Both sons plan to be in Missouri in July. Are two expert empty-nesters ready for the challenge?

Many of you, like my wife and I, emptied our nests so long ago we've forgotten what it's like to have children in the house.

Sure, some of you have replaced your kids with grandkids. That's not the same. When grandkids get cranky, you send them home. When your own kids were growing up and got cranky, you had to live with them.

Which is why I have never understood the concept of grounding your children. But that's another story.

To be frankly honest, some of us -- I won't say who -- have developed a way of life that fits two people in a large house with unoccupied bedrooms.

So these people -- no names, please -- wind up eating in their recliners and wearing the same ratty pair of jeans day after day.

In short, empty-nesters soon adopt habits you spent all those long years trying to teach your children to avoid.

This isn't a problem, really. After all, who's going to tell on you? And to whom would a complaint about slovenly parents be lodged, exactly?

There is a great deal of smug satisfaction in knowing that your children are sitting up straight, eating healthy meals, doing the laundry regularly and changing their underwear daily while you do things only a couple of thousand miles can excuse.

Our sons aren't exactly 2,000 miles from us, but they are far enough away that we feel pretty doggone safe. They warn us when they plan to come, so we have plenty of time to recall how it used to be when they were home and make the necessary, short-term adjustments.

Except for funerals, our two sons haven't been home at the same time very much for the past 11 years. That's when elder son went off to college. So it was with a good deal of joy that we were informed this week that both boys -- they're not boys, of course, to anyone but their parents and grandmother -- plan to be here at the same time.

There are good reasons, I'm sure, why they picked the middle of July to be in Missouri, the seventh month being the steamy month when chiggers polish off small horses in a single meal.

But we haven't let that stand in the way of our jubilation. July or no July, we're absolutely delighted they are coming at the same time.

They plan to be here a week.

When I say "here," I mean that's where they will be in residence temporarily. That doesn't mean they will be right here in the same house, all four of us, for a week.

They have plans for their week in Missouri: a visit to friends in Chicago and in St. Louis, a trip to my favorite hometown to see their grandmother, a hiking trip near Potosi and canoeing south of West Plains.

Let's see. Seven days. Lots of plans.

If we play our cards right, this week of family togetherness will look a lot like any other week of the year plus piles of clothes and gear in two bedrooms that are ordinarily neat and orderly.

While we are both full of anticipation about the visit -- and remember, we've been sternly told by both sons, this is all tentative -- we are also wondering if we're up to a full nest.

So we have decided to prepare in the best way we know how.

We're going on a vacation.

In Oregon. To the same hamlet on the coast we've been visiting since 1972. To the same house we've been renting for a dozen years.

Any number of relatives and acquaintances have offered to drop by while we are in Oregon. They all know there's an extra bedroom.

No thanks, we say. We're tired and need our pieces of quiet, as younger son used to say.

Once upon a time, we would have been reluctant to say that.

See. You do get better as you get older.

If we ever get really good, we might just tear up the tickets for the return flight home.

But for now we're happy with Oregon in May and all the Sullivans in July.

I think it's going to be a good summer.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.