I knew it was coming, but I still wasn't quite ready for it.
Two Saturday mornings ago, the Artist came down downstairs. 'Mom, would you mind if I borrowed the van for a while today?'
The van is the antithesis of cool. I was mystified...but I shouldn't have been. 'What do you want the van for?'
He grinned. 'Moving my stuff into the apartment.'
Two of his friends had rented an apartment and were more or less waiting on him to join in and split the costs again. He'd gotten a raise at work, and paid off one big chunk of his outstanding debt. Independence was calling. And the rain was holding off; he wanted to take advantage of the dry weather.
His room (that he painted dark brown only 6 months ago...I'll have to have him help paint it a more girly color before his little sister upgrades into it) isn't *quite* empty, but it's close. I suppose it's possible that, if both his roomies find ladies and get married, he could end up back at home for a season, but I rather doubt it. He's never liked living on this end of town; it's too far from his occupation and his social life.
As he was loading up, I kept thinking there should be a ritual or something to help handle the 'moving out'. A blessing to pass along. 'Bye, mom!' just didn't cut the mustard on this one. We weren't even home when he brought the van back and got his car and the rest of his stuff and headed out.
But he's gonna be 24 in just a couple of weeks; he's not too young.
And, truth be told, I'm not seeing significantly less of him than I did before. You wouldn't think it'd make that much difference. And, I suppose, it really doesn't. It's all in how I decide to look at it.
After all, all I need to do to see him is bake a carrot cake... ;-)
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