Please don’t laugh. I’m sure it’s just another human developmental stage that got lost somewhere between Benjamin Spock and Gail Sheehy.
“De-Nesting” manifests as a strange sort of ache that only feels better if the afflicted parent performs certain ritualistic behaviors.
It started with the chemistry text books, which I needed to take back to the old high school. Identical twins, the second one acquired after the first disappeared in the bedroom rubble, both of them now freshly-escavated as we sort our way through the 18 year history of This Boy Now Leaving Home.
I went on to the department store: a zippered mattress cover, of course… who knows where that college mattress has been? A nice soft mattress cover to go on top of that, so he’ll be nice and cozy. And since there was a sale, a bunch of towels too, all matching so he’ll know which are his. Not DARK blue, because maybe the roommate’s mother already chose dark blue. A sort of masculine teal, then. And a shower caddy too, of course, also in blue. No, too matchy — better to pick white. No, black - definitely black. Also another pair of cargo shorts, because even though he said he doesn’t need any more, he probably isn’t thinking about the laundry issue. A pillow cover. A cute lamp.
I had to stop by the grocery store on my way home, so thought I may as well pick up a couple of things for him there, too. Just two or three things to get him started, because he will have to learn how to do his own shopping very soon, and spend his own money too. So I just grabbed the basics: shampoo, soap, toothpaste. Then decided to double all of those. Deodorant too. Well, and vitamins and chapstick and a new toothbrush, and disposable flossers… I decided he’ll floss more, if I got him flossers. Laundry detergent, and dish soap while I was at it. Some chlorine bathroom cleaner, because four boys (sorry!) men can get pretty grotty. I wondered if I should get them a toilet brush, too?
Sunscreen. Oh, and bug spray, in case they want to go hiking on the spur of the moment. Envelopes, so he’ll write to his grandparents. And since I was already in the aisle: push pins, gluestick, ink pens, pencils, a pencil sharpener to go with the pencils. Notebook paper, though maybe that’s too juvenile? Made sure it was college-ruled. Scotch tape, and a stapler for good measure. Kleenex.
I got home in time to take my daughter to a promised trip to Goodwill, where I continued to add to my supply of de-nesting materials. Four microwave-safe plates — four, because I may as well him get the whole set, and he can use it when friends come over. Or even take them to his first apartment — which thought made my stomach hurt. A matching mug. A wonderfully huge stoneware bowl that would survive a nuclear blast. If they ever have those at college, I mean. ANOTHER very cute lamp, which his sister will happily take if he doesn’t want it.
Did I tell you already that he’s moving in early? Only two days away. I’m not ready, I’m not READY. I mean, he’s not ready. I think we need to sit down together and make a really long list, and then I need to bake him some cookies.
Image created by Almostgotit’s 12-yr-old daughter, who thinks her mother is acting like an idiot.
