And so she is moved in.
Move in day, relatively seamless. Woke up at 6:30am, in the hotel room. The Teenager beside me. Sleeping so blissfully. We’d spent the night playing Cards Of Humanity, I suppose this generations Trivial Pursuit; so fun, laughed so hard could not breathe. I got up, showered, routine shtick. I felt fine. Not emotional, not as I had been over the weekend. I was in good spirits. I ventured to the Target, up the block, more supplies purchased. Getting back to the hotel room, Josh was awake. We sat by the pool. I read Ruth Ware. I felt calm. At nine, we woke The Teenager. Got breakfast. Move in time was scheduled for 1:30, as determined by the school. The three of us lounged, again, at the pool, until it was time to go. Sunny, Boston is, hot too at the moment. As we got in the car, I confessed to butterflies. Josh felt them too. As did The Teenager. That’s the feeling, the butterflies, the anticipation. Being in the air conditioned car, a privilege. Seeing the cars lined up at the school, thrilling. Pulled in like you do at the airport. A kid with bleached blonde hair and a pin that said She/Her/Hers and a clipboard greeted us. Moments later, four more kids pulled up with carts, they too wearing their pronoun badges, loaded their respective carts with The Teenagers things—her mini fridge and her foam mattress and the Hefty bags filled with clothing and the boxes filled with sharp things, hard things, things with goo inside them. We followed these kids into the building, up to her floor, to her room. The wonder of walking into this sun-filled room, literally one wall is floor to ceiling window, so peaceful, looking out onto a courtyard, at the moment filled with children, felt like home. This place, her home, for the next nine months. All hers. By 1:45, The Teenager, Josh and I were unpacking. We quickly fell into roles, no whining, just automated and animated, unloading garbage bag after garbage bag, ripping open boxes, folding clothes, putting them in their new drawers and closet. No one a monster, no one a jerk, no one flustered, each of us, peaceful. My self-appointed job, to remain strong, to remain supportive, felt natural, felt comforting, felt real. An errand to the CVS, to get water and Pepsi. A trio in comfort, moving towards the one goal of setting up a home. Photos on the wall, posters, lights up. By 3:30, we were done. Awkwardly we looked at one another. Should I stay or should I go, I wondered? In the next 45 minutes, we wandered around the vertical campus. By the time we returned to The Teenager’s suite, it was clear it was time for the adults to leave. No speeches, no teary good-byes, no need. All was said in all that was done: the labelled bags, the drive, the time spent cleaved. Hugs, kisses, see you tomorrows-at-orientation, and off Josh and I went, leaving The Teenager to slide into her life, with her new suite mates. What a time, what a time she will have. Me, I’m calm. Knowing that she is in good hands, her own. And that, that is what’s made today so wonderful. The Teenager, living the dream.
Also, while at Target, I discovered this little ditty.
Gillian Flynn: “I think fiction, as far as it regards women, just needs to tackle that idea of pressing to make sure that women of all different types are seen and explored and related to.”
Telltale Sign of men’s media training: “I will now step back and take a long time to listen.”
A MeToo literary moment.
A look at the iconic “Just Another Girl on the IRT.”
The only way I know how to avoid a shark attack is to not go in the water, which is one of the tips here.
Are you experiencing hip pain?
Getting rid of your stuff.
Sex Ed, Dutch style.
And now have a laugh with Laurie Kilmartin.
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