Not So Grounded

Maharishi University Here She Comes

Last week, over a 48-hour mind-bending, unplanned chain of events, Maddy applied, was accepted & got financial aid to the Maharishi University of Management, withdrew from Appalachian State, moved all her belongings back home, and is packing to leave Feb 2 for Fairfield Iowa.

She is completely, utterly, blissfully happy.  Finally.  Partly the school (welcoming, great curriculum, innovative, fabulous sustainable living program) and partly 'cause she can Go Away RIGHT NOW. 

She's loved everything about Appalachian, except that she could hike from her dorm to her home, that the cafeteria was across the quad from her preschool playground, that every trail, restaurant & party harkened been there done that ... Try as she might (and she did make a valiant effort) she knew she has to get out of town.

Sure she started a rational plan to transfer next fall.  But the universe seemed to have better plans.

Denial

I should write something heartfelt about Maddy's recent (finally!) high school graduation, considering I've been blogging on & off about it the whole year.  But I don't wanna.  A moment this big deserves all the procrastinating distance I can muster, thank you very much.  That it previews my encroaching fiftieth birthday, all the more reason to skip right over events that so rudely carve impenetrable monuments to the passage of time.

So instead, I'm writing a book.  And not about Maddy or Time or the Universal Truths we mid-life women share. 

Nope, I'm writing a book about psychics.  Cause it's fun and different and 'cause it successfully replaces empty nest realities with best-seller fantasies.  And denial works for me. 

Okay, I confess, it's also a goal, since I figured a goal might make my 50th more exciting.  I've never written a book, and previous stabs have been pretty awful.  So what the hell.  Trial-by-error I'm figuring it out.  It's fun, too, since a book has so much more room than a magazine article.  It's like jumping from an expedition sleeping bag to a California King. 

But since that borders too close to uncomfortable metaphor (passing my adventure torch to Maddy while I begin my 2nd half between luxurious, spacious Egyptian cotton ...) I shall return tenaciously to my distractions.

Accepted

Maddy understandably decided she wasn't much into me blogging about her life, afterall.  But she did approve the following announcement:  she's been accepted to several places, most notably Western Washington University in Bellingham.  Laurie's favorite acceptance is Savannah School of Art & Design.  And they're both deliriously happy.

We're heading back to Bellingham in April for the official "accepted freshman" weekend, when her other choices are also clear, and then she'll decide. 

I'm still writing about this year, stuffed appropriately in my bedside journal.  When she's in her 20's or 40's or, if she happens to ask, I'll wrap it in satin and pass her story back to her.

First Round Apps Done

Completed, submitted, paid for .... Colorado College, Muhlenberg College, Appalacian State, UNC-Asheville, and Americorps CCC in case come June Maddy prefers to jump into a gap year.  She'll probably add a few more in the next few weeks (Western WA, U of Oregon & Utah, Bard are up there right now).  But I'm impressed - she ploughed through.  And we learned Common App uploads have to be in Times New Roman ...

Now it's on to financial aid forms.

And I'm feeling way better.  Combo of EFT, Reiki, Friday night sob, Saturday yoga class & long nap cleared out the vibes that had caused me to drown in open air.  Wild animals will shake, shudder, and roughhouse after a pointed confrontation or stress.  Releases the energies.  My unusual deep sleep in the afternoon sun felt just the same. 

I'll see Lindsey again in 12 days -- that helps, too.

Doing Our Own Thing

Maddy & I have been doing our own things the last two weeks.  I'd say I'm really enjoying this phase, but, truthfully, I've loved every phase of parenting, each more compelling than the last.  Infant to toddler, diapers to her own wildly mismatched outfits, dress-up to Barbies to school dances ... just a blink ago she required the structures of mid-adolescence -- curfews, "What are you doing and who's going with you?" and house rules intended to sustain adult authority and parental protection.  I even got into being the most annoying mom in the world.  

Now we've landed on less hands-on parenting but more mutual respect, and I'm loving these deeper shores, too.

The new transition means we text each other our whereabouts rather than ask permission (her) or feel guilty when extending a business trip to play (me).  She goes with her friends to out-of-town concerts, tours UNC-Asheville alone with Lou and Laurie, checks into a Winston hotel with three friends ("Mom, we had to shop since the mall was right next door, and the jeans were such a good deal ...") and then next morning they get themselves to an excellent CapEd's SAT Boot Camp.  Even when we fight -- and we are fiery screamers -- we both know when to retreat, laughing civilly through our cell phones when face-to-face embers still smolder.

Last week while I was in California Maddy took the SAT, arranged letters of rec, drafted application essays, and painted the bathroom.  (John keeps our homefires ablaze and our kids blissfully humming when I'm out of town, and I hope he knows I am the most grateful wife on the planet.)  Tonight she made a 3-course dinner merely because she was first to reach the kitchen.  When John and I go to Atlanta next weekend she'll take the dogs for a run and make sure her inevitable party doesn't attract the cops.  

