Hello all, I thought I'd give the "one week later" update of taking your kid to college.
Ten days after I first dropped Amanda to her university in Springfield, Ohio, I returned. This time with Bob and Aidan, for official move in day. (I am contemplating the privilege it is, to be able to do this, to take a 1,200 mile trip twice in two weeks to send off our daughter to a fancy college. I have no vacation time left for the next nine months, but still.)
So, one week after the gnashing and wailing (mine), this is how our final good bye went today, day one of new student orientation. (Lest this be confusing, last week was cheer camp. And now that Bob and I have turned into cheerleader advocates, we made a point to meet the athletic director yesterday and let him know how important the cheer program is to us, and thus how the administration should lift it to greater attention, instead of keeping it on its usual low-rungs of hierarchical status. We had planned to do the same with the university president, at the late afternoon president's reception, but opted for an outing to a local Mexican restaurant instead. It had a gorgeous stone water fountain right in the middle of the dining room, indoors, under a full roof. It was cool and made me wish I was in Mexico, but a huge digression.)
This morning, one week after gnashing and wailing (mine), the last goodbye to Amanda took 30, maybe 45 seconds. I didn't even come close to crying, even though it was raining again. While the menfolk took care of hotel room matters, I had delivered the remaining goods to Amanda, meeting her at the back of her dorm complex, officially called New Hall.
"Thanks mom, I gotta go," she said, poking her head out the heavy back door of the hall. She took the last bit of stuff I brought her (hummus and her physical form) then had to rush back to her room to prepare for the class picture and full day of orientation sessions. It worked out because I had to rush back to prepare for yet another 10 hour drive.
So, I guess today I'm thinking about all the parents and the students who are saying goodbye, who are transitioning into their new-normals. To the students starting school whether it be kindergarten, middle school, sleep away school, or community college. I'm thinking of you all, wishing you well. I'm amazed at how even-keeled I feel this week, given how crazy confused I was last week.
As far as me, this is my new normal. (I find that phrase distasteful and have already used it twice. The scourge of blogging - no time to edit and refine.) Now, I am outnumbered with my roommates and thus watched "The Terminator" last night in the hotel room. Back home, the house has remained unusually orderly this past week. Less socks have disappeared from my drawer.
There is a deepened sense that this is right, that the kid has been dropped on fertile land. Fertile, fertile land. And there's nothing else we can do except exhale and move on.
And sign up for family weekend. And research thanksgiving airfare.
I'll sign off with some of the advise we all heard at the move-in day ceremony at Wittenberg University yesterday:
- serve others
- stay human
- be kind
(Paraphrased.)
Thanks for coming over to my blog.
With love from yours truly,
Natural Born Bleeding Heart
Friday, August 22, 2014
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
The quick and dirty of taking your daughter to college
We have discovered a new way to count travel time. Instead of hours (10) or miles (650) or states (four) or time zones (2), we count episodes of Providence, the 90s TV drama about the beautiful and altruistic Dr. Syd Hansen, her attractive but quirky family, and all their respective love interests.
The distance between Des Moines, Iowa, and Dayton, Ohio, is about twelve episodes of Providence.
Each episode begins with the Beatle's song "In My Life." The one that starts:
"There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain."
Thus, we listen to the above lyrics approximately 12 times. As if it isn't sad enough to take your daughter to college.
*
Amanda tears up before getting in the car, way back in our driveway in Des Moines. Actually, she stands in the kitchen immobile. I put my arm around her and walked her outside. Then she stands in the driveway, immobile. The car was all packed when Bob presented her with a special golf ball, representing all the games she didn't want to play with him. Ha, ha, ha. She laughs while she cries. Bob and Aidan each take an arm and walk her to the passenger side of the car. She sits down. "It stinks in here," she says, proceeds to rip out all the lemon auto-deodorizers from the vents that she had previously thought smelled great. She didn't want to inhale anything. She didn't want to talk, to listen to music, or turn on news radio. Just quiet.
