It is the last day.  Our last son is heading out in an overloaded car to California.  We have four grown children.  I lay in bed last night and remembered how unprepared I was for his arrival.  It’s nothing compared to how I am unprepared for his departure.We live in Michigan.  California is a long drive.  His older brother is already out there. Parents say fare thee well to children going to far off places in the military.  I have no idea how they do it.  My nose is running.  My eyes are watering.  My bones ache.  My head may fall off.

I have been in the motherhood business since 1981.  There were days, believe me, I wondered if I would live long enough for this farewell.  If you follow my blog you will hear of  tales from past years of mothering. But, now it is here and I want to go back to the days when orange juice dripped from the counter and Cheerios were cemented on the high chair.

I remember the slice of american cheese melted on the lamp’s light bulb downstairs.  I actually dreamed of a well-ordered, clean house. I spent whole days looking through shelves of children’s books for the ones the kids checked out of the school library.  I had bad weeks of unwashed hair and dirty mountains of laundry.  Those days are etched into my memory.  When his car pulls out of the driveway my first move will be to bury myself in bed for a day.  I will survive.  Maybe I will have order in the house. I will use his childhood piggy bank for any spare change to save up for an airline ticket to visit him…it won’t be enough, though. I know, I can call.  If he’s like his siblings I will hear his voicemail message. Then I will know that he and I have both grown up.