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Grown and Flown had an article on the top 21 things empty nesters enjoy. I never click on these things, but I did this time because the social copy acknowledged people who are having trouble with the idea of their kids leaving for college. Being one of those people, I decided to click over with an open mind, hoping there would be wisdom I could use to make myself feel better.

There was not.

The first item was how I would get great sleep again—pre-baby sleep. Oh, you mean like all those nights where I cried wildly on the way to bed because another cycle had failed or when I was up with insomnia, wondering if X, Y, or Z would work? In that case, yes, this period is very similar: I either cry on the way to bed or stay up with insomnia, running through all my worries for the next few months.

Next.

I quit the list after six items, realizing that this list was for someone else, not me. I’m happier cooking for four than two if I’m cooking at all. If we’re doing laundry for two, we can do laundry for four. Water savings are lovely, but it’s not really saving. We’re just moving around where the water is used. And underneath it all, I want to be wanted. I want to be needed. And this list was all about not being needed anymore.

And that may be the hardest part of all of this. I’ve done my job and am now told by the universe that it’s time to retire.

My goal for winter break was to clean the storage room and make it usable again, which morphed into cleaning out the room where the kids set up work desks during the pandemic, used through Zoom school, and now used regularly as a homework space. I wanted them to clean out old papers, notebooks, and school projects and make dismantling that space easier this summer. Plus, it gave us more room to drag boxes out of the storage room and go through them.

I found that I was at my best early in the morning. Out with it. All of it. I tossed things without compunction, pausing to photograph the most important things before discarding them in a bag. The kids got rid of toys, old clothes, and boxes and boxes of paper.

After four hours, I would start thinking like Gollum. It’s my spaghetti storage container that I’ve never used. Why shouldn’t I keep it? It’s mine. It’s my precious, which was usually my cue to send Josh to the dump with anything we had to toss.

And then the regret and doubt would come hours later. Had we checked all the pockets on the clothing before donating it? Why did I throw out my childhood lamp without taking a picture? It may still have some life left in it.

And then, the process started again.

I find getting rid of things difficult, though I love things neat and orderly. We got rid of a lot of clutter this week, and we’ve set it up to tackle more rooms and spaces between now and leaving for college. It feels so weird to close up a childhood. So sad. Put it in a box. Set it on a shelf with an external label. Toss the rest.

I couldn’t have imagined this day when they were so tiny. And now it’s here.

It may or may not be International Blog Delurking Week. The first full week of January (January 1 – 7, 2023) is when we’re supposed to slither out of the reading closet and check in with an “I’m here” comment. I don’t know if anyone does this anymore. In the olden days, people would pop out of the woodwork. Nowadays, not so much.

So let’s see what happens.

So welcome to International Blog Delurking Week. I make a badge every year to mark the occasion, giving you full permission to right-click and grab it for your own.

My reward for remembering to do this (when I could have just as easily forgotten) is that you have to delurk for this worldwide holiday, which is super serious and important. Right?

It is relatively easy. Leave a comment in the comment section below, admitting that you’re here. You can raise your hand and meekly acknowledge that you’re here with a simple, one-word “here” comment; or you can proudly raise your hand and tell us all a bit about yourself (my preferred method); or you can tell me the last good book you read (see, I’m trying to make it easy for you by even providing a comment prompt). The point is that I want to know about the people who read me since there is a huge discrepancy between the number of readers in actuality and the number of readers I actually know are reading. Or a tongue-twister like that.

And that’s all you have to do to celebrate.

So (clears throat to nudge you along), who is here?

Speaking of ghosts, writing about the missing brass rubbing a few weeks ago led me to this article about mapping out graveyards. Like Google Maps for graves.

Because I like visiting graves when we travel. Even though I know the person isn’t actually associated with that place. Isn’t it funny? To visit Ibsen, you go to a graveyard in Oslo. Wouldn’t it make sense to go to a place that was meaningful for Ibsen if you want to pay your respects and feel close to the playwright?

But on every trip, I end up gravitating toward graveyards.

The living create new memories by visiting the place where people are buried. And it’s generally easy to find the resting place of famous people. It’s harder to determine if the person has personal significance, but you’re not close enough to know where they’re buried.

So I think this would be extremely helpful.

I laughed over the premise of this article because it’s true. Why do Victorian ghosts get to haunt buildings while modern ghosts are relegated to horror movies at best and utterly forgotten at worst?

You’re always hearing about old ghosts like this. A Civil War soldier, an old-timey nun, a sea captain who died when fishing boats were a new concept. They get all of the glory … What you don’t hear about, though, is newer ghosts. Ghosts who know who Obama is. Ghosts who had an iPhone … Why is that? Aren’t there newer ghosts?

Read to the bottom. I’m still laughing about it days later.