We took our oldest son to college last Thursday, and I can’t help but wonder if other mothers handle it as poorly as I did.
Although I had been cautioned that it would be tough, I didn’t heed the warnings. I just told myself that his leaving home would be better than if he were still living in our basement at the age of 40, sponging off our Social Security, using our hot water and complaining about my cooking.
It wasn’t until I broke down to my mother that I realized I might have some pent-up emotions. And when I wailed on the shoulder of a stranger in a checkout line at Wal-Mart, I really began to worry.
I was making a fool of myself, but I just couldn’t help it. To make matters worse, I walked past a mirror and caught my reflection. To my dismay, I realized that I am one ugly woman when I cry. Talk about adding insult to injury. Meryl Streep gets to be pretty when she cries, and Demi Moore is downright stunning with tear-filled eyes. So how come I have to look like Quasimodo after a sleepless night?
On Wednesday morning, I sat on the edge of Vernon’s bed. I was sobbing and laughing at the same time. “What is it?” he asked as he bolted awake.
“I’m so sad that you’re going,” I lamented. Then I sobbed out loud, wiped my nose on my sleeve and wept some more. “I mean, I’m happy that you get to leave, but I’m sad that you’ll be gone. You need to go, but I wish you could stay…”
Looking just like his father and every other man who hates it when women cry, Vernon blinked at me for a minute, did his best not to roll his eyes and forced himself to ask, “Will you be OK?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, and then I took a minute to cry some more. “You’ve packed your boxes and it just all makes me so sad.” I started laughing and then started crying all over again.
“You’ll be fine, Mother,” he said as he patted me on the back. Then he had the nerve to roll over and put a pillow over his head.
Doesn’t that just beat all?
Packing the car wasn’t any easier, especially since our three younger boys chose to tease me about my emotional state. As they carried boxes past me, one of them sang “Big Girls Don’t Cry” another bellowed out the Kansas hit “Carry on Our Wayward Son,” and the youngest child yodeled his own rendition of that awful Billie Ray Cyrus song, “Achy Breaky Heart.”
As the car filled with everything an incoming freshman might need, up to and including a guitar and a pack of fishing lures, I consoled myself with the fact that a life with one less child would have its advantages. There will be less laundry, to be sure, and better yet, no one to have the audacity to complain about how I do it. There’ll be fewer milk jugs on the counter, and less calling out “You can leave tonight, but tomorrow you’re going to stay home and enjoy your family!”
Then I wondered – who’d crack jokes and challenge me to a battle of wits? Who will give me fodder for a column and threaten to charge me for it? Who will repair my computer and fix flat bicycle tires? And when I realized that there wasn’t another single person in the Clinch household who knows how to run the weed whip, I started crying all over again.
I made the trip to the college with little or no tears. We fought the crowds, loaded the carts and hauled his wares to his dorm. Although he sent the fishing lures back, his room was loaded and messy enough to mirror the one at home.
“Well,” he said as he made it obvious that it was time for me to go, “I love you, Mom, and we’ll see ya.”
I was too emotional to crack my usual joke – “Make good choices and remember, Mommy loves.” So I said a very brief goodbye and walked out the door.
We’ll have to teach No. 2 son to crack jokes and to fix the flat bicycle tires. Son No. 3 can certainly handle throwing dirty socks about the abode, and if son No. 4 can’t be responsible for leaving the toilets unflushed, then I don’t know who can.
I’m going to miss my son, but with the new sibling job allocations, and knowing that Vernon’s room is just right for the new hot tub, I think he’s right – I’m going to be fine!
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.