Annals of Successful Parenting - Hazards of Success

Since last I wrote, we have successfully deposited the college student in her dorm. We have successfully provided the bed with the following supporting materials: a mattress topper, a mattress and mattress-topper allergy-barrier cover, a mattress pad; and sheets, a duvet, and a fuzzy blanket. We have met the roommate and found her nice. We have met the college president, who walked through the halls as we were unloading, all of us sweaty in the very humid, hot, unair-conditioned dorm. Within moments of arrival, the college student soon had her wall decorated with strings of lights and a collage of photos. Not a one of her family, I will mention. That’s okay. I’ll sit in the dark. (You’re supposed to say that with a Yiddish accent. “That’s uhkay, I’ll sit in the dahk.”)

As we were leaving campus, we passed a trio of mother, father, and new college student laden with bags and bins from Bed, Bath, and Beyond. The mother snapped a photo of her daughter and said aloud, sort of to us and sort of to the trees, “I’m leaving my firstborn at college. How is it possible?”  Her plaintive, confused voice could have been mine. “I just said ‘goodbye’ to mine,” I said. Then my voice cracked and I pushed my sunglasses up my nose. What else was there to say? There were many of us bewildered moms and dads and sad siblings orbiting the campus that day. 

This is the fruit of success, Readers. I say this with bitterness. Bitterness - because “they” all say that success can be empty. There are several reasons for success to be empty. There’s aiming for the wrong things, things that won’t actually bring fulfillment, things like money or fame or, you know, objects. We’ve had that drilled into us, after all. Rich men and camels and eyes of needles and heaven and such. Success can bring money, but money doesn’t buy happiness. Although, up to a certain point, in fact, money does buy happiness, it’s just that excess money doesn’t. But I digress. 

Other ways success can bring emptiness include an all-too-human tendency called hedonic adaptation, a tendency for people get used to their circumstances, good or bad.  I suppose it’s a type of regression to the mean, returning to a base level of happiness, which is a tendency of organisms, which we humans are. We seek homeostasis, right? This adaptation is good when you’re in a concentration camp, for example, because it allows you to endure and ultimately survive - unless you get killed, I mean. But in regular life, it can mean that once you attain a longed-for, worked-for goal, the happiness it brings you pales. For example, for years I wanted an agent. Now, I have an agent. This was super exciting for me for awhile. Now, however, I’m anxiously awaiting the next step: the publisher. (Please send good vibes, even if you don’t believe in sending good vibes) 

And then there’s the dubious success of raising children who leave. Literal emptiness. Which brings me back to my favorite subject, myself. How am I feeling? Last week, a friend invited me and another friend out for a “sad moms coffee.” We met when our children were toddlers in preschool. One sad mom summed up my feelings about the college student’s departure perfectly. “I know my child is where he is supposed to be, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I am mourning the end of his childhood.” 

Naturally, this coffee event ended in tears. No, it didn’t end in tears, because we are not total idiots. It contained tears, though. 

And yesterday, the first day of school in our town, a friend texted me after her two kids got to their first days of middle and high school, that she understood how I must be feeling about the college student being at college and the 9th grader starting high school, because she was so sad and crying. I texted back with attempts at sympathy, saying something about how every life landmark our children reach creates mixed emotions of pride and nostalgia, but really, I couldn’t help adding, “Yeah, we’re gonna get old, mama.” Which is what this is all about, isn’t it? I mean, not about the getting old, which we will be lucky to do, but about the end result of all this life: death. 

This may have something to do with the well of hypochondria I’ve fallen into this week. There was a tooth scare (it’s fine), and a pulled muscle in my torso somewhere that I know is from the insane amount of weed-pulling I did this weekend but that I fear is something ruptured or malignant.  Even a mosquito bite on my neck that flares up when I watch TV has me twitchy. I kid not. Zika? Malaria? 

Man, success sucks. 

Now, perhaps this post is not as uplifting as I might like it. So, I offer this tidbit of wisdom from the definitely wise Pema Chodron. It's something I'm working on right now. Perhaps you should, too. 

SEEING CLEARLY"Meditation is about seeing clearly the body that we have, the mind that we have, the domestic situation that we have, the job that we have, and the people who are in our lives. It’s about seeing how we react to all these things. It’s seeing our emotions and thoughts just as they are right now, in this very moment, in this very room, on this very seat. It’s about not trying to make them go away, not trying to become better than we are, but just seeing clearly with precision and gentleness."Pema Chodron.

Update - Includes Advice From An Expert

Here’s what’s going on around here:

• My neck. I have this skin cancer on my neck and it’s not going away until Feb. 22nd, when the plastic surgeon can take it off. No one is concerned about this skin cancer on my neck except me. So I am concerned enough for all of them. My concern about my skin cancer on my neck can stretch to envelop the concern not shared by the husband, the dermatologist, the dermatologist’s nurse, the receptionist at the plastic surgeon, and the plastic surgeon. Although he did say it isn’t something you’d want to leave alone. Which statement would have sent me scrabbling in my purse for a stray Xanax, if I’d remembered I might have one. My ability to recall this potential savior was blocked by the enormous wave of concern this statement by the plastic surgeon loosed within me. Yes, my concern is flexible and expanding, like a mother’s love flexes and expands to encompass each new child. 