We get as far as East Des Moines (about five miles down the interstate), she starts playing the Providence DVDs, which we've been watching together since Amanda was three. Friday nights when it aired, I'd sit sideways on the sofa and she'd cuddle into me. For some reason, that show stuck. I think its the music, the scenery, and the soft depictions of drama and home. And of course, the strong female lead. Recently, we ordered the complete series off the internet from some dude who bootlegged them from Lifetime TV for Women. (The network did not make them available when the series was cancelled in early 2000s.) He did a pretty good high quality recording job. The tapes have brought us enormous comfort. To you, pirating dude, who sold us the entire series of Providence - thank you.
"This is not goodbye," I say as she separates from the house, the yard, her dad, her brother, and this era of our lives. "This is see-you next week." (Because all three of us will be visiting her for opening day next week. This particular trip is for her 10-day cheer camp. Think football camp only harder and with less respect.)
Later she would realize she forgot to say goodbye to the cats but we vow to FaceTime them.
*
As for myself, I am pretty practical. I do all the driving. I manage the itinerary. Two activities for which Amanda is usually voraciously involved. I keep it all moving. And to be clear, in the past two years I did my mother-damndest to read the signals about this whole college search thing. I had not pushed the Ohio idea. She did. It all came from her. A nice little scholarship helped, but I told her in the past we didn't care about the scholarship. She could pick a school in Iowa, in Minnesota, wherever, we'd make it work, I said.
As we approach eastern Indiana, a day of driving behind us, the dusk settled into the sky. The Midwestern highway was cars and headlights, the sun no longer reliable. I feel a brick grow in my stomach, slowly moving up to my throat. I'm starting to wonder if we've made a horrible mistake.
"I'm not hungry," Amanda says. "Let's not eat dinner."
"OK," I say. "I'm not hungry either." I didn't even want a glass of wine.
*
"Please take all our your parents' successes and mistakes as your lessons," is one of my many parting pieces of wisdom I attempt to impart. Mostly, at this point, I'm referring to our financial successes and mistakes.
I won't go into details, but somehow Amanda and I find ourselves landed in Dayton, Ohio, for the night, in a bit of a quandary due to a snafu with credit cards, debit cards, and check books. It's kind of embarrassing so I won't go into the details but I will admit to a symbiotic dysfunction whereby an anonymous mother is so anxious about her daughter flying the coup that she repeatedly gives said daughter the credit card with a green light. Just a little pre-college jitters and/or post-parenting regrets. Indiscriminate buying stuff solves all that, correct?
So, we're in a hotel room we probably can't afford and Amanda is imagining me attempting to return to Des Moines in the dark, stuck in a Walmart parking lot with no gas or money in the middle of the night.
"I'm worried about you," she says.
"I'll be fine," I say. She says she's worried about me driving the 10 hour return trip without money. But I know she's really worried about me being alone. I feel a genuine concern, like all of a sudden she believes this isn't about her, but about me. I appreciate the sentiment, but I want her to be free.
"Really, I'll be," I say. And I mean it.
We sit together on one of the queen sized beds in our hotel room reviewing accounts and paychecks and anticipated scholarships and possible cash sources. The student job fair isn't until next week. Meanwhile, I arrive at a bright idea at about 4 a.m. rise from my sleep to apply for additional credit cards. Plus, it seems like a good reason to get out of bed and start mind wandering. I'm thinking, why are we in Ohio? We can't afford a school four states away. How will she get home if the apocalypse happens? I'm so glad for my social security number, how do people survive without a social? OMG, thank you for my job, an identity, a family, a support network. Thank you so much. How do people survive is they are alone? Amanda and I need to cobble together a financial plan for the next three days (for her) and the return home (for me). It's not like we're poor.
About 4:30 a.m. I go back to sleep.
I wake up with pretty nasty bloodshot eyes. Amanda cheers me up with her version of the camp song "heads, shoulders, knees, and toes" singing it faster and faster with a huge sunny smile. She puts enthusiastic words to the motions but I can't remember them.
*
Bob helps us cobble together a financial plan for the next three days.
It's time to actually move into the on-campus residential hall. (It's move in day only for students attending sports camps.) A half hour drive further east from our former hotel room in Dayton, we are the first in line to get dorm room keys as I'm determined that at least one cheerleader will get in before the football players do. I tell Amanda (again) the reason why food aid needs to be distributed in refugee camps to women and children separately from the men and teen boys (and would-be football players), because if it wasn't, the women and children wouldn't get any. I am prepared to get my Brooklyn on and elbow our way to our rightful place in line.
