Scratching the Control Itch

My first act after we got home from moving Aden in to her apartment was to vacuum the entire house. I moved on to de-cluttering, shuffling random leftover papers and possessions to my college students' rooms and then shutting their doors. The cats ran from my wild broom and my duster; I even made it out to clean the porch, where I grew frustrated about squirrels making a mess of my birdfeeders. I threatened them them with decapitation but they merely flipped me off with their golden tails and ran away with full cheeks.

Our backyard wildlife wasted no time in breaking through my illusion of control, but for a few minutes my orderly and antiseptic home soothed the pangs of longing for my kids. By removing the swim gear, leftover thank you notes, pay stubs and masks they left behind I hoped to soothe my sorrow, and the strange thing is that it worked, briefly. Satisfying the itch for control temporarily numbs me to emotional aftereffects of college departures. 

The control is always an illusion, subject to wreckage by squirrels, humans or other events. My remaining at-home child still stashes Doritos and energy drinks in his nightstand, and leaves messes wherever he lands. My Facebook account was hacked over the weekend at the same time a suspicious credit card charge made, leaving Rob to hack the hacker and get my account back, as well as call in for a new card number - the fifth time this year. Chaos always emerges from control, threatening to break the dam that holds more destructive emotions in check.

In the rare instances when I'm in control. when the floors and counters are bare, beds are made and the litter box clean, the world is my oyster. I'm sure that life will punish me for that last sentence with an upset afternoon, perhaps raccoons in the attic or a flat tire on my bike, but I'll just have to scrub the baseboards, purge the closets, and convince myself that I planned it this way.

Changes

"And so the days float through my eyes / But still the days seem the same / And these children that you spit on / As they try to change their worlds / Are immune to your consultations / They're quite aware of what they're goin' through"

Lyrics to "Changes" by David Bowie

The wave of emotion hit me in the frozen food aisle. I automatically reached for Trader Joe's gluten free mac 'n cheese and stopped before my hand hit the cold cardboard. I didn't need to buy it - William won't be at home to eat his favorite lunch, at least not until Thanksgiving. Tears threatened but  Aden came up exclaiming over the cauliflower fried rice and I blinked them back, thankful she's been home this week prepping for her move to a new apartment in Boulder. Enjoying her presence allows me to stave off unwanted sadness. I tell my friends, "Next week, I'll be depressed."

But sorrow has already sprung in my gut, that sneaky brain in the stomach. I know because I had chocolate for every meal today. The chocolate was pretending to be healthy: a protein bar with almond butter, a shake with coffee flavor, granola with probiotics. Let me get real and admit (for a second) that a solid chocolate diet is a sign of sad times, not good nutrition. 

And yet it's not really a sad time, it's exciting and even exhilarating to watch your child leap into their adulthood (as your partner restrains you and helps you reel in the safety net... just a little). We had a good time moving William into his engineering dorm; his new roommate impressed us all with his "chill vibe,"  easy, quick-witted banter, and lively lunch conversation. Rob and I enjoyed walking behind the boys and Aden through restaurant row on "the Hill" as she regaled them with tales of good eateries as well as places to avoid. 

So far William has followed through on his promise to Snapchat me at least once each day so I know he is alive. He looks tired and Aden tells me that he's been up late (he chats with her much more than with me), but I keep my fingers crossed that he's enjoying new people and experiences. The kids' adventures inspire me to plan a full fall schedule - hoping for new volunteer experiences and adding more shifts at work to stay busy. My children are absolutely "immune to my consultations" and I can only hope they keep me apprised as they ride this exciting new wave (and I try not to drown in my tears).