Rumerations & Reminisces: My Son's First Apartment

My son moved to his first apartment in NYC. Maternal instincts were at an all-time high as I wanted to settle him in to his new home (away from my home). With three other guys living in the quarters, we anticipate a mounting degree of male-gross-me-outedness. (E.g., who made elbow noodles and didn't put the pot in the sink afterwards? And who's the dare-devil who scrambled eggs in a sauce pan?)

After the new mattress was delivered, I went into gear to make up the bed with brand new sheets and give one final lesson on the importance of hospital corners. I prolonged the stay by sewing a button onto his blue blazer, and then stalled a bit more by folding his towels and organizing his books by size/by color. When he wasn't looking, I pathetically straightened out the laptop on the window sill.

The bureau that used to be in my son's bedroom at home was about to have a city chapter, too. Drawers once filled with little clip-on bow ties, extra light bulbs for the Bearded Dragon Lizard tank, a Cub Scout neckerchief and, later, T-shirts with fratty sayings, were now crammed with boxer shorts and starched shirts. There was no turning back. (Plus it was too much of a pain to even think about getting that bureau back into the station wagon.)

With heavy heart, I thought about how my son's leaving for college was like baby food compared to his moving into the city. Now his bedroom at home would be empty for practically forever. Behind us were all those years of telling him to straighten up and get the ukelele off the floor if he didn't want the cat to sleep on it.

The real kicker came when I was about to leave his apartment and there was a knock on the door.

"Hello, we're your neighbors and live on the 4th floor," said one of the two beauties with saucy English accents. "Do you have any power tools we could borrow?"

Perfect, right? Time to go, Mom!