I love my kids. They’re nice and smart and respectful. I think I did a good job as a mom (my husband gets a little credit too). But I’ve been working my butt off for 19 years. While my youngest child is getting ready to go off to college, I’m getting ready to live it up and get this party started.
No more dance competitions or recitals taking up my weekends. No more carpools to activities. No more tennis lessons or tutors. Life will be like sleepaway camp… every day (or until the kids come home for holiday break). And I’m going to treasure every minute of it.
Before all else, I’m never going food shopping again. I’ll take a trip to Costco before they leave, load up the household with toilet paper and eggs, then I think I’m good. No more Goldfish snacks or bagel lunches. No more baked ziti or chicken parmesan dinners. Why do those kids always want dinner anyway? While I’m giving up cooking (not that I was really the Barefoot Contessa), I plan on dining out or ordering in daily. I’m going to Peter Luger’s for steaks and Chris & Tony’s for Italian.
I’m going to watch a lot of TV. Not Hannah Montana or iCarly (though, I really did like Spencer), but I’m going to scope out cheesy chick flicks. I’ll watch bloody action films with my husband. I may start Game of Thrones. According to Google, I could watch it in two days, 22 hours, and 14 minutes without food or sleep. I’ve got time. I could even take a bathroom break. Or two.
I’m going to be naked a lot. My husband is going to be psyched reading this. I mean, I’m not really a naked person, but maybe I’ll try out my birthday suit more often. I can go get soap from the closet naked. I can run downstairs to get the laundry naked. I can scramble eggs naked. Though, my landscapers may be in for a big surprise as our kitchen windows face the backyard. I hope they don’t quit.
I’m going to have sex at night. Loud sex. Loud, sloppy sex. I may knock down a picture frame of the kids while ripping off my clothes. I may even have sex in a different room.
I’m going shopping…..FOR ME. No more Denny’s Childrenswear. I’m going to Bloomingdales. I’m going to Saks, I’m going to Gucci! No more diaper bags or dance caboodles. I’m buying Christian Louboutin shoes and Valentino bags to match every outfit. I’m going to spend lots of money. Not that I can afford my impending shopping sprees as I’ll have two college tuitions, but I have plastic! I may have to remind my husband of the naked paragraph.
I’ll shop for my kids too. I’m not selfish. I’ll arrange care packages and send them gifts. I want them to miss me too.
But let’s be real. You think they’re going to even remember me? My elder daughter called me twice during her freshman year. September 1st: “Hi Mom. I need you to send up t-shirts. I forgot to pack them.”
November 8th: “Happy Birthday, Mom!”
“Did Daddy remind you?”
I’ll be drinking a lot. Wine. Gin. I may have to experiment with a few craft cocktails. What else is there to do? Shop and drink. Drink and shop. I don’t have to drive the kids to their friends. I don’t have to wait up for them to come home from parties. I will hold back until after office hours to pour my first glass of vino, but I’ll be a regular at Total Wine Spirits & More. After all, who doesn’t like “More?”
I could work later hours. But I stayed past 5 p.m. this year, and it was really exhausting. I remember the days I used to work 50-hour work weeks. Fine, 40. But I’m old and tired. Leave me alone.
I’m going to sleep until noon. I may be late to the office, but I work for my husband, so I’ll make it up to the boss with loud, sloppy sex. No more stress making sure the kids are dressed and ready for school. Or listening to their alarms explode 10 times before I angrily march into their rooms to force them out of bed.
I’m not going to talk about my children. For 19 years, it’s been ongoing discussions about first steps, pooping on the toilet, who’s doing what for their kid’s birthday party, what teacher they scored for third grade, bar/bat mitzvahs, high school curriculum, and eventually college searches. I’m going to discuss the weather forecast. I’ll go on about my Luger’s steak and alcoholic beverage of choice. I’ll review books with friends. Though, it worries me I may discover that I’m really not that interesting.
I’m going to travel not during school breaks (post-pandemic). Think about the money I’ll save! That should make up for at least one pair of shoes. I’m going to vacation at a resort and NOT have to get up at 7 a.m. to save seats at the pool. I’m going to Florida not for National Dance Competitions. Instead, I’m going to spend a weekend in California to dance with the stars. I’m going to fly to New Orleans and flash my old saggy boobs for beads. I’m going to Vegas to see what actually happens there.
I plan on rekindling some old friendships. There are high school and college friends I’ve been too tired to meet in the city for the past 19 years. I hope they still remember me. Maybe I’ll make some new friends. If you’re an empty nester, give me a call. If your kids are still young, call in a few years once they’re grown. I’ve got lots of plans. I’ll even put on clothes for you…or not.
Will I be sad? Of course. I will miss my kids fighting for the shower. I will agonize over the loss of midnight pick-ups. I will be heartbroken over the lack of dance competitions.
But I’ll be living the life of a 25-year old. A boring, drunk, flabby, naked 25-year old. With really nice red-soled shoes.
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