This is a cool phase, even with that party thing.

I do get wistful remembering a passel of cherry-cheeked kids on those luxurious snow days when I was still an ever-present mom.  They'd sled and shriek for hours, speeding furiously all the way down to our distant mailbox if the snow was just right. I'd hand out wool socks and prepare hot-chocolate warmth and bottomless pizza, lugging the big tv into the living room so they could watch a roaring fire alongside Julia Roberts (for the zillionth time).  I loved those days something fierce, even mopping up the puddle of snow gear abandoned by the front door.

But I feel a holy passage as I migrate from life director to awed witness of an unfolding adult.  My daughter is an amazing person, and this phase offers a miraculous glimpse from a brand new perspective.

Best Friends

Debbie & I met at preschool orientation, my first week in town.  She and another friend had schemed to find a new friend and seems I was the pick (Nancy liked my earrings; Debbie didn't like my hair but thought I was brave to wear it.)  Maddy and Laurie hated each other, but we forced them together anyway. I still remember the first play date, my 3-year-old climbing all over Debbie's kitchen counter while we baked cookies.  Debbie took an aggravating zillion years to make the perfect sandwiches, I recall, but I've since relied on her zen.  I used to feed them in the bathtub, which they loved and Debbie found bizarre, but she learned to accept, eventually maybe appreciate my preference for fun first.  

Our only children learned to love someone else so much they changed themselves for the better. 

Maddy's the serious powerhouse, fearless, compelling, fun, blunt, in-charge, doesn't much know or care what anybody thinks.  Laurie's the opposite, funny, sweet, quiet, always sensitive to the needs and feelings of others.  Maddy yells; Laurie's passive-aggressive.  Maddy's always moving, doing, dancing, was handy with an electric drill and paint rollers at far too young an age.  Laurie loves to read, talk, and lounge.  

Left unchecked Maddy woulda been that bossy, manipulative, power-hungry girl we protect our children from.  And Laurie never woulda left the house.  

They loved each other early, but they took much longer to navigate those differences successfully.  Most of the time they played together great.  But eventually Maddy would rev up, get more and more controlling and Laurie would shrink.  When Laurie reached her fill she would refuse to have anything to do with Maddy, who'd get devastated. Round & round they'd go, Debbie and I rescuing less and less as they got older.

In the end Laurie taught Maddy how to add nice, sensitive, and accommodating to her array of stengths.  And Maddy taught Laurie to go out there and be herself with confidence.  We count on Maddy to organize, and Laurie keeps us laughing.

All of which come in handy 15 years later as we sit at that same kitchen counter anticipating their futures.

The Gift of Time

Our Sunday afternoon push didn't happen, but we're working on it anyway.  

Chapman's out -- Maddy's not into their annual Broadway style dance-musical.  Middlebury's in with all its modern dance.  Colorado College has a cool block schedule (one 3.5 week class at a time) but my Denver friend texted the town might not suit Maddy's politics.  ("Go straight on Ronald Reagan Blvd. then turn right at the Focus on Family Building ...I'm not kidding.")  UCSB's back on the list.  U Oregon, too.

Yada yada.

The more I researched, though, the more I felt this weird time crunch, so much too do, so little time.  My tight chest worries we're already late.

When Maddy was an infant I decided that at least once a day I would make sure she could do something of her own choosing for as long as she pleased.  Nursing, staring at a single page in a colorful book, filling the same pitcher to water the same plant over & over ...  Fortunately my boss shared my suspicion that the universe was better served if my toddler could tie her shoes herself, as slowly as necessary, than if we rushed out the door.  Mads spent 10 years in Montessori when I learned Maria shared a similar belief. 

I'm not sure why I made that commitment, but I quickly recognized its value.  First of all, it wasn't a big deal -- not once did she do something so long that I had to cancel my life or shoot myself from sheer boredom.  

More importantly, she experienced Time as her ally, merely a law of nature like gravity or propulsion, that provides the intangible space necessary to do something 'till it's done.  Acquire a new skill, explore new surroundings, wrestle with an idea, finish a project.  No racing against, speeding up, or running for time ... all those futile battles against an enemy we can never defeat.  

Instead she learned -- more likely I learned -- that Time can be a good thing if we flow instead of fight.  Time is just a neutral space that gently offers a new moment.  And if we accept those moments as they come then things seem to unfold exactly when and how they should.  

I know college apps have deadlines, and Maddy's maniacal about meeting them.  But I hope we allow time to give us all we need in the process.

Getting More Serious

Finally saw my kid yesterday.  She's been at her Dad's all week, and between her dance & my work we've missed each other after school.  (Her Dad lives nearby, and -- as anyone who knows me would expect --  we've never had a schedule.  We all get along great, so we wing it based on every-changing activities.  At 17, Maddy comes and goes between homes as she chooses.)  She stopped by my office, ostensibly to work on college applications, but after we caught up, she fell asleep.  (The mono is improving dramatically, but the rainy day & cozy couch were too inviting.)

