Mom milks trip for all it's worth

My college boy was home last weekend for three whole days! Scott goes to the Nossi art school in Madison at nights, works at Food Lion during the day, and is paying his way through school by himself, including his apartment. So his schedule is full, his days and nights are busy, and no, he never calls home unless he needs something.

In fact, I've gotten to where, when I see his number on the Caller ID, instead of saying "hello" I say, "What now?"

He did call me on my birthday -- to tell me his car (MY car!) needed brakes. After about 15 minutes of "How is school?" and "I'm glad your income tax refund came in," I gently asked him what the date was. There was a long pause. I mean a looooong pause. He was probably calling the date up on his laptop or cell phone.

"Oh. Uh. Yeah. Happy birthday, Mom."

But he was home, home, home for a three-day visit. We played games and laughed. We watched "The Soup" and laughed. We aggravated the younger brothers and laughed. He told us stories about work and school and the drama of city traffic and we filled him in on Buzz's and Ben's exploits. (Didn't have to fill in too much, though, since I found out he reads my columns and stories online. It was very gratifying to find out that he does think about me often enough to Google, if not call.)

We lost him for most of Saturday so he could go visit former coworkers at the Tullahoma Food Lion and then head over to his girlfriend's house for her birthday party. That was the reason he came home, you see. Not Mom's birthday, nooooooo. The Girlfriend's.

If you're wondering if I milked this guilt trip for all it was worth, you are so right. It was fun watching him blush and stammer -- but I have to hand it to him, he never really apologized. I was forced to realize that my position on his Top Ten List was no longer Number One, and that's a hard realization to take. But it's also reassuring. I truly don't want any mama's boys who won't or don't date because Mama doesn't approve. I approve! The only thing I'm looking forward to more than grandchildren is suffering Empty Nest Syndrome. As much as I love my kids, watching them take flight into the real world when they're ready is exciting and satisfying.

In some ways, it looked as if it were going to be the classic college boy's home visit. He came through the door Friday night with a filled hamper of clothing.

"Do you want me to wash those for you?" I asked.

In the background, my husband choked on a blueberry muffin. The only time I volunteer to wash clothes is when I'm out of my endless supply of black sweaters.

"Nah," said Scott. "These are all clean."

"Do you want me to fix you something to eat?" Scott's a vegetarian, so our meat-and-three supper was limited on the three because even they had some kind of animal protein in them.

Again, my husband with the choking. So I only cook when he's not there to do it for me, so what?

"Nah. I ate before I got here."

I was beginning to feel a little useless. Was he only here to use the living room couch as his flop between Girlfriend visits?

"Do you want to play Apples to Apples?" I finally asked in a weak voice, referring to our favorite board game.

"Oh, yeah!" He jumped up from his perpetual teenager slouch. "I've been looking forward to this all week!"

Everyone piled on the king-sized bed, the television was turned off, and we acted as silly as 13-year-old girls at a slumber party for three straight hours. If you've never played the game, find someone who has it and give it a go. The bigger the crowd, the more fun it is, and the only thing more fun than winning is trying to justify a bad answer and losing.

We played again Sunday night with a larger group of friends and family who oohed and aahed over how good my oldest boy the College Kid looks, (we aren't even going to mention the nose ring. I promised I wouldn't say anything about the nose ring. Aaarrrggghh.)

Monday morning, he was packing up again. I got teary -- I always do when he leaves‚ but this time was a little bit harder. He packed his car (MY car!) and came in for the mandatory hugs and "Be carefuls."

"Bye, Mom," he said as he hugged me. "I've got to get home now."

Home? But this is home ...

Watching him drive away, I realized it was and it wasn't. Our home will always be home for all of our children, but they will go out and make their own homes, too. That's a good thing. Heartbreaking, but good.

­-- Mary Reeves is a staff writer for the Times-Gazette. She can be reached by e-mail at mreeves@t-g.com.