• Speaking of a mother's love: The senior. Apparently college application deadlines weren’t the last time the applicant had to communicate with her schools. Now we’ve entered the stage when, apparently, the applicant is expected to ping these schools with updates on her awards, grades, and activities. I thought we were going to be allowed to just pretend there was nothing going on until late March when the notifications will come out, but no, apparently, there is no rest for the stressed. 

• Speaking of the Senior: Externalization:

Externalization is a technical term describing how teenagers sometimes manage their feelings by getting their parents to have their feelings instead. In other words, they toss you an emotional hot potato. 

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/parenting/drama-queens-whats-really-going-on-in-a-teenage-girls-head/article28549947/?utm_source=twitter.com&utm_medium=Referrer:+Social+Network+/+Media&utm_campaign=Shared+Web+Article+Links

I am pretty sure I’ve been juggling hot potatoes for the last couple of months. Now I understand.  I’m going to buy this book by Lisa Damour.

There’s a short interview with her on this website. 

• On the plus side, I’ve been working on the draft of my book and that’s going well. 
• I'm excited about Einstein's gravitational waves proving to be true. 

Have a nice weekend, catch those hot potatoes, and for heaven’s sake, wear sunscreen. 

Reach, Target, and Safety Goals

Hello, Readers, I am just writing a quick post this week, as this evening marks the start of the Season’s Festivities around here and I have a frittata and a soup to cook. 

It’s been a blergh week. That means no news on the book front, and lots of work on the parenting front: the Senior danced her final Nutcrackers. Much emotion involved in that. Following that came assessment of the school work she needed to complete, as well as the college applications. She’s working up to the deadline on those things. It’s not how I wanted it, but that’s how it is. Since before Thanksgiving, she’s been dancing all weekend, every weekend, in different cities around Massachusetts and Vermont, on top of her regular classes - oh, and school, too! So there wasn’t any time for essays. Or sleep, actually. (I can practically see Frank Bruni flexing his writing hand for another Op Ed piece on over-achieving children and their terrible parents.) What can I say? Some kids want to overachieve. You really can’t stop ‘em. 

On the plus side, I got some good advice during my monthly conference call with E and C. I told them I’m in a waiting mode, and it’s frustrating. Waiting and rejection are also wearing at my noives. (Say that with a New Jersey - Joizy - accent.) I’m starting to say self-deprecating things in front of my children, which they hear with dismay. Not healthy. E told me to try to find some activities that boost my self esteem that aren’t related to publishing. Good advice. My old NYC therapist gave me that advice, too.

C told me to take Seth Godin’s advice and “pick yourself.” Stop waiting for permission. That resonated, since giving yourself permission is definitely one of the keys to success I identified. Once again, therefore, I must remind myself I do have permission to undertake this goal - or whatever goal is important to me. So while in this waiting period, waiting to hear from publishers, I should choose myself, which means write the dang book, get immersed. Get excited. Do it for me. Keep moving and going. 

Maybe I should look at my situation in college parlance. After all, around this house, we’ve been thinking in those terms for months. Okay, sure. My Reach goal is publication by a traditional imprint, with an editor and all that. My Target goal is self publication. And my Safety goal is getting that book written, which will achieve a few things: get it done; provide me with new material to blog on and for articles; allow me to see the next project. As in the college search, it is wise to find your safety options appealing. You want to be happy with yourself and where you are, even if you fall short of your reach. 

Happy Seasons Greetings Holidays! 

Annals of Successful Parenting, Volume: I Forget

I think we’ve visited our last college. Vassar. A gorgeous day, a gorgeous campus. By now, I could run an information session for any liberal arts college on the Eastern Seaboard. Not that Vassar is on the Eastern Seaboard - at least not technically. In spirit, though, it is definitely a fine little ship docked on the Eastern shores of our great nation. 

My she was yar

Vassar: My she was yar. That’s a reference to Katharine Hepburn in one of the best movies ever, The Philadelphia Story, which pretty much sums up the Eastern Seaboard experience. Or at least the WASP version. (And is there a more important version?)

Anyhoo, as I was saying, I could run an information session, but I wouldn’t trust myself to run a tour, because walking backwards is not recommended if you don’t know the campus. Although now that I think about them all, on one of our tours, the tour guide announced that at that particular institution (Small Liberal Arts College in the East - SLACE) the guides do NOT walk backwards, but walk forwards - yes, for safety reasons, but also to emphasize the forward-facing attitude of that SLACE. 

Gag me. 

No, really, do, because I’m about to spew a generic information session, from the diversity of the student body to the “holistic application process” to financial aid "meeting one hundred percent of demonstrated need" and believe me, if I hear it one more time, I may actually die of boredom. 

