Michael had his first sleepover at a friend’s house last night.
He’s 8, and had a few unsure moments at home yesterday before it was time to go. But when his friend’s parents came by to pick him up, he grabbed his stuff, hugged us goodbye, and didn’t look back. He was happy and tired when I picked him up this morning. Just like it should be.
I’m at the same time relieved, delighted, and and frankly a little sad. Because Michael is our youngest, and in my mind, still too little for sleepovers. But not really.
And at the same time Michael was sleeping at his friend’s house, Matthew was also out, and we knew he’d be dropped off late – around 11:00 p.m. Now don’t get me wrong – it was REALLY nice to have a quiet house, sit on the couch with Dave, have a glass of wine, relax and watch football together.
But it was kind of weird, because usually when we have time alone together, we are out somewhere, and the boys are home. I realize that as the boys get older, this is going to be more the norm – they’re out later than we are, and we’re home, pretending that we haven’t fallen asleep on the couch.
I know this is the natural progression of things, and I plan on letting my kids grow up the way they’re supposed to. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Honestly, not only do I not mind the mess, noise and chaos that can sometimes accompany a home with kids, but I kind of enjoy it. And sometimes, when they’re not here, it feels just a little too quiet. But don’t tell them.