Last weekend, we helped Middle S’kiddle move into her first place.
And just like that… our house got quieter in a way I wasn’t quite prepared for. Not empty.
Not sad exactly. Just… different.
What is a S’kiddle, you ask?
Fair question.
When my husband and I got married, we didn’t just bring two people into a house —
we brought a whole collection of people into one life. He had three daughters — one in high school and two still in grade school.
And I came with two grown children, their spouses… and my one and only granddaughter — who at fifteen already very clear about her place in my life and my heart.
So there were a lot of personalities – and a lot of opinions. And, as it turns out, a real need for creative naming.
In the beginning, like all raised-right Southern children, they called me Miss Pattie.
Which was completely appropriate. But also a little much for everyday life… and the occasional tattling.
Somewhere along the way – maybe when they realized I could be trusted to stay — Miss Pattie quietly shifted into S’Mom.
(There may have been a trial period. I like to think I passed.)
I loved S’Mom – but it did leave me with a naming problem.
Because “stepdaughter” made me sound like the evil stepmother of fairytales, and “S’daughter” felt awkward.
“S’kid” sounded like I was already annoyed with them…which, to be clear, would come later — just not yet.
So with a little thought — and a healthy dose of mischief — we landed on S’kiddle. Like the candy, colorful, sweet, and each one a completely differend flavor.
And once we said it out loud…that was it.
So they became:
Senior S’kiddle
Middle S’kiddle
and Liddle S’kiddle
And somehow… those names stuck — and they remain S’kiddles to this day… and probably always will.
Middle S’kiddle has lived with us full-time since graduation, but long before that, she was part of a life built across two homes, with four parents who all loved her in their own ways.
That’s just how her story was written. And honestly… it worked.
She is her father’s spitting image — practical and very determined. Her job is here, and so are her friends.
Liddle S’kiddle, her mother’s mini-me – is planning to stay very close to her mama’s house for college – her story unfolding in a completely different way, but just as much her own.
Neither S’kiddle has any interest in trading their lives for lake view and retirement wandering – especially with both of us home all the time.
Which means…
Middle S’kiddle will not be joining us full-time in the Third Act.
And we will be missing our built-in voice of reason —
and her daily recaps of life as she sees it… whether we agreed with her or not.
But before any of that really had time to settle in…
She had been moving things all week — carloads here, boxes there —
so by the time the weekend rolled around, we were feeling pretty confident.
Just the bedroom furniture. A dining room table and four chairs. Six blocks down the road.
How hard could that be?
Well … let me just say this:
There is no such thing as “just a few things.” And there is definitely no such thing as a “quick move.” Even when it’s only six blocks.
(Especially when it’s only six blocks, because apparently that gives you false confidence and bad judgment.)
Because this wasn’t just helping her set up her new place. This was the last S’kiddle leaving our home.
And here’s the part nobody really prepares you for:
It doesn’t feel like a big, dramatic ending.
There’s no music playing. No slow-motion goodbye. No moment where everyone stands still and says, “Well… this is it.”
Instead, you carry a box, adjust a chair debate where the couch should go like its a life-altering decision… and somewhere in the middle of all that, life changes.
She’s only six blocks away. We’ll see her all the time. Northing is really ending.
And yet… everything is a little different now.
Because this — this right here – is what the Third Act looks like.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just a quiet shift from raising a life… to watching it go live on its own.
And the truth is…this moment doesn’t belong to just us.
It belongs to all of the parents who helped shape her —in both of the families that became one.
And honestly?
She’s ready.
(But I would like the record to reflect that having someone around who kept us grounded
and occasionally made more sense than we did was very convenient…and will be deeply missed.)
And just in case life felt like it was getting a little too quiet…
Senior S’kiddle is getting married this fall.
So I’m fairly certain this is not the end of the stories —
just a brief pause before the chaos resumes.
If you’re still smiling,
pull up a chair on the deck…
We’ll raise a glass,
watch the water sparkle,
and see what happens next.
– Pattie
🐾 Sassy Says
Again… nobody asked me.
I am really going to miss Middle S’kiddle.
I like to mess with her and bark every time she comes home – like I don’t have any idea who is breaking into the house. She doesn’t realize i already know her car, her footsteps, and her smell without even looking.
So she always comes in with hugs and love… to calm me down. (It works Every time.)
I am a Wonderdog like that.
She comes home at lunch with chicken most days. She eats on the couch — where I can properly supervise — and she always leaves a little bit behind.
I know she does it on purpose.
What exactly am I supposed to do now?
Lower my standards?
🐾🍗🍿
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No spam. No nonsense. Just stories.
