When The Chicks Come Home To Roost
Coming home after years of being away ... the title a tad deceiving because in this case, my son coming home is NOT a bad thing. Having my oldest come back home to regroup is a smart move right now, and I applaud it. He is 19. He is my adventurous one. My one that was never settled. Never easy to comfort. Never could sit still. Was often sickly and allergic and slightly ADD. He is returning from Seattle where he lived with my boys' dad. I know it is just until he gets a better employment opportunity. Hopefully he will enroll in school. Maybe he just really misses his mom and simply needs a few home cooked meals. I silently prayed for months that he'd come back. My youngest and I miss him. It has always been us three. The three musketeers. Momma and her cubs. But our jobs as parents is to rear them right and then let them fly. I have given him the tools to be productive and strong. He knows how to mentor, contribute, stay vibrant. I have done that. I have succeeded in raising my boys right. But there remains a part of me that still wants to wrap them in my wings and chirp a soft lullaby.
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