We realized we're talking about college plans a lot.  Seemingly all the time.  Weighing incessantly the options -- big school, small school; close to home or New England or those places where her favorite bands are currently touring (suggesting a Cool factor, not necessarily to turn groupie, although reminiscing about the 60's & 70's and the current delightful lives of my once-groupie friends, perhaps that's not a bad option?) (The gigs are in California and Washington, by the way.)  

All this talk is becoming a bit repetitive and annoying, particularly since we don't seem to resolve anything.  

So our best friends & we will dedicate Sunday to Concrete Action.  Maddy & Laurie will complete applications while Debbie & I sort through FAFSA and scholarship guides.  We will schedule more visits and any required auditions and portfolio reviews (Laurie is an amazing artist).  I'm thinking we'll also need to bake chocolate chip cookies, some comfort sustenance through all that tactical engagement.

Maddy has banned all college-related conversations until then.

Roadtrip Zen

Maddy felt worse so we cancelled the remaining trips to Rhode Island and Vermont and headed home from Hartford early Friday morning.  She spread out across the back seat, sleeping and watching movies while I drove uneventful, I-84 west across New York and then straight down I-81, through Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, and Tennessee.  Some crap food, an hilarious moment running out of gas (relishing my brand new Rav4 I just forgot to eye the gauge. I was delighted to learn AAA would rescue me from such idiocy.  Maddy did several exasperated eye-rolls, but I spied a smile.)  

It was a gorgeous blue-sky day, without agenda or impediment, just settled in an anciently familiar road trip zen.  Long drives offer me unparalleled silence, a chance to think or not think, to count my life's blessings, glance softly at the scenery, or indulgently repeat my favorite song or book excerpt over and over again.  Maddy's always in the back, with her blanket & pillow, earphones blaring Little Mermaid or Seinfeld or the newest Radiohead.  At dusk we ate meatloaf, green beans, and fresh berry pie at the Mountain View restaurant and watched the almost-full moon rise up over the back hill.  It carried us along the rest of the way, big and white across the indigo sky, and made the 14 hours fly effortlessly by. Finally home, John, Alden, and the dogs greeted us so boisterously I almost forgot my looming sense that these road trips are soon to end.

Truth is, my heart will shatter the day my daughter leaves home.  But I'm assuming the shards will reshape into a glorious new sculpture.

How Much Stress?

We got to Hartford late and fell into the apartment of my cousin's son (my 2nd cousin ...?), a 2nd year law student at UConn.  We're a tiny, close-knit family and Nathaniel's a sweetheart -- gave us his bedroom in the old character-filled (plus dozens of empty booze bottled decorating the mantle) duplex he shares with two 3rd years.  Maddy went to sleep, of course.  And I hung out on the couch eavesdropping into the lives of 20-something law students scheming about internships, school loan debt, job prospects, and the relative skill of their professors.  Being middle-aged, middle-career, I could whimsically enjoy how focused, articulate, and powerful these three seem to be. Having confidence, the right blend of professional excitement & angst, and your shit together makes for fun viewing.  Especially since Nathaniel has really good perspective about how he does & doesn't want his life to unfold.  

Next day we hit U Hartford, wandering around the 70's inspired campus during the tumult of the semester's beginning.  The Hart Center dance department is housed in a gorgeous, new off-campus performing arts center (a renovated Chrysler dealership that seems to have been a highly touted urban renewal project.)  The building & program offer beautiful rehearsal and performance space, a children's dance school, a cafe ... and an intense attitude.  The chair was incredibly gracious since we arrived unannounced, without an appointment the first week of classes.  And he has a lots to show-off.

But they felt competitive in all the wrong ways.  Tremendous accomplishment among the faculty and I'm certain the students were exceptional dancers.  But everything required auditions, and a subtle frenzied cut-throat air hung thick.  I remembered that old movie Turning Point -- competition that ruins relationships, cortisol levels, and the balls of your feet.  

Maddy liked the facilities but not so into the feel of the place, although she couldn't articulate why.  I thought no fucking way -- my child, blissfully, hasn't been exposed to this yet and she ain't starting as a college freshman.  She's intense & driven enough on her own without external help.  She'd either get sucked into mindless stress, or, more likely, she'd learn to hate dance.  My perpetual philosophy is don't wait to find the peace a good midlife crisis offers.  Grab hold of mindful joy early -- age 17 perhaps -- even if it means you never jump on Achievement's treadmill and must ignore the cacophony of carnival barkers seducing you toward Reality.  The message to my daughter?  Reality is overrated, and you're never too young to be truly happy.  Which usually requires lacing achievement with joy.

Later Nathaniel & I got Maddy take-out while she dozed on the couch watching Grey's Anatomy episodes.  I was eternally grateful we could cross a school off the list.

(Interesting ... before posting this I received notes from friends/readers suggesting Maddy look at the Hart School.  Maybe my initial perceptions were off.  Or maybe I've lived in la-la land so long I can't remember what the regular ol' world's like.)