It’s May, people, and you know what that means. No, not the race. Race schmace. I’m talking about the life-altering phenomenon that occurs when college kids return home. And though we technically only have one coming back, my wonderfully quiet house and relatively full fridge are about to take a beating. Somehow, I must find the will to survive the next 10 to 12 weeks.
We’ve already had “the talk.” You know, the one that makes parents sound like Old Man Get-Off-My-Lawn Wilson. “So long as you are under my roof … blah blah blah.” Curfews, chores, driveway spot – basic family responsibilities and expectations. But even assuming he abides by all the rules, his mere presence, while enjoyable in small doses, changes the dynamics of our humble abode.
For starters, my husband Doo and I have grown quite accustomed to being empty nesters. No constraints on dinner, TV, bedtime — we do what we want! But now there will be another human being in the mix, someone with actual opinions and perceived needs and a history of staying up until dawn playing zombie Xbox games.
I’m particularly concerned about his ability to consume vast amounts of calories. While hitting Meijer in anticipation of the ensuing food shortage, I saw several other moms filling carts with Pop-Tarts, Cheeze-Its, and various other “luxury goods” that our coeds cannot afford. It’s like a plague of locusts has arrived for the summer, and no kitchen is safe from its destructive gastronomical path.
How will we survive this temporary home invasion? I’m not sure. And it’s still only May. Stupid May.