Older parents whose kids are grown, or close to grown, almost always say the same thing to parents with younger kids:  They grow up so fast.  You’ll blink and they’ll be all grown up and on their own, and then you’ll miss them so much.  And most parents of younger kids, and by most parents I mean every parent I know except one (true story, I know exactly one person who does not buy into this) will smile politely at the older parent with the grown kids and think (not say, because that would be rude):  That’s the biggest bunch of B.S. I’ve ever heard.  I can’t wait for them to grow up and get out on their own because they are wearing me out, and I need a break.  

But, the older people with the grown kids are right, sort of.  You miss them, but missing them is like childbirth.  You forget the pain, or you minimize the pain, and you smile when you think about it.  Nostalgia takes over and the memories become selective.  Parents remember (hopefully) the good more than the bad (admit it, there’s bound to be some bad).  I smile when I remember Anna at ten years old throwing a fit because Christopher, Mallory, and Andrew were all “allowed” to do their own laundry.  Only moms with lot of kids truly realize how much laundry needs to get done with six people in the house, so I came up with the brilliant idea that each kid would begin to do their own laundry when they turned thirteen.  The first three thought they were being punished, but not Anna.   When she realized that she was the only one of the four not doing her own laundry, all hell broke loose.  That was the day my very independent ten-year-old took over the washer and dryer.  I don’t miss those piles of laundry, but  I sure do miss that ten-year-old.