However, I have enjoyed hanging out in the student center of whatever SLACE we visit. It’s always fun to observe the clothing and footwear on the students. Yesterday netted some white platform sandals over black tights on one, a pair of floral combat boots on another, and a totally nondescript looking boy accessorized with black cat ears, a little black nose, and whiskers. “Possibly a furry?” the Senior suggested. Hard to say. I'm not even sure what that is. He wasn’t wearing anything furry. All he reminded me of was the phase that the 8th grader went through when she was in pre-K of wanting a little black nose and whiskers on her face every morning before school. I complied. Sometimes you need a little mask to get through the day, I guess. 

Better than a drink, right? 

Speaking of which, we dodged a bullet regarding teen drinking this past weekend. The husband and I left the Senior at home alone while we went off to visit friends in Boston. The 8th grader went to a friend’s house. So it was a ripe set-up for a "Risky Business" teen blowout party. I felt obligated to leave my child alone at least once before she goes away to some SLACE. 

Before we left, we brought the her to tears with stories about how you can die from alcohol poisoning, and Roofies (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flunitrazepam), and not letting drunken teenagers into our house because we could be held liable for anything that happened to them. When we returned, the house was in excellent order. In fact, in better order than we left it, thanks to some of the Senior’s friends, who know how to, say, fold blankets and comforters - something the Senior seems to have avoided learning. (She is so busy, after all. Not my fault at all, at all..) She told us she had nothing to drink at all, at all. And we believed her. 

As a fellow mom recently told me, she has been so overwhelmed of late that she has decided to consider everything a success. And so it is, Readers. 

Annals of Successful Parenting, Vol. ?

Pardon me while I let out a big sigh of exhaustion - or relief. Last week was spring break, and my girls and I went away. No, we didn't hit Ft. Lauderdale in our bikinis and Miraclesuits. We hit the road. Colleges were visited. Colleges were enjoyed. Only minor tension eruptions occurred. For example, when at the information session for Columbia, the admissions representative talked about how Columbia loves applicants strong in the arts, Someone made the mistake of looking at Someone Else and nudging her (very, very gently in the arm. Very gently). The result was a hissed, “Stop looking at me! I can hear.”

But whatevs, as we mothers say, thus proving how evolved and relaxed we are.

Not relaxed enough to sleep well, I must add. Just so you can hear the tiny strains of the mini pity violin tuning up. That high school class trip that descended on our second night at the very chic Best Western Plus hotel did nothing to help me sleep better. And they mobbed the breakfast room, too. Sheesh.

Furthermore, I spent more time at King of Prussia Mall in King of Prussia, PA, than is good or healthy. I couldn’t refuse it, though, as the mall was visible from our hotel room – and I must admit a weakness for Nordstrom. My discovery of the existence of this mall was what convinced the 13-year-old to join her sister and me on this college jaunt. I wasn't sure which I liked less, having to appease the 13-year-old for enduring hours in the car and traipsing around small liberal arts colleges, or leaving her at home alone for three days (the husband would be home in the evenings) with the TV and computer. So we did the mall. Although, to her dismay, I refused to pay $59 for a dry clean only shirt for her.

Um, no way.

Readers, I learned a few things:

1. Both my daughters now find me vaguely disgusting. How do I know? Because we had two beds for three bodies, and neither wanted to sleep with me, even though the elder daughter cannot sleep in a bed with anyone, and the younger one used to want to sleep with me. I know this is normal, it’s a sign of them growing up. But suddenly, there I was, awash in the realization that I will always be vaguely disgusting to them from now on. Never again will I be the perfect Mommy.

Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever been that. After all, the younger daughter was still in preschool when she used to greet my morning kiss - er, breath - with, “What’s dat ‘mell?”

2. King of Prussia Mall is the largest mall in the United States, “in terms of leasable space,” according to Wikipedia. This is a nod to Mall of America, which is somewhere in the Heartland, and is supposed to be the largest mall, in terms of overall space.

3. My children are going to leave me. Possibly for a bucolic campus with a dorm that encourages nudity and sexual expression (Swarthmore). Possibly for a bucolic campus where students throw their backpacks in a heap just inside the door to the dining hall without worry of theft (Haverford). Possibly for a grittier, urban campus where no one would dream of leaving a backpack unattended (If you see something, say something). But they are going to leave me.

4. I am not wacko. Here is wacko: the mom who chatted with me about bringing her 7^th grader on the tours. That part wasn’t wacko. There were a reassuring number of bored-looking younger siblings on these tours. What was wacko was that her older child was in 9^th grade. I felt like pulling her down by the flap on her trench coat and saying, “Okay, then, lady, step to the back of the tour so that 11^th graders can hear the tour guide.” I am sure I looked a bit shocked when she told me this. She mentioned something about needing to look early if your child does something athletic, and maybe that’s true. But I think not. Wacko.

Lest you are thinking how judgemental I am, let me offer this anecdote, which happened yesterday. I wore to the gym my t-shirt that says, “I am silently correcting your grammar.” One of the regulars in my NIA class commented on the shirt and I said that it had been a gift.* She said, “Oh. That makes sense, because you don’t seem like a judgy person. Some people really would be silently correcting your grammar, but you don’t seem that way at all.” Which I ain’t.

Isn’t that sweet?

*Which it was. I won it at a random give-away on a funnyblog by Wendi Aarons.