COUNTDOWN TO COLLEGE

Tomorrow is college move-in day. I'm handling Eben's impending departure really well. I only cry at work once or twice a day, and it's not ugly crying. It's quiet, elegant, lady-like weeping. Like a silent film star. 

In the moments between dwelling on the tragedy of my soon-to-be-half-empty nest, my time has been occupied with helping the boy collect what he needs for college life. In my head this has been a two-part checklist: material needs and pseudo-adult life readiness. The first one is definitely the easier one to handle. Twin XL bed sheets, cleaning products (never to be used, of course, but hope springs eternal, so moms buy that shit anyway), a lamp, some posters, and, according to Martha Stewart, a dutch oven for braising and a large stock pot for lobster (JK, guys. I'm assuming Martha was still addled from her prison days when she penned that absurd list, so we decided the boy just needs a soup pot big enough to make a midnight batch of Kraft Dinner). I think the physical world list is all set, and I can't wait to see Eben's dorm room, because according to all the catalogs we've received, it looks like all we have to do is buy coordinating bedding sets and his room will magically sprout a window seat, oak floors, and floor-to-ceiling walnut-trimmed windows.

From the Pottery Barn Dorm collection. File under "HAHAHA...dream on, kids."

The second part of the checklist has been harder to get my head around, in part because at this point it's really not up to me - Eben is an adult, my role now is really peripheral - and in part because I couldn't nail down what I felt I still needed to take care of on this list so I wouldn't worry. 

So I decided I needed to put myself through a worry-elimination process. First, the practical things I haven't taught Eben yet. For example, I don't think he knows how to sew a button on a shirt. But he knows how to use the interwebs, and with the help of YouTube, he can muck his way through that sort of thing. 

Next I moved on to worrying about the on-the-fly adult decisions that he'll have to handle on his own. But Eben is a super-confident fella and has been gifted with a deep wellspring of common sense, so again, not an issue. 

The permanent image in moms' heads that
makes us an embarrassing weepy mess on
college move-in day.

Then I thought about the inevitable moments of "holy crap, I can't do this" that every college kid encounters sometimes (finals week!). How will he handle that, will he find/have help? But Rick and I raised our kids to think of mistakes as part of the adventure that is learning, and to know that asking for help is absolutely the smartest thing a person can ever do. Eben is resourceful, even in his most anxious moments. He'll be okay. 

So I had to admit that there's nothing really to worry about. I mean, there's a mother's ever-present box-o-jitters that doesn't ever go away, but the kid is really okay. It boils down to this: the only person truly unprepared for Eben to go to college is me. Eben is ready because we made sure he'd be ready. I completely forgot to make sure I'd be ready. I don't know... who can be ready for this, honestly? This is my baby boy... But I've been employing every ounce of Russian stoicism I can muster and I WILL KEEP MY SHIT TOGETHER. 

Mostly. 

(who am I kidding, send vodka and a therapist, holy crap.)

BIRDS TAKE FLIGHT

My firstborn kiddo turned 18 a few weeks ago. Legally a man, old enough to vote, old enough to fight for his country (not old enough to have a beer, but old enough to be trained to operate a thousand types of killing machines in service to his country. "The law is passion, free from reason." -Not Aristotle)... and old enough to leave home for college. Today, Eben graduates from high school. A couple of months from now, we'll drop him off at The Ohio State University where he'll begin studies as an Honors Program student in the Computer Science and Engineering Department of the College of Engineering.  

Readers, I am so crazy proud of this kid. He's graduating 2nd in his class (by the merest fraction, he would want me to point out... only a thousandth of a point separates my Salutatorian from the Valedictorian). This boy worked his ass off and was offered admission to many competitive universities. Though he initially wanted to attend college a little further away from home, he wisely chose the school that offers a world-class program and a reasonable tuition. For those of you who, like Rick and I, put yourselves through college with student loans... you know what life is like when you graduate with mountains of debt. And it's worse now, because unless it's a state school, tuition is just STUPID. Of course, I understand that it's hard to provide scholarships to deserving students when you have to pay your university president $7 million, or give a $40 million package to a sports coach, but those choices on the part of pricey institutions mean they miss out on my superstar kid. Their loss. OSU is a kick-ass school, we couldn't be more impressed by Eben's maturity and wisdom in his choice, and we're so excited for him. 

