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  1. Be Mine

    February 3, 2012 by jmcarthur

    I remember my first year of college. There were a lot of things missing. I was far too old for Trick or Treat. Thanks to the now defunct 3.2 beer, I did get to dress up and go to Halloween parties. There were no snow days since I lived on campus. And the library was actually for studying.

    One of the things I missed the most was Valentine’s Day in school. I can still smell Elmer’s Glue as it adhered paper doilies to the shoebox I would decorate every year, hoping to have it filled with valentine cards from my classmates. I made sure to make the slot in the top extra wide for that one kid who always included a roll of Smarties with his card.

    The night before Valentine’s Day was very stressful. I had my package of miniature valentine cards. It had been stressful enough picking out which ones to buy at the drug store. Do I get the ones I like, or the ones that are cool? Do I go for the current popular television theme, or do I choose classic cartoon? And then, which one do I give to HIM. You know who I’m talking about – the object of everyone’s affection, the boy we all wanted to “go steady” with. I couldn’t make it too mushy. And I didn’t want to give him the same valentine that I gave to the other boys. Why didn’t they just sell boxes with valentines that were all the same? Why put a pre-pubescent girl through such agony.

    Then came the next stress-inducing portion of the holiday — opening the valentines. I’d take my box home and run upstairs like I had just completed a bank heist. Better shut the door so no one interrupts me while I commence my ceremony of opening, trying to guess who the sender was. Of course I knew what HIS writing looked like. As I sorted the cards, I set HIS aside. Candy-included cards in one pile, regular cards in the other. Ok, enough stalling – open it. Ahhh – is it my imagination, or did HE sign my valentine with a hint of adoration? Once all the cards were opened, saving the one from my teacher for last, it was time to call my BFF (Of course that was before texting and such acronyms existed.) “Did you get the same card I did from HIM?” Comparisons were made. One year, HE signed his name with a little heart on my BFF’s valentine. Mine got no heart. Oh well, there was always next year.

    I wonder if my son misses the cardboard box filled with valentines? Oh wait, of course he doesn’t — he’s a guy! Maybe I’ll send him a card anyway. And enclose a roll of Smarties. 

    Category Transitioning to College | Tags: , , | No Comments

  2. The Girlfriend

    January 28, 2012 by jmcarthur

    It was bound to happen, and it has. The Girlfriend. Sure, there have been girls throughout my son’s teenage (and pre-teen years). Girls that were friends, dates, bffs, “steady” dates and crushes. What can I say, he’s a loveable guy. But this one is different. This girl came with a formal introduction and a look I haven’t seen on his face before. It was a cross between “I hope you like her” and “please don’t embarrass me.” Yep. This one is a girlfriend.

    They say boys always marry their mothers, right? Well, I guess I didn’t realize that deep down inside I am a petite blonde who is aspiring to be a registered nurse.  Maybe he will finally take an aspirin when he has a headache.

    She seems nice enough. And she passed the first test – she made eye contact  while she was speaking to me. And the second test – she spoke to me. There was one girl a few years back who never uttered a word in my presence, let alone looked me in the eye. My theory is that when a girl won’t talk to me, she is extremely shy, or has something to hide. And when she won’t make eye contact — it is all the more true. Not the case with this one – as soon as I’d leave the room, I could hear her chattering away at whoever else was around. Then I’d walk back in and she would clam up like someone turned the power off. And believe me, it’s hard not to talk to me. Ok, so maybe it’s hard to get a word in edgewise when you try to talk to me. But there’s no excuse for not making eye contact, right? Right? Hey, look me in the eye when you say that! Ok, I can be a little intimidating when it comes to my son. But, in the case of the girl with the eye contact problem, it turns out she did have something to hide. Ha – her fear of me!!

    Ok, I will take it easy on blondie. I promise.

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  3. Re-purposeful

    January 20, 2012 by jmcarthur

    My grandmother used to save bread wrappers to use as baggies. She would rinse them out (because you know how dirty bread is…) and hang them to dry on the breezeway. She kept butter tubs, twist ties and all kinds of things to use again. I bet she never heard the words “repurpose” or “upcycle.” Grandma was ahead of her time.

