Out of the nest and into the dorm
So my eldest is finally off to college. The blood, sweat and
tears of high school are over, and a new chapter has begun. A
chapter I’m discovering costs a lot of money.
But he’s happy, so that makes me happy. However, the simple act
of moving him into the dorms was quite the operation.
Out of the nest and into the dorm
So my eldest is finally off to college. The blood, sweat and tears of high school are over, and a new chapter has begun. A chapter I’m discovering costs a lot of money.
But he’s happy, so that makes me happy. However, the simple act of moving him into the dorms was quite the operation.
I thought it was going to be a piece of cake. First of all, he’s going to UC Santa Cruz, which is less than an hour from home. Secondly, he’s a boy, and boys just don’t need as much stuff as girls. I assumed moving in would be easy, quick and painless. Little did I know moving day would turn out to be a rather full, exhausting day.
Ross and I loaded up the van with his bike, his computer, and assorted boxes of clothes, books and general stuff. I love the way boys pack – none of this namby-pamby folding for them. I watched in amazement as Ross threw every piece of clothing he owns into a cardboard box. And I mean literally threw.
“Aren’t you going to fold anything?” I asked.
“Why?” he said.
“Because it will get wrinkled,” I replied.
“Mom, I’m a guy. It doesn’t matter,” he said.
What could I say to that? Not much.
At any rate, it looked like a manageable pile of boxes and things, so I wasn’t too worried about getting it all into his room.
We dropped his younger brother off at the high school then proceeded to the campus, where mass chaos was taking place. The city of Santa Cruz had seen fit to schedule road work at the main intersection leading to the university that day, which was move-in day for about half of the new students. Guess what? Massive traffic jams on every road going up to UCSC.
Ross had a particular move-in time allotted to him – 9-10:30 a.m. – and as we sat in the traffic mess, the time was ticking away.
Things were not much more organized up at the dorms. After finally getting there, we couldn’t find the right parking lot. We were directed to the one with the yellow flags. But where were the darn flags? After circling Kresge College a few times, we finally spotted the proper flags, found the parking lot, and parked.
Kresge College, an enclave deep within the redwood forest, happens to be built on a steep hill. And the parking lot we were assigned to was at the very bottom of that hill. I found out just what this meant after carrying a heavy box up the slant to Ross’s dorm room. And wouldn’t you know it; his room was on the second floor of a two-story building.
After a couple of trips back and forth, carrying sheets and towels and miscellaneous school supplies, my arms were trembling. I was exhausted. And then I was informed that Ross needed a bike lock. Not just any bike lock – a good one.
So I got back in the van and drove to Santa Cruz to buy a bike lock without much of an idea where to go. Luckily, a bike shop downtown had what I needed, and I headed back to campus, once again braving the traffic-construction vortex of doom.
When I got back, I realized I couldn’t park in the close parking lot, because moving-in time was over. So I had to travel down to the parking garage, a bit of a hike away.
It was a warm day. On the walk back, I began wishing I’d used more deodorant that morning.
Finally, though, the bike lock was delivered. Ross had mostly unpacked while I was gone and so there were empty boxes to be taken away. He and the other roommates were busy hooking up computers, speakers, Internet contraptions and the like.
I felt superfluous. It was time to go.
I left my baby there and went home. It seemed much emptier there than it had before, with 50 percent less kids in it. It was a strange feeling indeed.
But it wasn’t long before my phone rang. It was Ross.
“Mom?” he said. “Can you come back next weekend? And bring my hair gel?”
