(no subject)
If there were any more stress and anxiety manifest in my house, I swear the house itself would be quivering. In the last week, it suddenly became "real" to my younger daughter that yes, she really is going away to college. As in, 5 hours away. As in moving out of the house and bedroom that she has lived in her entire life. She is a thoroughly independent and competent human being, but always before, she had her mother to get her back for her, should anything (like school bureaucracy, banking, whatever) go amiss. As of Sunday afternoon, she will be on her own. At least as much on your own as anyone can be in the days of cell phones and wifi. But still, a very big change.
The only night that she has slept well was after 5 hours of slogging through torrential rainfall and hip deep mud at the RenFaire-physical exhaustion trumps all!
My older daughter, having survived 4 years of an Ivy League undergraduate education leaves on Wednesday to start her doctoral program. None of her anxieties center on school. They are all centered on utilities and rent and furniture and all the other symbols, burdens and priviledges of adulthood. Theoretical physics? Piece of cake. But how in hell do you arrange for delivery of furniture to a place that you don't live in yet? And can't live in until the bed arrives? Or how do you prove that you are a good credit risk to a utility, if you have never had to pay any of your own bills before?
This child is wearing a path in the wooden floor of our basement with her pacing.
And the father of these two? (and also, my belove spouse) I suspect that he is doing his very best to concentrate on problems at work (not that that is so hard for him-he is good at that!) so as not to think about his babies growing up and moving away. Unfortunately, not consciously thinking about something that is bothering you doesn't mean that deep down it isn't bothering you. And he is suffering from the malignity of inanimate objects as a result. All I can say is, he better not reduce the women of his house to tears on move-in day for the younger daughter, the way he did on move-in day for the older daughter 4 years ago. I'm older and wiser and 4 years closer to menopause and therefor 4 years bitchier, and I won't put up with it.
Me? Hell yeah, I am stressed and anxious. I'm less concerned with the older one, at least on the issues that she is worried about. Somehow, she will find a way to set up and live in her apartment, even if it means eating from paper plates at the kitchen counter for a couple of days (she has solved the bed delivery at least!). And, she will be closer to home, should she need assistance. She also has friends in Philadelphia waiting for her. But my baby is moving 5 hours from me. I've done everything I possibly can to make her transition easy, starting with raising her to be able to take care of herself. But if she needs me, I can't just be there. And that is the hardest thing for a mother.
The only night that she has slept well was after 5 hours of slogging through torrential rainfall and hip deep mud at the RenFaire-physical exhaustion trumps all!
My older daughter, having survived 4 years of an Ivy League undergraduate education leaves on Wednesday to start her doctoral program. None of her anxieties center on school. They are all centered on utilities and rent and furniture and all the other symbols, burdens and priviledges of adulthood. Theoretical physics? Piece of cake. But how in hell do you arrange for delivery of furniture to a place that you don't live in yet? And can't live in until the bed arrives? Or how do you prove that you are a good credit risk to a utility, if you have never had to pay any of your own bills before?
This child is wearing a path in the wooden floor of our basement with her pacing.
And the father of these two? (and also, my belove spouse) I suspect that he is doing his very best to concentrate on problems at work (not that that is so hard for him-he is good at that!) so as not to think about his babies growing up and moving away. Unfortunately, not consciously thinking about something that is bothering you doesn't mean that deep down it isn't bothering you. And he is suffering from the malignity of inanimate objects as a result. All I can say is, he better not reduce the women of his house to tears on move-in day for the younger daughter, the way he did on move-in day for the older daughter 4 years ago. I'm older and wiser and 4 years closer to menopause and therefor 4 years bitchier, and I won't put up with it.
Me? Hell yeah, I am stressed and anxious. I'm less concerned with the older one, at least on the issues that she is worried about. Somehow, she will find a way to set up and live in her apartment, even if it means eating from paper plates at the kitchen counter for a couple of days (she has solved the bed delivery at least!). And, she will be closer to home, should she need assistance. She also has friends in Philadelphia waiting for her. But my baby is moving 5 hours from me. I've done everything I possibly can to make her transition easy, starting with raising her to be able to take care of herself. But if she needs me, I can't just be there. And that is the hardest thing for a mother.