Chick Flick

It’s getting closer to empty here at the Crowe nest.  I know my littlest birdie is getting ready to fly.  It’s apparent after seeing how our first one left the coop.  They’re teenagers, high-schoolers, for four loooongg years.  All that time, we are merely parents of convenience.  Our value is in how well we feed our young, while they flit and flutter in and out with their cronies. There is social activity and obnoxious  buzzing when they fly in a pack.  On the flip, barely a peep is spoken when it’s just the youngin’ home on her bed of twigs.  That is the mood at the homestead – until – we near graduation.  That seems to be the time a realization hits. They not only have to spread their wings and fly on their own, but also, not come back. The majority of their needs will no longer be taken care of by us from sunup to sundown.  Now that we are just under a month from graduation, my youngest seems to know that soon it won’t all be the same.  While the nest is almost empty, my heart is full to know that I am suddenly the bomb.

We cuddle on the couch and watch a movie.  We join events together.  She tells me about her boyfriend.  We laugh together.  She acts silly with me again.  She wants to take a picture of me, instead of another selfie.  We go out to dinner.  She tells me more stuff.  We talk about the future.  She lets me give her a foot rub – and brush her hair.

I’ll miss her little feet and tailfeathers.


2 thoughts on “Chick Flick”

  1. Sigh. I remember that golden time with our oldest. When she was about to head off to college, the movie “Mama Mia” had just come out and we had the soundtrack cd. The song “Slipping Through My Fingers” from that soundtrack made me sob out loud every time. I still have a hard time hearing that one.


Comments are closed.