They grow up. They leave home. And then, of course, they come back. They return bearing bags of dirty laundry, stray socks, T-shirts you’ve never seen before, strange cords for charging various digital devices. They are different, in a way you can’t put your finger on. Taller, yes, but that’s not quite it. Bigger in some other way; deeper, with knowledge that won’t be shared with you. They are clean shaven (because they know you love that). They wear their hair short by choice — now that you’re no longer the one saying, “You need a haircut.” They use words like “fundamentalist” and “metaphorical” and are eager to test your knowledge on constitutional amendments and C.S. Lewis. They want to know your thoughts about original sin, and whether you can still scan a line of poetry. They realize that you will be of no help on the paper they have to write analyzing the thematic and rhythmic structure of Gershwin’s “An American in Paris.” They are hungry. Really, really hungry. You go through a dozen eggs a day, a gallon of orange juice, a gallon of milk. They spend hours on Facebook. Their rooms, pristinely vacant these last months, are instantly in shambles. You are not the least bit tempted to pick their jeans up off the floor. They want you to watch clips of the Daily Show at midnight, and you do, even though your bedtime lately has been closer to 10:30 than 12. (Well, admit it, you’re often in bed even earlier than that.) They ask for the car keys, and you’re happy to hand them over. When you say, “Be home for dinner,” they don’t even protest. (They appreciate your cooking!) When they’re running late, they text, to let you know. Their friends come over. . .and seem genuinely happy to see you — eager to talk, hang around in the kitchen, tell you about their lives as they eat your food. They say “thank you” for the meal and put their dishes into the dishwasher without being asked. You hear the thwack of ping pong balls in the basement, cries of victory, deep laughter. You don’t tell anyone what time to go to bed, or worry about what they’re doing down there after you’re asleep. You wake up at four, in a dark and silent house, and allow your thoughts to drift. The very thing you once took for granted — two boys asleep in their own beds down the hall — has become rare. You used to think that you would never get “your” life back, the one where you got to choose how to spend your own time, or what to watch on TV, or how loud the music in the car should be. But of course, it’s been your life all along, and those little boys were always on their way out the door, growing up and growing away from you, even as they were pressing your buttons and driving you nuts and forgetting their homework and not brushing their teeth. You wonder if you paid enough attention, if you cherished those days enough, if you ever really grasped the fact that your life was always in the process of turning into something else. You don’t want to be too hard on that younger, more impatient self. But you are perhaps a little wiser now, more attuned to the moment, how precious it is. And so you don’t mind being awake, listening to your husband’s gentle breath rising and falling beside you, the dog’s soft snore, the wind tossing the bare branches outside the window. Everyone is home, glad to be here. You give thanks for that.
celebrating the gift of each ordinary day
Lovely. This is the light at the end of the tunnel, sometimes. Thank you for sharing.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Brings a tear (of joy) to my eyes. A beautiful song from Stephen Schwartz's musical, "Children of Eden" comes to mind. It is "The Hardest Part of Love" …is the letting go. At the risk of copyright infringement, it says "but you can not close the acorn once the oak begins to grow". There is nothing more beautiful to me then watching the oaks grow since the trees are meant to grow on their own. The whole point of the parent-child cycle. Parents are enablers. I love the way you express the growth of the BOYS. Hello to your former acorns and Happy Thanksgiving to the family as a whole.
This was just lovely, and something I want to keep in mind while raising my daughter. Thank you.
This time seems so far away for me as my boys are 1 and 3 but I KNOW that this time will be here sooner than I realize… As always, your words float across my screen just in time to remind me that wiping runny noses, changing diapers and wiping up yet another spilled sippy cup is another piece of the melody to the soundtrack of my life. I know my tune will change as my boys grow, but the simplistic melody of today's song will get richer with time, weaving all of our joys, sorrows, successes and failures to make a gorgeous symphony. In the meantime I am content to welcome each day with the belief that it is magic. Thank you for reminding me of this today. Happy Thanksgiving to you and your beautiful family!
I love your closing thoughts about the fallacy of "your" life. It's something I think a lot about these days, having lost "my" life 11 weeks ago. I an still getting used to the fact that I'll never reclaim my old life, that, as you say, life is always in the process of becoming something different. My life is the one I have, the one with my new daughter, and I don't want to spend my days wishing after a life that's come and gone. There are new joys to be embraced, if I let them. Like this morning, when she smiled and giggled, studying my face deeply, from her snug bassinet. For that I am grateful.
Thank you for yet another post that hits me to the core. Happy or sad, your words always ring true for me. Thank you and Happy Thanksgiving. Enjoy your time with your boys!
…and I thought only I had these thoughts! Thank for reminding me to always "enjoy every moment". Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family.
thank you for the gift of your words.
-from the mom of three little ones who can't seem to even find herself around here anymore and has been way too impatient with everyone lately, including herself.
