It’s Time To Go

We are nearing the end of summer and, as usually happens around this time, I’m ready for my boys to go. I love them, but I’m over it.

Before you come at me, telling me I’ll miss them when they’re gone (I know I will), they’re ready, too — at least mentally.

The first to leave is H. He moves into his new home in Massachusetts tomorrow (yes, tomorrow), which should mean he’s already packed and prepared, right? WRONG.

Other than the items that were never unpacked three months ago when he graduated from college, nothing has been sorted, organized, prepared, or loaded. Not a sock. Not a shoe. Not a pair of underwear.

In typical fashion, he dragged his feet and now it’s crunch time. He only just started his laundry yesterday and still has a few loads to go.

Can you say …

O, on the other hand, doesn’t leave until Sunday, so he still has a few days to get his act together. Unlike his brother, his stuff is mostly organized and he only has a week’s worth of laundry to do, not a month’s.

This is life with the Tarr boys. Every year, I suggest (read: nag) they start on it sooner, and every year, they (defiantly) wait until the last minute.

As a planner, I don’t understand their propensity for this willy nilly-style of getting ready at the eleventh hour. It’s both puzzling and frustrating to me. They, however, seem unbothered. After all, “It’s not that deep,” as they continuously tell me.

This is what I see when I look at them not packing …