University kids home on break

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It’s summer and parents of college students know one thing: it’s the time of year when your little birds find their way back to the nest, hauling a trailer full of stuff they collected over the last two semesters.
Yes, it’s true. You send your teenager off in the fall with what you believe is everything he or she will need to live without you for an entire year of school. Months later, the kid arrives at your door, skinny and unshaven, with boxes, bags, seven loads of dirty laundry and a moving van filled with twice the amount of stuff he had when you dropped him off at the dorm. For example, a couple weeks ago, my bird came home with the following:
Three full sets of sheets. I do not remember him leaving with three full sets of sheets. Come to think of it, I do not remember these sheets ever coming home
for a visit with the laundry room.
A refrigerator that has been completely cleaned out and unplugged in joyous anticipation of a summer in the garage. Except for the ice cream that was sadly left in the freezer section to melt.
A mattress allergy sealer, a foam topper and a mattress topper because heaven forbid the prince feels a pea in his flat, dorm-sized mattress. Heaven forbid these things ever be washed or cleaned, either.
Approximately 452 clothing items with some form of the school logo or mascot on them, including several which state unequivocally that there is “nothing hotter than an otter.” Let’s just let that little gem speak for itself.
Two books which rented from the bookstore and never returned.
One book from the first semester that was supposed to be sold back to the bookstore.
A dorm-sized trash can, overflowing with trash, but wrapped
in newspaper and packed in a box, along with a dozen shampoo and shower gel bottles that
are completely empty.
A set of dishes with a holiday motif, one covered in what can only be described as very old scrambled eggs. At least
I’m hoping they are scrambled eggs.
A futon. Have I mentioned he lived in a dorm? It’s a tiny room filled with three, adult-sized people. Where the heck did they fit a futon? And where did the futon come from? Wait. Maybe I don’t want to know.
A microwave with a completely cooked burrito inside. I’m sensing a theme here and it has a lot to do with cleaning.
So now all this junk is sitting here waiting for fall. Except for the trash, of course. And the burrito. My little bird may not have high cleanliness standards, but I do.

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