’s about to get even quieter. Why is it that just as you start to get used to the noise, the chaos and the bickering, one of your children decides that it’s time to leave the nest and find a tree of their own.
Exactly what is wrong with my tree? And why does everything have to change all at once?
I mean, I’m no stranger to change. I’ve been through a divorce, and if that doesn’t teach you that life can change in an instant, nothing will. But wasn’t it just yesterday that I gave birth to these baby birds? Should they really be trying to fly on their own already?
You’ll have to forgive all the bird analogies, but I think that’s just a stupid flocking idea!
So, my first born child is packing his room as I type. I knew it was coming. I had months of warning, and constant reminders along the way, but it still managed to come as somewhat of a shock. I’m still in mourning after all…it was only a week or two ago that the dog died. And I have really high blood pressure, and I’m not supposed to get stressed out. But I have got to tell you…this is stressing me out. And not at all because I’m trying to decide how I’m going to use his empty bedroom—I’ve already been told there is a ninety day waiting period before I’m allowed to redecorate.
I just don’t know how I’ll sleep at night not knowing if one of my kids is home safely. Sure I can still GPS his cell phone. Thank goodness for technology and all that…but it’s not like he’s going to make all kinds of noise coming in now. I won’t hear the loud bang as his toilet seat drops from the lifted position to the seated position directly above my bedroom. I won’t hear the death sounds of “Metal Gear Solid”, or “Resident Evil” coming from his Playstation 3 at two am, telling me without a shadow of a doubt that he is home safe and sound. Or the reverberation of his electric bass thumping out a cover of something I wouldn’t have listened to in its original incarnation.
How am I supposed to sleep with all that silence?
And who is going to tell me I’m ridiculous when I misquote the lines from some old movie? Who the hell will even notice if I misquote the lines from some old movie? I’m pretty sure my Mom had a victory party the day I moved out. Will I ever reach the point where I’m ready to celebrate my children being adults? I think I may just be far too emotional for that to happen any time soon.
I think instead I’ll just pretend he’s having a sleepover at a friend’s house. A really long one. I’m pretty sure he’ll come back to eat when he’s broke. I should see him tomorrow or the next day at the latest.
Until the next time…I’ll be stocking up on tissues!