A letter to my son....

Dear Maco,

I was thinking back to our conversation yesterday and I wanted to share my thoughts with you.  I believe that some of this is our fault.  In our effort to help get you into a good college, we have reduced everything you are into a page full of accomplishments.  And in doing so, you feel like all you are meant to do is get awards, achieve good grades and test scores.  But that is far from the truth.  Maybe that is how things appear right now, as you are trying to package yourself up as something a college might want.  And because the application process is so limited, it is hard to do much else.  The system has encouraged this type of thinking and we all fell into it and I’m sorry that I did.  I know that I have projected my own college experience onto you, in that I always felt if I had done a little more, or had the right connections I could have gone to Georgetown, my “dream” school.  I want your dreams to come true, but sometimes the dreams we have are not always the ones that come true.  I have a wonderful life in a beautiful town with a great husband, kids I adore and the best friends in the world.  It didn’t matter where I went to school - I am still living a dream, just not the one I had when I was 18.   

Life is not about accomplishments or a good resume, or even a lot of money.  Life is about the connections you have with other people.  It is important to be emotional and to be yourself.  And to be vulnerable, even if that is painful.   Like I said, in order to find who you are, sometimes you need to look at who you were and where you came from. 

You have always been mature for your age, you’ve always engaged easily with adults, and they like you (sometimes more than kids your own age).  You were a beautiful baby and child and you are a handsome teenager.  You are smart and wise and thoughtful.  You are the little boy who wanted to save his mother from the “older” even if he didn’t know what older was.  You are the young man who put his arm around his mother during Sam’s service because she was crying.  You are the friend who stayed with Aidan when his ex-girlfriend was having a party and he was having a bad night.  You are the kid who made Nicole giggle time and again at our kitchen counter.  You are the brother who stayed to support his sister in her ski race even after he crashed in his own race.   You are the friend who has driven lots of drunken kids home from parties.  You are the son who made his dad a sculpture of his favorite tree.   You are the grandson who wrote a poem for his grandmother’s 70^th birthday in the back of a cramped ski team van.

These are the things that should be on your resume.  These are the things that colleges should care about.  These are the things that make you human, a good person, and ultimately successful in life.  You are so much more than a ski racer, or a student who got perfect grades.   You are a caring, passionate, curious, lovely teenager who is trying to navigate a complicated and uncertain future in the best way he knows how.   I am proud of everything you are, as well as everything you have done and I love you so much.  Mom

“A happy life is not made up of what you have dreamed of, chased after, and achieved, but rather whom you poured your life into, who poured their life into yours, and the difference you’ve made in the lives of others.”  Susan Meissner

The Home Office

It’s 1:00 pm on a Tuesday afternoon.  The dogs are laying on their backs on the Persian rug, legs splayed open in lazy, canine ecstasy.  Two computer screens are glowing not five feet from each other: one a giant, shiny, silver iMac, the other an old black HP.  My husband is in his jammies, focused on a rambling email.  I sit in the swivel office chair, the back of which touches his swivel office chair, facing my own screen filled with Quickbooks entries.  I too, am in my pajamas.  My second cup of tea sits half drunk next to my mouse.  This, my friends, is the grim landscape of the home office on any given day.

I remove my headphones and peruse the less than professional setting.  “This is pathetic”, I utter.

“Are you kidding?  This is the best” my husband responds while enthusiastically rubbing the dogs’ bellies.    “What are you making me for lunch?”

“I made two breakfasts and two lunches for my CHILDREN this morning, I’m not making lunch,” I reply with as much disdain as I can muster.

“Come sit on my lap then” he suggests casually (every day).

“Are we in an episode of Mad Men?  I’m complaining to HR, would you treat your colleagues this way?” I ask.  “And by the way, you are no Don Draper.”

“I am HR and you’re my wife, so it’s not illegal.  I checked with my lawyer.”   He says with what is supposed to be humorous finality.  

