My Quiet House

http://www.collegehumor.com/article:1812020

My house is quiet again - calm, peaceful and oh-so-very quiet.  Reading Week is over, my two fledglings have flown the coop, and once again my husband & I are empty nesters. 

Since our youngest went off to university last September, we've slowly adjusted to having the house to ourselves.  It certainly has it's benefits -   our walls no longer vibrate to the beat of rap music, my grocery bill is considerably less, my husband & I have our freedom back, and after decades of trying to set a good example I can finally say, out loud and with passion, "F**k it!"

It was not an easy adjustment though.  In the weeks leading up to his departure, I was plagued by dreams - not dreams of my strapping eighteen-year-old who now towers over me, but dreams of an infant son, my baby boy.  I had dreams where I misplaced my baby and couldn't find him anywhere; I had dreams where I was forced to give my baby away; and once, I dreamt my baby boy was born with two front teeth and was walking and talking by the end of his first day.  In my dream I asked him, "Can't you just stay a baby?"  And he replied, "But I'm ready."

And he was ready.  He was my shy, quiet, slightly-bewildered boy who had never spent any real time apart from us, but he was ready.  As I hugged him good-bye on the steps of the university that was to be his home for the next 4 years, I was filled with a mixture of worry and hope and pride and grief that's unique to mothers who have to say good-bye to their children, trusting that everything you've taught them will be enough to carry them on ahead without you.

So this week, it was a pleasure to have both of our children return home for a visit during their week off from their studies.  My daughter arrived with a whirlwind of energy, her arms laden with textbooks and her mind full of plans for her week off.  My son, after making a bee-line to the fridge, turned and looked about him saying, "The house looks smaller."

The liveliness and boisterousness they brought with them was short-lived.  Now they're gone and our house is again peaceful and oh-so-very quiet.  I sit and look about this quiet house, and I think about my son and the confident young man he has grown into.   And then it hits me.  The house is not smaller; it's my son that's outgrown it.