For the last few weeks my middle child, Ben, has been living part-time at my house on Cape Cod while in between apartments in Cambridge. He's commuted back to Boston for his DJ'ing gigs and to work on his next album a few days a week, but the other days been here.
Now it's moving week and the pile of belongings I've been tripping over for weeks is dwindling as he's begun the daily trips back to Boston to move into his new apartment. No matter how many times I tripped on the duffel bag in the hall I didn't complain (though I did move it a bit farther aside finally) because I knew any "inconvenience" was very short lived. The pleasure of having him here far outweighed any need to feel put out, and I never did.
My children are now all young adults with lives of their own. The chance to get to spend any extended time with any of them is a bonus, a gift at this point. I have been lucky enough since I work from home to be able to finagle time to get coffee, have a conversation and delight in sharing a piece of music he's working on, and to share my work with him. He's been here through ups and downs in trying to sell my book, through oral surgery and been able to be in on his sister's weekly Skype dates from Korea. Ben is a very easy-going guy so it's been well, easy to have him here.
As the time closes I know we each have our own lives to get back to, but I know I will miss seeing him in the mornings and hearing music once again coming from his room. The good thing is though, I do have my own very happy life so I am not a bereft empty-nester. I'm just delighted that once in a while it gets to be a little bit full again.
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