Clearing Out for a Few Days

     My husband and I are leaving our side of the hill in Italy today for a few days. Because our elder son is coming with three of his college buddies. Sounds counter-intuitive, doesn't it?

     Anyway, we'd stay if we could. But we promised him awhile ago (before we started missing him so bad it hurts, I suspect) that he and his buddies could have the house to themselves this August. He wants to show them around without us around. Pretty simple. Pretty devastating.

     They were initially going to come to the house for a few days three times during their month-long European backpacking extravaganza. Now, they've decided twice because one of the times, it was just plain hard for me to leave. 

     He might be relenting on the last time they're here at the end of August. Relenting in the sense that his mother might be able to at least be in the vicinity during their stay. That could be because at the end of their trip, they'll probably be exhausted, broke and hauling around a bunch of dirty laundry. Which is never a bad time to have your mother around. That's not decided yet. 

       Our house is not that easy to get to on public transport. That's one of the reasons it's still so unspoilt here, despite the incredible beauty of this area, which hugs a massive, clean volcanic lake. There's no train station in our town. 

     To get here from the nearest international airport, if you don't rent a car, you have to take a train to Rome, then another train out to this lake, and then a bus from the train station to our town. None of those are coordinated to connect with each other. And at the end of that journey, you have to hoof it up the hill with your backpack.

     So, that's how they're getting here tomorrow. Even though we offered to pick them up and then leave or get a car service to pick them up at the airport and bring them here after their overnight flight from the States. Or almost anything pretty much.  

      Nope. The fun of backpacking, my son says, is figuring out how to get there despite the odds. And if it's a real hassle, or if it doesn't work, then it's even more fun. And if they miss the last bus to our town (a distinct possibility with their timetable), they'll find a hostel (there is no hostel there) or failing that, just sleep in the park on their sleeping bags until morning.

      Oh God.

      Yesterday, I spent the day clearing up and putting things away (my son doesn't like the idea the house is now crammed with our stuff from the States -- he liked it empty). Put sheets on all the beds where they'll be staying. Fresh towels. Soap. Put the games out, so they could find them all.    

      Last night on the phone, I told my son that I was worried about them getting here after their flight (he knows that already).

      "It's going to be a long summer if you're worried about that, Mom," he replied, laughing. "What about how we're going to get to Barcelona for the weekend from there? We haven't even thought about that yet."

     Oh God.            

     This morning, I woke up with a start. Immediately thinking about the boys and how I wished I could be here to help them get ready for their adventure. 

     My husband woke up a bit later, not worried about a thing. 

     "We're going to the beach today," he said, happily.

     "I'm worried about the boys," I said.

     "Whaaaaat?",  he asked incredulously.