Tonight is day one of The Girl moving out. She is gone. Adios. Happy Trails. She waited until I got home to let me watch her leave. But first a quick game of Scrabble and a few snorts and giggles as “anal” and “fart” made their way onto the board. Triple letter score thank you very much. Fist bump to The Girl. This is what I will miss the most everyday- her unharnessed sense of humor and frequent “your momma” retorts. She’s the most awesome thing ever. Ever. Not seeing her everyday will likely drive me to drinking (more). I will cry.
Ok I cried on the way home because after she called me to say she was waiting to take a hike leave so she could give me a hug- I envisioned walking into home to find her stuff ready to go-her battered but well-loved truck loaded and ready to flip me the bird and burn rubber on the way out of the drive way while she screams “suck it rules” out the window. That is not what I came home to- I walked in and she was on the couch watching t.v., texting and being a teenager. Maybe napping. Still. Let’s talk about this couch. I bought it for me. That chaise part is for me to put my legs up and rest them. And so I can look fancy and dramatic when I drink my wine. The last time I got to use the chaise was when I tried it out at the furniture store eighteen months ago. It was never intended to be so comfortable and inviting that the kid would never leave it, and worse, use it as her base of operations for all things 18-year-old girl. It even smells like her. So does the cat.
She said I could post this…since she’s 18 and not a little
kid who needs Mom to protect her from weirdos anymore.
Guess what the first thing she will hear is when she
calls home from jail one day…
Were all of those promises to leave just suggestions? Holy crap get off of my couch already kid. Fly be free. I walked into our bathroom with plans of grandeur, organization and all stuff me. A space for me. Well, me and the cat- his stuff is in there, but he’s sorta gay so that’s okay. Guess what else was in there? Girl stuff. Everywhere. On the floor, on the vanity, in the cabinets. Is it another eighteen years until I get the bathroom to myself? It looks like teen spirit threw up in there and got distracted by a shiny object before it could clean up the shit storm of girl products, hair ties and glitter makeup. Maybe she ran out of boxes. Nope, just didn’t pack it and will stop by later this week if she needs anything. Oh great, now I am reduced to being the cosmetics aisle at Target! Hope I get benefits with this gig! I am sitting here looking around and I see her dirty laundry, graduation mementos and her gigantic box of candy that would make Willy Wonka jealous. She never leaves that behind- even if it were covered in zombies she would save that box. What the hell everyone, I thought I was done. Freedom for me, too! I was poised to do my freedom victory lap in my thong while clutching a new bottle of wine and having cookies for dinner. Maybe lounge on my couch and watch anything but freaking MTV. I didn’t even plan on cooking tonight- much less do dishes. Freedom denied. Denied!
Do you know what this means everyone? I won. She can’t leave me because she still needs a mom. Her mom. Me. And all of these trinkets of hers that I trip on, find stuffed in the couch and laying on my stuff- they are just little umbilical cords still pulsing with a little bit of I need my mommy but mostly filled with her freedom. I suspect she is slowly and quietly trying to detach in the most unpainful way. I think she even sprayed the cat with her perfume. I am lucky because she can’t go all of the way and I still get to have my nest warm and feathered with her sweet little hugs, smart ass remarks and her glorious dirty laundry that I secretly love to wash and fold for her. Her half assed move out certainly can’t be because she knows thinks I will come completely unglued and lose my mind while spending my days and nights convincing myself that something awful has happened to her because it’s been 30 seconds since she last texted me and now I will have to find the perfect picture of her for one of those missing person ads on a milk carton. She can’t be that smart, can she?