I dropped Taylor at the airport this morning after a terrific long spring break with him at home in Colorado and I’m a little sad.
I worried that “just being home” might be a disappointment compared to his friends traipsing around Turks and Cacaos, Costa Rica and the like, but he didn’t want to travel. He wanted to see his friends, work out with his trainers, and watch Point Break with his Mom– twice! He wanted to be part of the family March Madness pool (go Syracuse– Tyler Lydon in the house!) and play poker with the grandparents when we got snowed in (he won).
I love having him home even though I don’t see him as much as I’d like to when he’s here. I fantasize he’ll want to stay home and help me cook dinner (some would call that the blind leading the blind), lead scintillating meal time discussion about the presidential election (which will be the first he votes in), the Ozaki 8, or Jim Boeheim’s reign at Syracuse– the drama that got him suspended for part of the season or it’s impact– they’re in the Final Four– does that mean he’s a really great coach because they could do it without him, or that they didn’t need him that much after all? If I let myself get really crazy, he’ll offer to take out the trash and suggest that we take the dogs for a long walk. That isn’t how it goes.
Mostly he sleeps late, runs off to the appointments I’ve made for him, hangs with his boys (and girls I’m sure, but I don’t hear much about them) and gives me a hard time for nagging him about changing the lightbulb in the hall. But he also kisses me on the cheek every time he leaves and tells me loves me every day. He lets me watch Walking Dead with him (although sometimes I talk too much) and if Madness is on we can cheer together as long as I don’t do any fashion critiquing.
I like hearing his music with a thumping beat and some objectionable language and the laughter of teenage boys coming up through the vents, I like making him chocolate chip cookies and folding his laundry. I like the parade of tall guys that come to visit (most of his friends are basketball players). I like seeing his car out front and knowing he’s home. On the rare occasions I can get him chatting, I love to hear about his day, his opinions, and his strategy for selecting a college (never actually got that out of him on this trip, he just texts “we’ll figure it out.”)
And then duty calls. It’s time to go back to school, to finish what he started at New Hampton. The next time I see him may be graduation. I couldn’t be more proud and I’m really honored to be able to provide this educational opportunity for him, but I miss him. “Give him roots and wings” I remind myself every time we head to DIA. I hug him hard and hold on a little too long, and drive home to an empty house. It takes me little while to re-calibrate each time, but I find a new rhythm. I realize I can be happy with him where he is and me where I am. And I’m so grateful that we are still so close that I’d rather have him nearby than far away any day of the week.