When obedience (sort-of) backfires

Since they were little, we’ve told our precious bundles of joy that they were on a particular trajectory: high school, college, job. Unspoken in-between “college” and “job” is getting your own apartment and moving out. This all sounded so good in theory. Until reality smacked me in the face.

This weekend Michael finishes step two by graduating from college. Step three, job, has also been accomplished. He’s been working part-time with his new company for the past few months but starts full time June 1. And the unspoken of getting his own apartment has also been taken care of; he can move in any time starting next week.

I think he’s taking this obedience thing just a bit too far…

Obviously we’re thrilled for him. Obviously we’re excited for these new steps he’s taking. Obviously we are happy he won’t be living in the basement. Obviously, obviously, obviously. This is what we raise them for, right? 

But. But. But. This means he’s taking his bedroom furniture and his room in this house will be empty. Holy cow, I thought I cried a lot when I walked by his room when he first went to college. I cannot even imagine how awful it will be when I walk by the EMPTY room.

I was explaining this to Sean, how crazy and jumbled my emotions are right now: so happy and proud and so crazy sad about the changes to the current status quo. To which my very level-headed husband said, “I know it will be hard. But maybe I can make his room my office so it won’t be empty.”

Hard to be mad when the engineer honest-to-goodness thought he was offering a helpful solution.

One step at a time. This weekend, graduation. Next week, moving out. The week after that, we can talk office space. I just need to get my head wrapped around how “good” all of these changes are.

If it does become Sean’s office, the plus side is we won’t have to change the decorations:

Prepared and pooped

Y’all, I am tired. Tired. And it’s all my Mom’s fault.

The woman is a workhorse. When she knows something needs to get done, she methodically plans, schedules, works and the chore is done. Like, days in advance.

I, on the other hand, think about what needs to get done, then do something else until about 10 minutes before whatever needs to be done has to actually be done which is when I become a Tasmanian devil of activity getting things ready.

She is not a fan of that type of “planning.”

Yesterday made our colliding views of preparation crystal clear. We were shopping for supplies for the weekend and I was exhausted. Y’all, I don’t shop. Somehow I missed the shopping gene that flows so fluidly through my mother’s body. The woman can shop – she comparison shops like no one’s business – and she had me out a billion different stores looking for the various items I needed.

By the time we left the fifth store, I started complaining like a three-year old: “Are we almost done yet?” “I am tired!” “How much longer?” She chimed in with, “Well, I feel good about what we’ve gotten done here at the last minute.”

The last minute? What?

She said that with three full days before my first graduation guest arrives and she called it the last minute?

Quite honestly, I wasn’t planning to do the shopping until Friday morning. When she hears that, she’ll probably pass out.

I can say that never, in all my life, have I been so prepared for an event this far in advance.  Ever. And if all that planning and preparation meant we were going to take it easy for the rest of the week, I’d be happy. But the woman keeps coming up with more projects. She is 25 years my senior and has more energy than the Energizer Bunny.

I am going to sleep for days next week. I’m definitely planning on that.

I came downstairs first thing this morning and I found her in the yard. I also found a load of laundry in the dryer and one going in the washer. I need to get her out of here - Sean already wonders how the shopping gene skipped a generation. Now he's going to wonder how the working-in-the-yard gene skipped me, too,