I’ve been quiet. I’ve started a few posts and ended up scrapping them. The last month or so has been busy and rife with change and I do believe it got the best of me! My oldest son moved home two weeks ago. He left home almost five years ago, about six weeks after graduating from high school. He’s 23 now and the male version of me.
I’m a lot. I recognize I’m a lot and I know I’m lucky my husband is patient and rolls with the mood swingapalooza that is me. I am also lucky he is secure enough in his masculinity to not mind the fact that I tend to want to wear the pants. First I want to decide whether or not we should buy any pants, where we will buy them, what colour they will be, and when and if the pants have an adjustable waist or not. I’m the epitome of Type A and he’s the epitome of whatever the opposite of that is. I have opinions on everything and am very comfortable sharing them. I have no filter. I am abrupt.
Luckily I also find myself hilarious, sing loudly off key, and swear like a trucker.
He is just so damn lucky.
My son? Is just as opinionated, just as bossy, just as loud, and would like to make those same decisions about pants but does, with his own safety in mind I’m sure, realize that I will continue to make the pants decisions even with him home.
Still, we went from a family of four back to a family of five. We went from a 2 dog, 1 cat household to a 3 dog, “where the fuck is the cat?” house hold. He brought his 2 year old Rottweiler/Husky mix dog home with him. She’s a high energy gal who is gorgeous and nothing but trouble about 50% of the time. The cat is scared shitless and now we just enjoy random sightings of her in the backyard when she braves a brief return home.
As a family of four with a reasonable number of pets I was starting to feel like maybe I had a handle on housekeeping – even if it a bit of a shaky one. Now as a family of 5 with one very messy water drinker in the mix and a dog doing his best to ensure his territory remains marked? Forget it. Our house is now one tiny step above an actual hovel.
I now run a group home for animals as well as one for boys and men. Just me and the four legged and urinal users. Speaking of which, anyone know what it might cost to have a urinal installed? Last time I cleaned the boys bathroom I contemplated all of my life choices right there on the bathroom floor face to face with a river of piss. Our toilet is standard issue size. The bowl has a nice circumference to it and I’ve seen every penis in the house, at one point or another, that comes to do it’s business at said bowl and in my estimation there is no physiological reason why they routinely and consistently miss the bowl. I mean some of those penises I haven’t seen in a very long time but never at any doctor’s appointment as babies or toddlers did I hear the words: “I’m very sorry Ma’am, but your son’s penis here was mistakenly fitted with a sprinkler head.”
Had I heard those words then I’d understand why A (Yellow) River Runs Through every single bathroom in my home. The boys’ bathroom is the worst because with much coaching (translation: bitching) over time, my husband seems to be able to hit the bowl most of the time.
Hey, can someone suggest that I have them clean the bathroom? Could you? It would delight me so!
I have had every single male in my house clean the bathroom. I have asked that they specifically clean the base of the toilet and the entire floor. Yet, after letting others clean that particular bathroom for some time, I went and did it myself before we had company and was literally dumbfounded and angered by what I found.
Sigh. When I was little I wrote short stories that featured me as a Yale educated OB-GYN living with her husband in Connecticut with her identical twin girls. Probably in a Colonial style home. I’ve always said I could never write fiction but looks like I can and a did.
For now I’m simply going to take a deep breath, reassure myself that my cat will come home, and then remind myself that one day this house WILL be empty and too quiet and how I’ll miss all of it. Miss the pee, miss the dishes on the counter (because the dishwasher doesn’t load itself and who has time to put the dishes inside of it when there is YouTube/baseball/anything but cleaning up after yourself to do?!). I will miss the dog hair, the click clack of nails on the floor, the lake of water mixed with drool through my kitchen and dining room. I think what I’ll miss the most are the farts; dog farts, boy farts, young man farts. These are things memories are made of (and wine was made for).