I was over the moon when my daughter, the ever-charming Lily, graduated from high school last spring. Finally, I thought, the chaos was behind us… or so I hoped.
This summer, she’s been back home, working intermittently at her job at the local cinema, but spending more time lounging around than I’d like. As we approach August 22nd, the day we’ll drop her off in Burlington, Vermont, I know I’ll feel the pang of missing her. But right now? Not so much.
Currently, I’m navigating a barrage of requests for egg salad sandwiches and trips to the mall. It’s baffling how she can never find a beach towel (or even a regular one) when she needs it. And don’t even get me started on her elusive favorite sandals! I can only hope her future roommates have a better knack for keeping track of her belongings than I do. Perhaps they’ve mastered the fine art of boiling an egg too. I wonder if those skills are listed on the roommate matching forms? Probably not.
This is likely part of the reason students venture off to college. Beyond academics, I suspect learning to manage her own life—like keeping track of her stuff and whipping up a decent sandwich—will be as vital as mastering organic chemistry.
Knowing Lily as I do, I can picture her surrounding herself with a circle of friends who’ll cater to her needs. She has a natural talent for attracting followers. For the last 18 years, I’ve been one of them, and I can hardly wait for August 22nd.
It feels like the countdown to my freedom—like a release from a long stint in a mental institution. It really does.
I’m not saying I haven’t tried to prepare her for independence. I have! And I’ve succeeded in some areas. For instance, she manages her bank account and knows exactly how much she has. She can shower and dress herself and is punctual. Schoolwork gets done on time, and tardiness makes her cringe—a trait she definitely inherited from me.
However, unlike me but very much like her father, she struggles with scheduling appointments—whether for car maintenance or a dermatologist. Yet, she has no problem booking her mani-pedis. Thankfully, she won’t have her car on campus next year, but she’ll still need to find a dermatologist; we’ve spent years and countless dollars battling her acne. I suppose I can take comfort in the fact that if she neglects her skin, at least her nails will look fabulous. I’m sure she’s already checked out the best nail salons in Burlington.
While she often talks about becoming an independent woman, I remind her that doing her own laundry would be a solid first step. And let’s not forget about getting her immunization records from the pediatrician. I think she’s managed to do a complete load of laundry only once in her life. As for those records? I know I’ll have to step in. They’re just as crucial for me as they are for her—after all, they’re part of my impending release!
During one of our numerous mall outings to gather various essentials, we sat down for dinner. She expressed her concerns about the injustices in the world and her desire to use her talents to make a difference, whether during or after college. I admire her passion.
I suggested she might want to start making a difference in my world by picking up after herself, cooking her own pasta, or buying her own strawberries. She rolled her eyes—her way of saying, “Mom, you just don’t get it. I’m talking about saving the WORLD!”
Oh, I understood. She’s always encouraging me to be more organized and tidy. So I seized the moment to quote Gandhi, telling her to “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” She looked at me like I had lost my mind and questioned whether I was diminishing Gandhi’s wisdom with my mundane requests.
I can’t say for sure, not having known Gandhi, but I bet he’d support my efforts. I’m convinced he had teenagers, and I’m sure they rolled their eyes at him too. I challenged her to find me a photo of Gandhi in a wrinkled or dirty sari. I’m still waiting for that evidence.
In an effort to embody the change I wish to see in my life, I plan to do some cleaning and organizing today. After all, I want to make Gandhi proud. (Don’t we all?) But I can’t dive into that right away; I need to call the pediatrician and the car dealership to sort things out for Lily. Who knows how long that will take?
I think I can hear Gandhi “tsking” at me right now. I know he’s shaking his head. Meanwhile, I keep repeating to myself, “August 22nd, August 22nd, August 22nd!”