    I’ve read a lot about recycling, reusing, repurposing, and upcycling lately. It seems to be a popular topic in women’s magazines and on HGTV.

    It makes sense. We all have stuff we don’t use. And we all have stuff we want. If those two things can meet in the middle, everyone wins. Most of the stuff in my house that is not being used belongs to my son. Or it did, until he abandoned it to become “independent.”

    He took everything he wanted to his new apartment and told me he didn’t want the rest. So as I look at the collection of things that litter his old room, I am trying to think of ways to repurpose.

    His stuffed animals – that’s easy. Children’s Hospital or Goodwill will be glad to take them. Well, all but the Teddy Bear dressed up like a cowboy that his cousin sent him when he was 6. I’ll keep that one.

    Two drawers of t-shirts that he outgrew long ago. We kept them because of sentimental value. They include little league shirts, a tie dyed one from a birthday party, and of course the Napoleon Dynamite. One of the magazine stories about repurposing suggested turning t-shirts into a quilt. How hard could that be? Napoleon Dynamite could then live on.

    Then there are the books. Shelves and shelves of books. The library book sale is coming up. I can also take one of the classics, pull out the insides and make a handy cover for my Kindle.

    And then there are the seashells. With an aunt who lives in Florida, every visit included a collecting spree. We collected a few pounds worth of shells. Once displayed around the room, they are now in a box. Hmmm… what would Martha Stewart do? Maybe glue them to picture frames or make some sort of home decor piece? Make refrigerator magnets? Maybe I’ll just hold onto them for awhile longer.

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  4. Things That Go Bump in the Dorm

    January 11, 2012 by jmcarthur

    As I went internet researching as I often do when faced with a dilemma, I found a helpful little article on a website called College Tips for Parents. Oh my, I must not be the only parent in angst over their child’s problems adjusting to college. Maybe other freshmen have their GPA plummet, can’t stand their roommate and then decide to move off campus without telling their parents. Here is the question I found:

    “Q: Suppose a parent does not feel their child’s transition to college is going well academically and/or socially, yet the student says everything is fine. Is there anything a parent should do, or should they avoid interfering?”

    Indeed.

    The article goes on to ask whether the parent can define whether there is an underlying issue such as homesickness or stress. In my case, I don’t know, but I’m assuming it’s stress. Or beer.

    It then suggests approaching your child “gently” and saying something comfortingly knowing like “College must seem really different from high school. How have you found that to be so?” followed by “I remember…”

    Stop right there. If there is one thing my son does not want to hear is about what I remember of my youth. I think that might be because he would rather think I was hatched fully grown. He also doesn’t want me to point out that I heard something during orientation that he forgot.

    The truth is, I do know what he is going through. When I was studying how to become a journalist, back before there were any such things as blogs, let alone the internet, I had my share of struggles “adjusting” to college. The truth is my freshman year was the Year From Hell. Having been raised as an only child, I never shared my toys, or my bathroom with anyone, let alone 20 other strangers. That took a lot of getting used to. I never had tasted beer in high school. Unfortunately, that didn’t take a lot of getting used to, which may have led to my other problems, such as my inability to get good grades. Or wake up to make it to class on time.

    But enough about me. The article talked about how your first-year student might encounter some “bumps” along the way. Oh ok – this is only a bump! I feel much better!

    Category Breaking your mama's heart, Transitioning to College | Tags: | No Comments

  5. The Age of Majority

    January 5, 2012 by jmcarthur

    I had an interesting conversation with my son the other day. He has decided to move out of his dorm and into a house shared with three other guys. College rules say he must either live in the dorm or with parents. But, he argues, “no one” follows that rule. Those must be the same no ones who weren’t allowed to stay out after curfew when they were 16, and didn’t wear coats when it was snowing.

