With most of our boys away at camp a few weeks back, I’ll be the first to admit that I enjoyed the lull, however brief, in activity. And I have to admit, that it took longer than I expected to get back into the swing of things on their return.
I made no attempt to hide my astonishment at the way food started once again flying off the shelves of my pantry and refrigerator. The washing machine is already making this pathetic moaning sound as if it’s begging for mercy and the dishwasher keeps going into sleep mode even though our model doesn’t even have that option.
Despite keyboards tapping, video games beeping, phones ring-toning (ouch), and boys using their “outside voices” when they’re inside, I am actually OK with the decibel level in my house. It’s a wonder I got any sleep at all while they were away.
And, after using up two hard-earned vacations days to tromp around the campus of our oldest’s college of choice while he registered for his first semester’s classes, I’m determined to relish every harried moment of the next six weeks.
“He said that he would’ve stayed if he could,” I told my Mom after she asked me how it went. The words caught in my throat.
He’d rather be there than here.
My husband, standing nearby when I hung up, put his arms around me as I sulked, blinded by memories of all of the good times, all of the hugs, all of the laughs and all of the moments that had us beaming with pride.
I reached for a tissue. “Who’s big idea was it to have kids anyway?”
As if sensing my need for a reality check, my son entered the room, sneezing loudly, took the tissue from my hand and, without a word, left the room.
Accepting a fresh tissue from my husband, I asked, “When’s his move-in date again?”