I never realized how quickly my children would become independent. 

After more than seventeen years, I've grown accustomed to the idea of their permanent status in the household–small human beings that make the really good snacks disappear within 48 hours, create piles of laundry and stacks of dirty dishes, and become a heat sink with their always-on electronic devices. Over time, my younger son has commandeered the home phone as his personal line. No one calls for my husband or me anymore. 

It started to dawn on me that this homeostasis would be short-lived when my oldest began to consider colleges.  Since then, both sons have gotten debit cards, my 15-year old rides his bike to local stores in major malls, and they both traveled to the other side of the world for two weeks, with no communication until they touched down in the US again. This past week, I looked into my older son's room and saw boxes of stuff on his bed. When I asked him what it was, he casually said, "Oh, that's from my new computer."  He had bought a new laptop with his own money, unbeknownst to me or my husband. The latest is that my younger son would like to finish high school a year early, so that he can get on with the business of college.

Was I like this at their age?  Where did this come from? Well, okay. Maybe I contributed a smidgen to all of this. I'm blaming my husband for contributing adventuresome genes and giving them more than enough tools to move out soon.

As a mother, I'm both proud and horrified.  Proud that my kids are turning into responsible adults who can be trusted with making good financial decisions (so far), operating in the world at large and not having anything really bad happen to them, and having a zest for learning. And I'm horrified that this has crept up on me, without so much as a friend pulling me aside with a warning.  How did this happen?

I can only hope that the empty nester years are as rich and enjoyable as the last seventeen.