As all parents who've gone through it know, the college application/admission/decision process is not easy. But in a few short weeks comes the really hard part. I have to take my baby boy to college AND LEAVE HIM THERE. This is a state of affairs that I - and I'm sure countless other mothers of soon-to-be college freshmen - have labeled in my own head (and sometimes out loud to anyone within earshot) as "complete bullshit." An explanation: 

This particular child-rearing milestone is, of course, the thing parents work towards. We raise a human child, we guide and teach, we bathe and clothe, we nourish and nurture, all towards this end. To have acquitted ourselves of the task of putting into the world a thoughtful, intelligent, kind, productive, ethical adult whose contributions will, we hope, amount to a better world. Whether our newly-independent adult children are headed to college or headed for other adventures, this is a ferociously pride-filled time for us all. 

BUT. It's also another thing. It is absolutely, irrefutably, and horrifyingly The Actual Worst. You see, the humans we raise happen to be the loves of our lives. The idea of dropping off our loves in smelly dorm rooms, or watching them get on a plane, or just drive away towards Life Not At Home, means more than just not seeing them all the time, more than the absence of daily, visible proof of their health and well-being, more than missing their goofy banter with siblings or with the cat. It means heartbreak. And it's crushing. AND WE KNOW, okay? Mothers know this is the whole point, and it really, truly, is what we want, it's the way things are supposed to be. But oh my holy hell, I want to stop time. I want that to be my super power. I want that more than I've ever wanted anything, ever. 

Alas... it seems to be impossible to will a time machine into existence. I know, because I'm the most willful person I've ever met and I've tried. So, absent any superpowers, or time machines, or even genie wishes, I'll just have to rely on the old standby available to women everywhere: the ability to "live through this," whatever this is, whatever comes. Superman could take lessons from women on what it means to be made of steel. We let huge foolish tears roll down our faces, and people look and shake their heads, thinking "What a ridiculous old woman. Get it together, lady." And we will -- just give us a minute, and we'll get it together, like nobody else can. And then we'll watch, with hearts at once shattered and glowing, as our nests begin to empty and our baby birds take flight.

To Eben - congratulations to you, my boy. You're more than ready for your next adventures, and I can't wait to watch you spread your wings. Just remember to land at home once in awhile to hug your weepy mama. I will always give you gas money.

Bog Blogging

I think about this blog a lot. All the time, every day. I miss it, it misses me. This has been a weird, crazy ride of a year, and I keep thinking "I'll write for myself, instead of for work. I'll write... when there's time. When will there be time?" Time has flown by more quickly this year than I'm comfortable with. The list of time-stealing demons this year:

College Research/Visits/Applications/Decisions

I regret nothing about this - participating in this process with Eben has been equal parts grueling and delightful, and I loved every second of the time spent with my boy. 

SIDE NOTE: For those approaching this time in your own life or your child's life - DO NOT BE FOOLED by the supposed "convenience" of the Common Application. There's always a supplemental essay or two. Or three. Or eleven. (a blog for another time: "WTF: How Colleges Determine Wonky and Annoying Essay Prompts").

Asthma

Diagnosed last summer with exercise-induced asthma after several months of trying to figure out why, suddenly, running made my lungs and airways feel like they had an "off" switch. I was told by my doctor that this all has to do with "the normal hormonal changes that accompany a woman's entry into the perimenopausal years." GREAT. 

SIDE NOTE: Asthma is easier to deal with if you can tolerate asthma meds, which give me a hangover-like headache. You guys, I like running, I really do, but it's not my preferred route to a hangover. 

OTHER SIDE NOTE: Despite the asthma hurdle, I noticed something kinda cool while I've been dealing with it... upon receiving my diagnosis, Indoor Recess Nadia didn't make a peep. A few short years ago, she would have shouted "Running gives us ASTHMA?!? Fuck it, darling." Instead, my head went straight to solutions and fitness alternatives. Readers, I think that's a significant "win." Silver linings, silver linings.

Wobbly Work Life

How many heads of school can a school have in a year? Three, apparently. 

SIDE NOTE: This is also not my preferred route to a hangover-like headache.

My head is constantly flooded with
images of Eben when he was the size
of the little guy he's holding in this photo.
*SIGH*

Weeping

My baby boy is going to graduate soon and go to college. I am overwhelmed, and frequently paralyzed, by non-stop waves of nostalgia and excitement and melancholy moods and happiness and panic and planning, and mostly crying because this is MY BABY BOY and where did 18 years go?

SIDE NOTE: where can I buy valium in bulk? Is that a Costco thing? Is there a Costco for insane weepy old women?

So, the blog... the long and short of it is, I've been bogged down. It's hard to blog in a bog, but I'm going to try to re-energize this effort. Wish me luck, and I promise it won't all be "how to distract yourself when your oldest goes away to college and all you want to do is cry and look at his baby pictures" type of posts. I mean, there's going to be some of that, but it won't be all that.