Kids… can’t live without them

One of my favorite games to play with my children when they were young was hide and seek. I counted to 100. It was long enough to settle down with a book and tea while they hid. Eventually, they’d make little noises thinking I was having trouble finding them, so I’d go look.

My husband, the Builder, and I couldn’t wait to go out on a date. We’d get gussied up in something the kids hadn’t spit-up on and find a restaurant that was inappropriate for children. We’d order a meal that took longer to prepare than KD or chicken fingers, breathe in slowly, exhale, and gaze across the table.

What to talk about? After a few false starts, we’d talk about the kids. For hours.

Wasn’t it cute what Gooey (the unfortunate nickname our oldest daughter got from her little brother being unable to pronounce her name) said? Isn’t A.J. good at skiing? And wasn’t it amazing how Mr. G. slept through the night?

Into the teen years, we spent a lot of time talking with our young adults late into the night. Other times I’d watch chick flicks with Gooey, while the men of the house watched something more rugged.

It seemed like those years would last forever, but before we knew it our oldest was leaving for college. The tough Builder shed tears with her goodbyes, but I was worse. I did a lot of crying for the first few days and I couldn’t talk to her on the phone without breaking down. Gone was my chick flick partner. No more late night talks with her. The house was quieter, even with two boys still at home.

When a parent makes voluminous time for children, there’s a vast emptiness to fill once they are gone.

I added more volunteer work to my life. I wrote the second half to a novel. I began working on a degree. I spent more time talking with the men at home. Eventually, the sadness left.

We flew her home for Thanksgiving and for Christmas. Her second semester felt long since she didn’t come home for spring break, then finally, she was home for summer.

Unfortunately, so was her stuff. She had piles of laundry. She strung out her odds and ends from the front door to her upstairs bedroom, in the car, and all over the bathroom.

Why does it feel like all or nothing with kids? Either they are gone and life is too empty, or they are home with a meteor shower of belongings.

I think God worked it out this way so parents would eventually want them to leave.

This year, when it was time to say goodbye to Gooey, I felt myself choking-up at the airport. To help, she gave me a quick, tight hug, hurriedly said goodbye and I love you, then ran off. I was able to fight the tears and get a grip on myself in record time. I’m a little sad this fall, but now I know she’ll come back—her and all her stuff.