253. The bird is flying away from the nest (can she fly?)

Miss Organiser's had enough of being Miss Hectic-Life and is back with a revenge. Job. Flat. Independence. Short-term plans. Mid-term plans. Long-term plans. She's got it all planned out. 

All of a sudden our downstairs is full of cardboard boxes, plastic crates, shopping bags and wicker baskets. Along the wall a paraphernalia of cooking implements, laundry baskets and to-do lists.  

'Right, mum, thank you so much for this.'

'Great! This is going to come in handy.'

'Can I have this?'

'I am in desperate need of something like this.'

She is moving out. Finally, I want to say. I really shouldn't admit it but I feel good about this. I know, I'm a bad mother, bla bla bla. I should be crying my heart out and doing something ridiculous like draping a 'good luck with your new life' all over the lounge. Or sitting in a corner crying my eyes out. Instead I feel kind of ... triumphant. After all is she is able to leave the family nest it must be because she has been well brought up. 

I am watching her as she walks over to the food cupboard and opens the doors, peers into in for a couple of seconds and starts choosing and picking a selection of jam jars, pasta packets, olive oil bottles and even a bottle of rhum!

'Hey! Don't take alcohol!'

'That's mine. I bought that. ... but if you want it I'll leave it here.'

I don't want to sound desperate for alcohol.

'It's ok. You take it.'

Still I am watching her and wondering when she is going to stop. Her crate is almost full now and my supplies are dwindling. 

'This is great! It's like being in Carrefour except there's no cash desk!' 

She is laughing at her witty comment. My husband and I exchange a look. It says a million things. A million things that were never mentioned in all the parenting books that sat on our bedside tables for all those years. Should we say something. Should we give her a lecture about the cost of living, about agriculture techniques used in the producing of the food she is helping herself to.

'Please make sure we've got enough pasta for the week ahead. ... And please leave a jar of tomato sauce ...'

She bounces from the food cupboard to the cleaning supplies cupboard and here she helps herself to washing up liquid, laundry powder and grabs a few tea-towels on the way. 

She could hold the fort for months with all that. Still we smile. Our first born is leaving the fortress. 

Soon the bags and crates are packed and sealed and taped and there are wonky towers in our living room threatening to topple over. 

The following morning I am happy to cooperate by staying in bed. I am in a state of shock as our vehicle for the TGA has been requisitioned along my husband and Baby. 

At 7:30 AM I can hear the deep low rumbling of the adventure vehicle. The banging and shouting starts right away as suitcases and bags are brought down the stairs. Crates and boxes are carried from the kitchen through the dining room and loaded into my vehicle for my adventure, now used as a common removal van!

I am pretending to be fast asleep. In fact I am pretending to not be in bed, and I try to hide under the duvet, the way kids used to do when there were small.

I can still hear the voices shouting downstairs.

'Get that box in first, it's heavy, it's fragile, it's this ... and it's that ... And yes, all the chairs you can get, yes the kitchen table too. What aout the couch? Will it fit? I'm sure it will. I could take the couch too, may as well ...'

The couch?

I come up for air. She can't be serious! Ok I did mention I wanted a new couch but ... but ... I haven't even chosen one yet! Should I go downstairs and stop the removal of the couch? I decide against it. I would end up being roped in for help.

Back under the quilt I dive thinking that I am going to go downstairs and that there will be no couch left for me to sit on. I will send the week-end on my own in an empty house full of empty cupboards!