Unfortunately this is true, I have no one to blame but myself for my current predicament.  I even reached out to my brother-in-law, the silent voice of reason partner in our family business, to file a complaint.  He told me to go on a girls’ trip or go shopping.  I now realize I am in my own hellish episode of Mad Henderson Men, minus the continuous consumption of spirits and cigarettes.  Now that is a thought, a glass of scotch would make the day go quicker, but would probably lead to increased harassment. 

The cheerful bleep of the computer, indicating that my accounting entries have in fact reconciled, gives me a pitiful amount of satisfaction so I decide to take a break and throw in some laundry.  Another perk of working at home is the endless amount of multi-tasking that can be done. 

Let me fill you in on a little history so you can fully comprehend the change in lifestyle in which I’ve had to accustom myself.  When we got married, my husband traveled 70% of the time.  After grad school, when I worked in high tech, we both traveled a great deal.  After I had my son, we both worked but only he traveled.  After I had my daughter, and stopped working full time, he traveled around the world consistently, and would be away for 2-3 weeks at a time.  Even later, as he started his own business, he had a shared office space and I went to my part time job over the years.  I just ASSUMEd this was the way things would continue on in our relationship and our life.  As we all know, assuming gets us in trouble.  Now that we are both working in the family business and trying to do so economically, I find myself working in a space the size of cubicle with my sexually harassing, significant other/boss, but without even the benevolently intentioned, yet useless divider to give us privacy.

“Our” office features his side, which is a full wall of desk, with drawers, shelves, and files; it even has room for knick-knacks and photos.  His things are neatly stowed away.  My “side” of the office is a lone desk less than 36” wide with one drawer that is barely deep enough to hold my checkbook, and an archaic HP desktop dominating 30 of the 36 available inches of desk space.  Consequently, my shit is piled all over the desk, and the floor.  Because he is on the phone for at least 50% of the day, I usually move my shit to the dining table or kitchen counter so I can focus.  Then the kids get home from school, and their shit gets strewn all over the kitchen counter, dining and great room.  This creates a lively mess of everyone’s shit that is simply a joy to walk into.   

“Mom, can you move these architectural plans off the dining table so I can do my homework?”  my daughter grumbles.

“Can you guys be quiet and turn the music down?  I’m getting on a conference call,” my husband yells from “our” office.

“How long until dinner?” my son inquires casually. 

The dogs start whining and barking as their inner clocks tell them their evening feeding time is approaching. 

Calgon, High West, Don Draper, someone please take me away from the home office….

The Perfect Gift

To:  Mom

From:  Kristie

Re:  xmas ideas for gram

Any ideas on what to get Gram for Christmas?  I know her place is smaller now so she doesn’t have room for any more stuff.  Thanks K

To:  Kristie

From:  Mom

Re:  NO IDEAS

Hi Kris,

I got Gram 2 pair of incontinence panties for Christmas. Jeanne said she needed them, as somehow her laundry gets lost. I’m not sure how that happens when everything is labeled with her name…but s**t happens. In case you want the site it’s Amazon.com CareActive Women’s Reusable Incontinence Panty, X-large in Health & Personal Care.  Love, Mom

To:  Mom

From:  Kristie

Re:  kidding??

I hope you are joking. Please don't give her that for Xmas.  If I got that for Xmas I would euthanize myself. Get her some nice chocolate or a gift certificate to a restaurant that she likes and you can take her when you visit.  Love, Kristie

To:  Mom

From:  Kristie

Re:  P.S.

I will NEVER get you incontinence panties for Xmas. Love, me

This is a real email conversation between my mother and me a couple of Christmas seasons ago.  This little gem has been stowed away in my inbox for almost two years because I promised not to use it in my blog.   Apparently, my mother was going through a tough time, and my stepfather, realizing this was ripe for my blog fodder assured me that I should NOT use this as blog material or it would push my mother over the edge (see old blog about the 30+ year old face cloth that didn't go over so well with Mom).  Reluctantly I agreed to put it on the back burner.

