You're Doing It Wrong

August...ahhh, the dog days of summer.  When it's finally blistering hot and you realize it's nearly time for those offspring to go back to school.

Just 10 days to go, and I will be sending one off to his final (half) year of high school, and one will begin her 3rd year of college.

And apparently, I'm doing it wrong.

I don't feel weepy.  There is no heart tugs of nostalgia where I pull out those first day of school pictures with backpacks strapped on that look bigger than their tiny little bodies.

Nope, I'm celebrating.

I'm also procrastinating.

I could do that online registration for high school.  But I'm also considering what a pain in the ass it is, considering nothing has changed for the last 13 years we've been living in this school district.  I've considered not even bothering with the registration, and seeing if they even notice he's attending school.  Or perhaps, as a final hurrah of it being the final registration, informing them he now speaks exclusively Vietnamese and will need a translator. 

I could fill out the same child's early graduation request.  I should be more than eager to complete that paperwork, but if he hasn't registered, does it even count?  It also makes me cranky, because though he will have met his core curriculum requirements within the first nine weeks of school, he will be stuck filling his remaining time at this school with "fluff" classes, because he still won't quite have the credits he needs to graduate.  Apparently, having double the credits needed in Math and Science doesn't mean squat if you haven't completed the proper amount of electives.  I'm sure he'll enjoy picking between a ceramics class and automotives where he can be told what a gas cap looks like.

Deep down I know I will give in at some point and do as I'm told.  I will dot all the I's and cross all the T's, because it will hopefully give a guarantee that he can finally be done with this hoorah by mid-January.  Though I'm still stubbornly holding out on the mandatory laptops provided by the school.  Quite frankly, I don't want to have to keep an additional laptop in this house, and I find the whole concept ridiculous when my son already owns a laptop.

I also have no college student to move back in a flurry of activity and overwhelming stress.  She has already "officially" moved out of our home, after renting her own place this last spring.  I no longer spend summers with random piles of girl crap, stray bobby pins, or the piles of shit that fit in a dorm room, but don't fit in our home. 

Within a month of her move, I was painting her bedroom and transforming it into my own personal "zen den", which also meant not leaving any sleeping space.  I did not weep, or feel sad.  I enjoy that space quite often...it is my version of a "man cave" in which I shamelessly enjoy time all to myself doing whatever I wish, surrounded by random things that bring me peace and joy. 

Pure Zen

I do not dread the day we cart our son off to college.  I revel in the idea of endless nights of freely choosing my activities, only being responsible for my own meals, all messes being solely my own.

I do not fear the quiet.

And it WILL be quiet.  With a husband on the road all week, it will be just me and the cat.  And I can look forward to a grocery bill that will be cut in half, slow internet that will not be shared with anyone else, expanding my social outings if I wish, and tackling projects instead of cooking dinner as soon as I get home from work.

I can do whatever the hell I want.  And the thought of that is exciting...not depressing.

I am about to turn 44 years old.  My oldest turns 21 this year.  I have spent nearly half my life parenting, and I am ok with this stage of my life nearing an end.   I am beyond thrilled to become an empty nester.  Because there will be nothing "empty" about it.  It will be filled with excitement, adventures, and a fulfilling new stage of life.  I will enjoy seeing what the future holds for my children, but I will not be hanging on tight, bemoaning a quiet house. 

I've said it before.  Perhaps the mother gene skipped a generation.  Because I see the posts, I hear the talk.  The people shedding a tear for the years going by.  Dreading when the house is empty.  And just as they may not understand my excitement, I don't understand their sadness. 

Am I doing it wrong?

My happiness with life says no.