Exhausted

I have spent the weekend helping son #2 set up his first solo apartment. He's got a good job, found a nice place in the former carriage house of the most ornate pink mansion I have ever seen, but he's never had a place on his own, without roommates. It's the first place that's solely his, a home of his own making. I remember my first solo place. There's the most amazing sense of autonomy and coziness, with occassional bouts of loneliness.

Anyhoo, it's been a family project, moving his stuff to the new place, trips to Ikea, Target and the like to furnish the new place. I love doing that sort of thing, making a nest, turning an empty, alien space into a home. So I've had to really rein myself in, and let this be Tim's project. I'm just along to give advice when asked. Which, it turns out, was fairly often.

This project isn't over, but it's getting there, enough that he's having a dinner guest tomorrow night, a friend from work. At the moment the only things in his larder are two bottles of wine and a 12 pack of Red Stripe. He's got his work cut out for him.

The young fellow who cuts my hair is a new dad and said something about the responsibility of
"the next 18 years." My response: "Oh honey, it's a life sentence." But a good one, if not always easy.