    I tried to sound as parental as possible when I said “but your dad and I are responsible for you until you are 21.” To which he countered “What planet are you from?  I became an adult at age 18.” My brilliant response to that: “Ummmm,” followed by “but…”

    So I did what I usually do when stumped. I got on the internet. I found there is this thing called “age of majority,” which in most states including ours is 18. At that point, parents are no longer responsible for their children’s actions – with the exception of drinking alcohol. So, my son can wreck his car, default on his rent, and commit any number of crimes without me being responsible – unless he is drunk.

    Well, that shot my argument out of the water.

    But it does beg the question, “If he is an adult, why am I still paying for all his stuff?”  I would expect an adult to buy his own groceries, get his own car insurance, and, most of all, do his own laundry. When I brought that up to him, his response was “Ummmm, but…”

    The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

    Realizing we had hit a stalemate, we retreating to our own corners. As I went to close my Google search for “parental responsibility” one result caught my eye.  It read:

    “…it fascinated me to learn that in 30 states, adult children are legally responsible to pay for necessities like food, clothing, shelter and medical attention for indigent parents. These statutes, known as filial responsibility laws, are modeled on the Elizabethan Poor Laws of 1601, which made blood relatives the primary source of support for family members, the elderly included. Public assistance was available only as a last resort.”

    I went on to discover that ours is indeed one of those 30 states. So, I guess my only course of action is to keep doling out cash to him until I am indigent, at which time my son will be responsible for me. I wonder if he will let me drink.

     

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  6. Memories of Christmas past

    December 20, 2011 by jmcarthur

    I remember my son’s first Christmas. He was just 3 months old. On the week before Christmas, we dressed in a onesie that looked like a red tuxedo complete with a bow tie. Then we placed him under the tree with the presents and took a roll of pictures – yes, that is when cameras used film and phones were used to make phone calls. And there was no such thing as a video game designer. Pong was probably created by an obsessive-compulsive electrician.

    To further his future embarrassment, I made an appointment with a photographer and had mom and son photos taken with my little darling amid oversized packages wrapped in festive paper. Wow, I really had 90s hair back then. And now I understand why shoulder pads went out of style. But I digress…

    That Christmas was amazing. At least I think it was. Still reeling from childbirth pain and postpartum depression, I recall spinning through the holidays in a kind of fog. Half euphoria, half “when-am-I-gonna-get-to-sleep-through-the-night” exhaustion. I have no idea what gifts I gave or received that year. It was all about the baby.

    Nineteen years later and it’s the week before Christmas. My darling son just wooshed through the house gathering up furniture, accessories and utensils – basically everything that was not tied down – to equip his new “apartment.” You may have read my earlier post about his hatred of all things dorm. Well, resourceful young man that he is, he has found two roommates and a house off-campus to rent. Wait – I thought Freshmen had to live on campus or at home. Ahhh… but no one actually follows that rule, I am told. And where is this house, may I ask? It’s a few blocks from campus. Having gone to that same school a hundred years ago, I know the neighborhood well. He gives me the address. I’m picturing Animal House.

    But what about moving home? No. What about getting a different roommate? No. What about trying a different dorm? No. He wants to be independent, and he wants his parents to pay for it, darn it!

    So here I am a week before Christmas in a whole new kind of fog. Half “wow he’s really grown up and is taking responsibility…sort of” and half “Can’t-I-just-put-him-back-in-that-onesie-and-stuff-him-under-the-Christmas-tree,” all 6’3” of him, where he would be safe?

    It’s apparently, still all about the baby.

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  7. Shopping for Trouble

    December 13, 2011 by jmcarthur

     

    Today, my son and his friend went out to buy each other Christmas gifts. When I asked where they were headed, I got the response “to the tattoo shop. I’m getting a tattoo and Kara is getting a piercing.”

    Wow. Nothing says “Happy Holidays” like putting a hole in your body or permanently disfiguring yourself.

    Seriously, do these kids think this is a good idea? Do they think that it might keep them from getting jobs later on? I know there are lots of types of tattoo designs, but I can’t think of many that actually would enhance your value to an employer.