Crying …. this is timely, as I listen to my children screech at each other, to their (age 4 and 2) cousins clamoring for their attention, to doors slamming and feet running up and down the stairs. It all feels so noisy, but I know that it will be echoingly silent before I know it.
xox
This is beautiful! I have 5 little boys under the age of 7. Some days I pray this time will fly by- the constant need to wipe, pick up, tie, clean, separate… Thank you for the reminder…. brought a tear to my eye. I want to cherish these days instead of dream of "me time". I love them more that words can describe even though raising and teaching them has been the MOST challenging thing I have ever done….thanks
So true Katrina! It seems like we are around men now. I find myself already preparing to say goodbye again. Enjoy!
How true, Katrina ! My son is on his way home and I can't wait to see him! I can't wait to cook for him and hang out with him. I had to laugh because he is always showing me clips from the Daily Show ! I try to hang on to every minute that I have with my little one because it just goes by too fast. I really enjoyed this. I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving with your loved ones.
Katrina, I was just thinking about you, and how you would be welcoming your sons back home right about now. I so relate to your remark: "You wonder if you paid enough attention, if you cherished those days enough, if you ever really grasped the fact that your life was always in the process of turning into something else." Your writing always reminds me to appreciate these days with my daughter, to live in the present moment. A Happy Thanksgiving to you, and your boys!
Wonderful. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. As the mother of a son who is in his Senior year of High School I am trying so hard to appreciate our time together as a family yet preparing myself for his independence. It's truly bitter/sweet. Happy Thanksgiving to you.
Amen Namaste. Your words so resonant, triggering floods of associations all circling back to this moment of reading a favorite voice on a cesura moment after the hike and the salads and before the feast… sounds of killing wafting from the electronic altar, sunlight gentle through leaves, tea cooling in a cup.
As for original "sin," perhaps it's the mistake of not letting Sophia explain herself and her apple, the error of thinking, the thinking that only momentarily causes us to forget that we're still in paradise even with the smell of apple on our fingers and pie cooling on the counter.
Katrina, you have captured the essence of the Thanksgiving homecoming – for me, it is the most magical of all of them. I feel so blessed to have our whole family together again, if only for a couple of days. Thanksgiving blessings to you and your loved ones, as well as to my fellow bloggers and their families. I am grateful to have discovered your writing and to have the opportunity to share my thoughts with you.
Thankful for you.
As the mom of a 7yr old little boy, I am just beginning this journey. I am trying to savor every moment, not take anything for granted and not look too far ahead!
My mother just sent me the link to your blog…and finding your writing is like finding a snapshot of myself in the future. This piece is beautiful and makes me ache at the same time…I get it. My nearly five and nearly two year old will be in college the next time I blink… it takes my breath away. So happy I've found your blog.
With two boys of my own, in almost similar circumstances, I felt each of your sentiments as if they were my own.
There are so many details in your post that are just too familiar, from the stray socks and new t-shirts to the philosophical and existentialist conversations. Even the bit about the haircut made me smile, as my son recently 'skyped' me to proudly show me his new short hair cut. (I loved that he took a moment of his busy college to share that with me.) But the part I think that hit home the most is when you described about being awake in bed knowing that all your 'men' were in their beds under one roof again. There is such peace and gratitude in my heart when that happens.
When my boys were younger, I used to always think about the men they would become, and I suppose that time is now here. This scene seems so familiar to ones in the past, me awake listening to my husband's soft rhythmic breathing, the boys safe and sound in their beds, yet I don't instinctively picture them as being the 6 foot tall young men that they are but I can almost see two little boys asleep under blankets. I remember always appreciating this moment when it occurred in the past, and it is all the more precious now. Thank you for posting this universal maternal moment of gratitude, when all's well in the world of a mother's heart.
Katrina, your blogpost "boys" really moved me. I too am learning to embrace the loss of my first child as he finds his way at college–and he is so happy and full of excitement and learning that it is often difficult to be too sad. I find that poetry really helps me and I'd love to share. Y blog with you
Savinglissa.bloodspot.com
Keep writing; your entries are a joy to wad!
Cheers,
Lissa
My baby boy just turned two. He drives me bonkers every day. I read this today and I can tell you that I will reflect on this blog every time he is stinky and disobedient and stays out too late. You just made a difference in this mother's life.
This made me ache. It's still years off but your words are so poignant and alive it makes it feel imminent.
Katrina, this is so beautiful! Would you mind if we re-posted it on The Power of Moms? (We'll link to this blog and put up a bio of you, as well.) Our readers are mostly moms of the "15 and under" crowd, so this perspective would really add a lot to our site.
Thank you for being such an inspiration!
My son just turned two. These observations seem a lifetime away to me now. But I know that I will blink a few times and they will be here. I treasure the perspective of mothers who've traveled more of this parenting path than I have. It helps me steel myself against the inevitably intermingled joy and pain of their eventual flight from the nest. Thank you.
I'm a 49 yr old mother of adopted twin boys (6) and a little girl (3), and just love your reflections, Katrina. They have brought me back to center and a realization that this time is fleeting and to be enjoyed thoroughly every day. Thank you!