"Mom, don't say anything weird," Amanda pleads, her eyes rolling at my bravada.
In reality, we are the only ones waiting at the front doors for the precise one o'clock move in time with the exception of one other father of a football player. When I see hall staff approach front door, I eye the dad and use body language to solidify our position as first in line, shifting forward and center. The front doors are unlocked, football dad lets us in first with nary a whiff of challenge. In fact, he seems really nice. It takes Amanda about three minutes to get her key and sign the room contract. The actual move in process is a two hour blur. Goes really fast. Molly, the roommate, and her family, are kind and generous people.
I have no idea what they think of me. My hair is frizzy as I've given up on the straightening iron in the humidity and I'm wearing plain jane workout clothes. I try to be polite, but I am not particularly chatty because all I can think about this my last two hours as I know it with my daughter. But I do have the $100 (cash) to pay for Amanda's half of the fridge and microwave rental, which we all agreed was a rip off. Everything's in. Beds are made. The pink and gray decorating scheme looks good (flowers and polka dots, respectively). The new roommates go together to the athletic building for their first session of cheer camp. All parents depart.
*
Robin Williams dies.
Depression kills.
Addiction sucks.
Gaza perishes.
An unarmed black boy is shot by police in St. Louis.
Innocent children are imprisoned on the U.S./Mexico border.
A helicopter is down.
Syrian refugees flee. Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan, Somalia, Honduras.
A zillion people would sacrifice much for the privilege of education.
Etc.
I wail, but not for any of the above reasons. I drive a circle around campus, alone with my car windows rolled up, and I bellow so loud because I don't know what else to do. I'm overcome with grief and not because of death and despair, but because of life and gratitude. Because a new era has begun. Because this little kid who has been the center of my life for almost 18 years has moved on, as she should. Because of all the times I did not want to be a mother. Because of all the times I wished I were somewhere else. Because I got to do it anyway.
I howl at the top of my lungs, hoping it will make me feel better faster. (Notwithstanding, we'll be back next week.)
*
One of the clever things about Providence is that the mother (brilliantly portrayed by Concetta Tomei) comes back from the dead through the nightly dreams of her daughter, Dr. Syd Hansen (the strong female lead). Kooky improbable dreams. She's always wearing the same powdered blue dress and she's always smoking a cigarette. She's as cynical as Syd is idealistic. Through the dreams, Syd is able to work out her mother-issues, even though her mother has died, and her mother is able to provide basic advise for daily issues. It's funny yet poignant yet ridiculous yet truthful. Amanda and I didn't make it through the last episodes of the entire series, but Amanda will surely get through those on her own. She has every single DVD with her in that dorm room.
"Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life, I love you more
In my life, I love you more."
*
That's the quick and dirty of cheer camp move in day. Thanks for coming over to my blog.
With love from yours truly,
Natural Born Bleeding Heart
The distance between Des Moines, Iowa, and Dayton, Ohio, is about twelve episodes of Providence.
Each episode begins with the Beatle's song "In My Life." The one that starts:
"There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain."
Thus, we listen to the above lyrics approximately 12 times. As if it isn't sad enough to take your daughter to college.
*
Amanda tears up before getting in the car, way back in our driveway in Des Moines. Actually, she stands in the kitchen immobile. I put my arm around her and walked her outside. Then she stands in the driveway, immobile. The car was all packed when Bob presented her with a special golf ball, representing all the games she didn't want to play with him. Ha, ha, ha. She laughs while she cries. Bob and Aidan each take an arm and walk her to the passenger side of the car. She sits down. "It stinks in here," she says, proceeds to rip out all the lemon auto-deodorizers from the vents that she had previously thought smelled great. She didn't want to inhale anything. She didn't want to talk, to listen to music, or turn on news radio. Just quiet.
