Their Rooms Are So Small

I never saw it until this afternoon.

The three of the four are grown and gone. But they were home last week, albeit for 24 hours, so I braved their rooms for a mom-clean.

You want to hear something awful? A part of me is relieved that I don’t have to clean everyday. That my frat housefrau hours are shorter- my laundry and towels sorting less overwhelming.

But mostly, I’m sad. I miss knowing we’re all under the same roof at the same moment just a few steps away.

Today, I was perceptive.

It struck me – for the first time ever – how cramped they must feel in their rooms when they come home.

We built this house after the fire. The utility of design, while not exactly Bauhaus, dictated the architecture. Each bedroom large enough to accommodate a twin bed with trundle, a desk, and a night table.

They fit well.

Who could foresee the men they would become- the physical space they would occupy in relation to the dimensions of the rooms?

They are lucky. They had a roof over their heads in a house built for them. They are lucky. They had enough.

I haven’t. I want to reach into the past and grab my babies and feel those tiny hands reaching for mine. Read stories from cardboard books and make funny faces and leave on a night light.

I took the laundry from the baskets – well – from around the laundry baskets and closed yet another door.