When I started writing this blog a few years ago, my goal was to document my transition from full-time mom to whatever I turned out to be when I grew up. (Still waiting.) Since my original mission statement, "All I ever wanted to be was a mom; now all I want is to get my kids out of my house") still resides on my page, you could easily conclude that a) Not much has changed and I'm still eagerly awaiting their departure or b) Things have changed but I'm just too lazy to come up with a new sound-bite for my weekly journal.
As of yesterday, it's a little bit of both.
I've known for awhile that my son has been contemplating a major life change. I got a big clue when he moved back in with us in December, a week after our daughter packed up her stuff and vacated her room for good (or so she says . . . married, pregnant offspring have been known to show up on their parents' doorsteps . . . or have you not seen Father of the Bride Part II?). After living on his own for two years, I knew he wasn't heading back to the ranch for my home cooking or sparkling conversation - he was coming back because he knew it was the quickest way for him to save up the cash he needed to get out of Dodge for good. All this togetherness would be temporary; he had made up his mind; he was finally going to relocate to his habitat of choice - Colorado.
And now we have a date.
On August 9th, my husband and I will become empty nesters. We will help our son pack up his belongings (a lot of clothes, a laptop and several crates full of Legos) and load them into a POD bound for Denver. We will stand on the driveway and wave as he pulls out of the cul-de-sac, knowing that we're going to go from seeing him every day to seeing him two or three times a year. We'll walk back into a quiet house and realize that that day I so glibly wished for when I started writing this blog, has finally arrived.
Funny. I don't think I'll feel like celebrating.
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