Tuesday was my 19th year of sending kids off on their “First Day Of School”. And as I slowed down in front of the building and shoved them all out, it dawned on me that I have 9 more years to go. And that doesn’t include college. Or the grandchildren I will likely end up raising. Haha…
Twenty eight years of driving kids back and forth to school. Twenty eight years of backpacks and pencil boxes…lunch sacks and hair braids. Twenty eight school years…thirty two years of the day to day grind of raising kids.
And then what?
When it’s all over…when the last kid moves out and I’m alone…wandering the halls of my big empty house…then what?
Maybe I’ll get empty nest syndrome. Maybe I’ll get some more kids so I’m never alone. Maybe I’ll be one of those crazy cat ladies or talk to the chickens like my mom.
Or maybe….I’ll party like it’s 1999!
I’ve had kids my entire adult life. People say, “Was it weird to have a kid at sixteen?” and I say, “How would I know…I never didn’t have a kid. Seems normal to me!”
I’ve never lived alone. I’ve never had roommates. I didn’t live in the college dorms…they didn’t make them big enough for the eight kids I had at the time. I’ve never cooked for just me or just two adults. I’ve always, always, always…been responsible for small people.
I think it might be nice to see the other side. To get a glimpse of the other life, the kid-free life. And I can’t help but think sometimes…
WHEN IS IT MY TURN?
I’m not complaining about having lots of kids. And if I was, Destini would tell me, “You did this to yourself…” as she likes to remind. But I have to admit, I’m looking forward to my older years with eager anticipation as I try to wrap my brain around the reality of being responsible for only Dan and myself.
Just nine more years of “First Day Of School”. I can do that with my eyes closed…and with how tired I am, I probably will.
