Home for the holidays

Given my age, number of children and life experiences, I assumed I was prepared to send our oldest child off to college.
Closing in on a half-century, I have suffered through labor and delivery four times, endured the death of my mother when I was 21, and run two marathons. And, those are just the highlights.
I figure, I know life. Or, at least, I thought I did.
Then, our oldest child left for college.
In her wake, she left an unsettled mix of relief, sadness and gaping hole.
Relief, from having gotten her this far. Sadness, in watching her walk out the door. And, gaping hole ... well, the empty space that replaced her in our daily life.
But then, she came home for Christmas break.
Within 30 seconds of her walking into the house, the chaos was back — laughter, screaming, tears.
And, the emptiness vanished. What had been her bedroom is now ground zero of a nuclear holocaust.
The three bags she hauled home from school exploded the instant she dropped them on her floor, blanketing every square inch of her 12-by-14-foot room with clothes, toiletries and other sundry items.
Two weeks and one lecture (from her father) later, nothing has changed. Except, the tidal wave of stuff seems, impossibly, to have grown larger.
It wasn't too long ago that a situation like this would have been all about drawing a line in the sand. Threats, warnings, a potential grounding — whatever it took to reestablish parental control and bring the room into compliance with the household code of cleanliness.
But now, along with the clutter, there is the dooming hint of departure. Another two weeks and she and her stuff will be packed up and gone.
So, might as well sit back and enjoy the mess.