In a very short time, Spouse and I will once again be empty nesters. That was put on hold this past year when Second Born moved back home after her college graduation and spent some time finding herself. Not that she was lost, just temporarily misplaced and unsure of her next move. It turns out her next move will be to Philadelphia by way of New Jersey, where she will hang with her cousin and her husband at their farm house while she looks for work in Philly.

Second Born will be learning the train routes, best places to apply for jobs, and whether she can afford a little apartment of her own or if she’ll have to bite the bullet and get a roommate in order to be a city girl. I will be re-learning what it’s like to not have her around for last-minute Wal-Mart runs, watching clips from Ellen, and comparing which songs we always change the radio station to avoid.

I can do this. I’ve done it before when she was away at school, and in particular, when she decided to extend her study abroad in Budapest to Christmas in Italy and New Year’s in Ireland. The difference is, I always knew she’d come home — even for just a week — before trotting back to school nine hours away.

Since she made this decision a couple of weeks ago I had been trying to think of something special we could do as a last hurrah before her moving date. I asked Spouse how he felt about going to see a theater production of “Oklahoma” — not exactly a young person’s ideal performance, but a classic, and what sounded like a great family outing. With his nod, I invited our youngest to a matinee performance on Independence Day. She was all in, even without knowing a single thing about the production. I didn’t know much about the play itself other than some of the music from my high school chorus days (in the dark ages), but that within minutes the tickets were ordered and we were committed.

Did you ever do something that seemed like the perfect idea at the time, only to experience enormous regret later on? Here’s the thing. Second Born and I had a blast seeing a performance of Mama Mia at the same theater last year with her BFF and Mom of BFF. We sang along to the songs, swayed in our seats and soaked up the talent oozing from the stage. I knew this was not going to be the same scenario.

Hours after ordering the tickets — meaning sometime in the middle of the night — the tossing and turning began. What was I thinking, spending that kind of money on a play I didn’t even know if she (or Spouse) would like? Why didn’t I just suggest a movie matinee? Is this show for old people or will we see anyone there under 50? What if this wasn’t a memory she cared about making? My head was ready to explode. But there was no going back on this decision. Tickets were non-transferable and we were going. Period.

On the Fourth, after getting into the spirit with a local parade (kids on bikes with decorated spokes, dogs in red, white and blue, a kazoo band), we headed toward the theater. When we got there, I scanned the crowd for someone younger than 50. The pickings were slim but I did spot a few, and our youngest was unphased by the age group.

The play was wonderful, the performers outstanding, and the stage set perfectly choreographed. It was a hit with all of us and a fun family experience. It was – after all my fretting – the right call.

I don’t imagine Second Born singing “I’m Can’t Say No” on her drive to New Jersey (at least she’d better not be), but I do picture her smiling when she thinks back on that day with Spouse and me. This mom is also thankful she’ll be within driving distance (albeit a long drive) from us, and not — say — Oklahoma. Yup, I’m OK with that.

Janine Talbot recently published a story about her first kiss in “Laugh Out Loud: 40 Women Humorists Celebrate Then and Now… Before We Forget,” available through Amazon. She lives in southern Maine. Email Janine at [email protected].