Pat McDermott:

When the kids come home to roost it seems while some things change, others remain the same.

It’s back to the future when Rough Red returns to the nest

My mama told me there’d be days like this. The door flew open with a bang and stayed open with the help of a large boot and three bulging suitcases. “HEY MUM – WAZZZ-UP?”

Ruff Red was home! Or, as the

MOTH (Man of the House) likes to say, “The Eagle has landed”.

We hadn’t seen him for a year and here he was in the hallway with his partner, Rebecca. They’d made it after a flight from New York and two weeks quarantine.

Ruff Red invented the expression ‘hit the ground running’. He was already on the phone to a mate. The MOTH dragged bags and suitcases down the hall. There was chocolate slice and Anzac biscuits, expensive shampoo and new towels in the guest bathroom. I put the kettle on and cut the slice. When I was a young mum I thought our five children would be around forever, fighting over toys and accusing each other of not flushing the toilet.

Then we looked away for a year or two and they grew up. At least once a year we were at the airport waving goodbye as, one by one, all five left to explore the world. By the time it was Ruff Red’s turn the British Airways crew knew us so well they waved us goodbye.

Bags on beds, hugs and kisses dispensed, Ruff Red and Rebecca didn’t want tea or slice. They wanted beach towels and car keys. Mates were waiting!

“Can I grab some Anzac biscuits, Mum? The guys love them!” I handed over the biscuits and the MOTH handed over the keys. “Remember to drive on the left!” he sang out as the door closed.

“He hasn’t forgotten how to get around his mother!” he added, clambering over suitcases, jackets, shoes and headphones in the hallway. I didn’t mind. They were here for a long stay. There’ll be lots of time for family gatherings. I’d slip in a question or two about wedding plans.

“You might mention we’re not getting any younger,” the MOTH added.

Six weeks passed in a flash. I knocked. Did they need help packing? The room was empty. They’d gone for one last swim and surf at Manly. One thing was clear. Ruff Red could still make a bedroom look like a murder scene.

Step one: Strew sheets, pillows, blankets and quilts all over the room.

Step two: Throw heaps of clothing, clean or dirty, on top.

Step three: Put books, hand weights, damp towels, dirty plates, coffee cups, juice boxes and water bottles all over the bed. Put important papers and passports on top of the heap so your mother is scared to touch anything.

I looked at my watch. Departure time was ominously close. Right on cue they raced in the door, throwing sandy towels on the dining table. I could hear showers and slamming drawers. Passports and wallets were found. The surfboard took itself back to the storage cage where it planned to wait quietly for their next visit.

At the airport there was just enough time for hugs (them) and tears (me) and they were gone. On the way home the MOTH put on my favourite Van Morrison track. You know the one:

“When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit,

Then I must remember there’ll be days like this ...”

When I got home I found a sock under the bed. I sent a text. Did Ruff Red want his sock? “New York is full of socks Mum! Toss it! Love ya heaps! R”

The sock hangs on the corner of my computer and I get teary when I look at it. The MOTH got teary when he realised the good wine was gone.