We get as far as East Des Moines (about five miles down the interstate), she starts playing the Providence DVDs, which we've been watching together since Amanda was three. Friday nights when it aired, I'd sit sideways on the sofa and she'd cuddle into me. For some reason, that show stuck. I think its the music, the scenery, and the soft depictions of drama and home. And of course, the strong female lead. Recently, we ordered the complete series off the internet from some dude who bootlegged them from Lifetime TV for Women. (The network did not make them available when the series was cancelled in early 2000s.) He did a pretty good high quality recording job. The tapes have brought us enormous comfort. To you, pirating dude, who sold us the entire series of Providence - thank you.
"This is not goodbye," I say as she separates from the house, the yard, her dad, her brother, and this era of our lives. "This is see-you next week." (Because all three of us will be visiting her for opening day next week. This particular trip is for her 10-day cheer camp. Think football camp only harder and with less respect.)
Later she would realize she forgot to say goodbye to the cats but we vow to FaceTime them.
*
As for myself, I am pretty practical. I do all the driving. I manage the itinerary. Two activities for which Amanda is usually voraciously involved. I keep it all moving. And to be clear, in the past two years I did my mother-damndest to read the signals about this whole college search thing. I had not pushed the Ohio idea. She did. It all came from her. A nice little scholarship helped, but I told her in the past we didn't care about the scholarship. She could pick a school in Iowa, in Minnesota, wherever, we'd make it work, I said.
As we approach eastern Indiana, a day of driving behind us, the dusk settled into the sky. The Midwestern highway was cars and headlights, the sun no longer reliable. I feel a brick grow in my stomach, slowly moving up to my throat. I'm starting to wonder if we've made a horrible mistake.
"I'm not hungry," Amanda says. "Let's not eat dinner."
"OK," I say. "I'm not hungry either." I didn't even want a glass of wine.
*
"Please take all our your parents' successes and mistakes as your lessons," is one of my many parting pieces of wisdom I attempt to impart. Mostly, at this point, I'm referring to our financial successes and mistakes.
I won't go into details, but somehow Amanda and I find ourselves landed in Dayton, Ohio, for the night, in a bit of a quandary due to a snafu with credit cards, debit cards, and check books. It's kind of embarrassing so I won't go into the details but I will admit to a symbiotic dysfunction whereby an anonymous mother is so anxious about her daughter flying the coup that she repeatedly gives said daughter the credit card with a green light. Just a little pre-college jitters and/or post-parenting regrets. Indiscriminate buying stuff solves all that, correct?
So, we're in a hotel room we probably can't afford and Amanda is imagining me attempting to return to Des Moines in the dark, stuck in a Walmart parking lot with no gas or money in the middle of the night.
"I'm worried about you," she says.
"I'll be fine," I say. She says she's worried about me driving the 10 hour return trip without money. But I know she's really worried about me being alone. I feel a genuine concern, like all of a sudden she believes this isn't about her, but about me. I appreciate the sentiment, but I want her to be free.
"Really, I'll be," I say. And I mean it.
We sit together on one of the queen sized beds in our hotel room reviewing accounts and paychecks and anticipated scholarships and possible cash sources. The student job fair isn't until next week. Meanwhile, I arrive at a bright idea at about 4 a.m. rise from my sleep to apply for additional credit cards. Plus, it seems like a good reason to get out of bed and start mind wandering. I'm thinking, why are we in Ohio? We can't afford a school four states away. How will she get home if the apocalypse happens? I'm so glad for my social security number, how do people survive without a social? OMG, thank you for my job, an identity, a family, a support network. Thank you so much. How do people survive is they are alone? Amanda and I need to cobble together a financial plan for the next three days (for her) and the return home (for me). It's not like we're poor.
About 4:30 a.m. I go back to sleep.
I wake up with pretty nasty bloodshot eyes. Amanda cheers me up with her version of the camp song "heads, shoulders, knees, and toes" singing it faster and faster with a huge sunny smile. She puts enthusiastic words to the motions but I can't remember them.
*
Bob helps us cobble together a financial plan for the next three days.
It's time to actually move into the on-campus residential hall. (It's move in day only for students attending sports camps.) A half hour drive further east from our former hotel room in Dayton, we are the first in line to get dorm room keys as I'm determined that at least one cheerleader will get in before the football players do. I tell Amanda (again) the reason why food aid needs to be distributed in refugee camps to women and children separately from the men and teen boys (and would-be football players), because if it wasn't, the women and children wouldn't get any. I am prepared to get my Brooklyn on and elbow our way to our rightful place in line.
