Crack knuckles. Ok. Here we go.
I can’t tell you exactly why I stopped writing. I guess some of it had to do with wondering if my writing was good enough. Then, thinking people could probably care less what I had to say. And when it came to writing about my kids, well, they learned how to read and had access to the internet, so I was worried they would read what I wrote about them. Worse yet, I didn’t want any of their friends or the parents at school to know our business. Could you imagine if I chronicled them going through puberty and one of their friends saw it? We’d have to move.
But as I sit here driving home from dropping my firstborn off at college 7 hours away, I feel compelled to use writing to process this milestone. And for what it’s worth, to share with all the other moms out there going through the same thing.
Separation anxiety. That’s what I keep thinking about. Maddie was an expert at it from about 15 months to 15 years old. I could barely go to the bathroom without her thinking I had abandoned her. Preschool required a process where her two teachers would play “good cop, bad cop,” where one would take her from me swiftly, and the other would comfort her and distract her with her favorite activities. Bedtime required a whole other dose of child psychology, where I would give her two quarters. If she got out of bed after we tucked her in to ask a question, she had to give us a quarter. If she got out of bed and came into our room in the middle of the night, she would have to give us another quarter. Whatever money she had left the next morning, she could keep. The first night she came into our room, threw the quarters at me, said I could keep my money and climbed into bed with me. I guess she didn’t see the value of earning $15 a month as a two-year-old.
Leaving her with anyone else typically meant her crying so hard she’d make herself throw up - even her own father. Tom couldn’t even put her to bed without me.
When she was about three, our financial advisor came over, and she asked who he was. We explained he helped us save money for the future, like when she would go to college. She freaked out and told us she didn’t want to go to college. We had to talk her off the ledge and explain she had 15 years until that happened. She had plenty of time before she had to go away. Seemed like a long way away until now.
As the years went on, she was my constant companion and did better with separation, but she remained anxious when I wasn’t around. I can still see the image in my mind of her crying face on FaceTime when I would call her while I was away, even if it was just for the evening. Let’s just say I didn’t get out much.
Thankfully, the Velcro loosened over the years, especially once she got her license. She started working and spent more time with friends. I missed my little buddy, but loved seeing her thrive and gain independence and confidence.
And now here we are. Roles have reversed, and I’m the one with separation anxiety.
It all started last fall when she started her senior year of high school. All the “lasts” and people asking, “How are you holding up?” I really didn’t feel all that emotional for some reason. My response was typically that I know I will miss her, but I’m excited for her.
Then the summer started, and we realized our daughter had become more of a roommate. She came and went frequently without much interaction or conversation. Soon, the business of going away to college started. Orientation, getting finances in order, shopping, organizing, purging, packing and more shopping. By the end of the summer, the emotions started to kick in. My mind started going back through all the years. I kept thinking about the days at the park, the petting zoo, and the pool. I would see moms and their toddlers at the park while I walked the dog, and found myself tearing up. I missed my squishy babies who liked “mama time” and would snuggle with me on the couch. I missed picking them up from school, and they were happy to see me. It is true what they say - the days are long but the years are short. I mean, God, I have a kid going to college. It’s surreal.
People told me it would be hard. People told me I’d sob and probably cry the whole way home. And it was hard. But I only cried the moment we pulled up to the dorm to start the move-in process and when we said our final goodbye. The university did a great job not only with helping us schlep her stuff up to her room but also making it so parents didn’t hang around too long. On actual move-in day, she had a meeting for her Learning Living Program at 6 pm and the next morning with her RA at 8:30 am.
So, we didn’t have dinner with her and had to haul ass to her dorm first thing in the morning to say goodbye. In classic Stien calamity, that was stressful because with all the move-in traffic, we couldn’t get to her dorm fast enough, and I had to jump out of the car and walk a mile to get to her in time. As luck would have it, Tom made it to the lot near her dorm, and we walked up from opposite directions at the exact same time with just enough time to say a quick, tearful goodbye and told her to be good and have fun…but most importantly, have fun.
And I guess that is what has helped me get through this. Not only is she a great kid, with a strong work ethic, a good head on her shoulders and a passion for her nursing major, but she’s about to have the time of her life. The best four years of her life, and she will meet people who will become lifelong friends. She will create memories that will last forever.
I think about my college experience and all the people I met that I still talk to today, or at least keep up with on social media. I just had coffee last week with my best friend and roommate from college. No matter how much time goes by, we can always pick up right where we left off, except instead of talking about what classes we are taking or what parties we are going to this weekend, we commiserate over travel sports, perimenopause and aging parents.
Looking back at some of these old blog posts about life when the kids were younger makes me realize all those days - those crazy times, stressful moments, times I questioned myself as a parent, laughed at how insane things were at times and poured myself a glass of wine at the end of a long exhausting day - those were all really leading to this moment. It’s what we worked for - teaching her all the little things, the big things, the hard things, the joyous things - all so she could be on her own and learn even more about herself and her place in this great big world.
Will I miss her? One thousand percent. Will I worry about her? A million percent. Is this the end of parenting? Never.
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