    Maybe one that says “Hi, I’m Sue and I’ll be your server.”

    But then again, after doing some research, I found that my gut instinct was correct – many employers, especially in the hospitality and retail areas, have company polities limiting facial hair and body art. Someone got a brilliant idea and started a website called “The Modified Mind Employment Line.” It lists employers and their various policies. You can look up specific companies by industry to see what they do and don’t allow

    It was interesting to peruse this list. Some employers listed themselves as tattoo friendly. Others had strict policies forbidding visible tattoos. Others had rules about the size and number of tattoos and piercings they would allow. The companies that had the least restrictive policies were in information technology, technical trades, and call centers. That stands to reason, since these types of jobs have limited customer interaction.

    I guess it’s my age showing, but I can’t think of any profession, except maybe that of a tattoo artist, in which it would be acceptable to have a facial piercing or a facial tattoo. Ok, professional athletes too. Now this will make me sound old – but in my day, tattoos were not that common. Statistics say that 30 years ago, only 1 in 100 people in the U.S. sported tattoos. That number has grown to 1 in 10. One-third of all 25- to 30-year-olds have tattoos or piercings.

    More research reveals that, when asked about tattoos and piercings, 60 percent of employers said they were less likely to hire a job candidate who had a visible tattoo or piercing. While today’s youth see it as self-expression, employers can interpret tattooing and piercing as a sign of rebellion.  They are concerned about how they will be perceived by their customers. Some employers think that employees with body art are less likely to perform well in a team atmosphere.

    While my son and his friend are out getting their skin adorned, I think I’ll do a little shopping of my own – for bandages and cover stick. Great stocking stuffers, don’t you think?

    Category Breaking your mama's heart, Home for the Weekend | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | No Comments

  8. A Letter To Santa

    December 6, 2011 by jmcarthur

    Dear Santa,

    I’m not sure if you accept letters from third parties, but I thought I would give this a shot. There are so many things I want to give my college-age son. But being short on funds, and connections, I find myself lacking. So I thought perhaps you could use your global influence and international affiliations to help me.

    I found out recently that I missed out on the 1957 Ferrari Testa Rossa 250 prototype that competed in the Le Mans 24-hour race. It sold at auction in California for $16.4 million in August while I was on vacation. I hate when that happens. To make up for it, here is a list of other presents that I would like to see come down the chimney with my son’s name on them.

    First would be an FBI Agent Salary. Or any salary actually. I know he’s only a freshman, but the next four (or five) years will pass quickly and there is no guarantee the job market is going to get any better. I’m not saying I want him to put his life in harm’s way on a daily basis. I’d just like him to have the salary.

    Second, I request that you give him the patience of Job. Or Steve Jobs. Or anyone more patient than he currently is. Why does everything have to happen RIGHT NOW? We HAD to buy the drum set RIGHT NOW, we had to convert the basement into an apartment for him RIGHT NOW because he hated dorm living. I watched while he spent the last of his graduation money on an Xbox because he had to have it RIGHT NOW. However, right NOW, he is moving into a fraternity house where he can’t take his drum set with a roommate who already has an Xbox.

    And finally, could you do anything about his stress level? A little serenity along with that patience would be nice. I have tried to reassure him, do things to cheer him up and make his life easier. But the first year of college can be so trying … especially when you don’t have an Xbox.

    Very Truly Yours,

    Mom

     

    Category Transitioning to College, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | No Comments

  9. Taking the College Parent for a Ride

    November 30, 2011 by jmcarthur

    I heard an interesting term today–“Helicopter Parent.” No, this doesn’t have anything to do with emitting a high pitch droning noise while incessantly spinning one’s head.  (That is a great visual though…) According to Wikipedia, a “Helicopter parent is a colloquial, early 21st-century term for a parent who pays extremely close attention to his or her child’s or children’s experiences and problems, particularly at educational institutions.” The term was created when parenting experts Dr. Foster W. Cline and Jim Fay interviewed a teen who complained that his mother “hovered over me like a helicopter.” That was in 1969. Maybe things were slower then, because I can’t imagine getting my son to sit still long enough to be hovered over.

