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You are here: Home / Parenting / Homecoming

Homecoming

May 21, 2014 by D. A. Wolf 13 Comments

It’s a scramble: fast food receipts and dirty socks to sweep out from under the bed (just like when he was a kid), pillow cases and comforter to run through the wash (so old, but he loves them), toilet to scrub and sink crying out to be sponged (yours truly crying out not to be spending my time like this), then boxes of who knows what stored near his desk as a matter of my convenience… now to be crammed into a small closet.

Scowling Woman Scrubbing BathtubI’m racing the clock although it’s only a cursory cleaning. I’m no domestic goddess on the best of days and I rebel at the thought of doing more… even for his homecoming.

This mess? It is exactly as he left everything – some five and a half months ago.

Next, there are last minute items to pick up at the market for sandwiches and omelets, hopefully sufficient for snacks to satisfy his seemingly bottomless appetite.

Finally, there is the table to clear of circulars and bills, the couch to declutter of folders and magazines, and I can already imagine friends gathering as all the once baby-faced boys exchange “man hugs” and their 15-year friendships pick right back up where they left off at the holidays.

I glance at the clock. Just in time. The prodigal son returns from Italy.

Colorful Venice AreaAnd as I pull into the Kiss-Ride, he emerges from the subway station toting a backpack and pulling a worn, oversize duffel on wobbly wheels. He arrives in a jumble of baggy salmon shorts to the knee, a brown t-shirt, and some sort of plaid flannel number that screams “American” as I chuckle, considering he’s been living in Europe.

I would know him anywhere. He’s mine. And I smile.

The once shy little boy with his head in the clouds is confident and relaxed.

He bends down to hug me, stows his luggage in the trunk, and we make the quick trip back to the house. He says he’s “good,” Italy was “good,” and then in the kitchen as he talks, I drink in my beautiful, artsy, beloved boy.

He compliments the homemade soup, he comments on Italian girls, and he’s animated as he explains that they are taught to steer clear of all men. Then he hands me sketchbooks with fragments of people and buildings. Although he lived in Florence, he begins to describe the narrow dimensions of the streets in Venice and how magical a city it is.

Venice Area

I note one of his images on which he has marked “Canaletto,” the name of an 18th century Italian landscape painter. The page is a bit crumpled but it’s a lovely quick sketch, his hand reflecting the sureness and speed of these past three years of drawing discipline.

I tell him that I’m happy he’s home.

Drawing 2 Canaletto

We finish dinner. He checks the time. I know exactly what’s coming and it has taken, as I assumed it would, precisely one hour as he speaks the words every mother wants to hear: “Mom, can I take the car?”

Drawing FragmentNaturally, I say yes.

Then he’s off to meet up with friends, on to the movies, and I remind myself that he’s an adult and I resolve not to worry.

I tell him to have fun, to lock up when he comes in, to put the keys on the kitchen table, and I say goodnight.

The next afternoon, as I propose dinner comprised of Mediterranean-style veggies over angel hair – I mention my recent trip to the farmer’s market – he asks if I wouldn’t mind finding a substitute for pasta.

Sheesh. What was I thinking?

I have an ample supply of brown rice and various seasonings, and it occurs to me that he’s likely had his fill of linguini, ziti, rotini… In fact, I’ll plan on burgers tonight!

Homemade Mediterranean veggies in sauceI imagine that the next weeks will involve college student comings-and-goings, my vehicle in constant use, and a slow unfolding of stories from my son’s overseas adventures. I will need patience; he has always done everything in his own way and his own time.

Meanwhile, the house will fill with commotion again in the evenings in the most delicious ways possible. My son’s shoes are by the door where they’ve always been, his pens and sketchbooks are scattered on the couch, no doubt the socks are balled up and shoved under his bed. But I content myself with the fact that at least for awhile, my boy is home.

Colorful Venice Area

 

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Filed Under: Parenting, Travel Tagged With: cleaning, comfort foods, family, motherhood, overseas travel, parenting college kids, real women real life

Comments

  1. Judith A. Ross says

    May 21, 2014 at 2:39 pm

    Can’t wait for mine to come home. At 28, he’s still “my boy.” And yes, we have cleaned in preparation. And have already been warned that he will need some time to himself. After two years in the Peace Corps, this will be a challenging transition for us all.

    Reply
    • D. A. Wolf says

      May 22, 2014 at 2:43 pm

      I know you will be absolutely thrilled to have him home after so long, Judith. So happy for you!

      Reply
  2. lunaboogie says

    May 21, 2014 at 3:37 pm

    Going through the mad preparation myself, for my girl who will be home Saturday. Can’t, can’t wait.

    Reply
    • D. A. Wolf says

      May 22, 2014 at 2:42 pm

      It’s so lovely to have them home, lunaboogie, despite the “mad preparations.” Enjoy your homecoming! Just two more days.

      Reply
  3. Cornelia says

    May 21, 2014 at 4:58 pm

    You made me smile. 🙂

    Reply
    • D. A. Wolf says

      May 22, 2014 at 2:43 pm

      I’m glad, Cornelia. He’s been making me smile. (Now if only he would stop leaving the trail of socks…)

      Reply
  4. LA CONTESSA says

    May 22, 2014 at 12:09 am

    How glorious is this……….. He comes home tells a tale or two then with out further A DO is out that door! Sounds so familiar…….
    I hope you get him through the summer? How fantastic he still looks AMERICAN after all those months!Did he make a purchase or two? I would be framing those drawings immediately! Did he realize they put rock salt in the pasta water? I wish I could be a fly on your wall and just listen to him tell his tales.
    IO VUOLO BENE FIRENZE. I hope he did too!

    Reply
  5. Jennifer says

    May 22, 2014 at 10:59 am

    Heartwarming. I remember when my college aged kids landed back home. Such joy and busyness. Your son’s drawings are stunning! Very talented young man. Enjoy…mine are grown so this doesn’t happen for me anymore. You’ve brought floods of memories this morning.

    Reply
    • D. A. Wolf says

      May 22, 2014 at 2:38 pm

      Glad they’re good memories, Jennifer. 🙂

      Reply
  6. Carol Cassara says

    May 22, 2014 at 11:35 am

    Those sketches are just beautiful. Maybe he sells them?

    Reply
    • D. A. Wolf says

      May 22, 2014 at 2:41 pm

      Carol, what a nice thing to say. Those particular sketches are very small in a little notebook he carries. But he has been selling work since he was a kid. I compensate him for artwork in steak au poivre and vehicle usage, myself. That seems fair, doesn’t it?

      Reply
  7. Leslie in Oregon says

    May 22, 2014 at 8:27 pm

    How wonderful for you both…I am happy for you! Your preparations sounded so familiar, as does the actual homecoming. My children never get to come home for more than 7-10 days, but I treasure every minute they are here. (And I feel like sleeping for 24 hours straight after they leave.) Your son’s sketches are beautiful…what a great way to memorialize what one sees.

    Reply
  8. Barbara says

    May 23, 2014 at 12:56 am

    I’d know him anywhere, he’s my boy. Isn’t that true? This is so heartwarming – such a tenderly captured homecoming – and my – what great sketches. He sounds like a soulful young man – like his soulful mother. Love that you shared this slice of familial life.

    Reply

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