I have a confession to make.
Last night I was counting down the years until all of my children would be living their own lives - under their own roofs.
Choose any other day and perhaps I couldn’t bare the thought of the three of them not living with us, but not last night.
Last night I wanted them out.
I had this strange feeling that we are all adults trying to share the same space, cook at the same stove, be hungry for dinner at the same time, all the while creating adult size messes that somehow only this adult is expected to clean up. Legally only my daughter can be considered an adult but my 16 year old son sports a man size body, and my 13 year old is not far behind.
I certainly remember feeling exhausted when the kids were little but never did I fantasize about them being out on their own. Perhaps