Twentysomethings: The Terrible Twos All Over Again?

My youngest child will turn 20 in a few weeks; a truly mind-blowing fact especially because if it weren't for the hot flashes, the crick in my neck, the arthritis in my knees, and the inability to eat anything flavorful without Tums in my purse, I'd believe I was still in my twenties myself.  But, somehow, come April 6, I will have three children all in their twenties...Unbelievable.When, two years ago, my career as a stay-at-home mom came to a rather dizzying halt, I stood in front of my once brightly color-coded white board calendar which suddenly was full of a whole lotta white, and I felt accomplished as though I'd completed a challenging yet rewarding task. I'd done the PTA thing, raised money, built playgrounds, supplied enough bake sales to run Carlo's bakery,  and been to close to 40 Back-To-School nights.  So, although the idea of having what seemed like lots of unscheduled time and limitless options of how to spend it felt daunting, I was ready for some down time. I'd done my 25 years and thought a peaceful retirement might be in order.My kids had "flown the coop" and my husband and I were going to be empty -nesters, a fact that both thrilled and terrified us. (Sorry, kids, but we may have done a happy dance or two).  We imagined lunchtime rendezvous at fabulous restaurants, luxurious river cruises in Europe, watching romantic old movies together, and maybe just relaxing in the newfound simplicity of our lives.What a laugh. What the hell were we thinking?  My mother always warned me: THEY NEVER GO AWAY.  YOU NEVER STOP WORRYING.  UNTIL THE DAY YOU DIE, YOU ARE A PARENT. She told me to enjoy them when they were small and to be glad their problems still had simple solutions.  She reminded me, as mortified, I dragged my screaming two-year old out of the A&P, to be thankful for the times when my touch or my encouragement or my willingness to listen was all that it took to mend a broken heart, a broken promise from a friend, a broken toy.I didn't believe her.  I thought she was an excessive worrier. I thought the terrible twos were the thing to get through, that age when you recognize all the personality traits that you don't like about you and your husband staring up at you from the face that was, just yesterday, angelic, of a child who is now screaming and writhing on the floor of the A&P.  That's the part I thought was hard. And then middle school came. Surviving 7th grade made me cocky until sophomore year of high school came around and knocked me to my knees.And then, it happens. You are at graduation.  The hat is in the air and the kid is going to college or moving out, moving on, getting hired.  He's 18, a LEGAL ADULT.  You are off the hook.  Your job here is done.  A reprieve you think.  You tell yourself they can manage their lives, that you can stop worrying.What ridiculousness. How I wish we could go back to the terrible twos.They may be adults, but remember, most kids right out of high school, if they not going to college, don't have the means to move out yet, so there's that.  They are in your house.  They are old.  They have ridiculous ideas about how to spend their time and just about anything else.  Those who do go off to school, while that is great and all, let's be honest, to the parent, college also means frat parties, date rape and jungle juice and semesters abroad in outlandish places with homestays with possible serial rapists and hostels and bungee jumping and any other thing your kid can think of to keep you up nights.  Your phone is attached to the side of your bed and head for four long years.  (And that's only if your kid isn't in for the 5 year plan.)  Oh, God, knock on wood...What rolls out of those cars (and I don't just mean their belongings) when they pull into the driveway after moving out of those hellish off- campus apartments, frat houses, sorority houses or worse is the stuff of nightmares.  And, oh yeah, it's all coming into your basement, garage and attic.  Probably, most likely, where it will reside forever.  (When you are dead, your kids will be cleaning this stuff out someday, seriously...)The problem isn't that they are back.  That can be sort of nice; the issue is that your relationship has changed. The dissolution of the family unit you mourned four years ago is reconstituted but you are no longer in familiar territory. You and your husband have enjoyed the empty nest.  Things are organized; you have new routines, changed Luke's room into an office, moved the treadmill into Allison's and moved all of you summer clothes into Zach's old room. You're settled.  You adjusted.  The horror of missing them when they went off to college is over.  You survived, they survived and now you get to survive together.The joy and excitement of having them home dissipates when you realize that to them, your home is just a bed and breakfast.  They use all the hot water, they eat constantly, because although you've paid for a meal plan for years, they swear that the food at school was disgusting and they have been surviving on Ramen for four years.  They are nocturnal, so they sleep from 3 am to 3 pm.  It's cocktail hour and they are just getting up for the day. And then, they text you waking you up at 3 am (because the phone is still next to your head in bed) to let you know they are sleeping out.  Or they forget to awaken you with the plan and you are up at 3 anyway sure they are dead in a ditch.In retrospect, the terrible twos was a freaking cocktail party.  I'm here to tell you, it's the terrible 20's that truly test us.Twenty-somethings are your terrible two year olds all over again only they are tougher to drag around.  They are fighting for independence and pushing boundaries.  The world around them is somehow unfamiliar.  They have new skills, new ideas and a desire to put them into action.  They are searching and testing and learning constantly.  It's a state of constant motion, taking two steps forward, and three steps back.   They don't want to be home.  They have lived independently and are looking to move on and move out.  They are making life decisions.  It's a first real world job, and probably a first real world rejection (other than those college applications days).  It may also be a time when they have the first inkling that they still have no idea what they want to do when they grow up.  How you relate to one another has changed.  There are only adults in the room.  The conversation and the rules have changed. (what those rules are is for another blog on another day).And so, now my white board is full again.  My oldest gets married in August.  "Wow" on so many levels.  Hopefully, someday, he will have children; tiny, new people I will of course have to worry about for the rest of my life. My middle child is starting her own business and learning that the world doesn't always cooperate with the best laid plans.  And the youngest is finishing up sophomore year of college and will be pulling into the driveway in a month or so to unload all that crap he's collected this year. I suppose  I'd better make some room in the basement. Zach's stuff took up the attic and Allison's is jammed into the garage. Might as well stock up the B&B too as my days as a short order cook will be back soon.  (At least by the time I got to the third kid, I gave up doing their laundry. You can not imagine what comes out of those garbage bags and hampers...)To all of the parents of terrible two year olds:  If you thought life would get easier as your children became adults, I'm sorry to say, you have yet begun to fight.  If you thought you would worry less about them, sorry, but you have no idea what kind of haul you are in for.  And, truthfully, for all involved, maybe that's for the best.