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I love the "empty nest."
I don't get all the people who bemoan the fact that their children have made lives for themselves. These days that isn't terribly easy to do, so instead of being saddened, it seems that pride is called for when looking at the empty bedrooms.
And the cleaner house. And the lack of towels and socks strewn all over the place. And the discovery of unknown sleepover friends. And the milk returned to the refrigerator.
Ah, empty nest.
Literally within days of the second of our two boys leaving our home, my wife had his bedroom painted pink.
There was no mistaking the message, yet she's the sentimental one and the one with the parental instinct. I would have chosen nature's way and just eaten the young before they had the opportunity to suck all life out of us.
This past Saturday evening we went to the house of some friends for a "planning session." We're traveling together to Europe in September, literally minutes after their nest becomes seasonally empty.
They have the right idea.
Don't get me wrong. I love my kids and am very happy when they come for a visit, have dinner with us or call.
I'm also happy when they leave.
There are lots of other things that make me a bad person. Those feelings will just have to stand in line.
When I see Facebook postings, as I did this morning from my oldest son who is currently in Cambodia, I'm glad that he's not here for me to look directly into his face.