Our eldest son, Aiden, is coming to visit for ten days.
That in itself is wonderful.
He’s bringing his girlfriend. Or should I say “partner”? I’m not sure. But hold that thought….. What’s important right now is that I am totally stressed about this.
Why is it that the moment company is coming, I suddenly notice every cobweb, dust bunny, and household flaw I’ve successfully ignored for months?
Honestly… OMG.
I went to make up the guest bed and looked at the mattress cover. When did I go shopping in the Middle Ages and how did I not notice it was literally decomposing on the bed??
Amazon to the rescue.
New mattress cover.
New sheets.
New towels.
Apparently, I’ve also been living without a dust ruffle, which now seems like a glaring character flaw.
Suddenly, everything needed replacing or scrubbing. My sticky note list multiplied by the hour:
- Clean the windows.
- Wash the baseboards.
- Dust EVERYTHING
- Clean the fridge.
- Clean the freezer.
- Tidy the back porch.
- Hide all evidence that actual humans live here.
The arms of the living room chairs? How had I never noticed how filthy they were?
Amazon.
Chair covers.
The leather couch had a tear.
The kitchen suddenly looked ancient.
Had I more time, I would have bought a new kitchen.
And new windows.
Okay… I couldn’t afford either, but for about twenty-four hours I seriously considered remortgaging.
Clearly, I’d tipped.
But this isn’t just company coming.
My son is bringing someone home. Someone important.
Aiden lives in Bend, Oregon, and works as an engineer.
His twenties have been nothing short of extraordinary.
For several years he worked at a mine in Alaska—three weeks on, three weeks off. Most people would have gone home to recover.
Not Aiden.
He’d grab his passport and head somewhere else in the world.
Japan. France. Germany. South America. Mexico.
Skiing. Hiking. Mountain biking.
His passport tells a beautiful story of adventure.
But even beautiful adventures eventually come to an end.
My husband Wayne I were beginning to wonder if living out of a backpack forever was strong long-term plan. Three weeks of vacation every three weeks is amazing, but eventually you need somewhere to unpack… and perhaps remember that mere mortals have to clean their own bathroom. Room service and daily maid service is not a daily reality.
He felt it too.
The adventure had been incredible.
He was ready for a home.
Last summer he came back to Clearwater to see whether maybe his hometown could become his forever home.
He and his sister own a house together, so he moved upstairs and practised being domestic.
It was wonderful having him close.
It was also where I got into trouble.
As mothers sometimes do, I confused observations with wisdom.
Let’s be honest.
I offered opinions.
Lots of opinions.
Far more than were requested. Full disclosure, no opinion was requested. Officially unsolicited.
Love often means well.
That doesn’t matter much if it hurts someone.
Ugh.
He went back to work.
Our text conversations became… quiet.
Very quiet. Silent might be the better descriptor.
Then, on his next rotation home, he arrived with someone.
I wish I could tell you I met her.
I didn’t.
He didn’t bring her over.
I wasn’t invited.
In hindsight, the silence in our text messages suddenly made perfect sense. He didn’t need space; he was still mad.
Wayne met her.
“She’s lovely,” he said.
Well.
Good for him.
Meanwhile, I quietly accepted the rather deserved message my favourite eldest son was sending. Who knew a middle finger could be so strong and vocal.
I had overstepped.
He was a grown man.
I’d forgotten that.
Weeks passed and the text conversations slowly returned.
I apologized.
Sort of.
Unfortunately, I made the classic mistake of apologizing and then following it with…
“…but…”
Which, as it turns out, isn’t actually an apology.
It’s simply saying, “I’m still kind of right.”
The texts went quiet again. I think he even turned off “find my friends”.
Eventually, after considerably more reflection—and considerably less ego—I apologized properly.
No “but.”
Just ownership.
That cracked the door open again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like walking barefoot across broken glass.
Aiden came back and so did she. Before they arrived, I learned a few things that caught me off guard. The local rumour mill was reporting that she was a mom.
Wait…
What?
Naturally, I did what any curious mother would do and no, I did not pick up the phone. I searched the internet.
What I found wasn’t much.
She had very little social media.
But what I did see made me smile.
She looked genuinely happy.
Kind.
Grounded.
Her daughter—well, I would discover more later…
When they arrived for dinner that first night, she walked through the door like sunshine. She was this tiny little thing with a wild mane of long curly hair and a smile that lit up the room. Her entire disposition was easy and relaxed with incredible confidence. I was sure she must do yoga.
Then came the surprises.
She wasn’t twenty-one.
She wasn’t a young girl.
She was a confident woman in her thirties with a successful career.
She wasn’t the mother of one little girl.
She was the mother of eight-year-old twin girls.
And….Aiden was quitting his job and moving in with them.
My face, unfortunately, has never mastered neutrality. My brows likely furrowed and it was notable that I didn’t jump for joy.
It was a slightly awkward visit.
She summed it up perfectly.
“Aiden didn’t really set us up for success, did he?”
No.
No, he didn’t.
That was almost a year ago.
Today they’re arriving for ten days.
Kids included.
And yes…
I’m nervous.
Not because of the dust bunnies.
Because this matters.
Wayne and I weren’t there for the beginning of their story.
We’re arriving somewhere in the middle.
That’s an adjustment.
I’d imagined my son’s life unfolding one way.
Life had other plans.
Again.
Apparently, life has absolutely no interest in following the script I keep writing.
The past year has been good.
Really good.
Aiden and I found our way back to each other.
We’ve had honest conversations.
He has even admitted there may have been a reason for some of my concerns all those months ago.
Maybe the problem wasn’t that either of us was completely wrong.
Maybe we were both only partly right.
Sometimes silence happens because people need space.
Sometimes silence happens because uncomfortable truths have been spoken and both people need time to sit with them.
That was certainly true for us.
We’re remarkably alike.
It’s both comforting and incredibly irritating.
But because we’re alike, we understand each other.
And that’s worth protecting.
So yes…
There is chocolate ice cream in the freezer.
A ridiculous assortment of snacks.
Fresh chocolate chip cookies on the counter.
Extra towels.
Fresh flowers.
But no crafts.
I have to draw the line somewhere.
If the girls want glitter and glue guns, we’ll visit the art studio in town.
Grandma has limits. But I do have puzzles.
I don’t know what this week will bring.
I hope it brings laughter.
I hope it brings memories.
I hope I grow to love this little family that has unexpectedly found its way into ours. I really hope to come to love the woman who loves our son and inspires him to be his best self.
I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some sadness in letting go of the future I’d imagined for Aiden.
But I’ve also learned something.
Family isn’t always built the way we expect.
Some of the people we love most aren’t related to us by blood at all.
They’re family because they chose us.
And we chose them.
Love is still love.
Connection is still connection.
And that’s something worth celebrating.
Life rarely follows the script.
Thank goodness.
Because sometimes what waits around the bend is even better than anything we could have written ourselves.
Here’s to the messy chapters.
The unexpected ones.
The second chances.
And always holding tightly to what matters most.
With love,
Shelley
Postscript…. they have just arrived and already there is joy as I watched them all tumble out of the truck. This woman that loves my son? I hugged her tight, I hugged her hard. I had so much love in my heart and tears in my eyes. I am hoping she will come to know just how happy we are that she and her girls are here, not just for now but maybe forever.
PPS. I think she noticed I cleaned the fridge!
And Then I Jumped...... 