Nope.

Did you hear the news? My son Prince William proposed to his long-time girlfriend, Kate Middleton.

Oh wait, wrong news.

On my 40th birthday, my son proposed to his long-time girlfriend (not Kate Middleton) otherwise known as the allergist’s daughter, thus making her his fiance. Soon after, both she and I pretty much ran to the Internet to tell the universe.

I’m going to be a mother-in-law! Let the overbearing begin!

I absolutely love my son and if I’d been able to choose from all the women in the world for him to love, I would not have chosen anyone but the allergist’s daughter. I hope that I’ll make a good mother-in-law (not right away though! No hurry! I’m only 40!)

Here’s what I want to know. Who let these two goofy teenagers take this baby home from the hospital?

Look, even the baby isn’t happy about it.

I’m showing you this picture because in it, my husband and I are roughly the age the boy (the little bald kid in the overalls) is now. Twenty-ish. Nineteenish.

Unbelievably, this guy just signed a lease. He signed a lease and he’s moving out on his own. He may or may not take the gorilla with him.

He is, allegedly, a grownup.

He’s been ready for this adventure for awhile. He’s a pretty responsible guy and has half his college education behind him at this point. I don’t take the obligatory first-day-of-school pictures anymore — in fact, the one above, from fifth grade, may be the last in existence.

We’ll miss him, of course, but he’ll only be across town (I keep telling myself) and once in awhile, he might need something from his dear old mom.

He’s ready for this, I know.

Am I?

Yeah. I’m touchy.

What’s important today is not my touchiness. It’s this boy. This man. This kid that I have loved for 20 years. This guy that has made me laugh and cry and holler his First Middle and Last name in the tradition of mothers all over the world. This boy who is now a wonderful grownup. He’s responsible! He’s a good driver! He’s the best employee at his job! He gets good grades! He’s a good, albeit snarky big brother! He is, in general, a guy I’d like if we weren’t related by blood; if we just met on the street.

So happy birthday son. I’m so dang proud of you.

Love,

Mom

How did I do it?

I put my head down and blasted through for three years, working, going to school or doing homework with no breaks, no real vacations and no free time.

Once a year, I went with my closest friends for a weekend on the river where I blew off steam, acted like a wild Samoan and was able to recapture a bit of what I’d skipped by growing up too fast. I cherished those weekends.

Every day I looked at my doe-eyed son (from the time he was a toddler to a preschool kid) and knew that working and going to school was for him, as much as it was for me, and that by sticking with it and getting through it, I could help make a better future for him.

My dad had worked full time and gone to law school when my sisters were little — I figured if he had done it, so could I. Apparently we’ve both passed down a difficult legacy.

I absolutely lived for the day I’d graduate (and my son would attend, in his tiny clip-on tie) and with each semester, the light at the end of the tunnel got a little brighter.

It was exhausting. He’s right. But I got through it. And so will he.

The blogger and family, graduation day, 1995

Truth be told, I had a tough time after he was gone. It may have been peri-menopausal hormones, but I’ll admit I may have cried myself to sleep a few times in the weeks after he left.  Then, of course, I adjusted. There was, after all, less housework. There was less worry and better sleep, uninterrupted by a boy coming in to say goodnight hours after I’d fallen asleep. So the school year passed and in the spring, the boy announced that he would not be going back.

He came home at the beginning of the summer and worked two jobs throughout. At the end, he began his second college, a commuter school which allows him to continue living at home. He kept one of the jobs. Being back in Charlottesville means he can spend more time with the allergist’s daughter, which makes both of them happier. Overall, he seems to be having a much better year, despite his busy schedule. (Although I don’t hesitate to point out that I worked, went to school full time and raised him from the ages of 2 to 5, did housework, cooked and somehow pulled off a 3.89 GPA).

To answer your question, it’s fine. Yes, there’s more laundry, more groceries to buy; food disappears overnight and we sometimes go for days without seeing him. But he’s here, and when I do bump into him, he makes me laugh.

Our schedules are completely in conflict – a couple of times I’ve gotten up early only to find him just going to bed. Once I woke up at 5:30am, wide awake. I stumbled downstairs and was shocked to see him on the couch, watching TV. “Are you still up? Or are you up early?” He said, “I’m still up. What are YOU doing up?” I looked at the clock — it was 1:30am. Somehow I’d either time traveled on the way down the stairs or I’d looked at the clock without my glasses upstairs and misread the time in my sleep-deprived stupor.

So we’re ships that pass in the night — mostly in the kitchen, where he still asks what’s for dinner, or lunch and what is there to eat?

I’m glad to have him back.

My dear friend Carmela is my mom role model. You’ve seen the WWJD? bumper stickers? Well, when faced with parenting issues, I think: What Would Carmela Do? Carmela is mom to four girls and seems to make all the right choices as a parent. Carmela’s mom, Marcia, set a good example. On the topic of hair, Marcia had this philosophy – bleach it, cut it, dye it, shave it or let it grow long; it’s just hair, it grows back. She was, however opposed to permanent disfigurations such as piercings and tattoos. I’ve subscribed to this philosophy, as you can see from the photo of my son, above, with perhaps the longest hair he ever sported. At times, in comparison to my clean-cut nephews, the hair did make me twitch a bit.

A few years ago, the boy let his dad shave his head for $25. (Maybe it was $50; I don’t remember.)

I had no idea this was going on at the time.

This was the shortest the boy’s hair ever was — he started growing it out again immediately.

I’ve chosen my battles when it comes to hair. Sometimes it’s hard, but like Marcia always said (as told to me by Carmela), it’s just  hair.

How do you handle horrible hair at your house?

It was only last fall when I was sadly anticipating the day the boy would go off to college, writing him daily blog posts to say my long goodbye.

Oh, now, we’ve seen him a time or two since the fall. He’s even come home and slept (mostly just the hours with AM after them) in his room a few times. At least I think he was here. Food disappeared. There was extra laundry. There were fewer towels in the linen closet.

It’s almost summer though, and the boy is moving back in — and not just for the summer, either. He’s here to stay, until he can swing a place of his own. I’m thinking he’ll be in full support of Mayor Dave Norris’ initiative to zone for single occupancy housing, an affordable option for people barely making minimum wage.

He’ll be attending PVCC in the fall, working on the transfer to UVa program.

It’s a better option for him than where he’s been this year,  will save him a bundle of money, and frankly, Charlottesville is where he wants to be. (The allergist’s daughter is here; do I really need to say more?)

Did you move back in with your parents during or after college? How did that go?

What about you college kids (and Google Analytics tells me you’re reading this, you guys from UVa, Washington University, UMSL and Mount Holyoke College — any advice for us old, goofy, embarrassing, controlling, overprotective parents? How can we best accomodate our grown-up, adult son living again (however long it lasts) under our roof?

He’s been home twice. Once, because there was a hurricane/tropical storm threat that evacuated the dorms for a long weekend. The second time was Fall Break. He arrived in two-day-old clothes and toting his entire wardrobe — dirty. He did all his own laundry, of course, but it’s much cheaper to do it at Mom and Dad’s house.

To my delight, he calls pretty often. We don’t call him that often. Sometimes, we chat via IM late at night when we discover we’re both on. We IM’d our way through election night (that boy is just FULL of conspiracy theories when it comes to politics).

He got his first round of grades and he’s doing well.

We’ve been to visit him once. We’d go more often if it were closer, I think. We’d also go more often if we weren’t doing a million other things that prevent it on the weekend.

He’ll be home for Thanksgiving and I am looking forward to that.

Do you remember your first semester of college? How did you do? How often did you come home? Were you homesick or did you run off and never look back?