These are a few of my (least) favorite things...

Intellectually, I know that one day soon, my beloved young son will awaken as a grown man, make his bed and bid me a loving adieu. He will thank me for my many years of sacrifice and all the wisdom I imparted on him. I will hug him, kiss the top of his head, and wish him well at college.

OK, none of those things will ever actually happen (except for college), but I can hope. The logical part of me knows someday he will leave, but the emotional part of me is in denial, waging a constant, heated battle about whether he'll really go or not (he will leave, to do good in the world; he won't leave, because he's a good boy who loves his mother sooooooo much!).

Most days, just the the thought of Mark leaving renders me teary and speechless. But some days (occurring more frequently as Mark settles into teenhood), I seriously feel like breaking out the calendar, and gleefully marking off the dates.

The truth is, I'm not actually writing this post for you, my loyal readers (all three of you), I'm writing it to myself. My future self. The Heather in five years, struggling with Empty Nest Syndrome, who's furiously packing her car for the long drive to Mark's college, where she'll embarrass him in front of all his cool new friends in the dining hall. The Future Heather who will grab Mark, hugging him relentlessly, sobbing uncontrollably, screaming, "Mommy misses her little Marky!"

So, uh, yeah...Future Heather, don't do that. Unpack the car, take a deep breath, and sit down. Seriously. It was hard enough to get that kid into one college--transferring to another due to extreme maternal embarrassment is not an option.

Future Heather, Empty Nest Syndrome is coming. You may welcome it the first few months, as you gain back all the time usually spent cleaning up after Mark, putting away  the stuff he left out. But eventually, the house will be clean, and stay clean, and you'll realize with a shock it's because no one else is there to mess it up. (Except for Fernando, the freakishly large cat, who I'm hoping will finally calm down in five years. Please tell me he's calmer!)

What will you do, Future Heather? How will you navigate the silence, the cleanliness? How will you fill all those hours previously relegated to chauffeuring your child to and from social, academic and musical activities?

The answer is: I don't know. I'm still back here, in 2013, imagining it.

But Future Heather, before you get all verklempt about your son leaving, remember these things. Remember how dear young Mark left all of these things strewn about the house, and very nearly drove you to the very brink of insanity doing so.

Remember how blood sugar test strips cropped up everywhere, on every surface of every room in the house. How the strips tumbled out of the dryer with clean clothes, and how piles of them sprung up overnight, a toxic mountain of hazardous waste on the bookshelf. How you found them everywhere--in the couch, the fireplace, the backyard, even the cat litter box--and how you thought, endlessly, curiously, "How did a strip get there?"

Remember the straw wrappers, from one of the million little juice boxes Mark downed to correct low blood sugars. The wrappers littered the kitchen floor, hiding behind the trash can or under the fridge. They fluttered into the dining room, catching air from a light breeze through the kitchen window. Remember how they crinkled underfoot each night on your way to bed, or how you constantly wrestled them away from Fernando, worried he'd eat them, when really, he just wanted to chase them. (Note to Future Heather: Mark wasn't the only one who thought you were a killjoy.)

And remember those little pill caplets, how they rolled out from behind the coffee and sugar jars, from wherever Mark tossed them after emptying them into his milk. Remember how hard Mark fought you about them daily, insisting he couldn't swallow pills, until you finally gave in. The important part is the medicine inside, not the little orange shell, you reasoned, and boy, did you live to rue that decision. Remember the day you uncovered an entire cache of spent pills, the same day Fernando found and emptied a bag of insulin needles throughout the house? Thank God no one visited that day, because it would've been hard to convince them that, despite all outward appearances, this wasn't really a crack house.

I could go on about the other annoying habits--the backyard littered with sports equipment, the bedroom that smelled like a woolly mammoth died in it, thanks to the overflowing dirty clothes hamper--but Future Heather, I think you get the point.

The point is, the house won't be full of little "souvenirs" Mark left behind anymore. They moved out with Mark, moved on to college, where now they'll annoy a whole dormful of equally slovenly college kids, who may not have rivers of used test strips, but most certainly will have hampers of dirty clothes.

The point is...oh heck, who am I kidding? I'm trying, Future Heather, to point out how Mark annoyed you, so you won't miss him as much. But the bigger truth is that, annoying little habits aside, he's a great kid, and that raising him up was an honor. Yes, he drove you nuts sometimes, just like you drove your parents nuts, but he also made you smile and laugh. He made your heart swell with pride and joy, and the biggest truth of all is that he made your heart come alive and sing, just by being his mom. He made you a better person during his childhood years than you made yourself during your whole life prior to him.

So you know what, Future Mom, forget everything I just said. If you miss Mark, call him. Visit him--just plan it ahead of time (college kids don't like surprise visits), and keep it together when you do see him.

As for me, 2013 Heather, well, I'm busy, too. I just walked through a house full of strips, wrappers and pills, out to the backyard, to go play basketball with my kid.

And it's all thanks to you, Future Heather, who made me realize that while some things (like test strips) will live in my house forever, my kid will not.