First, the good news.
The great flea infestation is over.
And the bad news.
Wildlife can still be heard in the walls.
There is now an encyclopedic understanding of wildlife traps including the pros and cons of glue traps versus slow-acting poison.
Two bikes have been stolen from the backyard.
On the other hand, my daughter hasn’t ridden a bike in 10 years.
She returned from her Glasgow adventure at the end of December. Spent the next three weeks in a frenzy of hometown reunions, shopping, and job hunting for both the semester and the summer. Finally, she headed back to campus, to 'The Burrow,' the nickname, borrowed from Harry Potter, of a decrepit townhouse that is now home to nine college students and an assortment of unwanted wildlife.
I think I’m getting old, old, old.
Is living in a hovel a rite of passage? Have I gotten soft in my old age?
She sees a well-lived in house. I see the Black Hole of Calcutta.
She sees an opportunity for 24/7 friends. I see a never-ending party with blaring music and no privacy.
She sees adventure. I see worry (mine, not hers).
But would I want it any other way?
Maybe a little less worry for me. But I would never want to dampen her enthusiasm, lessen her optimism, diminish her willingness to try something new or undertake a new challenge.
So I happily baked some cookies for 'The Burrow' residents (hopefully the two-legged ones only). Limited my lectures on safety. Reminded her to get enough sleep, eat healthy, and as always, have fun.
The house is a little too quiet now. But at least she’s only two hours away and in the same time zone. And in the meantime, the good news is that she’s healthy, happy, and growing. The bad news is that I miss her.