Pasco: Son leaves for college, lets Mom count years

Son leaves for college, lets Mom count years

By MICHELE MILLER

It hit me for real when it was time to say "so long."

My husband and I had just dumped about a car payment-plus for things like disposable razors, sensible food, boxer shorts and telephone calling cards for the hulk of a man-boy who was standing in his new living room wearing that "Are they ever going to leave and let me get on with my life?" look on his face.

Pang.

The feeling festered some, eating away at me during the four-hour ride back to Pasco. It finally came to a head when I got home and started to write my kid's name and new telephone number in my address book.

I've got a kid going to college.

When did that happen? Where did the time go?

So, maybe you're thinking it's the dawning of the empty-nest syndrome that's got her down.

Not really. There are still two more youngsters left at home to nurture awhile.

Still, I admit the eldest's flight has left its mark. His room is a little too neat, and the walls are a little too bare right now. I guess I really do miss picking up his dirty socks, tripping over those size 13s he was always leaving at the front door, and waiting up worrying on the nights he pushed curfew.

I feel the ache, even grief, that comes with the realization that from now on, the start of something new and exciting for my son means the end of something else for me.

But that feeling waned when the man-boy called the other night to say he was coming home for the weekend.

Hey, it's only been a week. His kid sisters haven't even finished moving their stuff into his old room, which is now their new playroom.

This is kind of like summer camp, I figure. Tallahassee isn't all that far. The man-boy is not all that distant.

So, yes, I'm doing okay with his moving on.

But then again, I'm getting old.

There are times when I can't quite remember where I left my car keys or what I was saying two minutes ago.

Then there are the e-mail conversations with a childhood buddy I met long ago at summer camp. The two of us went from playing kickball, to boys, to some other stuff that neither of us is willing to share with this readership.

Now we talk about perimenopause, our underactive thyroids and the fact that it doesn't matter how many stomach crunches we do at the gym -- that bloated uterus that once carried burgeoning life isn't going anywhere.

It doesn't help that the middle child is wanting to know why her mom's legs make cracking sounds when she walks, or that I can now see what relatives mean when they tell me how much I resemble my mother.

After taking an honest look at my baby boomer peers and hearing about their morning habits, I'm thinking that while tech stocks might be a bust, fiber products (think Metamucil) are probably a very good investment.

I've recently been informed that my 25th high school reunion will be held in November, and I just might consider going this time around to see how everyone else is holding up.

That's if I can find my car keys.