This month I finally put to rest the notion that my children live here.
I did it by turning their rooms into guest rooms.
In other words, I acknowledged that they don't live here by making it easier for them to visit.
is now a bed in each of the bedrooms, for the first time since they
packed up their stuff, including their furniture, loaded up a van, and
moved out. In fact, when my son did this, he helped himself to the extra bed because his friend Matt was sleeping on a floor and had no money to buy a bed. Never got that back, but whatever.
empty nest is a trope these days. Google it, and you find dozens of
crafts-y sites; I guess once the kids are gone there's room for glue
guns? Cougar jokes abound, because apparently all the men have moved on
to the trophy wives, leaving the mothers the choices of scrapbooking, or
cradle robbing. Apparently doing what I did--building my business now
that I'm not cleaning up after them any more--isn't part of the meme.
few of my friends abandoned the nest to the kids, and got adorable
apartments in the city; there are guest rooms, but the kids are not
encouraged to think of coming "home" since it isn't anymore.
you, I wasn't one of those mothers who dreaded my kids moving out.
Indeed, I pretty much counted down the days, and had maybe five minutes
But still I kept the rooms transitional, by which I
mean messy and empty, just in case one of them needed to haul all that
stuff back in, as kids are wont to do in this economy. But then I found a
convertible futon bed that makes an adorable couch, and my
sister-in-law gave us a beautiful handmade quilt that works perfectly in
one room. My daughter bought a nicer bed for her place, so we hauled her convertible bed which turns into a couch into the other room (I'm sitting on it now as I write this.)
I cleaned, and fixed the window coverings, and packed away the odds and
ends of their childhoods. I hauled everything out of the attic, loaded
things like CDs into boxes and warned them to come and get the stuff or
it was going to the library, or the dump.
The last step is
cleaning out my daughter's closet, which is full mostly of all her
skating test and competition dresses. I need the space, and she's moved
on, and at last I find a place where I'm a little choked up over the
But it's going to be really nice having my own closet.