This weekend we turn back the clocks. That means it will be lighter and brighter when I get home at night. That means that springtime will be here soon and summer will follow, quickly, I hope, I hope. I’m so ready to pack up the winter weather and pack up my winter clothes too.
It felt like spring as I walked into my daughter’s newly painted room tonight. Her room is a warm, creamy buttercup yellow. It screams sunshine. Her room is void of furniture now that she is no longer a permanent resident. I donated her old baby furniture before I moved. It is time to get her a big girl bed. She is about to turn 25.
It felt like a beautiful blue sky day as I walked into my son’s newly painted room. His room is a bold wedgewood blue color. Since I count him as an occasional visitor as well, I am using his room as my temporary home office until I paint and decorate my new home office in my loft area.
“How are you doing?” I said to my son last week on the phone. He is studying in Rome for the semester — such a lucky guy D is.
“I’m doing okay,” said D, “However, I’m concerned about the summer.”
“What’s the problem,” I cautiously replied. “I thought you were going to be in NYC for the summer – taking classes and working part-time.”
“That was the plan,” said D, “but the classes are so expensive. I don’t think I can afford to take summer classes in NYC. I think I may have to come home.”
I love my son. I love my empty nest.
“Really, come home?” I said.
I love my son. I love my empty nest and the fridge that has a limited supply of food. And I love the fact that I don’t have to go food shopping every week if I don’t want to.
“Yeah,” said D, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
I love my son. I love my empty nest and my single (with a boyfriend) lifestyle.
“Really, come home?” I said again.
I love my son. I love my empty nest. I love that I no longer have to rush home to make dinner for my anyone.
“Really, come home?” I said one more time.
I love my son. I love my empty nest. I love having a clean bathroom where I can enjoy a leisurely bath whenever I desire and where I can use the toilet without having to worry about falling in because a certain someone forgot to put the seat back down.
“Really, come home?” I said one last time.
I love my son. I love my empty nest. I like having electric bills that don’t make me cringe before I open them each month due to the extra costs from an extra someone who always leaves the lights on in every room he enters and exits.
I love my son. He will turn 21 years old this May.
Will this empty nester and her 21 year old son be able to peacefully co-exist in the same household again? Will she be able to relinquish her empty nest and allow a little birdie to creep back in for a four month stay?
Oh, the good ol’ summertime.