"Adjust!" I'd say nobley, the point being that the experience of being where or with whom was worth putting up with a few minor inconveniences. And they did.
Fast forward to 2013. Our nest has been empty for about two years and for awhile now the Heirs and I have been living more than an hour from each other. For the first time, only our desire to have a relationship with each other dictates whether or not we make the effort during this holiday season.
|I spend most of my time being|
|bewildered by the Heirs.|
However, 2013 Sisiggy is running around frantically barking orders at Dirtman and obsessing over things like, "The boys don't like their towels hung up to dry; they like them dried in the dryer with fabric softener -- I HAVE TO REWASH ALL THE TOWELS!!!!"
The boys would find this strange, since while they were growing up they'd complain about being able to snowboard with the line-dried towels and I'd yell back that they were welcome to use their allowance money to check in at the Ramada for nice, soft towels. Otherwise...ADJUST!
Dinnertime was another strictly-held tradition. Either show up on time or fend for yourself: (all together) "I am NOT a short-order cook!"
So I had to know about Heir 2's plans the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving Day.
Me: Will you be here for dinner Wednesday night?
Heir 2: By the time I get off work, run home and grab the cat and my stuff, I probably won't make it there until 9 or 10 o'clock.
Me: (pleasantly, with lilt in my voice) No problem. I can always throw something together for you if you're hungry.
Heir 2 and Dirtman (sitting with me and listening to my side of conversation): WHAT?
I actually spent 15 minutes yesterday making sure I could find Heir 1's favorite fork. When he was little and his favorite fork was dirty, I'd snap, "Then I guess you'll be going hungry unless you can ADJUST!"
And the final proof that I'm a hopeless empty-nester: I added Cap'n Crunch cereal to my list...and didn't buy the generic knock-off.
So there you have it, my friends. I've become what I never in a million years thought I'd be -- one of those wussy, sentimental blobs of maternal goo*. And, I have to admit -- it frightens me. I'm afraid of losing my edge. The only last step for me if when I start watch all those sappy Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel -- at that point, just shoot me.
*This will open a whole new category of joke:
How many Wussy, Sentimental Blobs of Maternal Goo does it take to screw in a light bulb?
"None, my darling. I'll just sit in the dark and think of you!"