During the school year, I can’t go more than 45 minutes without one of my college girls coming into the office to see me. Occasionally they need to talk to me about something to do with Starlite, but usually they just want to talk about something to do with boys.

I, of course, have been known to be a wealth of knowledge when it comes to boys. My usual advice to them? “Sweetie, you need to get yourself to the Health Department and take a cootie shot. You know, circle, circle, dot, dot…”

Of course, I don’t really talk to them about my own boy problems (with the exception of a couple of them who are closer to my age). Which could explain why I feel the need to constantly talk about my boy issues with you. Hmm. That does suddenly explain a lot.

They come for other reasons, of course. “I’m quitting school — I just can’t take it anymore” or “I hate my roommate.” And then there’s the usual “Do you have any chocolate in the office?”

I love their interruptions. Of course, there are times when I have to shut my office door and tell whoever is in the front office that I can’t see anyone for the next hour, afternoon, etc. But I try to keep that door open as much as possible, even if it means I have to stay later that evening sending that email I put off because one of my girls showed up needing to chat.

There’s no one interrupting me now. With the exception of a very small number of them, they’re all gone for the summer. They’re in Alabama and Kentucky and California and Texas and Washington and both of the Carolinas. They’re at the beach, beside the pool, at their summer jobs. They’re still in bed when I head to the office in the morning; they’re texting me when I’m already asleep at night.

They’re Facebook-ing me, and MySpace-ing me and even reading the bloggy from time to time. They’re seeing that ex-boyfriend, making mom do their laundry and torn to pieces over wanting to be two places at once. They’re making good decisions, with a few bad ones thrown in. I hear about those in the middle of the night, too.

And I miss them.

It is too quiet in here. No one is interrupting me; no one is using the box of Kleenex on my desk. Sure, I’m getting more “work” done. I’m quicker in responding to emails, I’m making decisions about next year faster and, surprisingly, I’m even leaving the office a few minutes early on some days. But I’d trade this quiet, focused time to have them back.

You’re missed, girls. And not just by Snuggles and Cuddles.