Making sense

Anne Lamott, on writing ...

"We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little. But we do. We have so much we want to say and figure out.”

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Missing my boy ...

So what if he's twenty?
He still left this morning to go back to college and I feel a bit empty.
For three months he's been home, spending hours on the computer and reading late into the night. For weeks and weeks and weeks now, he and I have sat up until two, even three in the morning, talking about politics and life and religion and evolution.
We've had about a dozen late-night Taco Bell runs, our most recent around 11 last evening. When we got home, he with his spicy chicken burrito and steak quesadilla, I with an ice water (too late for my indigestion-prone tummy to eat), our talk centered on his girlfriend, and how much he is going to miss her.
The boy is smitten with his "little elf," a girl who isn't in college yet, a girl he'll only get to see on holiday breaks and the occasional weekends he comes home.
It is both exasperating and wonderful to talk to my little boy who has become a man.
Where-oh-where did those years go?
Later this week I'll venture into his bedroom to clean up and organize the debris that remains following a hasty packing. Not today, though. No way. His bedroom door shall remain closed until I deal a bit better with his leaving.

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