Back to School Freedom
I love her, I truly do. But I can't wait for classes to begin again and have the house to myself. I'm almost there, about a week and a half to go.
My daughter is not a rowdy teenager who you can't seem to find when you want her, or who is forever underfoot saying, "I'm bored" as if you were an automatic revue show for her sole entertainment. She is an intelligent, thinking young adult who helps out around the house, whether you ask her to or not. She is responsible and mature, though still uncertain on small, everyday things, which is normal. That's not the problem.
The problem is that I have grown accustomed to being alone. The "empty nest" syndrome was never a problem after the first few months, back when she was still fifteen. I have adapted to an empty house by day, and the sole company of my husband by night. I make the noise I desire, dance to music at the loudest volume if I want, or be extremely quiet, and let the sounds of the trilling birds and the cars going by be the loudest things in the house. Now, I'm sometimes blasted by different music, or a running monologue, or laughter at a moment when I want to think in silence, or find the study occupied when I would like to occupy it and concentrate on a painting or my reading.
The other problem is the dwindling supply of necessities, such as toilet paper or milk. For some strange reason, six rolls of toilet paper are not enough to last a week. We'll leave that one as it is. Milk happens to be as necessary as when she was a baby. It's her favorite meal. She breakfasts a bowl of milk and cookies. Dessert at midday is a bowl of milk and cookies. Supper is generally a bowl of milk and cookies. If she's feeling peckish, she eats a bowl of milk and cookies. I'm not talking a little bowl, but one half way to a mixing bowl. I'd say her bones are strong.
Then we have the problem of transportation. When she tried for a driver's license, she never got past the driving practices. She's simply not observant enough to keep five eyes on the road. Some day she'll get her license, but until then, I'm the taxi driver. Since public transportation is so infrequent and expensive, I get to drive her to the beach or other places. The good thing is that her friend and her cousin, with whom she tends to go out at night here, both have their license, and are willing to pick her up in the evenings.
So, it's the end of August, and within a few days, she'll go back again, to finish a couple of classes and her project. It'll be a lighter year for her, and she'll also have time to think what she will do when June comes around and her adventure in formal education is finished. Will she find a job? Where? Will she go abroad? Will she try for a master's degree? Until then, she'll be a little over thirty kilometers and a half hour away. Close by, yet I will be on my own, to be able to do whatever I like.
And I'll miss her.
My daughter is not a rowdy teenager who you can't seem to find when you want her, or who is forever underfoot saying, "I'm bored" as if you were an automatic revue show for her sole entertainment. She is an intelligent, thinking young adult who helps out around the house, whether you ask her to or not. She is responsible and mature, though still uncertain on small, everyday things, which is normal. That's not the problem.
The problem is that I have grown accustomed to being alone. The "empty nest" syndrome was never a problem after the first few months, back when she was still fifteen. I have adapted to an empty house by day, and the sole company of my husband by night. I make the noise I desire, dance to music at the loudest volume if I want, or be extremely quiet, and let the sounds of the trilling birds and the cars going by be the loudest things in the house. Now, I'm sometimes blasted by different music, or a running monologue, or laughter at a moment when I want to think in silence, or find the study occupied when I would like to occupy it and concentrate on a painting or my reading.
The other problem is the dwindling supply of necessities, such as toilet paper or milk. For some strange reason, six rolls of toilet paper are not enough to last a week. We'll leave that one as it is. Milk happens to be as necessary as when she was a baby. It's her favorite meal. She breakfasts a bowl of milk and cookies. Dessert at midday is a bowl of milk and cookies. Supper is generally a bowl of milk and cookies. If she's feeling peckish, she eats a bowl of milk and cookies. I'm not talking a little bowl, but one half way to a mixing bowl. I'd say her bones are strong.
Then we have the problem of transportation. When she tried for a driver's license, she never got past the driving practices. She's simply not observant enough to keep five eyes on the road. Some day she'll get her license, but until then, I'm the taxi driver. Since public transportation is so infrequent and expensive, I get to drive her to the beach or other places. The good thing is that her friend and her cousin, with whom she tends to go out at night here, both have their license, and are willing to pick her up in the evenings.
So, it's the end of August, and within a few days, she'll go back again, to finish a couple of classes and her project. It'll be a lighter year for her, and she'll also have time to think what she will do when June comes around and her adventure in formal education is finished. Will she find a job? Where? Will she go abroad? Will she try for a master's degree? Until then, she'll be a little over thirty kilometers and a half hour away. Close by, yet I will be on my own, to be able to do whatever I like.
And I'll miss her.
My younger daughter appears to eat toilet paper . . . .
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