I didn’t turn my son’s bedroom into a craft room when he left. I’d heard too many hurtful stories of rooms transformed the second a child moved out for college. I wasn’t going to be that mom.
So when my son moved into his dorm in September, his room stayed exactly how it had always been. His Anthony Edwards bobblehead stayed on its shelf, next to his Vikings piggy bank.
In December, though, I needed room for the Christmas tree in front of our big picture window. Therefore, my plant stand needed a new temporary home. The south-facing window in my son’s bedroom was prime real estate, so we transported the three-tiered plant stand there to make room for the tree.
“We’ll put your room back in order by January,” I promised.
But then the plants were so happy in the sun. The African violets doubled in size, the Swedish ivy stood at attention, and even the Dwarf Jade thrived. So they stayed.
Next week, our son moves back home after completing his first year of college, and the plant stand isn’t the only thing going through a transition.
Because circumstances are forcing Gen Z to take the slow launch route, this might not be the only time one of our sons transitions out and then back into our house. The coming and going is not going to be easy for any of us.
I learned to create a new life without my son living at home
When he moved out last September, I could barely enter his room. He wasn’t living across the country, but he wasn’t in our house. I missed hearing him slam down his Xbox controller in frustration. His closet and dresser drawers were empty wastelands.
At first, our evenings were quiet and dull. My husband and I had been used to traipsing across the city to watch him play soccer and basketball. Now we had to find new hobbies. We started volunteering at a neighborhood food pantry and got involved in classes at church. Extra time on the calendar meant more opportunities to invite friends over for dinner and to start watching “M*A*S*H” from season one.
I wonder what will happen to my new routine and life when my son moves back in.
I remember how difficult it was years ago for me to move back home after college
The summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college decades ago is painful for me to remember. I was back home on our Iowa farm after a study abroad program in Paris, where I fell in lust with a handsome German, wore little black dresses on a weekend trip to the Riviera, and walked along the Seine late at night after a Beastie Boys concert. I was just 19, but I felt like a full-grown adult. I had survived without rules by taking risks and learning from mistakes.
And then I moved back home and tried to remember my previous role as my parents’ child.
It felt like those moments on the soap operas I watched with my grandma when a new actor suddenly appeared onscreen: “The role of Kimberly Hanson will now be played by…a complete stranger.” I was still me, but I had outgrown my original packaging.
That summer, I pushed boundaries that made my mom cry. I drove around my small town blasting Ani DiFranco and Fiona Apple, wearing short dresses and tiny tank tops, anything to prove “You thought you knew me, but you were wrong.”
Long phone calls and occasional visits with my college best friend helped me survive, and by the time the next summer arrived, I had done some maturing. I knew that another summer living at home might damage my relationship with my parents, so I worked at a sleep-away camp — close enough to spend a night in my own bed once a week, but far enough to comfortably stretch my growing wings.
These memories scroll through my head on an endless playlist titled “Summer Disaster Waiting to Happen” as I count down the days until my son once again fills his room with hoodies and thrift store T-shirts.
Will we encounter the same issues I did with my parents when I returned home from college? I don’t know.
This transition will be difficult for both my son and me
When my son comes home next week, I will help him unpack his bags, cook his favorite meals, and hope he wants to watch the NBA playoffs with me. I will listen if he wants to share how he’s changed and grown, but if he doesn’t, I’ll watch closely and see it for myself.
I’ll try to remember what it felt like to be 19, caught between two versions of myself. I’ll remind myself this transition isn’t just his; it’s mine, too.
When I look at that plant stand, I’ll think of what I’ve learned: sometimes growth happens in unexpected places. My plants thrived in that south-facing window, just like I hope he did in his dorm. They’re back in the front window now, but I know they’ll flourish again when it’s time to move. Just like he will.
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