Published Tuesday, April 22, 2008 5:38 PM
Updated Tuesday, April 22, 2008 5:40 PM

 

Watts Line 04/23/08

Manchild leaves nest…again


A few weeks ago, Manchild #2 called and requested refuge.

“It’ll be for just a few weeks until I get my own place,” he said.

We welcomed him home, but were not deluded enough to think that it would actually be for just a few weeks. The last time he had come home for a few weeks, it had actually lasted six years.

So when he announced after exactly a few weeks – if such a thing can be exact – that he had found an apartment and was moving out at the end of the month, we were delighted, excited and actually a little bumbed out since we had grown to enjoy the new improved, and somewhat grown up Manchild who had returned to our nest.

Moving day required the Hubster’s truck. While I watched, they loaded up his worldly goods which included a mattress, a table that belonged to his grandmother, two chairs that I donated to the cause, his TV, a box of video games and a box of dishes and flatware that we purchased for his birthday a week earlier. And his clothes.

He had all he could possibly want.

It was late on a Tuesday night because he’d had to work late. We deposited his stuff in his apartment. We oohed and aahed over the place he’d be living, noting all the closets and the nice little patio on the back.

The apartment seemed enormous since there wasn’t a whole lot in it. The largest room was bare except for the table with no chairs.

And then there was nothing left to do but – leave.

“I guess we’ll be going,” my guy said, shaking our youngest boy-to-man-child’s hand. I gave him a big hug and a pat on the back. We shared “I love you-s” all around and then we reluctantly and somewhat awkwardly left.

As we walked down the sidewalk with our offspring behind us in an apartment, alone, with his stuff, we felt bereft.

“This feels worse than when he usually leaves,” I said, recalling the other three times he had departed our domain only to return.

“It does feel worse. Why do you suppose?” the Hubster asked.

We weren’t sure, but we finally concluded that this time it felt permanent. (He did, after all, have a lease. And dishes.)

So we left him there.

This past Sunday, he showed up in the late afternoon to pick up his mail and to visit for a few minutes.

“So how’s it going,” we inquired, hungry for information about his life.

“Good. I’ll need your help next week to pick up some furniture,” he said.

It seems he’d purchased a sofa and loveseat and a couple of ottomans to go with it. With our help, he wouldn’t have to pay delivery charges.

Of course we agreed.

“And I decorated the bathroom,” he told us. “I bought a shower curtain and bathmat. Brown and teal.”

Okay. He’d always been more of a black with flames shooting out of it kind of guy.

“What color’s the couch?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know, hoping it wasn’t some wild gothic number.

“Tan. Microfiber. Easy to clean,” he said.

Who was this person?

So this weekend we moved his furniture, and he was proud. And we were excited for him as he arranged his stuff and showed off the bathroom décor. He had purchased groceries. And a microwave.

When we walked away this time, it felt good. We was having a life and managing just fine without us. And he was proud of his accomplishments – and so were we.

Contact Judy Watts at 873-9424 or jwatts@journalscene.com