Empty Nesters

3 May

Graduation is getting closer. I’m sure we all get that by now.

I’m not really worried about myself in the future, I think I can handle myself at college.

I’m really worried about my parents however, who are going to turn into some strange beings.

I’ve compiled a list of activities they will end up partaking in, and my projections for them:

1. Bird watching

2. Watch every HBO series ever created

3. Walk the dog 8 times a day

4. Fix things that don’t need fixing

5. Install more shelves

Hooray, shelves!

Hooray, shelves!

6. Look at real estate listings without the intention of buying a house

7. Send me friend requests on Facebook

8. Cut down 6 more trees in the backyard

9. Re-decorate the family room and never be satisfied

10. Completely perfect the pregame announcing routine for the Mariemont Warriors

11. Spend too much time at 50 West

12. Visit me way too much

13. Re-arrange my room without my knowledge

14. Adopt a baby from China without my knowledge




19 Apr

One of the worst parts of being a last child is that you have very little power.

My sisters are gone most of the time now, but I can not so fondly remember forfeiting the basement and TV to my sisters is they demanded so, and the idiotic arguments that followed: “I was here first.” “I was born first.”

One sister will return soon from college and apparently wants to snatch my vehicle away from me for whatever rationalization she is sticking to.

My parents haven’t really passed judgement on it, but I’m not going down without a fight. She has a functioning car, and I have a functioning car that I inherited after I was forced to dump my beloved Camry.

By the right of use, the car is mine, and I shall not swap simply because she demands it.

Who is the Last Child?

5 Apr

My time is running short. I will soon fly from the coop and leave for college, away from my parents, where I can do as I please and they will have no reign over me, except for the Power of the Purse, and I guess moral obligation.

And so, like an ancient scribe striving to record his esoteric knowledge, here is my personal profile of who I believe–first hand– is truly the Last Child.

The Last Child:

Has at least two older siblings.

While younger, the last child will observe from a distance as the parents try their hardest to be good parents and not screw up on the first one. Typically parents are involved as much as possible, acting as a Helicopter parent for the first born. The middle child has their own set of struggles which are a lot more boring and blah blah blah nobody cares what the middle child has to say. And thus, the last child fills the down time and gaps of control of the older two children for attention, and trying to test the boundaries they have seen demonstrated.

Overall, last child is a foil to the older two siblings; for every action exerted by the older siblings, the last child has a reciprocated action.

As time goes on, parents begin to realize their parenting does not need to be employed in the same way to the last child. The last child tags along to countless youth sports events, ballet recitals, school plays, etc….

It’s only natural for the child to hate this, and they’ll probably have public tantrums and fits. It sucks.

Parents have completely given up on keeping their children sheltered from the world at this point, cultural osmosis has permeated the family, and the last child ends up seeing R-rated movies with their dad by age 11.

The last child overall strives to find attention, and highlights any injustice they face within the family. They will act along a strict set of developed principles of justice they believe…usually breaking them to fit their own desires.

As they get older, last children decide whether they are an introvert or an extrovert: either hiding from their parents refocused spotlight as the older siblings have aged and left. They can either take up arms against their parents or hide.

Guess which one I am!

Guess which one I am!

Delegated Duties

8 Mar

Being the last child means I have to do all the grunt work in the family.

For example, driving my grandmother around.

On Sunday, family dinner time, I managed to be late, and so my dad had to go pick up my grandma which apparently is strictly my role in this family.

Not that I don’t love my grandma, I just don’t love being her taxi.

As dinner stretched into the night, me and my dad exchanged glances…narrowing our eyes…knowing that at some point…one of us was going to be the driver.

I pretty much lost that battle withing 14 seconds of my dad telling me I was the one that would be driving Grandma home.

But hey, being the family runt has perks.

Later in the week, Mother Nature blessed us with a blanketing of snow, giving us the mythical ‘Snow Day.’

I was really excited to spend quality time with my basement, but, Dad promptly told me Grandma needed her driveway shoveled.

Begrudgingly I donned my boots and hat, and ventured over the river and through the woods and also through the ghetto to get to Grandmother’s house.

Lucky me, Grandma gave me a crisp fitty dollar bill. She told me its enough to buy a couple of gallons of gas, which is depressingly true.

Thanks, Grandma.

Thanks, Grandma.

More change and I’m freaking out

26 Feb

As I type, a cavalcade of Craigslist consumers are inspecting my 1999 Camry.

Since I’m moving off to college soon, my father decided that our family’s fleet needed an overhaul. Pretty much the deal is that instead of unnecessarily having 4 cars we will now have 3. Some shuffling took place, and now my car will be sold.

It was never a truly great car. My college football prospect friend managed to warp the suspension into leaning towards his usual spot, we put about as much money into the car as we paid for it, it smelled like sweaty teenager (probably my fault), and it had a whole bunch of electrical and transmission issues.

However, it’s almost fourth quarter, I’m entering my final season of high school sports, my parents are prepping for me to leave, and my 1999 Camry is just another casualty.

Mom got a new (used) car out of the deal, I took her old car, and now a bunch of people from Craigslist are getting their nasty butts all over my prime suede seats.

Things are getting weird and the last child is getting pushed out of the coop.

One of the Craigslist pictures I had to take.

One of the Craigslist pictures I had to take.

Times are a changin’

8 Feb

I’m a second semester senior, I’m filling out the college papers, I’m prepping to leave, and my parents are pretty thrilled.

I thought getting a dog was about as drastic as the change would get, but my parents are all about this new life as empty-nesters. Except they’re not empty-nesters because I still live in the house.

Freud did a study that shows how last children fear change, and I certainly hate it. (That’s not really true about Freud but it might be)

Recently, the big thing is the home improvements. Improvement is a relative term.

Dad got rid of all the trim and fixtures in the house, which were brass, and now they’re all black. My world is spinning.

Also, the dining room which hasn’t been touched in the 18 years I’ve been in the house: PAINTED. The 90s blue wallpaper has been replaced with a double coat of paint, a new rug, and no more brass fixtures.

As far as style goes, it’s all good, I don’t really care. I’m just getting freaked out by all this post-child-in-house life.

If they touch the basement I’m running away.

I Broke the Washing Machine

25 Jan

I’m going off to college soon, my mom’s nagging is really starting to get to me, I’m pretty sure I can operate basic household appliances.

This was the thought process that flowed through my mind when I made the fateful decision to do my own laundry after 18 years.

So one day, I proudly gathered my clothes and carried them all in one trip down to the laundry/cat/computer room combo, and began the process.

After texting several females and asking how I sort the darks from the lights and how I add the detergent, with the proper knowledge I began.

I felt pretty good about it, and in the back of my mind I was wondering why my mom always complained about doing laundry because I was fitting pretty much all of my laundry into the washing machine all at once.

Sooooo I closed the door, turned all the proper knobs, put in the detergent, and started the machine.

I awoke 15 minutes later from my Xbox induced trance to my mother screaming bloody murder at the top of the basement stairs.

Something about, “you’re an idiot, you can’t put all of your clothes in the washing machine at once, you broke the washing machine, I hate you and you’re adopted, get out.”

Or something.

So that’s the last time I try and do something nice for my family. On the bright side, my mom got a new washer