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. My wonderfully quiet house and relatively full fridge are about to take a beating, and somehow I must find the will to survive over the next 10 to 12 weeks.
We’ve actually 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 of the rules, his mere presence, while enjoyable in small doses, changes the dynamics of our humble abode.
For starters, our younger three kids have adapted to his absence and delight in not having an A-type firstborn steamroll over their ideas and opinions. There is one less sibling in competition for our affection, and one less human hogging precious bathroom time. One less of everything, really, and when that loud-talking, personal space-challenged, bratty older brother gets back, one less quickly becomes one more.
Particularly in the “One More Mouth to Feed” category. 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 locust 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 only May. Stupid May.