My daughter turned 18 this year.  She was kind of born 18.  She came into the world trying to be the boss of everything and she is still that way. Lauren moved with us to the condo, but I could tell it was temporary.  She had started “nesting” at the old house, shopping and collecting things for her first apartment.  When we moved into the condo, she never really unpacked, or decorated her room – she just wasn’t home much.  As we unpacked and sorted through things in the move, I kept asking her if she wanted to set aside things for her first place, sensing that time was near.  We had so many duplicates of things, dishes, pots, pans, glassware.. And so she kept a few things to use when she moved.  We packed them up and stuck them in her closet – created a “hope chest” of sorts. 

Last week she moved her bed, some of the dishes from the closet, the clothes she likes best.  Her room is abandoned, it looks like there was a possible alien abduction – there may have been a struggle?  While I am on mommy RED ALERT..  she does appear happy.  Nervous.  Questioning finally being 18 but not feeling as confident as she expected to.  When we talked about her plans, she  explained she had a good roommate, knew what she was getting into and simply needed to try.  And then she remembered that they hadn’t talked about groceries, or who was in charge of stocking the fridge?

Lauren at age 9-going-on-18.

Because I remember my first place, my first move, my first brilliant plan to be out on my own.. I bought her groceries for a housewarming gift.  She and I are so very much alike. 

It has been quiet and still the past two weeks.  I am at the place where I randomly cry and can’t decide why I am so irritated at the quiet. 

I am excited, though to be asked to help decorate!  I must admit that is code for I am broke, please buy me small appliances, but I’ll take the invitation.  For a while I worried whether we would still be speaking by the time she was ready to move out.  An invitation to decorate and buy food is more than I expected.