I am suffering from a major case of the bittersweets right now. We moved our girl into her new college digs earlier in the week -- and it was SO MUCH FUN to start fresh with an empty room to help decorate. Two days of cleaning and scrubbing and re-assembling furniture and styling and running out to the store for more Sonic drinks and molly bolts? SIGN ME UP. But before that happened, I found myself standing alone in that empty bedroom in our house, weeping as if my heart had been broken. By "weeping," I mean "ugly crying." On the floor. Like some sort of scenery-chewing soap actress who's just been told that her husband was actually her grandmother. (WHAT A TWIST!!!)
And now, she's all moved in. It's exciting -- there's an entire new life beginning, for all of us. But: the house is quiet. Nobody is bemoaning the lack of Pizza Rolls in the freezer, or asking for a few dollars for grapefruit face wash, or leaning against the door of my office in cutoffs and a ponytail to giggle and chat about how ridiculous friends/boys are.
I keep texting: "Are you ok?" "How's it going?" "Do you need anything?" "Can I come spend the night?" And the responses come back: "Yes." "Great." "No." "NOOOOOOO." Y'all think I'm kidding about that last one, don't you? I ain't.
People wiser than me -- who have gone through this many times over -- keep telling me that at some point you have to let them go. They have to learn to be independent and make their own mistakes and learn that one cannot fry bacon in a non-stick pan if one does not own a proper spatula. A few pans have to be ruined, maybe, before that one sinks in. I'm not ready. It's too soon. I want more time. LET ME BUY YOU A SPATULA.
On that note, everyone have a great weekend -- and if you feel like it, hit me with your bittersweet stories. I'll be right over here on the edge of my seat, ready for the next thing.