The herd of boys, young men really, who have frequented our house the past three or so years are all away at school or headed that way.
The fire pit in the woods behind our house holds only cold ashes, and there's no guitar music coming from the end of the hallway.
I have developed an obsession for searching Twitter, Facebook and Instagram for E's posts, #belmont, #belmontu, #nashville, #firstweekofcollege or anything else I can think of. I'm pretty sure the wife is doing the same thing. Even our girl, A, has been a little reserved.
Speaking of the girl, it is she who has made this transition bearable.
Her spot-on sense humor and sarcasm have brought welcome wisdom and distraction that started while we were still in Nashville.
We knew E's school had a Christian background, and we have been so grateful for the encouragement that has brought. As we helped E arrange his room, we found a book, James McDonald's The Carpenter with a note from the school's vice president of spiritual development attached. The brief note explained that this book was partly responsible for his acceptance of Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior. Autumn reminded us of that truth as we were standing in E's dorm room saying our goodbyes.
"Mom, Ethan is going to be fine. THEY GAVE HIM A BOOK ABOUT BEING A CHRISTIAN. I think he's going to be fine," she said.
She speaks the truth.
Later, on the long drive home, we were talking about the death of Yvonne Craig, the actress who played Bat Girl in the campy 1960s-era Batman series. My buddy, David, who came along to help us move E into his dorm, told us that Yvonne Craig was his first crush as a young boy.
A, with her impeccable timing and quick wit, said she remembered her first crush.
"I'm not even kidding, y'all," she said. "My first crush was those tiny, little bitty mozzarella bites we used to buy."
She wasn't kidding.
The laughter carried us a few miles down the road.
I've written about A's wit before.
She was the little girl, who, as a preschooler, made a creative observation about a skirt and top I had dressed her in. The red skirt and green turtle neck were, I thought, a festive Christmas ensemble, and my mom told her so. "You look like Christmas," she told my girl.
Four-year-old A disagreed. "I look," she said in all seriousness, "like a dang apple."
Gathered around my mom's hospital bed, as we said our last goodbyes to her, I told my cousins that saying goodbye, permanently, to my parents was one of the greatest fears of my life.
A, sensing the need to lighten the moment, jumped right in.
"My greatest fear is roller coasters," she proclaimed to everyone, describing how she did not like the ups and downs of the steep hills of coasters.
Perfect timing.
These days, I follow her on Twitter, her commentary on high school life is the stuff books and movies are based on.
An observation from a classroom:
"A black guy in my math class is reading the Fifty Shades of Gray trilogy," she posted this week.
I didn't see that coming.
On the drudgery and treachery of navigating the school parking lot:
"Why are these cones necessary? Stop getting your moms to drop you off, dang. It isn't that hard."
I've heard the moms complain about those traffic cones as well.
Of friends who don't really know what they believe in:
"I love bandwagons. What can we hop on next?"
Of nighttime boredom:
"Why is everyone sleeping on me? I just wanna talk about bad makeup and pizza rolls."
A glimpse of her wisdom:
"Someone's worth is not determined by your own opinions. :-)
Of the start of junior year experience:
"First day of school: Oh, Fortenberry? Are you E's little sister? HE DOESN'T EVEN GO HERE ANYMORE! HE ISN'T RELEVANT. MY NAME IS A!!!"
A personal favorite:
"*holding cookie dough
"Me: 'I love you, and I promise, no one will come before you and nothing can come between us, not even salmonella.'"
I love this girl.
Someone should warn her. For the first time in her life, she's going to get all of our attention at home. It's going to rock the Twittersphere.
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