Before you go #13: Get in the picture!

Dear Sam,

One of the best reasons I had for falling behind on your senior blog was beach vacation!  By some miracle, your sister’s spring break coincided with the rest of us, so we were able to book a week at an all inclusive in Jamaica.  Every time we manage to get all of you together, I worry that it will be our last chance—indeed it gets harder to wrangle all of your schedules every year.  Next year, you’ll be at a different college, and the odds of two colleges aligning with our local school district seems pretty unlikely.  So we opted for a big finale (though if life delivers a few curtain calls in the coming years, I know I, for one, won’t complain.  You might, however).  We did give your older sister the option not to attend this year, telling her we would understand if she preferred to spend the week with her friends somewhere.  “My friends don’t pay,” she deadpanned, so it was all lucky 7 of us reunited for a week in paradise.  I suppose we will have to offer you the same courtesy (a nod to your growing up) next year, and my guess is even the promise of a free vacation won’t lure you into spending a week with us.

Even though you still live with us and we are, technically, still in charge of your comings and goings, you tried to opt out this year.  We refused your request.  You may not want to be around us, but we—especially I—still desperately crave your presence at all family events.  I just bought new bedding for our bed and it included a pillow stitched with the phrase “together is my favorite place”.  Belatedly, I realized that the singular “my” should probably have been “our” (especially since I share the bed with your dad), but I quickly acknowledged that “my” (singular) is probably more accurate.  I am happiest when you are all with me, though it has admittedly always been difficult to find activities that all enjoy together.  With 5 children and no doubles among you, we have always struggled with family friendly activities.  There are almost 9 years separating the oldest and youngest, and what appeals to toddlers rarely appeals to middle schoolers, and what captivates a middle schooler can be awfully boring to a college student.  As you and your sister approach adulthood, the gap can feel very wide indeed.

Nevertheless, together—on a beach—is my absolute favorite place to be, so since I’m still the official boss of everyone, and paying the bill—we spent spring break together.   Mealtimes—particularly dinners—were my favorite hours spent at the resort.  At an all inclusive, we all feel freed from limitations and cost—don’t like the steak?  Have them bring you the chicken!  No need to fight over appetizers, we can order as many more as you would like!  Don’t like what they’re serving at the Italian restaurant?  We can swing by the buffet after this and find something you prefer!  And also, since we all need to eat, gathering everyone around a table at least once a day was a universally enjoyable experience.  Not that you all didn’t grumble a bit—some inherent resistance seems deeply wired into a teenager’s DNA—but once we were seated and chatting, all that discord fell away for the most part. 

Scrolling through our photos from this vacation, however, I noticed one disappointing, but not altogether unexpected, fact.  You were notably absent from a lot of the photos, and scowling or turning away from many others.  For some reason, even saturated in the selfie obsessed Snapchat generation you inhabit, you hate having me take your photo.  You grudgingly smile for the occasional group photo because the only thing I like better than all of you together is a photo commemorating the event.  And I got a number of beautiful shots of you and your beautiful siblings on beaches and in front of waterfalls on this vacation.  I cherish these photos; I hope you know that.

So, before you go, get in the photo!  Next year, send me pictures of you in the cafeteria and in the library and at football games and keg parties (hey—I went to college, too.  I know how it works).  Get in the photo and take me there with you.  Thanks for letting me take all the snapshots I am so proud to show here.  Before you go, get in the photo!

Before you go #12: Sweat the small stuff!

Dear Sam,

It has been 6 weeks since I last posted.  When I completed this activity for your sister, I had a big gap in the spring as well.  With her, however, I blamed it on the terrifying onset of the Covid 19 pandemic, with its subsequent lock downs and general upheaval of all life as we then knew it. Turns out, maybe senior spring is a busy, demanding time even under less dramatic circumstances. 

I’ve been collecting some lessons over the last several weeks, and today I’m vowing to write 14 letters to you in 14 days.  It’s a grandiose ambition, and our calendar is as swamped as always, but I’m going to try and take it on nonetheless.  I received an email from school today that there are exactly 20 days of school left for the senior class of 2022.  So I’ll finish with just under a week to spare.  With a little luck, maybe I can even meet my goal of having your book printed and available in time for your graduation party the second week of June.  Though I doubt it is on your radar, global supply chains are a bit of a mess, and I print these books with a company out of the Netherlands, so the odds are not good that I’ll have everything tied up in a pretty bow in the next 8 weeks.  But I will still try.  The lion’s share of the work is in the writing—the watching and the learning and the reminiscing about you.  My boy.  I doubt the book will mean much to you until you really absorb what your leaving will mean.  And that may be months, or more likely years, away.

One imminent reality of your launching into a life of your own, though, is that there are a lot of unrealized details about your life that are being smoothly and invisibly managed by magical little email fairies behind the scenes.  Just kidding—it’s just one person, and she’s neither particularly sparkly, dainty or magical.  It’s me.  I’m sweating all these details for you because you are still mine to care for, even if the caring in these final months looks more secretarial than nurturing. 

Before you go, I want to give you a bit of unconventional advice:  sweat the small stuff.  Or, at minimum, appreciate the sweating of the small stuff by those who love you.  This week alone, I have contacted your college about financial aid, filled out multiple documents for your high school about your upcoming graduation week, emailed the principal about graduation protocol, uploaded your photo for graduation announcements, exchanged text messages with other moms about prom, reminded you to pick up your suit, given you gas money, created calendar appointments for no fewer than 3 graduation events and sent reminders to all of your grandparents and your dad, made a note to have your transcripts sent to college in time for the deadline, helped you complete 4 months of overdue laundry, reminded you of a couple of passwords, and read multiple reminders from the school (which reminds me—have you returned all of your library books?)  There is so much small stuff to sweat in this paperwork infested, detail laden modern life of ours.  And next year, it will be yours to manage.  This worries me a little bit.

On the flip side, I have watched your sister gradually absorb more and more of the details of her life since leaving for college almost 2 years ago.  Although there are still regular (and sometimes slightly frantic) calls about bills and paperwork, month by month she takes on more.  More often than not, when discussions are required with various authorities now, she is asking me to proofread or review, rather than create and manage.  College is a good on ramp to adult responsibilities, particularly as it relates to personal finance and organization, but it starts soon.  Beginning when we send the last of your grad party guests home and culminating in our moving you into whatever dorm you end up in (speaking of which—have you finalized that with your college yet?), you will be the first line of defense with regards to the 72,000 weekly emails your school and other various organizations and places of business will send a young man just embarking on adult life.  Sweat the small stuff.  As much as my mama bear protectiveness emerges in matters such as these, I don’t intend to be handling all your business for much longer.  Honestly, I’m pretty organized and efficient, but I’m also relishing the thought of having my administrative obligations reduced by one less user in the very near future.  Sweat the small stuff, buddy.  I’ll be a phone call away when you have questions, but your life will be yours to organize and manage in just a few short months.  Before you go, sweat the small stuff.