Whatever I was expecting to happen in the process of getting our one-and-only child off to college, it wasn't this.

I thought it would be emotional, bittersweet, kind of scary, kind of sad.

But what it mostly turned out to be was a relief -- for all of us.

Is that wrong?

Actually, forget I asked. Wrong or right, it's the truth.

The build-up over that last few weeks was much more intense than I'd expected. So much to do, so little time, such a huge, honking cyclone of a mess all over the place.

With all the fear-mongering our culture heaps on parents facing the "empty nest," there's something nobody ever sees fit to mention: Whatever disarray you're used to living with is nothing compared to what kids create on their way out the door. So before you can get the nest to empty, you have to suffer through its being full to bursting.

That was our experience, anyway, and I've heard the same thing from other parents. Everything the students think they might want or need to take with them is exhumed from drawers, closets and piles, then spread out in plain view so that nothing will be accidentally overlooked.

Add to that any new purchases to cover gaps in the technology, school supplies and clothing departments. Soon you find yourself trying to remember what the floors, furniture and counter tops look like under all the detritus of hunting, gathering and sorting.

So once the cyclone is out the door, the calm makes for a welcome change.

For their part, I have little doubt, the kids are more than glad to be out from under parental eyes and edicts. They'll probably continue doing all the things that drive their elders crazy, but we don't have to see it and they don't have to listen to us complain about it. It's a match made in heaven.

Unmade beds, mounds of laundry, procrastination, dirty dishes, coming in at 3 a.m. -- in other words, the normal milieu of an 18-year-old -- it's all out of sight, out of mind. And that is a deliverance for everyone concerned.

Of course it's strange and a little unnerving not to have our daughter at home. For one thing, it cuts way down on opportunities to have spontaneous exchanges like one that took place a few weeks ago. I was reminiscing about some of her high school escapades -- the ones we knew about, anyway. "Are you kidding?" she said. "I was a model child!" So, I asked, we were model parents? "As a matter of fact, yes," she said, reaching for my credit card.

Now the house is eerily quiet in the evenings (which I'm starting to appreciate) and I get twinges of missing her, wondering who she's with, what she's doing, if she's eating right.

Then I remember: We wondered about a lot of those things even when she was here, because living at home for an 18-year-old doesn't necessarily translate into being home very much. Or telling the folks very much, for that matter.

At that age, the family homestead is where their stuff is, not necessarily their person. And once their friends start peeling off to their respective destinations, the emotional baggage that began shifting when they entered high school becomes even more mobile.

Still, as a mother it's hard to be so removed. I'm doing my best not to pepper her with messages and phone calls, and she's been pretty good about keeping us posted. So far so good, she says. Never expected to hear her excited about Plato's Republic and Antigone, but there it is. And if she's happy, we're happy.

I can't say the same of the dog, who is starting to look kind of depressed. She seems to have adopted a grimy tennis ball as a constant companion -- hard to tell if it's the object of her frustrations or her new best friend -- and this week she demonstrated her displeasure over her good buddy's absence by peeing on the office floor.

A few days ago I ran into some women whose kids are grown and out of the house. They asked how I was doing under the circumstances. Great, I said, and meant it.

"Just wait," said one -- and I braced myself for the follow-up that once it sank in, I'd be miserable. But instead, she said. "It only gets better!"

"Yes," added another. "You'll be surprised how hard it is when they come home on vacation."

I've been ruminating over that one. Every time our daughter has gone away for a few weeks to camp or a summer program, I've eagerly awaited her return. Can't imagine not feeling the same way, only more so, after she's been gone a few months. That doesn't mean the adjustments back and forth will be easy.

When we were in the college search process, we used to kid her that she had to go someplace we liked because we were going with her. She'd laugh and roll her eyes.

At the time, her departure seemed so far away. Now that it's happened, I might wish I could take some of the classes in her course catalogue, but that's as far as it goes.

I'm really looking forward to parents' weekend in October -- but I'm counting the weeks, not the days or the minutes. I cannot, however, speak for the dog.