My youngest child moved into her own apartment Sunday. It's the first time I've ever had to live alone. (I've stayed alone quite a lot, but it's never been on a "forever" or even "a-really-long-time" basis before.) It's going to take some getting used to. I'm going to enjoy cleaning up after myself, and getting home from work to find that no one has messed anything up. I'm going to enjoy having the bathroom to myself again, without anyone else's towels or makeup or hair in the tub. I don't have to take anyone else into consideration; it's just my fleeting desires that matter in my own apartment. On the other hand, there's no one to share the silliness of the day, or to complain to when I come home from work. (The cat just doesn't care, and doesn't even pretend to listen like my teenager does.) There's no excuse to cook, since it's just me. There's no one to watch Glee with, or to take a walk with. And there's no one to blame when the dishes aren't washed. (I considered the cat, but even as smart as she is there is no way she's taken anything out of the cupboards.)
I am proud of my daughter. She's been wanting to get her own apartment for a while now, but she was smart enough to wait until she knew she could afford to live on her own. I'm also very proud of her organizational skills, which she obviously gets from me. The child packed her boxes by room, and clearly labeled each one with its contents. Of course, the wording of each label made it clear that even with my orderly influence, she is her own person:
- Bedroom: clothing - time to dress up and look pretty!
- Kitchen: plates - to be civilized for mommy
- Kitchen: paper stuff - everyday use
I've been promised an invitation to dinner as soon as she gets settled in. And I'm thinking of making Sunday dinners at my place mandatory for
ALL my children. Because while I plan on enjoying my clean house, I'd rather have the kids around.