    The term “curling” parenting is used in Scandinavia, undoubtedly named for the sport the rest of the world notices only on Winter Olympics years. Curling parents try to sweep problems out of their children’s paths. And now, according to Wiki, college professors and even employers are now using the term “lawnmower parents” when mothers and fathers try to mitigate problems for their offspring, going as far as interfering at college and workplaces. Some have even stormed personnel departments to lobby on their offspring’s behalf for salary increases and promotions. In case you were wondering how to become an investment banker, there’s an idea!  College parents, likewise, have been found calling their children to wake them up each morning for class and complaining to professors about grades. “The world’s longest umbilical cord,” a.k.a. the cell phone, has purportedly promoted this phenomenon. My son has found a way to eliminate that – he doesn’t answer his phone when I call.

    Again, what world are these curling, lawnmowing, helicoptering, umbilical cord attached parents living in? Apparently not the same one I orbit in.  Maybe I just need to find a different vehicle in which to crash myself into my son’s life.

    I could be a motorcycle parent and pop wheelies on him. I wonder if the helmet law applies to that?

    Maybe a sailboat parent? It seems like I’ve been lost at sea for the past few months.

    A trolley parent – I’ll stay on track while the rest of the world gets to explore all the fun places in San Francisco!

    I could be a subway parent — hiding in the underground and threatening to throw myself on the tracks if he doesn’t do what I want.

    I know – I could be a dog sled parent! Nevermind. The view would never change.

    I already spent years as a taxi parent, carting my son and his friends around from school to football games, to movies, etc.

    I guess in the end I can be a submarine parent. I’ll just glide along under the surface, pop my periscope up every once in awhile to see what’s going on, ever ready to rescue of he should go for a dive.

     

     

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  10. Preparing the Stuffing

    November 22, 2011 by jmcarthur

    I studied that article from my son’s college for the past week. This week I’m getting ready for Thanksgiving. The turkey is thawing in the fridge. The cranberries and sweet potatoes are waiting for me whip them into my specialty dishes. Yes, I know everyone eats the cranberry and sweet potato dishes just to be nice. I don’t care. I like them. And they are tradition. So there.

    I’ve cleaned most of the house. And yes, I know it’s just going to be a mess again once everyone gets here. I don’t care. I know it’s clean. And it’s just what a mom does.

    I’ve also taken great care to make sure my son’s room is just as he left it – almost. Since he took most of the décor with him, I had to make it look lived-in, so I did move my sewing machine and a few craft projects in there. I’m sure he won’t mind the table in the corner stacked with old photos that are going into Creative Memories albums. Since he took his bedspread to the dorm, I found the one with choo-choo trains, airplanes and boats that he had when he was in grade school and put that on his bed. I thought he might enjoy that. While I was looking for that, I found all the adorable stuffed animals he had collected through the years.

    And yes, I know it was really me who collected them. He loved them until he was about 6 when he complained they took up too much space in his room. Space that could have been used for his Pokemon card collection. So I moved them into the closet at the time. But now that he’s grown out of Pokemon, I think he will enjoy having them out in the open again. And I don’t care. They’re cute. And they belong on his bed and not stuffed in a closet. When he’s earning the salary of the accountant he is studying to become, he can put those toys anywhere he wants. For now, they are in his bedroom in my house.

    Now those things are all ready for his return, I guess it’s time to start preparing myself for the reunion. That article sure sounded like it might not be easy when he returns. All that talk about independence, changes that he may have experienced, him not needing as much help had me a little worried. So I might have to bite my tongue now and then. And he may need to be reminded of the house rules. And he may not want to tell me everything that has happened to him since he drove off to school a couple months ago. Wow – all that sounded like a lot of work! Until I realized, that I don’t care. He’s my son. I’m his mother. And it’s all going to be just fine.

    Category Breaking your mama's heart, Home for the Weekend, Left behind, Transitioning to College | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | No Comments

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