College Moves
Article By Kimberly Avery
College Moves
"Mom, we’ve got to start preparing for moving into my dorm," my daughter promptly announced the day after her high school graduation.
"We have three months! That's plenty of time to decorate something the size of a tool shed," I assured her. Having already moved her three older brothers in and out of basements, dorms, and apartments before her, I was no freshman-experience virgin. Yet somehow I sensed from Ashley’s tone that this would not be the same seamless experience that involved dropping her brothers at the dorm entrance with a backpack, towel, toilet paper, six sets of clean underwear, and a sleeping bag.
"I have the measurements for the room," she announced, flipping open her laptop. Glancing at the room's layout, I turned it around several times.
"Is this the closet?" I asked.
"No, Mom, that's the room. The closet is in the corner behind a curtain. It's like an invisible armoire," my daughter explained.
"Are your clothes invisible also?"
"That's not funny," she said anxiously. "We need to focus." Sure, I thought, we only have three months to get ready. But apparently, the invisible clock was ticking.
"Send me a list," I told her. So, the next day, she sent me a thirty-two-page inventory spreadsheet she had received from the college. It listed everything required to turn a bunker into what she seemed to feel would be her forever home.
I read the suggested list from the college with skepticism. "Some of it seems unnecessary," I told her. "Rug? Doesn't the room have carpet?" I asked her as I crossed the rug off the list.
"Not carpet, a double-padded fluffy, girly rug. Page four of the school's paperwork suggests it might save my life if I fall from the lofted bed," Ashley stared at me with wide eyes that said, unless you don't care about that. I erased the line through the word “rug.”
"Chair? Doesn't the desk include a chair?" I asked.
"If you want me to focus when I study, I will need to replace it with a leather, rocking gaming chair with speakers to block noise." Page twelve of the paperwork I gave you cites a study conducted at the University of Berkley that suggests immersing your thoughts in classical music inspires better grades. It's inspirational." She beamed at me.
I moved on to the next item. "A mini fridge? You definitely don't need that,” I told her confidently. “We’re paying an arm and a leg for your meal plan."
"That's true. But the cafeteria is only open from seven to nine, eleven to one, and five to seven, minus weekends, holidays, and national emergencies. Plus, I'm reading that the cafeteria plan is vegetarian, low carb, vegan, gluten-free, and grain-free."
“In other words, food-free?” I asked.
“Potentially. Better make it a sizeable mini fridge.”
This list was only getting longer. “Mood lighting? What is mood lighting?”
"Everyone has it, Mom! It's lighting that changes with the time of day. Without it, I may become depressed and not absorb enough vitamin D."
"Why can’t you just go outside?" I wondered out loud.
"I might, but I can't risk becoming sunburned. That would definitely ruin my mood," she told me. “In fact, the college mentions that risk on the bottom of page fifteen under the Sun Safe Space waiver that you and Dad need to sign.
After months of shopping on Amazon for the same amount of supplies the astronauts took to survive on the International Space Station, the day finally arrived for us to haul it all to her “home away from home.”
Long lines surrounded the dorms with cars dropping off loads of supplies. Parents and students baked in the sun and waited amid seas of boxes for empty elevators and transport carts to become available. As we waited, I surveyed our mountain of necessary purchases. My daughter had taken the list seriously and prepared for every possible contingency. Extra-long sheets, a headboard, a guitar, bed bugs spray, First Aid kit, contact paper, dehumidifiers, fans, air purifiers, winter clothing, summer clothing, cleaning supplies, toiletries, curtains, shower curtains, blackout curtains, and a deluxe futon.
Were we missing anything? That's when it suddenly occurred to me!
"You forgot to order your textbooks!" I announced in frustration.
Ashley laughed. “Don't be silly, Mom. There are no books."
"Oh," I said, relieved. “Do you go to the library to read books because they don't fit into your cubical home?"
"No, Mom, students don't have books. The library doesn't have books. The college doesn't have books."
"Is this like the invisible closet?" I asked, surmising things had really changed since I was in school. The whole concept was beginning to have a Harry Potter feel to me.
"We still have to buy them, but they’re all digital."
"We sure are paying for a lot of invisible necessities," I groaned.
"Mother," my daughter said with a reassuring tone, "we are not the only ones." Looking down the long sidewalk filled with parents in front of the dorms, I realized she was right. However, I noticed not everyone arrived in U-Hauls to deliver their student. There was a notable difference in the drop-off experience of the girls and the boys. Most girls' parents were standing much like us in an Everest-high pile of supplies, which were clearly not invisible.
However, the boys, it appeared, were jumping from their vehicles as their parents slowed near the curb. They seemed to be equipped with only a sleeping bag, Xbox, the clothes they were wearing, and a backpack that I can only assume contained their invisible books. Watching this only confirmed for me that being the parent of a girl was much more dramatic and expensive when it came to most rites of passage, like prom, weddings, and most assuredly moving to college. But alas, like her prom in the past and her potential marriage in the future, I knew it didn't really matter. We would always do everything in our power to make her dreams come true.
As we unpacked the final box and hung the last curtain in her room, my stomach hurt and my chest tightened. She had worked hard for this and was as prepared as anyone could be, but I wasn't. My daughter had been right. Three months had flown by, and eighteen years was not enough time to prepare us as parents to leave her here. There had definitely been an invisible clock ticking. As I hugged her tight and whispered, "I love you," tears streamed down my face. But my tears dried quickly as she informed me cheerfully, "I love you too. And don't cry, Mom. I’ll be moving out again in the spring and then we get to do it all again next fall."
Edited By Rebekah Crozier