River of Denial Runs Swift and Deep
I am happy for her. So happy. She is going to a school of her dreams — a small liberal arts, all-woman college on the east coast.
I am proud of her. So proud. Button-popping proud. If you knew her story, how she started at a pound and half, not breathing on her own, and how she is now going to an elite college that she earned all by herself, you’d be proud, too.
I am excited for her. So excited. She has already gotten to meet her roommate (through Facebook), who is from Pakistan. She has communicated with several of her professors, bought her bed-in-a-bag (and more stuff than will ever fit in a dorm room), and she is ready to go. That should all be in caps. Ready. To. Go.
All summer long, I have been excited, supportive, smiling, happy and, yes, a little braggy about her new life. In other words, I have been lying. I confess to you now that it has all been a facade — a false front spackled with busy-ness and held up by a rickety structure of self-deception all perched tenuously on that deepest and swiftest of streams — the Great River of Denial.
First there was graduation and all the attendant paperwork, including applications and financial aid for college. We planned the graduation party around my stepson and daughter-in-law’s wedding shower so we were busy, busy, busy.
Then there was the wedding in Seattle, surrounded by a three-week road trip out west. Before we left, we were busy planning and packing. I don’t have to explain how busy we were on the trip itself. Then when we got back, there was all that unpacking and laundry and shopping for the dorm room and registering the boys for school. Busy, busy, busy.
Busy-ness is the best friend of denial, and a key support structure for my beautiful facade. Things were going along fine until one day this weekend when my DH and each of my three boys said stupid things to me. Suddenly, the whole structure collapsed and went sliding into the river, pulled downstream by a torrent of my own tears. It finally hit me — my baby girl is leaving. But it’s worse than that. She is leaving me with all these BOYS!
Now don’t get me wrong, I love my boys. They are amazing individuals — funny, insightful, bright as shiny pennies and genuinely kind. But, and I say this with love, they just don’t get it. My daughter looks around, sees what needs to be done and does it. My sons can’t find their hands dangling from their wrists at the ends of their arms.
I have to use complete sentences with my sons. When I talk to my daughter, a typical conversation sounds like this:
Me: “Don’t forget the thing.”
The Girl: “Got it.”
Me: “Can you believe _________?”
The Girl: “Oh, my God, I know. What an idiot.”
Me: “What should we do for dinner?”
The Girl: “How about flat bread with marinated artichokes, goat cheese, tomatoes and garlic. I just saw a recipe.”
Here is what a conversation with her brothers sounds like:
Me: “Don’t forget to take out the garbage.”
One of the boys (OoTB): “What?”
Me: “Please take out the garbage.”
(OoTB): “When?”
Me: “Now.”
(OoTB): “Now what?”
Me: “Take out the garbage.”
(OoTB): “What?”
Me (reaching for an alcoholic beverage): “Garbage, garbage, garbage. Now, now, now!”
Sigh. It’s all over. No more girly movies. No more lunches and walks and shopping. No more knowing eye rolls at the crazy males who inhabit our house. It will just be me. And a lot of testosterone.
Some mothers I know who are seeing their children off to college are feeling sentimental, but not particularly devastated by the prospect. They need time and space and, in some cases, healing before they will want to spend time again with the overgrown teenagers who have taken over their lives.
I’m lucky, because in addition to loving my daughter, I really like her. And she has the grace to lie to me and say she really likes me, too. And so, yes, I’m happy and proud and excited for her. But I’m totally miserable for me. Please excuse me now, because I’m out of Kleenex and my keyboard is getting waterlogged and I’m on the verge of electrocuting myself.
Category: Mom Challenges, School, teens
I’m right there with you. (((Hugs)))
Hugs back, and thanks.
Hugs to you and lots of kleenex! I sent my oldest off to college 7 years ago and life has never been the same.
More hugs. Thanks. I’m thinking of investing in Kleenex. Our demographic will be using a lot of it.
Awww… Hugs to you! I can only imagine how hard it is.
Thanks. Hard and good and hard, but really good, too.
Our girls are only gone for a full-day of kindergarten and I’m feeling lonely. I cannot imagine what it will be like when they go to college. I’m sending virtual tissues for you. If you electrocute yourself, how will you write another beautiful post like this?
Thanks for the warm thoughts. I’ve got my techno wizard son working on a tear absorbing keyboard to keep me safe in the future.
Tears are streaming down my face…sniff…My kids are in reverse of yours, boys older and my girl is the youngest. But, I never really thought about the language barrier in the house…sniff… your absolutely right…have to explain everything…sniff…My oldest is still home and going to community college. I have maybe one more year to be in total denial.
Thanks so much. Never deny the power of denial. It is a powerful weapon when you need it.
OMG, this is awesome. I’m laughing out loud and crying at the same time. You nailed boytalk and that perfect synergy/communion of Girltalk too. NOW I know what crazy impulse had you taking that epic roadtrip – it was a temporary escape to The River.
Ah, Cindy, you have uncovered my secret plot. And it really worked … for a while. Now on the road trip out to Mass, just the girl and me. Having a blast and have managed to shed only a few tears today.
I always thought that I would be fine having all boys. One down and I just figured a couple more of them would be just as sweet. But after reading this, I’m really hoping for a girl. Or else I do a lot of banging my head against the wall and drinking in the teen years.
On a side note, you do have a great daughter and I know a certain toddler who will miss her.
Thanks Lisa. She had fun with that certain toddler. On a side note, head banging and alcohol go with parenting teens of both genders. All the MOBs (Moms of Boys) are amazing women who feel pretty darn lucky. Either way, it’s all good.
Oh man….see….this is why I have already told my 1yo daughter and 3 year old son they simply are not allowed to move out. EVER. under ANY circumstances.
I hope it gets easier for you as the days pass. She sounds amazing. Lucky Mom. And lucky daughter.
Lucky mom, true. I have spent a lot of time and energy laying down the law to my children about growing up, but as you see, it has done no good. I always said “no double digits”, but I wavered and let them turn 10. Be strong. Stick to those single digits.
Susan, you did a perfect job capturing the boy state of mind! Now I with I had a girl to commiserate with. I love my boys to death and they’re awesome kids – but communication-wise, well, you nailed it.
Best of luck to her on this year’s adventure.
Maggie
Thanks, Maggie. I’m back home with my boys. I got some great hugs and some boy speak. I wonder if they have an app for that.
I couldn’t stop crying about this. My daughter is only 3 and already we’ve bonded girly talks. lol. Hugs to you for the many hilarities and insanity that will ensue with all the testosterone around.
MJ, just think of all the blog fodder. Thanks for the hugs.
And I thought that I had it so bad. Having you go to school in the same town where we lived gave me the best of two worlds; You away at college and still minutes from home. I miss her already.
Love from Mom and grandma.
Yeah… Boys. They have jell-o for brains.
But sweet jello! Sweet. I swear.
Hugs to you. Hope her first year is easy on both of you!
Very sweet. Boys love their mamas, for sure. Plus mine are really cute (that’s a totally unbiased opinion).