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Like the prodigal son, we’d throw parties so we could all gather round and marvel at the adult they were becoming but as quickly as they came, they’d drive away again — as they had more lessons left to learn, far from home.

The last child returned this summer after graduating college and once again two of our upstairs bedrooms were turned into storage pods for all the mismatched hand me down furnishings gathered in college, an array of T-shirts and the never-ending tubs filled with stuff.

As much as we loved that he was home, we had gotten used to the quiet that comes with an empty nest. The dinners for two, slow walks with the dog, Netflix dramas, evenings out with friends where we lament about the hectic days gone by when the kids were young but now find joy in weddings, babies and trips and travels.

And while I know he is an adult, I am one of those mothers that absolutely cannot go to sleep unless I know he is safe at home. A problem — and a long summer — for both of us!

But last week that all changed, the last child moved into a permanent home of his own. As my husband said, this will be the last time we have any of our kids sleep under our roof for an extended period. No more long summer breaks. No more weekends where they bring their clothes home to wash. No more closets filled with things that don’t fit in their apartments.

All three are now homeowners, and we are now officially and forever empty nesters!

And the house is quiet, once again.

Life is an array of seasons. Seasons you grow in, seasons you learn in, seasons where you become the teacher and seasons where you sit back and take it all in.

Empty nesting seems to be a season for all the above and all at the same time.

So of course, I had to look it up — figured someone had termed what the season was called after empty-nesting. I hear they call it Season Two.

Not the best term, but, for now, I’ll go with it. And so, Season Two begins!