Like many parents in South Valley, I have spent the last few weeks preparing for back to school. Only this time, I was preparing to send the kid off to the brave new world of adulthood known as college. Yeah. I’m not handling it well, if you want to know the truth. In fact, I spent most of the summer insisting we all do things together for the “last time.” Visit grandparents. Go on vacation. Eat at Five Guys. (What? It’s a special place for us.)
And then August came along and I realized I could drown my sorrows by doing the one thing I do better than anyone else on the planet. Yes, I could shop my sorrows away. Look, if there’s one thing I do really well, it’s hiding my feelings through retail therapy. Sadly, the college boy was not one with this plan. He had suffered through grandparent visits, vacations and Five Guys and he wasn’t going to suffer through shopping.
So I asked for a list of things he thought he’d need. And in return I got a wave of the hand and a cheerful “I’m just going to take my Xbox. And maybe pencils.” Oh, no. Oh this would not do. I was determined. I would have my shopping days and they would be glorious.
First, I did extensive research on Pinterest on how to furnish an already furnished dorm room. I spoke to friends who had already sent their children off to the wild land of college armed with more than an Xbox and some pencils. And then I memorized that week’s Target ad and set out for Gilroy Crossing, armed with many, many coupons for Bed Bath and Beyond.
I was ready for my retail therapy.
I bought sheets—only one set, which frankly grossed me out. But friends with boys told me a sad truth. Boys will return home at the end of the year with the same set of sheets unwashed since August. I bought pillows, including a big pillow for reading in bed. After all, I live in perpetual hope that he will actually crack open a textbook and peruse it. I bought a hypoallergenic mattress cover because of bedbugs. I bought a foam thingy to put on top of the mattress. I bought a cushy mattress cover to go on top of the foam thingy. Clearly, I was creating a comfortable dorm room for the Prince and the Pea.
I bought bed risers. These are things that make your bed higher, so you can stuff more crap under it—obviously necessary since my retail therapy clearly included buying lots of crap that would need to be stored. I bought plastic drawers because, storage. I bought hangers. I bought a lamp. Power strips. Strips to hang posters and whiteboards. Pencils, rulers, pens and scissors. A stapler. I had carts filled with crap. I’m telling you, I was joyous. Oh sure, I was shopping away my feelings because my only child was leaving home. But it was awesome.
Sadly, all good coping mechanisms must come to an end. When I put the Ramen noodle cooker in the cart (don’t judge me, it makes Ramen in half the time) next to the pile of toilet paper and the antibacterial cleaning wipes that college boy will probably never, ever use and then topped it with instant oatmeal, mac and cheese and a case of water, I realized I may have gone a bit far.
After all, at that point, we wouldn’t have room in the SUV for his Xbox. Not to mention the fact that my checking account was begging for mercy.
But after the shortest day ever, the one where we drove to his school, made his mile-high bed, stuffed his plastic drawers with instant Ramen and oatmeal, made sure the microwave worked and his roommates weren’t serial killers—after that day we said goodbye. And we came home to a house that was empty, except for the friends who fed us dinner and drinks and made us forget all the retail therapy hadn’t worked.
Of course, just as I was getting used to a quieter house, college boy came home for the weekend. Apparently, he ran out of Ramen and forgot how to wash clothes. And even though I was happy to see him, I knew one thing. He hadn’t brought his sheets home to be washed.
