However, when it comes to my home, half empty is a good thing. It is a glorious thing. It is light shining from above, angels singing, divine intervention.
I am not one of "those" mom's. I did not cry on the first day of school, no matter what the grade. I only felt slightly weepy at high school graduation for our oldest. Hubby and I immediately hit the Starbucks drive through on that college move in day because it was still too early to be considered acceptable for pounding back shots. By the second year of moving the oldest off to college, hubby and I drove separately so he could jam out of there early, and I hung out and rounded out the day with a shopping trip alone to TJMaxx.
It's not that I don't love and cherish these two kids. Obviously, I do, because neither one has slit my throat while I sleep. But I've never been "that" mom. I looked forward to the day of sending them off to sink or swim on their own. I might throw them a life preserver if it looks like they're sinking, but they better be clinging to a broken door in ice cold waters after surviving a steamer ship sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
So, the oldest is off to her second year in college. She says this is IT...no more summers home. Knowing there will be a winter break in there, I have not addressed what I want to do with her room yet, as it is full of furniture and winter clothes (and bobby pins, I'm sure). But the ideas have started to form. And they are making my ladybits tingle in excitement.
I will have a room sized closet.
Not just any closet, but a dressing room. Complete with some type of lounge chair. Perhaps a fainting couch so I can feel like a delicate flower while surrounded by clothes, jewelry, accessories, and custom made shelving for shoes. It will have a chandelier, because every woman should dress under a chandelier. It is just the way of the world. I will spend hours, sitting in my dressing room, just gazing upon all the pretty things. SWOON
But alas, there is still a child residing within these walls. He is my easy child, with the laid back attitude, no drama, and the biggest fuss is reminding him to scoop the cat litter.
However, he is a junior in high school this year. Which in his little world of low maintenance means he's gotten the hang of this high school thing. He's driving. He's working. He enjoys the difficult classes at school. (and mom enjoys him being challenged enough to stop dancing on the lunch room tables in boredom) He knows what extracurriculars he likes.
This enjoyment of the high school years means very few hours at home. If he's not at school, he's working. When he's not working, he's back at school doing something related to drama or speech. If he's not back at school, he's hanging out with friends. I see him for a good morning, and a good night. Occasionally, there's enough time to eat an evening meal together and do a brief catching up of what's going on in his world. Occasionally, that catching up involves hysterical laughter because he finds the world funny in a very weird way. Sometimes, it involves him educating me on why the TV show we are watching is incorrect because of some physics equation that I do not understand.
Regardless, my house is nearly empty. Just me and the cat. And he's a FatBastard who no longer bothers trying to entertain me with the antics of playing toss the mouse.
This nearly empty house does not sadden me in the least. I have freedom. Freedom from cooking. Freedom from cleaning because no one is here to mess it up. Freedom to get out the hot glue gun and play with glitter encrusted leaves for a fall wreath project. Freedom to turn on the speakers and play that music at full volume because I am anti-social and my neighbors know it. Even better, freedom to not be anti-social and go out for drinks, a movie, or voodoo lounge time after work instead of heading home immediately to cook dinner, clean, help with homework I don't understand, and collapse into bed exhausted.
I can do whatever the fuck I want.
And it is glorious.
I think I shall dance in my underwear to Justin Timberlake and eat ice cream out of the carton.
Because I can.
After I get the glitter and glue off my fingers, of course. Or maybe not...I'm feeling defiant.
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