Empty Nesting and Resting

A darkness has descended upon the Siegel household.

A lingering malaise that has nothing to do with inconsiderate neighbors, the inconsistencies of freelance work or even the increasingly annoying nocturnal trips to the bathroom to empty a non-compliant bladder.

It is August.
The end of the summer is within sight.
And soon, way too soon, the exit of my two daughters who will both be in college.

The Empty Nesting Syndrome is upon us. And with it, the 5 recognizable phases that all 44 year old parents must travel through.

Denial. There's no way they are both leaving the house. It was just yesterday they were throwing water balloons in the house, leaving dirty dishes on the table and spilling black nail polish all over the imported green slate tiles in the master bathroom.

Melancholy. The other day my daughter grabbed a peach out of the refrigerator while I was filling up on coffee. The sight of her taking one bite, claiming it was mealy and then throwing the perfectly good fruit in the trash, brought back so many memories. I hugged her and got a little weepy. Right after I yelled at her and reminded her, "expensive fruit doesn't grow on trees."

Clingyness. I've turned into a cliche Harry Chapin record. The girls were watching the Bachelorette on TV the other day. For no other reason than I wanted to hang out with them, I parked myself on the couch. We spent a good 4 minutes together. I can't stomach that shit.

Acceptance. Reality can be a tough mother@*%$er. Perhaps that's why I chose a career in advertising, where nothing is real. Strategy isn't real. Deadlines aren't real. Signed estimates aren't real. It's all make believe, like the Big Data coming from the digital world. Life at home is the exact opposite. It's really real. I know the girls will be gone because their rooms will be clean and the house will be quiet. I just have to deal with it.

Furniture Shopping. We stopped bringing home crap from IKEA a long time ago. Just as I was getting the hang of those twisty inset bolts and cheap wooden dowels. But we never graduated to the good stuff. We frequented Ethan Allen or the up-and-coming shops at the old Helms Bakery Furniture Center. But now it's just Deb and I, with no careless kids to trash our investment. Now, after all these years, we can get away from the distressed wood and shabby chic and step into the highly-polished, refined world of burled wood.

"Show me something in mahogany, my good man."

I still have two weeks before the teary drop offs, so we are off to the Mexican Riviera to see ancient Mayan ruins, drink tequila and spend quality time in cheaply made beach hammocks.

I'll be live blogging from there next week.

Or, I won't be.

Being restful, content and relaxed doesn't make for good writing.