However, I came across this email the other day and started laughing out loud by myself. I then called my mom and I got her laughing about it too, so I’m in the clear.

So I must preface this by saying that I love my grandmother and mother beyond measure.  They have both served as great role models in my life and hopefully they can appreciate the humor in this situation as I have.  Also, shopping for one’s grandmother, at 96 years of age is always a difficult task.  At that point in life, she has way too many things and is generally trying to give away what is left, so finding the appropriate gift can be daunting for sure. 

That being said, there are so many things that are wrong with this short exchange, let’s conduct a brief analysis.

First and foremost, the words incontinence and panties don’t go in the same sentence together, or on the same packaging.  If you are incontinent, you should not be wearing “panties”.  I don’t think you could even substitute knickers in this sentence.  I can't picture Bridget Jones saying “this is the perfect occasion for some seriously incontinent knickers” as she preps for a romantic interlude in the nursing home. 

I believe the term my mother (and apparently the marketing department) was trying to avoid is “adult diaper”, which is understandable.  None of us is looking forward to the time when we need to wear these, but at 96, there are worse things going on I’m sure.  The image that is conjured up by incontinent and panties is just not pleasant, whereas adult diapers pretty much sums up the situation perfectly.

Second:  I can appreciate my mother’s frugality and the challenge of finding a gift for a nonagenarian, but it isn’t like my grandmother is getting mountains of gifts for xmas.  Get her something fun, unnecessary, and maybe even risky – like a nip size bottle of whiskey to hide in her wheelchair.  When we were teenagers and my mother had clearly reached the end of her rope with the whole xmas façade but my brother and I still wanted the Santa experience, she would wrap up toiletries and put them in our stockings.  Deodorant, soap, razors – anything to fill the stocking with things we would use.  My father used to get her some appliance or other for xmas and I vowed this would never happen to me.  Christmas should be special, not a trip to Rite Aid. Kids -- I don’t care how old or incontinent I am, put the adult diapers in my closet when you visit, do not wrap them up and put them under the tree.  I beg of you.  Keep a little mystery and magic in the holiday; don’t remind me of my ailing physicality during the Yuletide.  

Third: I also love that she ponders the disappearance of my grandmother’s previous pairs of presumably used incontinent panties on a regular basis.  And to add insult to injury, then says s**t happens!  Was this a subconscious pun?  Maybe my mom should have been a stand up comic, she really is quite funny.

Finally, the fact that she assumes that I too, might want to send my grandmother the panties and provides me with very specific instructions on how to find them.  As if opening one package of incontinent panties on xmas wasn’t enough, my grandmother needs two packages?   I mean, what do you say when you open a gift like that?   

My grandmother is also one of the most frugal people I know, but I think even she would prefer the gift of a dry derriere to be something she experiences on a regular basis with some semblance of modesty, and not a special holiday treat for all to see!    

Happy Holidays and good luck finding the perfect gift for everyone in your family! 

College Admission Crazies

For those of you in the midst of this institutional quagmire, hopefully you can relate.  And for the rest, who are possibly anticipating the blissful experience, read it and weep for the future.

I wish I could say this has been a great journey, full of learning experiences, personal development and increased knowledge.   I would categorize it more like a really long road trip, with bad snacks, shitty gas mileage, and lots of traffic.  And you’re just in the car driving, sometimes madly, other times with trepidation, and you don’t really know where you might end up.  It could be Chicago, Vermont, Rhode Island, or Massachusetts (if you are lucky).  When you look at the traffic report you receive conflicting information from different apps.  When should you turn?  Did you go the wrong way?

Enough with the driving metaphor… I think you get it.

I don’t claim to have any insight into the admissions process and most people don’t which is what makes it all the more frustrating.  In a world where we are used to having immediate gratification and access to information at all times, being in a state of ambiguity is novel and nerve racking to say the least.   The student controls the information he provides, the story he tells, the “catch” he comes up with, and hopes for the best.    Then comes the 4-5 month waiting game while his inventory of carefully cultivated, amazing personal attributes is passed around like a hot potato among a group of admissions officers, until one of them plucks his application out of relative obscurity and gives creed to his abilities. 

