By Kelly Sinon
Do they ever really leave home, nowadays?
Just when you think it's safe to take your pants off as soon as you come home from work, or pee with the bathroom door open, The Kid moves back in for the summer.
You've gotten spoiled, eating pizza rolls for dinner, and walking from the bedroom to the laundry room in your bra, in search of clothes you'd forgotten to remove from the dryer. Your second Teen'hood comes to an end. You have to put clothes on, close doors and eat normal meals, again. What a drag. And then you realize you have no business being a teenager when you say things like, "what a drag."
Not that The Kid is any more excited about this than you are. They suddenly have to keep the room they are occupying (I refuse to call it insert Kid's name here room), which is now a home theater, clean enough to see the floor, eat normal meals, and go to bed at a decent time. Not because you are worried about the amount of sleep they are (or not) getting, but because you are envisioning your electric bill doubled because the house never shuts down. The Kid wakes up at 1:00 P.M., and goes to sleep, if unchecked, at 2:30 A.M., lights and TV left on.
On the bright side, you now know that it's not really you leaving those (sticky? Good God, why are they sticky?) fingerprints all over the refrigerator.
No one talks about this. Everyone is so happy that Jr. is coming home for a few months, but let me tell you, I've noticed that college classes are starting later and later. Did you know that some schools start in mid-October? October! Sorry, I just really want to take my pants off.
I think by the time school rolls around, they are just as happy to speed away; back to the Land of Perpetual Party. Scene of Sporadic Study. You get the idea.
They've got their own system for doing laundry (don't), getting a meal (hopefully, free), and going to bed (whenever they damn well feel like it).
As much as it pains us, they are adults. As we are trying to walk to the line between keeping the household, and our sanity running as smoothly with them as without them, they are retraining themselves to (maybe) attempt to do things the way we do, and raised them to do.
A heated discussion with The Kid, about not leaving the dishes in the sink when she's been up for hours, and the dishwasher is a mere 8 inches from said sink, went something like this:
The Kid: I just don't understand your priorities.
Me: You don't have to. While you're here, my priorities are your priorities.
This was in August. Early August.
Okay, so I will miss The Kid's turn to cook, because she's a much better cook than I am, but I won't miss the mess that sauteed mushrooms, steak, twice baked potatoes and kale chips make. It's like she pulls out every pot and spatula we own, and some I don't even remember that we own. Not to mention that I never go though as much olive oil or minced garlic as when The Kid mans the kitchen.
I will miss seeing her when she puts her hair in adorable thick French braids so that when she takes them out, her hair is soft, blonde ripples, that she lets me brush with my fingers.
I will miss seeing her, if only for a second, as she dashes out the door for her part time job. I will miss looking over at her any time I want to, as she sits on the couch, smiling surreptitiously while texting her boyfriend.
I will miss seeing her bright smile and hearing her laugh when we are gathered around the kitchen island at the end of the day.
I will miss that couple of hours at night when all the lights are out, TVs off, and electronics put away, and you can hear the sound of a family all under one roof, at rest. For just a little while.
I hope she never really leaves home.
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Kelly Sinon can be reached at sksinon@aol.com
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