Leaving the nest

I often complain that I hate owning a house because of the unpredictable responsibilities that come with a 115 year-old property. I imagine the freedom I’d feel without the constant worrying about the correct prioritizing of maintenance and improvements and try to decide where else I might live…

But, for now (and the last 30+ years) Arcadia is my home.

The other day I realized my kitchen sink needed a good scrubbing. I sprinkled some Comet over the bottom of the sink and began to scour the sink bringing back its original, unblemished white finish.

As I cleaned, I remembered the joy with which I bathed my babies in that kitchen sink, their slippery wet bodies held firmly in my hands. The ability to bathe a baby in the sink had been a serious consideration when I renovated my kitchen many years ago. I needed a deep basin.

I love that sink.

Maybe the best part of home ownership is the luxury of living among some of one’s favorite memories?

The last of my babies washed in that sink moved to NYC last week, farther away from home than his two older brothers (other than a 3 or 4 month stint in Thailand for my middle son) have ever ventured.

I’m nervously proud.

I can’t complain. It wasn’t rational to think that my three children will forever be within shouting distance, a measurement that has been mostly accurate for their entire lives. I have friends with children living in other states or even continents. I also know women my age, and younger, who have buried a child.

I really can’t whine about one of mine moving down 140 miles from home, can I?

In a remarkable coincidence, my son was doing nearly the very same thing I had done when I was a few years older than he is now. I, too, had an opportunity to live in an area in Manhattan (Chelsea, pre-boom) that I believed I could afford for a limited, yet renewable, length of time and needed a change of scenery.

My favorite kind of commitment.

My baby claims to have 3 months rent saved, which, if true, is very impressive. When I landed on W. 16th St in 1992, I had $300 to my name and I give him all the props for putting together a nest egg. I also love that he conceived, planned and executed* his entire move independently.

I’m excited about the opportunities and experiences my son will find, the people he’ll meet, and the friends he’ll make. I know that the city can be rough on gentle souls and I hope that he’ll accept that wherever he goes, that’s where he’ll be.

Do what makes you happy and you can be happy anywhere.

There’s something about this move, however, that has me feeling a bit untethered, not necessarily a negative feeling. In fact, it’s kind of freeing…probably for both of us.

The nest may look empty but, for me, it’s actually full of lessons learned and moments recalled. I’m really going to miss him and his great hugs, which were generally bestowed with a kiss to the top of my head.

Fly high, baby. Love you – Mom xo

*His Dad helped out with a ride to his apartment with a carload of stuff. I helped with setting him up for a couple of nights with a friend (thanks, Ted!) during his apartment hunt. I also was very happy to send him $ for groceries and a couple of essentials.