3pm EST. We land. I have napped, watched a terrible movie but it had Sam Heughan in it so who cares. Nothing says relax and unwind like a hot ginger Scottsman. My husband is a ginger with some Scottsman in him and so I bought him a kilt and well...ya know...life is good. But this is not about my love for my Ginger Highlander or Outlander…yes, son going to college...yes, that’s what I’m writing about...
After we arrived at our hotel we went walking through campus. It’s a city campus so it took a very humid, 90-degree long time to find the damn place. I was dressed in black pants and a shirt that in hindsight, may have made me look thinner, but not the best weather choice. Although I probably lost about five pounds in sweat. When we saw the outside of his dorm it began to kick in for reals. (as my students say) Like for real for real. His silence and deer-eyes were only surpassed by the sweat that had pooled in my shirt and pants and socks and bra. I would address his feelings, I thought, as soon as there was air-conditioning. I thought my hot flashes were gross and damp, but for now, it seemed there was no way to tell if I was having one or not. “I am just this sweaty and gross and hot”, I said to my sweaty brain. This is the weather and not me. So weird.
Anyway, we found a little farm-to-table restaurant and I got some water and food into my wide-eyed-soon-to-be-freshman-son. Hopefully, he would talk to me, but we only discussed the local politics (poli sci major) and what sights we would see. He said we’d talk later. I guess, no I KNOW, seeing his dorm made it all real. For both of us. Would I still have to be strong for both of us now that he is a burgeoning adult? Never mind; I knew the answer.
Getting back to the hotel, we watched a movie, played on our phones, and talked a little. “Overwhelmed,” he said. “Scared out of my mind,” I thought. “It’s a lot to take in,” he said. “OHMYFUCKINGGOD” I thought. Okay, a good night's sleep, tours of the city and some shopping and we’ll...be...fine...sigh...
Tomorrow is the day we move in. I mean he moves in. I don’t know why I keep saying “we” about his college experience. We’re moving in. We’re taking this class or that. We’re buying a green lamp for our dorm. (It’s really cute). Tonight instead of both of us retreating to our computers to watch TikTok or the newest episode of White Lotus (staring Steve Zahn who I went to high school with and was the Ado Annie to his Will Parker) (Yes, name dropping is beneath me, but Steve is so amazing in this, I had to put it in there) we played gin-rummy and he kicked my ass six games to one. What the hell? I didn’t even try to lose. I have decided to take this as a sign from the universe and it means he’s ready to win and be on his own and be an adult and, whatever. Ugh. I hate losing.
It’s almost midnight and our move-in time is at 8am. He’s just gone to shower and I’m sitting here, hoping my melatonin will kick in soon, thinking this is the last night that I get to say “go to sleep” and he actually has to listen. Every night since he was born, I would say, “Sleep well, my angel”. Every night no matter where he was. And yes, I’ll keep saying it to him, but now it just may not be EVERY night. Wow. Just...wow. How? How is this possible? He was watching “Thomas the Train '' and “The Backyardigans” and that seems like a week ago. A few years ago I wrote a blog called “Magic Mommy Boo-Boo Kisses'' about his seventh birthday. His SEVENTH birthday. That was like two days ago! I can’t do this. I’m going to get on the plane on Sunday and think “What am I missing? What did I leave behind??” and I’ll realize it’s my oldest child.
Breathing. OMG...okay...I’m not going to cry.
Going to watch reruns of Outlander and fall asleep. Seriously… sigh…
Moving Day. The Road of Trials
At 5am I woke up with a start and was convinced we’d missed our move-in time. Shaking and heart pounding, I saw his little face in the other bed in the hotel room and he looked so not ready for all of this. Oh wait, that’s me. I’m projecting.
I lay there for a few hours thinking about the things I would miss about my eldest and how I couldn’t wait to see my youngest and how annoying I was going to be to him with just ONE son to mother until our actual alarm went off and then both of us just kind of looked at each other.
“Okay,” I said, “Let’s get moving!” (pun intended).
I went down to the lobby to grab the luggage cart, realized I had forgotten my key (needed for the elevator) texted my son to come to get me. He, of course, grabbed the Metro card instead, leaving both of us locked out of our hotel room. The manager smiled under his mask and gave us a new key. I swear I heard him mutter “Freshmen parents” under his breath. Our uber arrived and we made our way to his dorm. Neither of us could eat and I really felt like I was going to puke in the uber, but I was doing my best to hold it together and well, down.
As we grabbed all of his belongings, the deluge began. Not of tears, but of rain. The weather app said there was a 10% chance of rain. 10%!! ONE OUT OF TEN CHANCE OF RAIN. We looked at each other and began to laugh. The umbrella was already packed. Sigh...
“Road of Trials?” He asked.
“On with your hero’s journey!” I said. We brought everything up to his cute little room. We both just stood there.
I put my hand on his shoulder and asked, “How are you doing?”
He sighed. “I’m ready for this, mom.” He said.
“I know you are,” I said. “You can go back to the hotel and I think I can do the rest of the move on my own. I need to stop depending on you so much. I’m ready.”
This was our conversation almost verbatim. The words I wanted to hear and dreaded to hear all at the same time. I guess it was time for me to be ready too.
Back at the hotel in my college-mom-swag, I was packing up my stuff to head home. Sans child. He turns 18 in two weeks so he’s still a ‘child’ to me. Breakfast with him tomorrow and then back to California. I sat in my empty hotel room fidgeting like an ADHD kid. Didn’t even want to watch Outlander. So, I decided to go for a walk (because we’ve only been averaging five miles a day so maybe I’d toss a few more miles in there for good measure). I actually remembered to bring my umbrella for that ridiculous 10% chance of rain and as I stepped outside, I was ensconced in a sunshower - the perfect metaphor for all of the parents dropping off their kids for their freshmen year. (And actually all of those sophomores who didn’t get to go to ‘real school’ during the pandemic, but unfortunately they’re being treated like Jan from The Brady Bunch because they’ve been to college, just not like real college. Totally sucks for them and they deserve a welcome too!)
Anyway...back to my metaphor. Sunshower, blah, blah, blah. The sky, a beautiful endless array of blue and white with nothing but the potential for brighter days ahead. However, it’s raining like how it feels in my heart right now. The dichotomy of motherhood.
Have fun. Be safe. I love you, Max.
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