My boys have been home all summer, and for months I could have sworn I was losing socks somewhere in the wash. Sixteen pairs of white socks, just gone. Then this week they finally hauled a couple of stuffed bags in from their trunks, and there they were. The missing socks had been riding around in the backs of their cars since who knows when, right along with everything else they’d forgotten was in there.
I laughed about it, and then it hit me. Those socks were proof of something else. My boys are home, technically, but most days they’re not really here. Work, work trips, weekend plans with friends. Home is more of a base now than a place they actually live.
Parenting adult children is a relationship nobody prepares you for
You spend two decades being the one who’s needed for everything, and then almost overnight you’re needed for less and less, even while they’re still under your roof. It happens quickly before your eyes. It’s socks in a trunk and a kitchen that’s quiet more often than it used to be.
I still do their laundry. I still make meals like they’re going to be home for dinner, even on the nights they’re not. I know they’re capable of all of it themselves. That was never really the question.
Here’s the honest why. My mom once told me she loved feeling needed, when it came to me and to her grandkids. Being able to help us made her feel good, right up until she couldn’t anymore. I feel the exact same thing now. There’s something in me that lights up when that dryer buzzes, or when I think ahead to a midnight snack I want to make sure is in the fridge just in case. I’m tired plenty of those nights. I do it anyway.
These days the fridge looks less like it’s feeding a family of four and more like it’s stocked for a catering order. Between the two of them and whoever they bring through the door, I finally gave in and organized it with bins so I could actually see what’s in there before the ten o’clock raid begins. It’s made keeping up with two grown, hungry sons so much easier. Small thing, but it’s made a real difference on the nights I don’t have the energy to dig through the fridge drawer looking for what I know I bought on Sunday.
Why I’m not in a rush to stop
I know how this sounds. They can do their own laundry. They can make their own sandwiches. I’m not doing any of this because I think they can’t.
I’m doing it because there are only so many years left where I get to. Someday, and probably sooner than I think, they won’t be pulling bags out of car trunks in my driveway anymore. The socks, the dinners, the late night snacks, all of it will belong to someone else’s kitchen, or their own. I’m not trying to hold them back. I’m holding onto the chance to still take care of them while it’s mine to hold.
Nobody tells you about this part.
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What I hope they remember
My mom showed me what it looks like to keep showing up for your kids long after they’ve grown, and I learned it from the best. I hope my boys look back someday and remember their mom was there in whatever way she could be, socks and sandwiches included. There’s nothing more important to me than that.
If you’re in this stretch too, somewhere between letting go and not quite ready to, I wrote more about that in between space here: It Gets Better Than That First Goodbye.
Whatever season you’re in with your kids, whether they’re still home or already gone, you don’t need to have it all figured out today. Some days just call for one small thing that reminds you you’re still moving forward too. That’s what Your Plan For Today is for, and it may just be the something to help you along.
