When Rob and I said goodbye to Daniel last Friday, none of us cried. At twenty, our youngest felt ready to move into his own place and conduct his activities—study and otherwise—away from our prying eyes and endless questions. His roommate seemed solid, the bedroom spacious with an en suite bathroom (a luxury that never existed in my college days).
Here's the thing: Rob and I have been training for this for seven years, ever since we first dropped Aden off at Sewall Hall on the CU campus. Since that first painful move out, there have been many transitions—apartments, moves back home, moves to Brooklyn, launches into new lives. The long runway gave me time to rebuild my coaching career, deepen my friendships, and figure out who I am when the house isn't full of chaos. I needed those years to prepare, honestly. Empty nesting didn't blindside us because we've been walking toward it step by step.
The real surprise of empty nesting? When I go to bed with a clean house, I wake to the same clean house. No fast food wrappers breeding in the kitchen. No shoes colonizing the hallway. No mysterious dishes migrating to the bedroom. Just Rex's toys scattered like landmines across the floor. It's akin to a miracle.
I told a friend the other day how I used to follow the kids around when they were toddlers—systematically emptying baskets of toys, then methodically re-stuffing them, then moving to the next disaster zone. A robotic loop. What a waste of time. Twenty-plus years later, we've come full circle, and now I find myself counting down to holidays when the shoes, glasses, and dishes will multiply and roost in every wrong corner of the house. When the mess returns and means they're home.
For now, Rob and I savor the quiet rooms, pristine counters, and unchanging fridge contents, with only two cats to keep us in line. But I'm already looking forward to the glorious chaos of their return.
