Soapbox

It’s that time of year again- back to school! And can I just say, back-to-school is not for wimps!

    Thursday I got Steve moved in for his senior year. He is renting a room in the old rectory behind my mother’s church in Athens. (I told him he can tell his friends that his landlord is Jesus.) It’s kind of weird because I used to babysit the priest’s kids (wild little hooligans the lot of them!) so I have memories of the place in different times.

   When I finally got him out of bed he remembered that he had wanted to get his hair cut before he left town, so I shooed him out the door and packed up the van myself. He didn’t have a huge amount of stuff this year but it was already hot and sticky, so it was a work-out.

    He has the back bedroom in the house, overlooking the yard and a nice stand of mature trees. His room is quite nice: the house, well…  There have been two guys, one from Lebanon, one from Kenya, living there this summer and apparently cleaning is not on their to-do list.
     Steve’s room was recently painted and vacuumed, so there wasn’t too much work required there: we hauled boxes upstairs and opened them. I had bought some curtains at a thrift store, so while he hung things on hangars I sat on the floor in the common room and plugged in the sewing machine I brought with me and altered them to fit the windows. 
    Then I chased down and murdered a giant cockroach that wandered out of his closet. It was the only bug we saw in the house all day but it was a doozey, let me tell you! I am pretty intrepid when it comes to rodents and insects, so I was happily stalking it with a shoe and a paper towel, singing
                   "I"m not afraid of the water, I"m not afraid to fly,
                   but when I see a great big bug I know that one of us must DIE!"
when it turned and ran back towards me, flapping its wings.

     I screamed like a girl.

     But it was running towards my child, so I smashed it like a mother. Then I opened cupboards, took stock of cleaning supplies and we hit the local Walmart. Thank God for Mr. Clean!
    First I scrubbed the heck out of the bathroom because I just didn’t want Steve and his skin conditions in that mildew! Even by Steve’s somewhat lax standards, the room looked unhealthy. Then while he played around with hooking up his TV, printer, etc. I tackled the kitchen. Oh. My. God.  Let’s just say that when Steve came downstairs to put his bird feeder out, he said "Wow! That floor is beige."  For the time being, anyway. I don’t hold out much hope for the long-term. It was quite a job, but at least it offered the satisfaction of dramatic results for the effort.
 
   We found a good place for the bird feeder so that he can see it from the window right by his desk. I surveyed the room: quite homey and comfortable. I asked him to please try to keep it that way for at least 2 days, until his girlfriend Arianna arrives, in case her parents come over too. Heavens!

    By this point I was sticky, sweaty and exhausted in a way that reminded me that, however clearly I remember being a teenager in this house, I am no longer. I gave my son a quick hug and hopped back in the van, much less conflicted than I was the first time I left him at school. Maybe I"m getting used to this "grown-up kid" thing. Maybe it’s because he seems to be handling himself pretty well. (Maybe that’s partly because I suspect there’s a good chance that he might be coming back home, for a while,  after he graduates. We’ll see how that goes) I stopped at a Burger King for dinner on the way home and treated myself to the first double-cheeseburger I’ve had all year. I had worked like a demon and figured I’d earned it!
    When I got back home I surveyed his room, contemplated cleaning it and then decided that I had had enough for that for a while, thank you. I did take the time to  fire off an e-mail to the church secretary, informing her that if I have to tackle any more bugs that large I’m going to request body armor and combat pay.

    Grandma will no doubt be sticking her head in after church on the occasional Sunday (she asked if he might be willing to accept left over cookies from the coffee hour and he allowed as how he is) so perhaps the family will see a bit more of him than we did last year. Or maybe not.

   Next year, Katie, my baby,  leaves the nest. That’s going to be a day when only the hardy need apply!