School's Out

"This is not what I meant by Jamming."

     With the first year of college behind him, my son has returned home for the summer. My wife and I just got used to having the house to ourselves, and now we are transitioning back to living with a teenager again – and all the joy that comes with it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to hear the pitter-patter of little feet around the house again, even if the pitter-patter is from size eleven Nikes on nineteen-year-old feet.

      When both our children moved out last year, there was an adjustment period as I faced the spectre of a big old empty house. Of course, I knew I would miss my boys. Their comings and goings at random hours and impossible-to-figure-out schedules became the norm. I found the best way to deal with young people sharing my house was to try to adhere to my own schedule as closely as possible. When our lives intersected at the dinner table, it was a rare treat, something to be cherished.

      When the boys left, I adjusted life in my tranquil home rather quickly. The amount of daily laundry shrunk from a mountain to a tidy pile, neatly placed inside a clothes hamper instead of thrown in the invisible hamper on the laundry room floor. House cleaning chores took minutes rather than hours. Imagine what it’s like to return home from a hard day's work to find your house in the same condition as you left it that morning. It was shocking at first. No dirty dishes overflowing in the kitchen sink. No frozen food wrappers strewn about the countertops. No face cloths left in the bathroom sink. And, miracle of miracles, there were bath towels in the towel cabinet (good towels too, not the threadbare ones with the frayed edges I usually get stuck with).

      But life is ever changing, and this summer has brought change once again. A few weeks ago I drove to the college campus to load my Jeep with my son's belongings and moved him back home until September. Now he is trying to adjust to the world outside the protective dome of college life. My son has gotten used to three meals a day prepared for him in the kitchen at the dorms. “The menu at the dorm kitchen is awemsome,” he says. “It’s like having a private chef.” Don’t get used to it, kid. There are no private chefs on Gorham Avenue. Maybe this summer my son can use his spare time learning how to cook something besides Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.

     Laundry Mountain is reaching towards the ceiling again. I can understand having lots of clothes and bedding to wash when you first return home, but after a few weeks the pile seems to be replenishing itself exponentially. I have a house rule: do not leave clean laundry in the laundry room. It tends to get mixed up with the dirty laundry and “someone” ends up washing it again. Perhaps it’s time for a refresher course in House Rules.

      I also get to share my car with my son on the weekends. I don't mind since I don’t do a lot of driving between 10:00 pm and 2:00 am which seems to be prime time for nocturnal college students. I can't remember what the gas gauge looks like when it's above a quarter of a tank. I haven't seen that sight for awhile.

     I'll be making more lifestyle changes to accommodate my summer visitor. I’ll have to play my music at a lower volume on weekend mornings. Saturdays and Sundays are when college students make up sleep time they lost from staying up all hours Monday through Friday. My grocery bill almost doubled from adding items I don't usually buy – Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Taquitos (huh?) and Annie's All Natural Homegrown Shells and White Cheddar (a must have for all college student diets). On a positive note, the weekly phone calls to transfer money into my son's bank account have stopped. Now he asks in person.

     Welcome home, son. We missed you dearly while you were gone. Your triumphant return home has brought a blinding ray of sunshine into the comfortable routine your mother and I have settled into. At least I’ll have help with the yard work this summer. Hey, I can dream, can’t I?