Did they all have to do this all at once?  It’s absolutely brutal.  As if I wasn’t concerned about getting old already, what with my doctor telling me I have to prepare myself for the onset of menopause and realizing that my kid’s college tuition funds are nearly full (which is appropriate, because the first is off to college next year), I came home yesterday to find a pile at the top of the stairs.  What was this pile of, you ask?  Well, Amy contributed her tropical bedding.  Sarah (my almost collegiate) contributed her “funky” bedding that she begged and begged for when she was 9, and Tommy (who won’t let me call him that anymore, it’s Tom) threw in his precious western bedding from his cowboy phase when he was 7.  Are they trying to kill me?  They have other sheets, they don’t have to use these any more, but making me throw them out?  They might as well have torched all the scrapbooks from their childhood.  These kids just don’t understand how much it frightens me that they’re growing up, and not just because they’re getting older and leaving, but because I have no idea where time has gone.  It makes me feel senile, actually.

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