After twenty-seven years, the house is empty. The best thing about sharing your home with your children, their betrothed and their children is the fact they're always there. And the worst thing about it is, they're always there.
Yesterday I dropped off my eldest at the airport on her way to another competition in America. The same evening I waved my remaining child away on her new life in her new home. They took the keys to the house two weeks ago and we've all been busy helping to decorate, clean and set up her new home. It's been ready for a few days now but she's been dragging her feet about actually moving out. The reality of having to fend (and cook!) for herself, spouse and child hit home I think. I could swear little Jamie knew he was leaving for good as he was carried away, looked plaintively at me while he was bundled into the back of the family car.
The house feels weirdly empty. I miss them. But they're not too far away and I'm sure I'll get over it ...
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