Rotten Kid...

Things are weird. Just completely off-kilter and wrong. I am foggy and unfocused and aimless and tired. Several times this week I have walked into an empty house. The fledgling has done gone and fledged. And I hate it.

Ok, maybe not completely empty. There are always the Two Derps, and the Small Orange Meth Head. They certainly make their presence known when I come home, because it is always a surprise. They are quite convinced that every time I leave the house I am never coming home again, ever. It makes for quite the ego boost to walk into that level of glee and pee pee wiggle every time I come back from the store. Or the mailbox. Doesn't matter. Same pee pee wiggle, regardless.

Also, and I keep having to remind myself of this: It's not like the kid ever greeted me at the door. Unless I had groceries. And to his credit, it wasn't just to take inventory or graze, he would bring in everything. I mean EVERYTHING. In one trip. "Death Before Two Trips," is his philosophy on grocery unloading.

No, he spent most of his time in the Bat Cave, honestly, but he was here. He was around. I knew where he was and what he was doing (plotting), and if he was okay (debatable). He was always up in the middle of the night, cooking, and if his dad was home, making sure to leave every single cupboard door open. That's not a joke. He left a trail. I used to joke that even if he was inclined to embark on a life of crime, he would be the world's worst criminal, because he left too much evidence. Every morning was an episode of CSI: Kitchen. "Let's see, we have a skillet, a package of deli cheese, open and half hardened, and a loaf of bread left out that has reached the consistency of a door stop. I'm guessing grilled cheese." I noticed about a year ago that he was leaving his mark on a less consistent basis. That's when he laughed and confessed he only did that when his dad was home. Which is terrible. And hilarious.

I am not unique. Every parent goes through this. I am aware. I just wasn't ready. He didn't leave in stages. He left all at once. He completed my sentences and read my mind and then he left. He probably left because he could read my mind. I would some days. But it was time.

On the plus side, and it's a big plus, he is exactly where he wants to be, doing exactly what he's wanted to do for literally half the time he's spent on this earth. He had support, plenty of it. But in the end he did the work. He took the long way around and made things hard on himself sometimes, but he learned from his detours, and this is all him.

People have wondered if I am worried about him. Not the way one might expect. I am not worried one bit about his safety. The Marines have already invested too much in him to want to break him. The time will come soon enough when he very well may be in harm's way, but for now I know he's just really off-kilter, and foggy, and tired. How poetically ironic. No, he's fine, for now, and the next three months will be...unforgettable, for sure. At some point in the future he may even look back on these next 13 weeks and laugh. Maybe. Wayyyy off in the future.

In the meantime, we will soon have an address and we can send the Little Cherub letters. This is where I shall exact my revenge.

I have decided to go an unorthodox route with my first letter. I would like to remind everyone that he left home ON MY BIRTHDAY. And in my birthday card, he wrote, "Quit f@#*king crying! Happy Birthday." So instead of the gush and mush he is likely expecting, I have decided to send him a list of the texts I would have sent him if he were here and had his phone. Here is a sampling of actual things I picked up my phone to text him over the last four days:

I have to poop.

Why did you leave me, you giant butthole?

I am playing with Fart Slime. That's an actual thing I own now.

How much laundry do you OWN??!!! I swear I found onesies in the pile!

Are there stalls in the bathroom or do you have to poo out in the open?

Wow, I think a lot about poo.

I bought burgers and salmon filets from the meat counter the other evening and remembered to ask for just three and DID NOT CRY, thank you! PBBBBBFT!

Peanut just made a noise never before heard in nature.

Did I mention I'm insanely proud of you?

Or maybe just insane...

Please come potty these dogs.

Remember how many times we had to listen to Hooked On a Feeling on the sax? Well, now it's Skyfall.

I don't remember Skyfall having that much profanity in it.

I love you bigger than the universe.

I may say some other things, too, but I think that list ought to at least make him less homesick. In the meantime, it tickles me to think of him smacking his forehead and wondering just where he went wrong with me.

For now, poor Thing 2 will have to bear the brunt of my mothering. He's doing well, so far. And having recently reached the age at which he knows everything, he doesn't need me quite as much as he used to. He will leave me in phases. He's already started, really. I will be a professional by the time that happens. It won't bother me at all.

I think I'll start the Xanax drip now.