The 19-year-old boy-man is home for summer break, his first substantial period under our roof since leaving for college in August 2010, and this event is something to both ponder and celebrate. What used to be a given -- his being a daily part of family life -- is now a novelty. A delightful novelty, but a novelty nonetheless. As the woman who birthed the boy, I am left to ponder: how on earth did that happen?
I remain unconvinced that growing up and leaving home is just a required part of the program. In my own case it was, but in his -- well, somehow it strikes me differently. I've always 
felt that if it ain't broke, don't fix it, and we had a pretty unbroken thing going. He was a delightful companion, a relatively responsible roommate (though I admit that the early years, with the diapers and spoon feedings, were a tad one-sided), a stellar entertainer and quite the flexible traveler. There were tantrums, I admit, and occasional lapses in academic devotion, and the limited food palate could be a challenge, but he was never incorrigible and generally thought we adults were cool. He was like living with your best friend through the various stages of your best friend's life, right down to the moment he figured out HTML and could build your website -- then it just seemed silly to let him go.
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