Some cliche's are unbearable. Others seem to hit the spot with razor sharp accuracy. Although my husband and I have recently become - insert cliche'- empty-nesters, the nest is far from empty. And this cliche' is ironic.
Oh yes, the children don't sleep here anymore. Blissfully, they don't keep their stuff here, either. Well, maybe a little bit of it.
It's been twenty eight years since we went to bed without being conscious of the babes in our charge, and it does take some getting used to.
Ok, I think we've got it.
So now when we go to the store, the things we buy are more befitting a couple trying to stay healthy, trim down and keep the food budget low. Not much different than before, except it's a whole lot more tempting to eat out, now that we're only paying for two. So much for the budget, and on the rare but wonderful occasion when we're all together, it's really nice to splurge and have a feast of a meal.
The once grand central station - the laundry room - is nearly deserted, and I have it all to myself.
No one comes behind me and dirties up dishes after I have the kitchen clean. But then again, no one is there to unload it either. Now it's all my job.
No one is there to let the dog out if I'm out all day.
No one there to check the stove and make sure I've turned it off when dashing out of the house, or text my grocery list to me that I left on the fridge.
But in its place are memories of five girls (one big one) making play doh food, musical and artistic experiments, snail watching, pinatas on the tree out front, tents in the living room, human turkeys making an appearance at Thanksgiving, miraculous abundance at Christmas, Mom's Movie Matinee, Snowballs, bonfires that went way too late, the never ending clothing exchange, a guest closet full of signatures, and feeling so grateful that often, even in the middle of chaos, (and believe me we know the definition of chaos) I tried my best to appreciate the moment I was in.
The joy of raising children is now in its afterglow, and that fills a whole house.
Oh yes, the children don't sleep here anymore. Blissfully, they don't keep their stuff here, either. Well, maybe a little bit of it.
It's been twenty eight years since we went to bed without being conscious of the babes in our charge, and it does take some getting used to.
So now when we go to the store, the things we buy are more befitting a couple trying to stay healthy, trim down and keep the food budget low. Not much different than before, except it's a whole lot more tempting to eat out, now that we're only paying for two. So much for the budget, and on the rare but wonderful occasion when we're all together, it's really nice to splurge and have a feast of a meal.
The once grand central station - the laundry room - is nearly deserted, and I have it all to myself.
No one comes behind me and dirties up dishes after I have the kitchen clean. But then again, no one is there to unload it either. Now it's all my job.
No one is there to let the dog out if I'm out all day.
No one there to check the stove and make sure I've turned it off when dashing out of the house, or text my grocery list to me that I left on the fridge.
But in its place are memories of five girls (one big one) making play doh food, musical and artistic experiments, snail watching, pinatas on the tree out front, tents in the living room, human turkeys making an appearance at Thanksgiving, miraculous abundance at Christmas, Mom's Movie Matinee, Snowballs, bonfires that went way too late, the never ending clothing exchange, a guest closet full of signatures, and feeling so grateful that often, even in the middle of chaos, (and believe me we know the definition of chaos) I tried my best to appreciate the moment I was in.
The joy of raising children is now in its afterglow, and that fills a whole house.
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