I’m guessing it’s not a good thing when you actually resent your children for having more friends than you do.
Yes, it’s quite pathetic to find yourself waiting patiently at home in case anyone shows up wanting some attention. And yet, as the children get older, I’m starting to notice a disconcerting pattern here. They do their own thing, popping by periodically in search of food, money or a ride somewhere; I guard an empty house and an even emptier notion that their lives should revolve around me just as mine does around them.
This weekend, as I surveyed the piles of abandoned backpacks and discarded belongings, I did have a fleeting thought that I should pick up. Those ideas never last long, though, and this one was soon replaced by the conviction that I should really be out enjoying myself in the company of friends. But, what friends? I couldn’t think of a single person who might not be fully immersed in some delightful family moment – or worse still, cleaning their house.
In my bid to prepare myself for the emptying nest, it’s obvious I am going to have to work on liberating a companion.