Hi Reader,

I finally solved a mystery that's been bothering me for months. Sixteen pairs of white socks, just gone. I kept blaming the wash, convinced they were disappearing somewhere between the machine and the basket. Then this week my boys finally hauled a couple of stuffed bags in from their trunks (yes, from May), and there they were. All sixteen pairs, riding around in the backs of their cars since who knows when, right along with everything else they'd forgotten was in there.

I laughed about it, and then it hit me. Those socks were proof of something else. My boys are home this summer, technically, but most days they're not really here. Work, work trips, weekend plans with friends. Home is more of a base now than a place they actually live.

I still do their laundry. I still stock the fridge like I'm running catering for two grown men. I know they're capable of all of it themselves. That was never really the question. My mom once told me she loved feeling needed, when it came to me and to her grandkids. Being able to help us made her feel good, right up until she couldn't anymore. I feel the exact same thing now, especially on the nights I'm tired and that dryer buzzes anyway.

I'm not doing any of this because I think they can't manage on their own. I'm doing it because there are only so many years left where I get to. Someday they won't be pulling bags out of car trunks in my driveway anymore. I'm not trying to hold them back. I'm holding onto the chance to still take care of them while it's mine to hold.

I wrote the whole story here, socks, fridge, all of it: Parenting Adult Children: Yes, I Still Do Their Laundry​

P.S. Today marks two years since I lost Molly🐾 . She was my girl, my best friend, and one of the reasons this blog exists at all. I'm not sure two years changes how much I still miss her, but I wanted to say her name today.

Follow along with me... ​​​

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