Published Tuesday, April 01, 2008 1:47 PM
Updated Tuesday, April 01, 2008 1:48 PM

 

Watts Line 04/02/08

The return of the manchild


Heee’s baaaaacck. In my house. Again. Manchild #2 has been gone for exactly six months. All the way to North Chuck in the Up Chuck region near Trident Tech.

While he was gone I repainted his room, I installed real nice bronze switch plates on the outlets, I bought stacks of hardwood to install after the removal of the aging carpet. The wood now sits forlornly in the garage, ready for me to put it in its proper place. Instead of new flooring the room is now filled with a bed, chair, a couple of tables, suitcases, clothes bags and our youngest, the aforementioned Manchild #2.

The room that had been the Hubster’s office-in-the-making, a room in which he could play the banjo out of earshot, is now on hold.

We were ready for the empty nest. We were reveling in the absolute void.

I’d been amazed we didn’t really need two gallons of milk a week, several loaves of bread and assorted sandwich fixin’s every other day. I was stunned to walk out to the laundry area day after day to discover – nothing. No piles of clothes that might have needed washing, or not.

To recap, the fruit of our loins showed up about a month ago, asking to be reestablished in his room for a short time while he found an apartment closer to work in Down Chuck.

“Sure,” we both said with more enthusiasm than either of us felt.

So home he came, his worldly possessions in tow, including his faithful companion, Cassie the rescue dog. The wieners were thrilled to have their playmate back. They immediately went for a celebratory run around the back yard

But the truth is we really had gotten used to being on our own again.

We’ve been a little taken off guard by his return, because you see, the Manchild who moved back in with us bears no resemblance to the one who left just a little more than six months ago.

The one who returned – how do I say this – seems all grown up. It’s amazing what not living at home will do for a person’s maturity level. (Apparently my constantly asking him if he had changed his socks and brushed his teeth had not been instrumental in growing him up. I’m his mother. I can’t help it.)

Anyway, the child (excuse me, young man) who came home, respects our 11 p.m. bedtime instead of coming in at 3 a.m. and waking up the household. He buys his own food most of the time. The upgrade version of Manchild #2 has been involved in such uncharacteristic behavior as taking his car to the car-cleaning place and washing it inside and out.

The one who moved back into the house enjoys talking to us – a lot. The first night he was home we sat and chatted for several hours. I can honestly say that we haven’t talked that much in one sitting since he was eight years old. In a car. On a daylong road trip.

This new improved Manchild #2 even went with me to the Fashion week gala downtown because the Hubster was working on the boat. And he liked it. And had fun with me. His mother.

So whatever happened out there in the big cruel world has certainly altered his former sense of reality to be more in line with what we would consider normal (what any mother would want) behavior.

When he announced last week that he’d found an apartment within minutes of the studio and he’d be moving out on the first of the month, we were happy for him. But we weren’t as happy for us as we thought we would be.

He’s been good company. And we’ll miss him. Again. Until next time.

Contact Judy Watts at 572-011 ext. 220 or at jwatts@journalscene.com.