Back to School Blues.

Listen.

Do you hear that?

You don't?

Me neither!!

My house is quiet! Free of showtunes and One Direction and sister-bickering and the poke-me-in-the-eardrums-with-chopsticks-now-please obnoxious voices of every singing star that now has their own Disney Channel or Nickelodeon show!

Pour mama a mimosa and ready the napping couch!

Nah, not really (yet).

I'm actually experiencing the first-day-of-school-empty-nest-blues.  

It happens every year. The Things and I spend much of the summer literally in each other's faces and spaces, and many, many days together preparing for school with shopping, planning, meeting teachers, debating schedules and worrying about everything from which folder should be designated for which class to how they'll ever get up at 6:30 a.m. to the certain catastrophic effects of withdrawal from 3 solid months of stalking One Direction via just about every possible social media outlet that is legal (and probably a few that are not).

But when the usual morning whirlwind that is intensified by the nervousness and anticipation of the first day is over and the Things are suddenly - in the flurry of a flashbulb and a hasty kiss - gone, and it is deathly quiet, I always feel so alone.

Vacant. 

Left behind.

Everyone in the family is all dressed up and off to their shiny, new, exciting day and I'm left behind in my bathrobe with hungry cats, a sink full of dirty dishes and the echoes of all the summer activity ringing through the empty house.

And I’ll admit it -- I get blue.

It doesn't matter the year, the sudden feeling of separation is always the same.  It's as if there's a little part of me that gets carried out the door in that heavy backpack and for a few hours it's kind of hard to breathe without it.

And this year that feeling is weighing heavier than usual. 

Thing 1 started her senior year today.

Her senior year.

FIRST first day to LAST first day. 

Since the past 17 years have somehow passed when I sneezed or blinked, I'm fully aware of how quickly this year will fly by...and to be honest, the only way I’m dealing with it is by being in denial. Next year I won’t get to take her picture and give her a kiss for luck, and this vacant feeling I'm experiencing right now is gonna last a whole hell of a lot longer. 

Don’t get me started. 

And my little Thing 2 is suddenly smack dab in the middle of middle school, dealing with the “popular” kids, worrying about free spots at lunch tables and trying to make sense of all the growing pains -- physical and emotional -- that begin when you’re 12 going on 13. Sometimes I want to smother her in a hug that lasts until she’s about 18 (or 30) and shield her from all the drama and anguish of adolescence. 

Don't get me wrong -- I enjoy my quiet house and my solitude and my guilt free afternoon naps immensely, but the instant and sudden aloneness I feel on the first day of school always catches me off guard for a few hours. 

I'm sure there are more than a few of you who think I'm crazy; who are literally dancing on the ceilings this morning (or whenever your kids' first day of school was) but I'll just say it — I miss my girls. And for the next few hours, I’ll let myself miss them. I’ll turn up the volume on the TV so Kelly Ripa can keep me company while I clean up the breakfast dishes and the remnants of the lunch preparation; I’ll go upstairs and turn off the lights that I know were left on in their rooms and bathrooms and be struck by how silent and empty they are; I’ll think -- a lot -- about what they’re doing rightthissecond in their new classes and wonder if they’re feeling nervous or excited or a little bit of both. I’ll do a lot of things to distract my mind from dwelling on the fact that time is passing way too quickly and to keep me from getting out all the photo albums and looking at them tearfully while listening to “100 Years” and drinking mimosas. 

But then, as suddenly as they left, they’ll return. 

And for the last time I’ll get to sit with Thing 1 as she eats her first-day-of-school-cupcake and tells me all about her day, and an hour later listen to my chatterbox of a Thing 2 tell me how much she already hates math and how she didn’t get to finish her lunch and that she’s just gonna die if she has to take a community shower in P.E. I’ll fill out forms and make a special first day of school dinner and pester them to do their homework and get to bed at a reasonable hour...and once again be filled with all the noise and commotion and activity that makes me whole.  

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow I nap. 

*The above post is an updated and edited version of one originally posted September 4, 2012*

© 2012-2013 You're my favorite today. All Rights Reserved.