Or not.

Back in the day, we had to think and long and hard about where to apply because we had to manually complete each application.  10 schools?  Yikes, my hand might be broken by then.  With the onset of the online common application in 1998, you type all of the information in one time, online and submit it to as many institutions as you can afford (at $75/each this is not insignificant but when anticipating a yearly bill of $60K, $75 seems like pocket change).  This has resulted in colleges increasing their applications steadily to over twice the amount they’ve had in the past.  This is a great source of revenue and colleges market to any and everyone to apply.  At the Harvard information session, the counselor deceptively brags, “anyone can go to Harvard”.    Many colleges boast over 30,000 applications for 2,000 spots.  Let’s say on the upside the college has 10 admissions officers working for 5 months to read each one.  That is 30 applications per person per day, every day.   The attached graph shows how applications have grown at one institution of higher learning, while the number of accepted and matriculated students remains around the same.  Consequently, the acceptance rate has been cut in half for many colleges and universities, making it important to stand out as much as possible.

Two years ago, the buzzword was “passion”.  Make sure your kid has devoted himself to one thing passionately throughout high school.  The college doesn’t want to see a bunch of random stuff on a resume just to fill the page, admissions wants to see dedication and commitment.  I’m 48 years old and I still haven’t identified my passion.  Why should someone be forced to focus on one thing, especially when he/she is a teenager?  This is the time to explore, try new things, and make mistakes  - not achieve perfection in one sport, or creative pursuit.  When else in your life will you be able to take a pottery class, play on the volleyball team, or try out for the school play? 

This year the recommendation was as follows: be a good student, be a great athlete, and be interesting.   And if you aren’t a great athlete, you need to double down on the interesting part.  If you are a great athlete, and I mean the best kid on your team or in your individual pursuit, you will probably get recruited (topic for a whole other blog).  Which makes the road trip slightly less stressful because at least a coach is guiding you along – kind of like a police escort through the traffic.   But if you are just a decent athlete, you have to volunteer your ass off, work at a paying job, be on student council, and create a charity event that somehow garners national media coverage.  And don’t forget to maintain a 4.0 GPA and take as many AP classes as inhumanly possible (even though most colleges will not give you credit for them).  Easy peasy.   Many of these applicants have done more in their 18 years than I’ve done in my whole life!  But then again, I guess I’m not very interesting…

My initial philosophy with my first child (obviously the guinea pig in this situation) was to not mention college selection until Junior Year of high school.  Let him enjoy his youth, play multiple sports if possible, and not be stressed while still maintaining some level of academic prowess.   Being on the brink of the application deadline, I’m not sure this was the right path.   

We consistently oscillate between reviewing long lists of “to-do” items such as studying for the SAT subject tests, and backing off, pouring a vodka and consoling ourselves by acknowledging that he will be fine wherever he ends up.  The education is all the same, and for the most part, the $60K/year price tag is the same.  It does seem a tad suspicious that all of the schools have congregated around this number.  Out of state university, private college, large or small --$60K is the magic number.  Can you say price fixing??? 

At the end of the day, I must revert to an article by Michelle Gillman called “Harvard Schmarvard”, which summed up the crazy competitive nature of the admission game.  Forget about ACT scores, GPA’s and the endless list of extracurricular activities and ask yourself the following questions:

         Does your child have a compassionate soul?

            Does your child have a healthy dose of intellectual curiosity?

            Is your child resourceful and independent?

            Is your child happy with who she is?

            Can your child creatively problem-solve?

            Is your child passionate about anything?

            Can your child sit with himself and enjoy his own company?

Ah, he will be fine.  As long as he gets a 750 on the SAT Physics Subject test, finishes his honors English paper, and…..