When I publish this post, we’ll have just a few days until college move-in day. The basement is covered in all the college supplies, in a grand attempt at overly-prepared organized chaos for his first college apartment. I wake up to wonder if something’s on the list. Jamin told me the other day to stop worrying about it, and I responded with, “Yes, I will be sure to tell my anxiety to shut up the next time it wakes me. Thank you for helping me.” It’s funny now, seeing parents share their kiddos’ pics on the first day of school. Some of these shares are their fresh senior portraits, and I can’t help but realize we were just there a year ago when the emotions were all sparkly and new and also a little heartwrenching. Then it freaks me out to realize that we’re also a year away from doing this all over again with our second as a Junior. I’ve tried really hard not to make this my entire personality, but truly, don’t blink.
I have a career and a fulfilling, imperfect life “outside of my kids” with an overwhelming slew of hobbies a-la the 21st century. I think I worked hard to “hit that balance” everyone always talks about, even though we all know it doesn’t really exist. I thought I’d be a little more immune to these feelings as if activities might insulate me when “the time came.” Just like I thought I wouldn’t get older, as if I could prepare for it or stifle age in some way. {In college, that was really sad for all the old people, but I would look twenty and be skinny forever. Duh.} Joke’s on me because nothing can insulate me from this, and if I sleep on my side, my chest pays for it all morning with an excellent outbreak of the old people’s wrinkles. Yep, I’m officially obsessed with moisturizers, and my kids are my everything—end of story.
If you’re new to this game, their senior year becomes a barrage of expectations and adjustments, checklists and requirements, paired with the stages of grief as you process the fact that your child is actually leaving the nest. It’s not the end, just a new, exciting chapter, and it can be a lot to process. The college applications, the acceptance, and then the flaming hoops we’ve all experienced have been completed. This past year, a series of scarcity and fear tactics have been quantified in all the stages. It’s a literal roller coaster if you’ve never experienced it before. But when the dust settles with all that, the real exciting stage begins: The Prep Stage.
I’ve joined all the parental Facebook groups over time, slowly {and reluctantly} dipping my toe into the world of preparing for college. A lot is going on for any of you who may not be clued into the over-wrought world of social media sharing. I’ve noticed lately that there are different personality types on the parental side of coping with college prep, and so far, I’ve broken them down into some fun categories.
For the sake of sheer entertainment, because humor is how I cope, here we are. Much like the enneagram, everyone is probably a delicate mix of these. If you’re new to navigating the world of college, consider yourself prepared after reading this. It’s similar to what you’ve probably already experienced on any back-to-school night in the past, especially if you’re a sports family dealing with the sports parents. Except on steroids. Nay cocaine. Just saying. This is your life now; brace yourselves, and you’re welcome. So it begins: The many parental personality types when it comes to college prep.
The Ronda Rousey.
I don’t know much about RR other than she apparently has an entire underground bunker and the jokes on us for not being ready when the aliens they’ve all been talking about {and no one is paying attention to} arrive to take over a-la “Independence Day.” The prepper. Maybe it’s just a stash, but bunker sounded better. Akin to doomsday, this parent manages all their anxiety by being ready for all the things. They measure. Re-measure. Ask questions that make other people question their questions. They check and then re-check their multiple lists. They knew about the deadlines a year before those deadlines hit. They are the ones you want as a roomie because they have their ever-loving shite together, and that makes them invaluable. You’ll probably forget the scissors, but they’ll have two pairs. The Martha Stewart of organization. They were on it from their child’s sophomore year. Fives stars. It can look exhausting from the outside, but when you’re married to one… would recommend.
The Flat Earther.
Flat Earthers mean well; they’re just in total denial. Also, if their belief isn’t really hurting anyone else, you may as well let it ride. It’s not like they’re going to be an astronaut. You know one when you spot them in the wild because they don’t exist online in the panic forums and refuse to buy into it. We should probably all borrow a note from the pages of their book with the not-panicking part. You’ll ask them casually how things are going, and they give a vague, soft answer. Usually found in your super laid-back friend, they are the ying to the prepper’s yang. They probably need a little poke to get their stuff together and moving because, well, if they don’t prep, then it’s not happening, right? RIGHT?! Totally relatable to their core.
