So the nest is empty once again. The birds have flown (literally) and I’m searching every little nook and cranny for a feather. When I find one, it just brings me down.
Three-year old Zachary left his train whistle. His momma left a fleece jacket. My son and the daffodil (De Facto Daughter-In-Law, if you’re new here) left behind a list they will need with them. It all makes me miss them more. So I’m packing stuff to mail off, and drying my tears as I go.
Just a day ago the house was full of life and extra beds and loads of wet towels. Sink full of dishes, and food everywhere, and noise and music and talk, talk, talk. The signs of life that I miss so much now.
CoTU and I just can’t muster up that level of activity alone. I will give him credit for dirtying almost as many dishes as we did with all the houseguests, and the extended family that we had here to see them. He does what he can to add to the clutter, and I certainly appreciate it. (Sarcasm is just another service we offer here at the House of Casa de Rubin Place.) He is sympathetic, and is trying to cheer me up by reminding me how soon we’ll see them all again. Yeah, but why do they have to live so far away?
With the kids here, my in-laws came over; my step-daughter came by, my brother and sister-in-law, sister-in-law and brother-in-law, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and the proverbial partridge in a pear tree. There was activity, conversation and a constant flow of food. And the resulting dishes. And we looked upon it, and yea—it was all good.
Now I see emptiness and stack upon stack of folded sheets and towels. Signs of a family departed.
On the bright side, however, I’m only washing dishes for two. This means that my semi-chapped hands may heal up.
On the sad side, however, the floor puzzles are put away and the children’s books have been returned to the library. Z and I were doing an “I Spy” puzzle on the kitchen floor Sunday, when everyone else was out. It was for ages 5 and up, and the Z-man is 3. I figured we could do it together.
Problem one: the puzzle, it turns out, is shaped like a gingerbread man. Aren’t there federal laws about puzzles being square or rectangular? There should be. Problem two: the pieces are repetitive and somewhat warped.
Me: “This is hard work, isn’t it?”
Zachary: “This is hod wuck.”
Me: “Should we work on his head first?”
Zachary: “Gwamma, this piece has a buy-see-co on it. Let’s look foe the west of the buy-see-co.”
Hmmm… Pretty good thinking for a little dude. Maybe if I were five…