In the world today, adult children sometimes have the need to move back in with Mom and Dad for a short time. In years past, each of our boys has done it. A couple of months and then they are off on their own and back on their feet.
For the last nine months, our middle son and grandson have been living with us.
Today, they moved into their own place.
Now, my house will be in order.
The laundry basket, empty once the laundry is done, will stay that way for more than five minutes.
When the dishes are dirty, they will all be put in the dishwasher at the same time. That errant cup or bowl won’t show up just as the dishwasher finishes its cycle.
I won’t be asked to make Penne Arrabbiata twice a week (a grandson favorite).
I’ll go back to the peace, quiet and order of a two adult household.
There will be less laughter and less life.
I won’t see the smile and hear the thank you when the pasta is done.
There won’t be anyone to tell me I’m the best gramma in the world.
No daily grandson hugs.
I’ll be a little lonely.
I miss them already.