The Cher.
They are what they are—clueless. They ask the questions that have been sent in the college email in Facebook groups before searching to see if said question has been asked fifty times already. You’ll know who they are when they ask obvious questions in the groups. There are multiple levels of Cher, but what they have in common is that general air of constant confusion. They might show up at orientation, and they might not because they aren’t even sure if their kid goes here. At least they can bring on the charm. Oh, that was way harsh, Tai.
The Van Gogh.
Can be found in their children’s rooms, covertly sniffing their laundry and fondly perusing their favorite children’s books. They have difficulty packing because they keep stumbling upon old photos and softly crying in the corner after being overwhelmed with nostalgia. They’ll cut off their own ear and send it with their child because they feel this loss to their core, and also, it would be super metaphorical and showcase their dramatic side. Nevermind it’s totally weird. They may also feel the creative side of things and want to make their kids’ spaces extra cozy since everything evokes emotion and comfort. I see you, deep feelers.
The 90’s Parent.
They have no idea why people are preparing, citing any emotion and preparedness as totally ridiculous. They are often found in packs, ravenous, and infected with rabies in the parent groups, writing with charged words such as “I Can’t EvEn HaNdLe It,” when it comes to pretty dorm rooms. Never mind what, pray tell, there is to handle regarding other people’s choices, and never mind that no one asked. They enjoy perpetuating the shame culture on those who like to prep because “I had nothing when I went to college, and I was fine,” or “I don’t want to. Therefore, everyone should be playing at the same level.” and also “MILK CRATES are ALL YOU GET.” {BTW, these are actual comments pulled from a recent FB post via a popular panic page.} At their core, they can be bullies, and this is because they had sad childhoods. In the next breath, they will also admit that their cinderblock room was quite depressing. To each their own, please do whatever works best for you, but maybe stop projecting so hard. Vivre et laisser vivre, my friend.
The Black Hawk
Still tries to control from the sidelines. Known to call the Dean if the dining hall isn’t offering steamed broccoli as a regular side. Relegated by fear. Make plans to sleep over in the dorm with their child for the first three nights. Shocked when their kid ditches Life 360 in turn for some inner peace of their own and acts out in ways that are not suitable to post on social media.
The Toilet Paper Hoarder
All rationale has left the building. Suddenly all bets are off, and it’s giving 2020 when the toilet paper was nowhere to be found. This characteristic unexpectedly emerges around two to three days before actual D-day. One may find themselves packing and think, “Do I have the right-sized pillows for the bed? I can’t tell because I ordered all of these, and they’re all vacuum packed and wrapped and now I’m confused, so I’ll order more just to make sure”… you know, rationally. Swiffer Dusters, batteries, scissors and packing tape will surely hit the list. For me, yesterday, it was all these things and also, a desk organizer, alongside a clever apartment doormat that looks like a mix tape. Because PENCILS AND MATS mean he’ll have a good year, RIGHT?! I’ve officially made their apartment so cozy, he’ll never want to come home. Guess who has rabies now?
We hope you consider yourselves educated. I should print out bingo cards to see how many of these types we can spot in the wild, especially on move-in days. Are there the matching-t-shirts-a-la-Disney-World types? CHATT OR BUST, y’all. For the record, I am far from The Black Hawk and lean more on the Van Gough/Ronda Rousey side of things, sometimes with a side of Flat Earther to balance it all out, shocker. But Jamin may be taking Life360 away from me, and it’s probably for the best. I have been admittedly quite insufferable with the long goodbye this summer.}
It takes all kinds. And at the end of the day, all of us might have a touch of these on our faces. I hope you enjoyed my humorous take… and that you resist your urge to bully people on the internet if you should so be moved with a side of rabies. You live big with those milk crates, because no one is stopping you. All joking aside, I hope you’re okay, no matter what stage you’re in. Just remember… you’re not alone. And a word to the wise: maybe stay out of the panic forums.
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