Kidney
3.24.09
I was reading in my new send-your-kid-to-college book that it’s particularly important not to mess with his or her room during this first year away. OOPS.
When Sean left in August, we not only had him take with him the things that we or he thought he’d want from his bedroom, but because we were putting the house on the market right then, we figured we’d kill the proverbial two birds by having him pack it up completely while he was at it, so that hardly a trace of his personality would be left. That seems heartless, I know, but we honestly hoped to sell the house shortly thereafter. Fools!
Anyway, at winter break, we did further injury by asking him to pack up the last remaining remnants of his former home base: to put all of his books in boxes in his closet because we planned to sell the bookcase that they were sitting on. Well, that hasn’t happened either, but I hope it will soon.
That means that Sean’s room — though he says he actually kind of likes the sparse look — is hardly his own anymore. (Insert heaps of Mother Guilt here, please. But yes, I’ve apologized to him.) One thing that is very much “Sean” does remain, however: a pillow on his bed. It’s from IKEA, and he’s had it for a long time. It’s supposed to be a dog’s head — I guess — but it’s such an abstraction of a dog’s head that, when it’s gone on sleepovers or to camps over the years, it’s received other nicknames, some of which aren’t repeatable here. The one that somehow amuses me, though, is Kidney, due to the dog-thing’s kidney-shaped shape.
I’ve decided that Kidney is good to hug as a substitute for Sean, so last night when I went into his room to do my usual goodnight ritual of saying goodnight to him, even though he’s not there — whispering the bedtime words that I have said for as long as I can remember — I gave Kidney a big, long, swinging hug. It felt very good.
Claire thinks I’m a little odd (well, maybe that’s being kind). She asked me one time why I disappear into Sean’s room, usually after I do the same bedtime ritual with her. I said that I go in to say goodnight to him, even though he’s not there. I decided not long after he went to school that even if this was strange behavior, I was going to continue to do it as my way to honor and think about my son who’s away at school. And I’m sure I’ll do the same for her when she goes away, too.
When Sean left in August, we not only had him take with him the things that we or he thought he’d want from his bedroom, but because we were putting the house on the market right then, we figured we’d kill the proverbial two birds by having him pack it up completely while he was at it, so that hardly a trace of his personality would be left. That seems heartless, I know, but we honestly hoped to sell the house shortly thereafter. Fools!
Anyway, at winter break, we did further injury by asking him to pack up the last remaining remnants of his former home base: to put all of his books in boxes in his closet because we planned to sell the bookcase that they were sitting on. Well, that hasn’t happened either, but I hope it will soon.
That means that Sean’s room — though he says he actually kind of likes the sparse look — is hardly his own anymore. (Insert heaps of Mother Guilt here, please. But yes, I’ve apologized to him.) One thing that is very much “Sean” does remain, however: a pillow on his bed. It’s from IKEA, and he’s had it for a long time. It’s supposed to be a dog’s head — I guess — but it’s such an abstraction of a dog’s head that, when it’s gone on sleepovers or to camps over the years, it’s received other nicknames, some of which aren’t repeatable here. The one that somehow amuses me, though, is Kidney, due to the dog-thing’s kidney-shaped shape.
I’ve decided that Kidney is good to hug as a substitute for Sean, so last night when I went into his room to do my usual goodnight ritual of saying goodnight to him, even though he’s not there — whispering the bedtime words that I have said for as long as I can remember — I gave Kidney a big, long, swinging hug. It felt very good.
Claire thinks I’m a little odd (well, maybe that’s being kind). She asked me one time why I disappear into Sean’s room, usually after I do the same bedtime ritual with her. I said that I go in to say goodnight to him, even though he’s not there. I decided not long after he went to school that even if this was strange behavior, I was going to continue to do it as my way to honor and think about my son who’s away at school. And I’m sure I’ll do the same for her when she goes away, too.
