When our youngest and quietest daughter recently graduated from high school and immediately requested that we host a bonfire fueled by her notebooks, folks began congratulating my wife and me on becoming "empty nesters." Little did they know that our nest shows no signs of emptying anytime soon. If anything, it's fuller than ever — and not just because of my expanding love handles.
You see, along with our high school graduate, our happy-go-lucky middle daughter recently graduated from actual college, and she even landed a "big girl job" with a salary, benefits and an excuse to buy more shoes.
Unfortunately for our washing machine, our youngest daughter plans to begin her higher education at a local community college, and our middle daughter's big girl job is just a few minutes from our house. This means they'll both be living at home for a while to save money — namely theirs.
Now, don't get me wrong. My wife and I are actually thrilled that our daughters can tolerate sharing the same breathable air as us, even after I've eaten a large Mexican dinner. But I have had to make a few adjustments.
First, our laundry has become exponentially more complex (and I completely missed the lesson on exponents in the sixth grade because of a distracting pair of Jordache jeans occupying the desk in front of me). Just as I was getting used to being hopelessly baffled about the ownership of two collections of women's undergarments when I put away clean clothes, my middle daughter has thrown another assortment into the mix. Now, when I’m folding, I find myself shouting out colors, sizes, and brand names like some desperate lingerie merchant peddling black-market bloomers at an open-air bazaar in Istanbul — hoping someone will claim them.
And then there are the groceries. Suddenly, our modest refrigerator, manufactured during the second Clinton administration, is crowded with exotic yogurts, gourmet pickles, artisanal cheeses, designer canned beverages with ridiculous names like "Poppi," and a variety of milk products that did not come from an udder. If I want to grab a lowly can of Diet Dr. Pepper, I have to navigate a veritable minefield of girl-dinner randomness.
And my daughters have completely sabotaged any attempt I may have made at dieting by stockpiling our pantry with irresistible snacks like Himalayan Sweetness Popcorn, Drizzilicious Birthday Cake Bites and Seasoned Hot Buffalo Goldfish Pretzels. I’m not exactly sure what any of these delicious foodstuffs are, but I’m determined to get to the bottom of it through my own careful research and product analysis.
Finally, when my middle daughter moved back in, she brought with her an elaborate espresso machine gifted by her boyfriend. The thing looks like it might come alive at any moment and try to terminate me in the process of bringing about nuclear holocaust. But if it doesn’t, it can be satisfied by the fact that we basically have a Cadillac Escalade parked on our countertop.
Aside from these minor inconveniences, it’s nice having the nest almost full again. We’ve told all of our daughters that as long as we have a home, they do, too. But if our eldest daughter decides to move back home from Colorado, I’m officially retiring from bloomer duty.
—Jase Graves
Jason (Jase) Graves is a national award-winning humor columnist, a married father of three daughters, a lifelong resident of Longview, Texas, and a Texas A&M Aggie. He writes about home and family issues from a humorous perspective for the Cagle Cartoons syndicate and his blog. Other than writing, his primary hobby is sleeping as late as possible. His winning Nickie’s Prize for Humor Writing essay, “The Sisterhood of the Giggling Rants,” is included in Sisters! Bonded by Love and Laughter, published by the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. His piece, “Victoria’s Worst-Kept Secret,” is included in Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Crazy Family.