I love my kids.
(Hopefully kind of obvious, but saying it anyway.)
I love how they’ve grown and how they are living their lives. My youngest arrived in Japan earlier this week to study for a semester there. Luckily it is a situation where all the students at the school have their own single rooms and private bathrooms. The toilets are tiny, but they have bidets! Apparently the dorm room beds are not exactly soft and squishy—more futon-like—but so far sleep has come and everything is going fine. Good news indeed.
View from the dorm room balcony in Japan. And hey! The dorm room has a balcony!
My oldest is finishing up a few more weeks as a tour guide for a company that runs duck boat tours in Ketchikan, Alaska. She stands at the front of the duck boat and talks about the town as the boat motors along city streets, and then shares facts about sea life and tries to spot whales and seals when the boat finally enters the water.
This child graduated from college a few years ago with a degree in environmental studies, but realized after her first few internships that if you wanted to make money in her field, you might have to go back to school to earn not only a master’s degree but possibly a PhD. Folks she worked with almost all had master’s degrees and were mostly serving as glorified volunteers. In one of her internships, the job included housing, meals, and air travel to and from their workplace (which happened to be Costa Rica, working with sea turtles, so that part was awesome), but not much else.
So she pivoted and has spent the last few years working seasonal jobs that provided discounted housing in touristy areas, a solid hourly wage, and sometimes even tips. She traveled through Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and Thailand last year and returned stateside to work on the duck boat this summer. She will head to Breckenridge, Colorado, for a job this winter. She already bought a discounted ski pass.
They are out in the world, living their lives, and I am in my house missing them. It is a kind of whiplash to have them here for a time—maybe days, sometimes weeks or months—and then have them gone again. It happens so quickly. Earlier this week, my youngest set an alarm for 2:00 am and woke me up (because I had set my alarm for 2:03 am). We departed for the Reno airport by 2:30 am and arrived a little before 4:00 am. We checked two suitcases, made our way over to the security area that was reserved only for ticketed passengers, and hugged goodbye. I was home by a little before 6:00 am and happily went back to sleep for a few hours.
The house is quiet again—just Biscuit and me.
It’s a season for the comings and goings of my beloveds.
I am lucky to provide a space where they can land between their adventures. I am glad that my parents also provided this for me. I set out into the world after college, traveling some and living in different places, but when things fell apart, when one boyfriend turned out to be not so good, I had a place to come home to. I have friends who did not have this luxury. When they reached a certain age, they had to find work and a way to support themselves outside of the family home. Legally, children as young as 18 can sometimes be expected to make their way into the world on their own. With how expensive things are now, this seems nearly impossible. Still, it’s often the law.
I wonder how different my life would have been without the stability and security of my folks’ home. Even after I was married with two children, the four of us moved back in with my parents for a short time, time that we needed to get settled in California after a stint in Ohio where my husband went back to school. His parents were in Ohio. They also helped us, giving us a place to land when we first arrived.
Thankfully, I love where I live now and have no desire to move. I love my neighborhood, and many of my neighbors have become dear friends. I love that I can walk to the post office and tiny general store, then venture up the hill and be surrounded by pine trees and birdsong. I am grateful that I have this place, that we were able to buy when home prices bottomed out and mortgage rates were low. I wouldn’t be able to buy it now, with how prices and interest rates have escalated these last years.
My youngest will be back home for a few days in January. My oldest will be home for a few days at the end of the month. She’ll get the money back that she paid for housing for her summer job since she stayed for the entire season. I’ll pick her up at the airport and relish a few days of mother-daughter time. Then she will be off again, and I will be here—just Biscuit and me. I’m grateful for this place, for the gift it has been for my children. And I’m remembering tonight how thankful I am that my parents and in-laws always happily provided a home base for me and my family, too.
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