Happy Meggledays

Last Sunday, we had an early holiday dinner at our house–turkey, stuffing, pie, 36 small, shrill children, etc. My daughter is leaving for Mexico this week, and will miss the next two Thanksgivings and Christmases at home so we gave it one last hoorah before she left. 

Yesterday, we also sprung a mini-Christmas morning. 

We called them, respectively Megsgiving and Megsmas. 

Today, she’s transferring her bank accounts into my name, and maybe teaching her brother how to drive her car.

Hopefully, at some point, she cleans her room. When I came home from work today, her 14 year old brother was cleaning his 10 year old brother’s pit of despair room, in anticipation that when she leaves, he will banish the 10 year old to her less desirable room, and then take over the corner suite himself. 

This may sound convoluted to you, but their territorial wars make all sorts of sense to them. And any man with a broom in his hand calls the shots, if you ask me. (Which he didn’t, but then again, he’s got the broom.) 

I’m hoping room cleaning/stuff storing makes it to the top of her list tomorrow, or the ten year old will have a legitimate excuse to sleep on the couch–which is his preferred locale–until I get a chance to purge clean her room myself, and we all know that will be shortly before she comes home. If I’m lucky.


Wednesday, at six o’clock in the morning, we put her on an airplane. Well, make that: at five, we probably watch her go through the security gate, and she puts herself on an airplane. ‘Cuz she’s an adult and all that.

People keep asking me if I’m nervous to see her go. I don’t know if it makes me a good parent or a bad parent that I’m not–I know she’s totally cut out for whatever challenge comes her way. Sometimes I get a little emotional, at unexpected moments, but that probably has more to do with sleep deprivation than anything else. 

What I’m most nervous about, actually, is rather ridiculous: It’s the letter writing–and I don’t know why writing actual weekly, paper letters–as opposed to emails or letters–to my own kid would be intimidating, but it is.  There’s something about committing it to paper that is so much more serious than writing an email or a text.


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