My scissors are back in my drawer.

So, why am I crying?

All summer, I have been on a mad hunt for my scissors. They disappeared from my drawer in early May, which happened to coincide with Ethan’s return from school. Every time I went to use them, which was several times throughout the day, they wouldn’t be where they belonged, and it left me with three choices. Go upstairs and find them, borrow Brian’s, or use the kitchen shears. None of those solutions I loved, as going to Ethan’s room to find them wasn’t timely, borrowing Brian’s means remembering to put them back exactly as they were because he hates people messing with his things (hence why my shit is always the stuff missing), and kitchen shears just seems wrong.

So now that they are back in my drawer, I should be happy, right?

But I am not. It is a reminder that tomorrow, Ethan is going back to Syracuse. The same reminder when the piles of bags are lining the upstairs hallway, and the things are collecting in the dining room. The same reminder as when I look at his collection of protein, creatine, electrolytes, and supplements in my kitchen, and knowing that tomorrow the space will be empty.

This is my 3rd time doing this, and each year I am never quite sure what will set me off. This year, it was the scissors. Until they ended up back in my drawer, I was telling myself that I was ready, that I was prepared for his return to school because we had such a good summer together. We did a lot as a family, and had so many big and conversations, all of which I cherish. I didn’t try to rush the time and felt that for once, I managed to stay in the moment.

And to be totally honest, part of me, for a minute, was even secretly starting to look forward to somethings - my counter being clearer, less laundry, less cooking, less stuff everywhere, and yes, my scissors returning.

It is so strange how you can feel equal parts pride and melancholy. Ethan has grown so much over the last year and has developed into the human I knew he could and would be, but that means even more that he is ready for next steps - steps like an internship in Boston next summer and a life beyond 161 Circular.

And I am left here remembering the little boy of summers past - of mom & Ethan camps, of frolicking in the ocean, of watching Gator Boys and Shark week for hours and hours, and I miss him. I miss Little Ethan, and I pre-emptively am missing mature Ethan, even though he hasn’t left quite yet.

What they say is true - parenting is learning to live with your heart outside your body. And today mine is a little broken.