Boy Overboard
September 6, 2000
Day One. There is actually room on the dining room table to eat now that the piles of laundry are gone. The computer manuals are finally off the coffee table. There’s room to park the car in the garage. No one will be coming home at 2 in the morning.
Excuse me, I think I’m going to bawl again.
After the bustle of finding empty boxes, extra hangers, towels, sheets, soap, our last kid has flown the coop, lit out on his own, gone to college. The car is filled with the sound of our quiet sniffles as we drive home from Cedar City.
I keep thinking about all the things I thought we were going to do when we were alone: eat salmon (Ew, not fish! The whole house stinks mom”); go to bed early (“I’m sorry to call so late, mom. Did I wake you up? I’ll be home in an hour”); walk around naked in the living room (just kidding.)
I want to keep his room as a shrine. If I could find his bed, I’d sit on it and cry. I can’t believe he’s really gone. It’s all over, I’m never going to be anyone’s “mommy” again…
Day Two. “Mom, I have no friends. I should have tried to get into BYU. I’m lonely!” I panic. My baby is at the wrong school. Right now he’s sitting at a lunch table alone, just like the nerdy kids in those teen movies, and all the blond football players in letter jackets are throwing Jell-O salad at him. He’s sinking, sinking, he runs sobbing from the cafeteria. All those books about teen self-esteem that I left in the bathroom, wasted. I TOLD him to read John Bytheway…
Day Three. I call his room in the middle of his 8 a.m. class. Just checking. Three in the afternoon when he’s supposed to be in chorus? Yessss. Six to eight that night for his science lab. I feel slightly relieved. At least I can hope that he’s going to classes. He’s just trying to find some friends, poor little guy.
I call at 8 at night, he answers. He’s in his bedroom along at 8 p.m.! He has no friends. Behind his apparent cheerfulness, I know he’s lonely and depressed. I consider how fast I can drive there, he needs me immediately. His dad says no.
Day Four. He’s decided to come home for the weekend. He’s “forgotten” several things. He’s coming home! We can see him again!
He also, by the way, needs a bookcase, a microwave, a fridge, a storage shelf, bowls, mugs, and another desk. “You should see everyone else’s room. Mine just looks pathetic. I NEED stuff.” I think: “Another $500 worth of ‘’stuff’? Not likely, young man.”
Day Five. “Nicole and I are coming down Friday night about 7.”
“Who’s Nicole?”
“Oh, just this girl I met. What? I can’t hear you, mom, there are a bunch of people in my room.”
Day Six. He’s home again at last. “Here’s my list, mom. I need to do sixteen loads of laundry, see everyone I ever knew or even had passing acquaintance with, go to every store in both malls plus Shopko, K-Mart AND the grocery. My car needs an oil change and the engine sounds funny. I want to spend some quality time with you and Dad, and Nicole is coming at 7 o’clock Sunday night so we can get back by midnight.”
Day Seven. He’s gone back to school. Suddenly its all come back to me. I was going to clean out his room and make it an office/guest room. Clay and I were going to go on wonderful weekend vacations alone together, and never listen to rock music again. We were going to eat fish and vegetables every night for dinner so we could have healthy hearts and skinny waistlines.
I am going to start by walking around naked in the living room right this minute!
Day One. There is actually room on the dining room table to eat now that the piles of laundry are gone. The computer manuals are finally off the coffee table. There’s room to park the car in the garage. No one will be coming home at 2 in the morning.
Excuse me, I think I’m going to bawl again.
After the bustle of finding empty boxes, extra hangers, towels, sheets, soap, our last kid has flown the coop, lit out on his own, gone to college. The car is filled with the sound of our quiet sniffles as we drive home from Cedar City.
I keep thinking about all the things I thought we were going to do when we were alone: eat salmon (Ew, not fish! The whole house stinks mom”); go to bed early (“I’m sorry to call so late, mom. Did I wake you up? I’ll be home in an hour”); walk around naked in the living room (just kidding.)
I want to keep his room as a shrine. If I could find his bed, I’d sit on it and cry. I can’t believe he’s really gone. It’s all over, I’m never going to be anyone’s “mommy” again…
Day Two. “Mom, I have no friends. I should have tried to get into BYU. I’m lonely!” I panic. My baby is at the wrong school. Right now he’s sitting at a lunch table alone, just like the nerdy kids in those teen movies, and all the blond football players in letter jackets are throwing Jell-O salad at him. He’s sinking, sinking, he runs sobbing from the cafeteria. All those books about teen self-esteem that I left in the bathroom, wasted. I TOLD him to read John Bytheway…
Day Three. I call his room in the middle of his 8 a.m. class. Just checking. Three in the afternoon when he’s supposed to be in chorus? Yessss. Six to eight that night for his science lab. I feel slightly relieved. At least I can hope that he’s going to classes. He’s just trying to find some friends, poor little guy.
I call at 8 at night, he answers. He’s in his bedroom along at 8 p.m.! He has no friends. Behind his apparent cheerfulness, I know he’s lonely and depressed. I consider how fast I can drive there, he needs me immediately. His dad says no.
Day Four. He’s decided to come home for the weekend. He’s “forgotten” several things. He’s coming home! We can see him again!
He also, by the way, needs a bookcase, a microwave, a fridge, a storage shelf, bowls, mugs, and another desk. “You should see everyone else’s room. Mine just looks pathetic. I NEED stuff.” I think: “Another $500 worth of ‘’stuff’? Not likely, young man.”
Day Five. “Nicole and I are coming down Friday night about 7.”
“Who’s Nicole?”
“Oh, just this girl I met. What? I can’t hear you, mom, there are a bunch of people in my room.”
Day Six. He’s home again at last. “Here’s my list, mom. I need to do sixteen loads of laundry, see everyone I ever knew or even had passing acquaintance with, go to every store in both malls plus Shopko, K-Mart AND the grocery. My car needs an oil change and the engine sounds funny. I want to spend some quality time with you and Dad, and Nicole is coming at 7 o’clock Sunday night so we can get back by midnight.”
Day Seven. He’s gone back to school. Suddenly its all come back to me. I was going to clean out his room and make it an office/guest room. Clay and I were going to go on wonderful weekend vacations alone together, and never listen to rock music again. We were going to eat fish and vegetables every night for dinner so we could have healthy hearts and skinny waistlines.
I am going to start by walking around naked in the living room right this minute!
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