Guess Who’s Back? Back Again

CAUTION: Aggressive lyrics and “questionable” content in music video

Guess who’s back, back again
[Henry’s] back, tell a friend
Guess who’s back, guess who’s back?
Guess who’s back, guess who’s back?
Guess who’s back, guess who’s back?
Guess who’s back? Na-na-na …

These Eminem lyrics have been stuck in my brain for the past week — ever since my oldest returned home from college. It’s been a full week, and we are now, once again, a family of four. It’s almost like he was never gone.

Sort of.

Because H spent his final two years of high school at boarding school, this isn’t our first experience with the reentry process. Been there, done that! And with all that practice, I’d like to think we’ve got it down now, but it probably depends on who you ask.

All of H’s finals were essays, so decided to come home last Tuesday and finish the papers at home. I was responsible for picking him up, which meant I was responsible for packing him up. I’m no fool. He said he’d pack before I got there, but as I said, this isn’t my first rodeo. I knew what to expect, and it wasn’t what he was promising.

To be fair, I think the discrepancy lies within our understanding of what it means to be packed. After a 7-hour solo drive to school (which, by the way, started before sunrise, and yes, I’m only telling you this for sympathy), I arrived to find pretty much what I expected: posters and banners still on the walls, clothes still hanging in the closet, drawers half-emptied with equal parts trash and useful stuff (like money and ID cards), bins half-full of all sorts of crap (no rhyme or reason to it), food still in the mini fridge, and about a half dozen duffel bags overflowing with dirty laundry. So much for doing laundry before packing. I guess it saved him from having to fold his clothes. [Yes, that was said sarcastically.]

The upside is, it could have been worse. At least he started to pack. And he wasn’t hung over, so that was helpful. Plus, I was prepared — mostly.

With music blasting and a window fan blowing, we got to work and had the room cleared out and the car packed in under 2-1/2 hours. I swept the floor and wiped down the desk while H said his goodbyes. Seven hours later, we were home again.

If I’ve learned anything from our first two experiences with the prodigal son’s return home, it’s that we need to talk through expectations before he gets home. So that’s what we did. After all, we had seven hours together to hash it out. I talked, I listened, and we came to an agreement on most things. A few we still need to work out, like exactly how long all that crap is going to stay in the garage before I lose my shit, but like the rest of those Eminem lyrics, “… we need a little controversy ’cause it feels so empty without me.”

Word.

I hope it goes without saying that I’m really just happy to have all my boys under one roof again. [Yes, I’ll be happier (read: calmer) when all his crap is put away, but I’m still happy now.] There’s a different family rhythm when it’s just three of us. H brings a certain energy to a room — a vibrant, loud energy that can sometimes be a bit extra, but I’m excited for it. Fingers crossed I’m still excited a month from now when he’s pushing all my buttons (probably because most of his boxes are still in the garage for me to trip over).

Welcome home, H.

-LJDT

P.S. A preemptive apology to all my neighbors for the extra “noise” over the next three months. We’ll try to rein it in.