My children are grown up.  They moved out of our house several years ago and each has his/her own apartment now.  Until last year, each of them moved to a new apartment every. single. summer.

 

We have taken apart and put back together beds, desks, and bookshelves more times than I care to remember.  Packed up dishes and books and linens and you-name-it.  Carried them down many flights of stairs and back up many flights of stairs, as my children seem to gravitate towards elderly apartment complexes with no elevators, and my children love being way up high on the top floor. 

 

Excuse me for a moment while I hyperventilate just remembering all the carrying huge heavy things up innumerable flights of stairs.

 

But finally, for a while anyway, they’ve found their ideal complex.  My daughter found it first, moved in, and loved it.  Then when my son’s lease was coming to an end, he researched apartments and discovered that his sister’s complex was ideal for him, too.  Fortunately for world peace, it’s a large complex with many separate buildings, so they’re not really THAT close to each other. 

 

Both of my kids sharing a parking lot really makes it nice for me, though.  No more driving all over the city to get to both of them.  Now, I just pull into the parking lot, pull out my cell phone, and in a few minutes, THEY come running to ME.

 

Lovely.

 

You know what, though. . . . even though my daughter’s been gone for eight years, and my son for six, they’ve both left so much of their stuff here in my house that it’s as though two little kids still live here.  This is good for my nostalgic days.

 

However, if those kids don’t get this stuff out of here so I can redo my guest room that used to be my daughter’s room, and clear out my computer room that used to be my son’s room, and get all that junk out of the family room so people can actually WALK down there, I’m going to scream, and call the Salvation Army.

 

I’ve threatened that for years now.  They know I’ll never do it. 

 

Besides, there’s that part of me that will break down and cry when she finally does pack up all her dollies and take them away.  And all those little robots and action figures ARE cute, lined up on those shelves like that.

 

This house was once full of children and their friends and their toys and their messes.  I used to buy Smurfberry Crunch every week.  This was the hang-out house.  I was the Mom giving the slumber party every weekend.  The walls of this house echoed with laughter and noise.  Oh, how I loved the noise!!!!

 

Now the house is full of packed boxes and Granola.  Skim milk and diet soda.  It’s quiet.  Creepy quiet.

 

I miss the chaos so badly I can hardly stand it. 

 

Ahem.  Now, would you kids PLEASE get your stuff out of here before I trip and break my leg and require a walker even sooner than I would anyway?