Features and blogging

What is it like having an empty nest? That's the question I've been asked since September 15. It's now mid-January and I can report back with some early thoughts. There’s a lot, quite frankly, and I’m hoping it’ll all calm down with time.

• The question should be: "What’s happening to all of you?” I haven’t a clue. My husband, however, spent the first two weeks changing furniture around. He ordered a new sofa, moved the weights into J’s room, booked us an empty-nest trip to Denmark, and signed on to an intensive IT course. Guess who’s better at Change Management?
• The nest empties fast, especially with Just The One. Yesterday our home was full, today it is not. The status quo shifts overnight, whether you have lots of kids, or one, or they've all been at boarding school, or they’ve spent lots of time out of the house, or never left the bedroom. The change to your house is rapid and you’ll need to fasten your seatbelt.
• Your nest is as uninhabited as you want it to be. You can fill it with yourself, guests, or laundry. You can take an afternoon kip on top of the duvet (honestly, who’s going to know?). You can turn it into your office, or leave it empty until the holidays. I advise putting it to use, or the cavity becomes shouty. (NB: this business of "Door open or closed?" is a question I'm often asked. It seems to be A Thing).
• Sometimes there’s no news. Sometimes there’s news, but I don’t want to hear it. Sometimes I want to get the news printed onto a T-shirt and wear it up the high street.
• Any existing caring that’s still required continues, it’s just done over the phone with 130 miles in the way.
• Over time, this habit of thinking about him ALL day is easing up. I’m hoping to get it down to once a day by year three.
• Never before has my personal physical life fallen under such intense and open scrutiny:
Them: "What's it like now you have the place to yourselves?"
Me: "Oh it's actually quite lovely, it's so tidy and chilled, and..."
Them: "No. What-is-it-LIKE?" [wink]
Home visits
• News of a home visit is balloon-worthy. First hugs on arrival are the best. Goodbyes never ease up.
• Our place is now very small when he’s home, extra small if he has friends over. By some kind of shape-shifting witchery, all his friends have grown in stature and volume. So 12 of them in our living room is now a party. If we lived in a barn miles from the neighbours, that’d be great. We don’t.
• Nothing is sacred. To them, your home is a frat house.
• He cooks. The kitchen gets sprayed with oil, garlic ends up in the cat bowls, but yay. (And he washes up, half-arsed, but I’ll take that).
• There’s been some physical morphing too: new cheekbones, a new slouch, longer limbs.
Also
• Life admin is ad-hoc but happening. GP appointments made, tutorials organised, passports replaced, lost keys reissued, post office returns sorted, coach tickets booked, bags packed. It is all played out in an unbelievably slow time sequence, but nowt to do wi’ me.
• Still required: laundry / paracetamol / snacks / beer / money.
• Same as it ever was: damp towels on bed / empty packets in cupboard / plates on bedroom floor / nocturnal.
• It is just as hard to leave him after I go up for the day to take him out for lunch. Even if I’m well aware that I’m going up alone, will return alone, only have two hours in his company… The aloneness of the return trip is just SO alone. Should have cracked open a few G&T tinnies.
• I’m thrilled, depressed, proud, impressed, and terrified in equal measure, and I won’t be able to relax until May 2026 (oh I know, it’s just the same for Dad, and he’s 83 and I’m 54).
• I cannot IMAGINE how my friends do this from a distance: legends, all of you.

Anyway. “Empty Nest” was the topic but as with so many things, that’s not how it played out. To be continued.