"Mom, don't say anything weird," Amanda pleads, her eyes rolling at my bravada.
In reality, we are the only ones waiting at the front doors for the precise one o'clock move in time with the exception of one other father of a football player. When I see hall staff approach front door, I eye the dad and use body language to solidify our position as first in line, shifting forward and center. The front doors are unlocked, football dad lets us in first with nary a whiff of challenge. In fact, he seems really nice. It takes Amanda about three minutes to get her key and sign the room contract. The actual move in process is a two hour blur. Goes really fast. Molly, the roommate, and her family, are kind and generous people.
I have no idea what they think of me. My hair is frizzy as I've given up on the straightening iron in the humidity and I'm wearing plain jane workout clothes. I try to be polite, but I am not particularly chatty because all I can think about this my last two hours as I know it with my daughter. But I do have the $100 (cash) to pay for Amanda's half of the fridge and microwave rental, which we all agreed was a rip off. Everything's in. Beds are made. The pink and gray decorating scheme looks good (flowers and polka dots, respectively). The new roommates go together to the athletic building for their first session of cheer camp. All parents depart.
*
Robin Williams dies.
Depression kills.
Addiction sucks.
Gaza perishes.
An unarmed black boy is shot by police in St. Louis.
Innocent children are imprisoned on the U.S./Mexico border.
A helicopter is down.
Syrian refugees flee. Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan, Somalia, Honduras.
A zillion people would sacrifice much for the privilege of education.
Etc.
I wail, but not for any of the above reasons. I drive a circle around campus, alone with my car windows rolled up, and I bellow so loud because I don't know what else to do. I'm overcome with grief and not because of death and despair, but because of life and gratitude. Because a new era has begun. Because this little kid who has been the center of my life for almost 18 years has moved on, as she should. Because of all the times I did not want to be a mother. Because of all the times I wished I were somewhere else. Because I got to do it anyway.
I howl at the top of my lungs, hoping it will make me feel better faster. (Notwithstanding, we'll be back next week.)
*
One of the clever things about Providence is that the mother (brilliantly portrayed by Concetta Tomei) comes back from the dead through the nightly dreams of her daughter, Dr. Syd Hansen (the strong female lead). Kooky improbable dreams. She's always wearing the same powdered blue dress and she's always smoking a cigarette. She's as cynical as Syd is idealistic. Through the dreams, Syd is able to work out her mother-issues, even though her mother has died, and her mother is able to provide basic advise for daily issues. It's funny yet poignant yet ridiculous yet truthful. Amanda and I didn't make it through the last episodes of the entire series, but Amanda will surely get through those on her own. She has every single DVD with her in that dorm room.
"Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life, I love you more
In my life, I love you more."
*
That's the quick and dirty of cheer camp move in day. Thanks for coming over to my blog.
With love from yours truly,
Natural Born Bleeding Heart
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
They say, I say
"Are there printers in the dorm buildings?"
"Does the campus cafeteria serve food for special diets?"
"Should my daughter bring her own fridge or rent the campus fridge?"
"What is the cable/TV situation on campus?"
Such are the questions that parents of incoming freshman must answer (according to our parent's Facebook page, a closed site to which I belong).
Part of me thinks, oh lord, do these people have nothing better to do? Do these people live in upper middle class lives? Do these people not work nine to five? (Or eight to six with occasional nights and weekends.) Yes, I'm being judgmental. Pardon me.
Truthfully, I love these parents asking questions, because they are me.
But the funny thing is, I know the answers to all of these questions because Amanda has long ago researched them and informed me of the facts. I'm kind of feeling sorry for the moms and dads who must think through these conundrums on their own. Mostly, I'm impressed with my daughter for her interest in knowing the small stuff. (And I'm not holding my breath that this will happen with the second child, as an fyi -- and that's Ok, fist in mouth.)
Today her school books arrived in the mail. Chemistry. Economics. American Government. Writing. The Mental Health System. Your basic liberal arts selection. Because she somehow figured out that it's better to rent books from Amazon than to purchase from the school book store. Although, I told her to buy and keep the books for the subjects that bring her passion. (Still, whatever your interests, you can't take it with you, right?)
