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I'm going to miss that car in the driveway.
Three weeks was just long enough  to get used to have the kid hanging  around again. I did some bigger loads of laundry. It took only a few days to fill up the dishwasher. There was an extra pair of shoes under the coffee table. These sound like petty annoyances, but they were really sweet remembrances of a time not too long ago.
We have had a couple of conversations, my son and I, about how part of him is looking forward to "going back home." That home is the apartment he is sharing with five other guys, engineers who are seeking their own degree. In the meantime, they play video games, order pizza, and even  study a little. Everybody's parents wish they could manage the ratio of video games and pizza to studying, but that's what parents want. What my son wants is still evolving.
That "home" thing for one. A few months ago, there was only one for him. Now there are two. Oh, he was quick to point out that the house in which he grew up will always be where his heart is, but his stuff is someplace else. I was reminded of the way he used to take an action figure or a toy car with him everywhere he went. Now it's his phone. His connection to his friends on Al Gore's Internet is his constant companion. It is also the way he stays in touch with his parents.
Our neighborhood is much larger now. It goes wherever the 4Gs go. We get text updates on a regular basis, and we talk a little less often. It's nice get pictures of the places he goes and the things he sees. His mother and I are glad we know most of what goes on his life. But we don't see it. Not like we used to.
It has been nice to go places with him. It's been nice to go places with him. It's even been nice to pick up after him. I don't resent the plate left out or the stray sock or two. These are the reminders of what it was like to be a full time parent.
I'm kidding myself a little there. I can  here my  mother chuckling at the notion. You never really stop being a full time parent. Even when your kid moves out and takes their stuff. Most of it. I left a Twinkie in my mom's refrigerator when I left. I came back to visit it on the off chance that after twenty years it was still there and I could find out for myself if that myth about the shelf-life of Hostess treats was true. My mother is a saint. Me? I'm still working on it. I should probably start by checking the refrigerator.