OK. Gather around, because I’m going to need a big, group hug right quick. The young’ns are about to begin leaving their temporary summer perch.

Since May, I have had that which gives me the greatest pleasure. Perhaps one or two times, I have been able to fall asleep knowing both my children were safely tucked into the beds. I know. It’s a little lame when they are 21 and 20, but I suspect I will feel just the same way when they are 40 and 39.

The most memorable line from a television show I have ever heard came from “The West Wing.” President Bartlet was chastising his eldest daughter because she hadn’t bothered to come home from college for a visit in some time. She didn’t get it, until he said to her, “The only thing you have to do to make me happy is come home at the end of the day.”

It was clear that she was grown up and out of the house, and would never again, on any regular basis, come home at the end of the day. But it will forever be my motto. That is all my bambinos need to do to make me smile. It sounds so simple and has become more and more unlikely.

Stop wincing. I know, for mothers everywhere, it has always been thus. I have made a solemn vow never, ever, ever to become one of those mothers whose only refrain is, “You never call! You never visit!” I am certain to find many other ways to be an annoying mother and possibly mother-in-law, but it won’t be from whining because they have active, demanding and hopefully, fulfilling lives.

I have become very skilled at enjoying my children vicariously through eventual tales of their escapades and — hallelujah — e-mail is a wonderful and really easy thing.

I do admit, however, that I have been like a mad scientist this summer. Any time my children and their friends gather, I find any excuse to just stand near them for a few minutes. They think I am just being sociable (and very possible intrusive) but I am actually absorbing their fabulous, vibrant, refreshing and adorable youth through every pore in my body. It is the best tonic I have ever found and I always feel better after I steal a dose. They make me laugh and I usually manage to get one or two hugs out of the deal.

It is all I can do not to just go around patting and pinching their shiny faces, shouting “Youth! Firm, wonderful, glorious youth!” OK, sometimes I actually do. They indulge me and take it in good humor.

Does anyone glow with as much energy and joie de vivre as an 18 to 21 year old? I would very much like to figure out a way to bottle it and shoot it directly into my veins. Instead, I just bask in their glow a bit when they will let me.

By mid-August, they will have begun scattering back to colleges here and abroad. I will ship my oars, look toward Christmas and try not to pout when anyone is looking. The good news is that having watched and eavesdropped on them for three months, I have gained ample reassurance that our world is being passed into bright, excellent hands and there is real comfort in that.

The downside is I will have to start taking out my own trash again.