My youngest son graduates high school in two weeks. Two months later, he leaves for college and I will be an empty nester. What a horrible term! In what way has empty ever meant anything good? I think that we should change the term empty nester to Professional Parent. It sounds so much more positive.

At 48, I realize I’m young to be an empty nester. One of my students told another classmate the other day, “Oh my God, do you realize I’ll only be seventeen when I graduate?” I wanted to say, “Oh my God, do you realize I’ll only be 48 when I become an empty nester?” Of course, I knew 48 would sound the same as if I said 135. “Oh my God, did you know she was so OLD?”

People ask me all the time how it feels to know I’m going to have an empty nest. The answer varies from day to day, probably hour to hour. I already miss the baseball and soccer games, the dinners where we all sat at the same table, that moment at night when you know they are all in their beds asleep and safe. The next moment I think that if one more Golden Retriever brings me a filthy, dirty sock from one of their rooms I’m gonna throw a coronary. I don’t miss baseball games where the coach’s son pitches to a 20 to nothing loss, or that vague anxious feeling you have when they’re out late, waiting to hear the garage door go up. See, it’s a mixed bag. I miss them, but I don’t miss the hyper-vigilance, the hyper-awareness, or that overwhelming dread that everything they do will either lead to death, dropping out of school, or drug addiction. Yep, parenting’s fun.

I like where I am with them. I like our adult relationships. I like seeing the men they’ve become and knowing that they can make it on their own – that my job is done. I like being a consultant, rather than an active participant with too much skin in the game.

And yet I worry about silly things. Like who’s going to open that damn pickle jar? I mean what if I really want pickles. Or who’s going to dig that whatchamacallit out of the back of the cabinet over the refrigerator – you know the one that is both too high and too deep. And then there’s cats.

Have we ever decided exactly how many cats someone needs to have before she becomes a cat lady? When my son’s cat comes to live with me for the summer, I’ll have four. Does that push me over the line?

Bottom line – I just don’t know how I feel about it, but I know this. For the first time in my life, the path isn’t clear. I don’t have a set road I have to follow. The future can be anything. I can actually explore, try things I normally wouldn’t, discover new hobbies, new adventure, a new me.

And I’ve figured out what I’m going to say the next time someone asks me, “Are you an empty nester?”

I’m gonna smile and lift my chin. “Nope, dude,” I’m gonna say, “I’m going pro.”