“What time do your boys get out the door?” A friend asked me this morning.
“One at 5am and the other at 7am,” I said.
“How does that feel?” She wondered.
It’s an odd feeling to have kids fledge. Where are they leaving so early? They are 18 and 15. Just tots. That question transported me to a sinking feeling I had after my second child was born. I remember standing in the middle of the living room making arrangements for a meltdown.
There I stood on that teal carpet with a two-year-old and a newborn, when a wave of overwhelm slammed me. The only thing I could think as I threw my head back in hysterics was, “I will never be able to go to Goodwill again.”
And before we know it, here I am. It’s 7a.m. and I can spend the day at Goodwill if I like. Yet somehow, I don’t want to. I’d rather go back to playing Thomas the Train and attending playdates. It happened all too quickly…