The Ramblings of Weesatch Joe

They call it "empty nest syndrome," usually referring to parents who suddenly find themselves without any kids in the house. The metaphor is simple: as the house is now empty, so momma and papa bird suddenly have more space in the nest when their chick flies off.  My wife and I are empty nesting, a marital duet for the first time since September 25, 1997, the day before  our daughter was born. I suppose you could back that up nine months to define the end of our two-person nest, because when we found out Laura was expecting mid-January of that year, our world expanded from the two of us to the two-plus-one, pending arrival.  For the last 25 years, our world centered around our kids, first one daughter, then a second, and then a son. There were soccer games, band concerts, theater, and FFA. We sold candy bars, popcorn, and beef jerky. We cheered, hugged, encouraged and fussed. We proofed papers, flipped flashcards, learned "new math" (literally, we had to...

Last evening, with the "thunk" of the deadbolt, we left the house that we called home for the last eight years.  On June 7, 2017, we arrived, fresh from the Houston metro area. I spent the night in the house with our three cats, sleeping on an air mattress and sitting in a folding camp chair. Laura and the kids spent the night in a hotel in Cuero. That night, I wrote one of my first blog posts saying that we were in a new house which had not yet become a home.  It did, very quickly, become that very thing: a home. Not just a parsonage - an old term for the church-provided dwelling for the pastor and family - but a home. It was comfortable, quiet, and country. We loved, laughed, cried, cussed. We yelled in anger and whooped with joy. Since we have been married, every home we lived in - apartment or house - we added to the family. It happened there, too: Reese, the Wonder Dog, the Goofball, Super Puppers, she became part of our family. Slightly less significant than a new baby ...