One down, one to go. That is, The Boy is home from college, happily ensconced in his childhood bedroom. He's right where I want him, and nothing makes me happier than to see his long frame stretching out on the family room couch, as he simultaneously watches ESPN, texts, is on his laptop and hangs out with me.
My Daughter will come home tomorrow after work. She works in Harlem, so she will catch a train at 125th street and head up to Westchester, duffle bag in hand to stay for the long, long weekend. Happy. Happy. Happy.
Today's NYT reports that the economy is forcing young adults back home in record numbers. According to the Pew Research Center, 10% of adults younger than 35 have moved back home. I know it's because of financial hardship, but Jeez, it sounds pretty good to me. I'd love to have my kids back home. I miss them like crazy.
I know, I know. Be careful what you wish for. They would probably be making me crazy if they lived here permanently, and Lord knows I would drive them around the bend. My Daughter has a good job, a roommate who is a great friend, a tiny apartment with no closet but in a great neighborhood, and all and all is well established in adult life. The Boy is heading to Spain in January to study there and will be living in an apartment in Seville. I am thrilled -and thankful - that they are independent and doing so well.
But I still wish the Thanksgiving holiday could last straight through Christmas.