boxes everywhere and i cannot deal.

So it is happening. The 22-year-old signed a lease with two of her friends in Brooklyn and she is packing up her room. I am trying so hard to be the supportive, cool mom but I am secretly devastated. She is my built-in sanity check in a house full of loud boys. Helping her pack is also doing zero favors for my arthritis. My hands are totally swollen today. To make matters worse, Jon was supposed to come help move the heavier furniture this weekend and he just texted to say he “might have to work.” Right. Sure. The distance is palpable now and I feel like an idiot for letting my guard down this spring. I’m stress-eating a very non-vegan chocolate croissant and I don’t even care who judges me for it.