We are five days and counting for when the girl goes to Ohio. 10 hours away. A different state. Another time zone. She would have went farther if we could have figured logistics for how to do farther school visits. I understand. I appreciate the spirit of learning and adventure and thinking on your own. Still, as of today I have all the information I need to purchase her thanksgiving vacay airplane ticket (with my one last remaining frequent flyer mile accumulation).
Tonight, as I write this simple blog post, my girl is assembling her dorm room shelves in our family room. It's a trial run to see if she can do it on her own, with the mini tool kit she ordered for her college years. Bob is committed to not helping, to see if she can do it on her own first. She will then disassemble and re-box in preparation for move-in day. You see the university administrators design the move-in days so parents come for a few hours, unload boxes, and then leave asap. Parents are not encouraged to linger to do stuff like, miss their children or build cubical systems. In a way, I get it. I drove myself to college and I did just fine. On my move in day I was thrilled to find that my dorm window room looked on to a fraternity house, Phi Delta Theta. Par-tay.
Our daughter, of course, will not be fraternizing with . . . honestly, what will we know? We'll be 500 miles away. Anything could happen. I'll be focusing on the political science and all the lessons learned on church mission trips. That's all we have. Send up prayers.
It's a better deal to rent a fridge and microwave package from campus.
Quarters are not needed for laundry as the costs are included in board charges. TV/cable doesn't matter because kids watch Netflix. Other buildings on campus have printers, color printers. The cafeteria caters to special diets.
Thanks for coming over to my blog.
With love from yours truly,
Natural Born Bleeding Heart
P.S. The girl is discovering that IKEA shelves are not as easy to put together as it would seem. See, life lessons learned already.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Reflections on a "Mission" Trip
 |
| Don't just do something, stand there. |
Our youth director handed out this article to the kids in preparation for their mission trip to Red Lake Indian Reservation, where they would travel and "serve" for a week. The article lays out all the cautions of volunteerism in another culture, another land, another place. I won't go into the article, but I've linked it here, so you can read it for yourself. I remember handing out that very same piece to people who would travel on international trips I used to organize in my former life. (They were educational trips, not "mission" trips. More about listening, not doing. But that is darn hard for those of us who are raised to make things happen.)
Three days after the ice cream shop gathering, my two teenagers boarded minivans along with a 10 or so other kids and two trusted adults. They headed north for adventure and to answer the call to help others. I'm told one van was silent in their own electronic devises. The other van was raucous in their group sings of One Direction songs. (British boy band famous for their song about being beautiful with a dominant drum beat.)
But helping others doesn't look the same to everyone, as they would find out. As it turns out, being a Christian doesn't look the same to everyone. From the outside, we might all look alike I suppose. From the inside, like with all groups, there are many MANY variations of belief and lifestyles.
Now, more than a week later from the sunny day at the ice cream shop, the trip is over and I've just spent about four hours listening to my two teens tell stories about their week. The trip wasn't what they expected it to be. (As always happens, right?) In summary, they were exposed to other pieties about sex, books, sexuality, homosexuality, investing in community, what it means to be a church, who is Jesus (did Jesus have a banned book list?), joy, eating, poverty, and probably the biggest exposure. . .imposing one's values on others.
Breath that in. Or perhaps, go get yourself an ice cream cone and consider this with me.
My children (along with 12 or so others) just learned that other people who propose to be of the same religious faith as us -- are different. Really different.
My children learned that not everyone accepts everyone as a child of God, no strings attached.
My children learned that not everyone would march in a pride parade with their church.
My children learned that not everyone would allow books to be read, without scrutiny.
My children learned that not everyone approaches Christianity with an attitude of kindness, acceptance, and love.
My children leaned all these things, and more, with the careful guidance of awesome adults who could explain this to them; how hypocrisy works; how extremism forms; how contortion twists faith into conformity. How we are not superior or better, but how we look to grace and humility.
It took me so long to learn all these things, long into adulthood. And my kids learned it as teenagers, mediated by wise leaders to help them sort it all out. To me, that's the point of a so-called mission trip and I'm so grateful.
Thanks so much for coming over to my blog.
With love from yours truly,
Natural Born Bleeding Heart
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