Things that are Weird and Hard to Get Used to

Someone please hand me another box of tissues...

Shawn and I really, really miss our kid.  Yes, we are super proud of him and thrilled beyond belief for this new chapter in his life--but I won't lie, it kind of feels as though it's coming at a price.  My arms are a little empty.  Sending our kids out into the world successfully means we've done our job as parents--this is what we work their entire first two decades of life towards!  Yay us!  Yay them!  Good parenting typically means you've worked yourself right out of your job.  

I've always determined Abba had His own good reasons for spacing our kids out the way He did, and I'm telling you, I'm understanding it more than ever right now.  There's no way I could send all three boys off in quick succession.  I'm so relieved life will slow down a little bit again before we release our next one out in to the world.  I'm so grateful there are years to adjust to this in between each child. 

I once heard this advice about dropping your child off at college: "Don't look in the rearview mirror (as you leave)"; but there isn't much advice about watching your child pull out of the driveway for the last time.  How do I do this?  I've talked with every friend of mine who has already traveled this road, I've picked brains, I've hugged and held on for dear life.  Most friends sent their kids off to college, so they had time to adjust to their absence before watching that final departure.  I couldn't turn my back as he pulled away, I couldn't avert my eyes, I couldn't just go in the house and ignore his exit.  I couldn't cling to him and ground him for the rest of his life--and believe me, I really REALLY wanted to.  It was tempting to try it just to see what would happen.  Or maybe take his car keys.  I wanted to run after his car, chasing it through the neighborhood to the final stop sign, begging him to change his mind.  In the weeks leading up to his departure, I went through my anxiety and migraine meds like they're Tic Tacs.  Ever since he announced his move, I've been joking that just when I think I've been through the scariest part of his life as his mom (anyone remember when he broke up a knife fight at a Jamaican orphanage?!?!? Life as a first responder???), he ups the ante, saying, "Hold my Bang and watch this."  This time it was moving.  Far away.  On his own.  Even though I know all of this is the absolute right thing for him to do and the right time to do it.  He deserves to live his life.  He deserves happiness.  He's doing exactly what he's supposed to do at his age.  And I am happy for him.  No--I really am, I promise!  When I remind the littles it's okay to be sad for us but we need to be happy for Noah, it's just as much for myself as it is for them, though.

Needless to say, it's been an adjustment here.  Food and sodas aren't disappearing at alarming rates anymore,  I'm not tripping over his shoes and random socks, his cat just might be more depressed than the rest of us are, and even though the littles and I have transformed his room into a classroom/sensory room/ABA room, we find ourselves still referring to it as "Noah's room."  I feel as though I *finally* got my feet under me as a family of five, and now I'm having to readjust--again--to being a family of four.  Venturing out with the littles (conversation between myself and Shawn: With Noah gone, do we still refer to them to as the littles???), I have this odd, insecure feeling, as though I need to announce that I have a grown and flown child as well.  "Family of four?"  "No!  Yes! Wait! I mean, there's six of us--well, five.  But yeah, four, I guess."  Our family is experiencing a new normal, and it's been a little weird.  You hear about downsizing homes, material items, cars, etc, but No.  One.  Tells.  You.  About.  Downsizing.  Your.  Family.  As.  The.  Kids.  Move.  Out.  The emotions are big and they are real.  There have been a LOT of tears.

Here are just a few of the things we're adjusting to:

*Dinner reservations for four

*We are still that loud family, but not that big, loud family

*Not having to buy as much toilet paper (and yet, our grocery bill hasn't decreased because I'm still in "feeding three kids" hoarding mode)

*Even with two children remaining, four cats, a dog and an incredibly opinionated duck, there's an emptiness and a quiet in the house

*Not having to double the dinner recipes (but I'm still over-cooking because I'm not quite sure how to not cook for an army)

*Not finding cereal dishes in the sink in the morning after a midnight kitchen raid (as frustrated as I was, I'm kind of missing that sign of life)

*No mumbling grumpy pants stumbling down the stairs to polish off last night's leftovers before heading to work

*Towels and dishes made a remarkable reappearance and are no longer vanishing into thin air (also, we aren't running the dishwasher every night now--what's up with that?)

*My days aren't laced with constant sarcasm and dry humor (well, there's still mine, but I'm missing his contributions)

*The bickering is quieter and with only two voices, a little easier to follow 

*My Shawn's-at-work/on call-partner-in-crime is missing (Avery is desperately, lovingly, trying to fill that hole)

*Not waiting up at night to make sure he gets home safely from work

*We gained a wonderful new sort-of family member, whom we adore and love already, and she just fit right in immediately

*Not having to tiptoe around and whisper in the morning as we begin our day and he ends his (although, the littles think this means they can now make enough noise to wake the dead)

*Buying a smaller, non-family grid calendar for 2022 and retiring Noah's calendar ink color (What?  Your family members don't have designated colors on the family calendar???  Weirdo.)

I miss my boy.  But I'm so damn proud of him and I cannot do anything but know we put our everything into preparing him for this moment--knowing he is ready for it--and pray the best over the rest of his life (and make sure he knows he can always come home).  I can't wait to see what the next chapters of his life hold for him.