The semester is winding down. When Boy in Black stopped home last week, he carried in a laundry basket full of clothes and a cardboard box full of desk supplies. The next night, he came in with a bag of books and a plastic bag that held his quilt and pillows. "I've moved home, " he announced. He is a man of simple means.
My Beautiful Smart Wonderful Daughter, who has been living in an off-campus apartment, took a couple of hours last week to paint over the mural that she and I painted on her wall last July. (Her landlord didn't agree with us that the mural added value to the room. There is just no accounting for taste.) It seemed funny to see the room looking blank. She has more clothes than Boy in Black, but she, too, will move home by just tossing a few boxes of stuff in the car whenever she gets a chance.
And yesterday, I picked her up for lunch. We drove to the cafe that serves great vegan food and ate there, just the two of us. We've had lunch once a week for pretty much her whole college career, and this was officially the last lunch: she graduates this weekend.
By Monday, all my kids will be living under my roof again. I'll have them all here, playing music and draping themselves on the couch and playing card games and rounding up people for Ultimate or just hanging out teasing each other and making inappropirate jokes and watching YouTube clips.
But this will likely be the last summer that we'll all be together. Because they just keep growing up.