I just want to say: she’s home, after a month away (and no communication flowing in this direction, although I made sure to write her a letter once a week, not to try to guilt her into replying, but because I got a kick out of crafting updates on lined paper in black pen, and having them hand-delivered by friends who were driving to pick up/drop off their own kids at the same camp). (Side note 1: Writing letters should be revived as a far superior, more personal, funnier means of communicating than email or text, but realistically, it only happened because she didn’t take her cellphone. Side note 2: Imagine a month without your cellphone … would that be paradise or hell?).
Anyway, I missed her. I realize this is but a taste of the stage that is coming, of greater separation from my children and their lives; but I really missed her. The house never got around to feeling quite right. Even when her absence wasn’t front of mind, it always felt like something was missing, or lost, or misplaced. (Side note 3: Do parents get used to this? Side note 4: I don’t really want to get used to it …)
So having her home is a tiny piece of bliss.
xo, Carrie
Several years in, I am not used to it. There are definite upsides but it still feels not right to me. The grief of parting lasts less long than it did. Also, I have found new outlets for the energy I put into parenting (which is a different question from that of their absence but is affected by their return).
I’ve really loved the hands-on parenting years, and I love the company of my kids and the chaos of a full house. Maybe I will either adapt as time goes on, or maybe I’ll look for ways to keep my house chaotic and full.