It's official—life will never be the same around this house as The Child has officially exited, stage left. He has thrown caution to the wind and has taken the huge leap of leaving the tender and loving arms of his mother and Perpetual. He has decided that he must get on with his life. He has sprouted wings and taken flight from his original nest. OK, enough with that male bovine excrement.
More accurately, he has exited stage east as he has moved lock, stock and barrel one home east of ours into the estate of one Jacqueline Houserman of “Mother” fame.
I know we are an insane bunch. I shall now prattle on incessantly about this particular move in The Child's life. (I know you are glad for the warning.)
Do you recall several months back when I penned a piece about The Child getting out of here by the end of spring or summer? He and “The Child's Woman” were going to live in sin at another location totally but Mother swooped in and talked him out of it. She is very prim and proper and did not want her grandchild to live with a woman prior to marriage. (OK that is a total lie—the part about Mother objecting to cohabitation prior to a ceremony of some kind. I just thought it sounded more thrilling. I'm trying to jazz this up for your reading pleasure or pain. Not certain that I'm digressing but let's just say I am for argument's sake.)
The Child did meet with Mother to express that he was going to be moving out of his childhood home. She then asked him to move in with her and that is exactly what he did.
Now, before Judy and John Judgmental leap in to say that kids are hideous today and they never move out and they use their parents and grandparents and act as parasites in general, allow me to clear that air and pronto.
The Child paid a third of the bills here in this shoe box from the minute he turned 18. Mother will insist on some kind of compensation as well.
Getting back to the move, at first I cracked up over the fact that The Child was going to take the leap and move 100 yards across the property, give or take. Then I thought about it and I'm actually rather glad.
Mother is in terrific shape for a woman of 89 but I think it's good to have a babysitter for her on a more regular basis. Therefore, I am now perfectly OK with this decision. He can keep a watchful eye out and rein her in when she insists on doing things like laying a new brick walk by herself in 102 heat with 5,000% humidity.
The woman simply will not stop moving and constantly overdoes stuff. She even landed in the ER a few weeks back simply due to exhaustion.
Moving along, I actually experienced some feelings when The Child's things were officially out of his room. I admit that I became rather sad and reflective. I used to make fun of women back when I was childless for carrying on in such a manner when they suffered from empty nest disorder.
Now I totally get it. Even though he is a LITERAL stone's throw away, he is NOT a member of this household any longer. I will no longer rise in the morning to hear the sounds of internet news streaming from his room as he is fast asleep.
I will no longer have to pole-vault over 1,543 objects on his floor in order to disperse his folded clothing. I will no longer see him schlep down our very short hallway on his way to take a pre-work shower. I will no longer hear him arrive home after working 3 shifts in a row. I will no longer trip over his snow ski sized shoes by the front door. I will no longer have to remind him to purchase toilet paper. I will no longer have to maneuver Edna (my van) around his sporty car in the driveway.
Hmm, now that I ponder, this is wonderful news!! He is GONE!! YEAH BABY!!
I will tell you that the youngest cats, the infamous Todd and delicate Louise, have absolutely taken over his room at this time. Perpetual reported that they had the best time playing wildly in said room the other night. They nap on the bed daily now too. Those days will also come to a full halt soon when the bed also makes the epic journey over to Mother's.
Well, what can I say further?? I think this sums it up for the week. I want you to stay tuned though for news of actual fistfights breaking out between Perpetual and Your Humble Columnist over the future plans for the room. I'm already regretting having told P that he could utilize that space for his own gentleman's cubbyhole. (I'm sick of “man cave.”)
THE END.