The Joys and Pains of Her Being 18

My middle daughter, also known as "my clone," is eighteen years old.

I love saying that.  For many reasons.  It means she's an adult now.

She's "all grown up" even if she still has me smell her milk and chase away spiders and make her doctors' appointments and cut her chicken off the bone.

She has the legal right to make life-altering decisions about herself and her future and the future of others if she so chooses.

She has now completed High School and is now a Junior in College (technically, anyway.  She has yet to apply for college, but she intends to.  And when she does, she will be a Junior in College).

So, when my Mother (with whom said daughter has been staying while she has completed her last year of High School, since we moved out of her district) has a conversation with me like the following, I honestly have a hard time taking her seriously.  I'll explain more why:

Mom: "I am getting tired of your daughter's mess around her room.  Every surface is covered.  I keep telling her to clean this room or we're not renewing her lease." (note to reader: she's being sarcastic...there is no lease.)

Me: "I've told her to clean it, Ma.  What do you want from me?  She won't clean her room here, either."

Mom: "Well, if she doesn't get all of this stuff cleaned up, I swear, I'm going to throw it all in bags and you can store it all in your basement in your house."

Me: "Do what you gotta do, Ma."

Meanwhile, I'm surfing the web, reading my email, whatever, thinking, "If this is all she can complain about my kid, I guess I didn't do too badly."

My eighteen-year-old girl.  Hell, I know what I was getting into at eighteen.  So my kid's a little messy?  She's a good kid, though.

In fact, she's a great kid.  She's the kind of kid most parents want to have.  I have no shame in saying that.

I also know this: my kid's got my dad wrapped around her little finger.  So, no matter how many times my mom threatens to "evict" her, my dad's got her back.  Ha. 

That's gonna work out good because when my eighteen-year-old gets around to it, she plans on going to college near my parents, too.  So, she's going to need to extend that lease.

Why the Summer Sucks

My baby left me Friday night.

And Friday night was supposed to be a night of celebration.

My middle daughter, who has had an amazing, stellar year, graduated from High School.

She won several scholarships and awards.  She had written a play this year that her school had performed!  She had recently been named the 1st place national winner of an electronic music composition contest and her name was on the marquee in front of her high school congratulating her, right on Wantagh Avenue (that's big around here!).

And, yes, of course I'm thrilled for her, but the joy was literally sucked right out of me when, 10 minutes after we got out of that school, we were invaded by their Suzuki and their presence and all that it represented.

I endured them.  I endured being around them, and watching my baby be happy to see them and watching my baby's things getting packed into their Suzuki and talking to him and listening to him and looking at him and remembering things about him and the very, very worst thing.

I endured watching my baby drive away with them.

He promised she'd call and he promised she'd skype.  But the point remains.  I am not going to see my baby for most of the summer.

Her room will be empty and the house will be quiet.  I will be home alone just about every day.

My mother thinks this will be easy for me.  Yeah, a picnic, Ma.

If I were sending her off to camp, I'd be concerned for her, but happy.

This, well, this is different.

Things I just can't say...too much to say.

She's going to be so far away for so long.  I don't know how she really is doing.

Maybe he doesn't care about that the rest of the year, but I care about that during the summer.

I just wasn't ready yet to say goodbye to her.

I don't know when I would have been.  Maybe after a couple of weeks.  At least a few days.

He has no soul.  None.  Because this was not done so he could see his daughter faster.

This was done for "convenience."

At the expense of my convenience.  And comfort.  And sanity.

I guess I should try to take advantage of the quiet.

And celebrate what I have to celebrate.  I will, but still...

The summer will still suck, again, because of him.