2016 Biggies: Fifty and College-Bound

I'm 50 now. Actually, closer to 51 as of this writing. My last post was about turning 49 -- simultaneously seems like 20 years ago, and 20 minutes ago.

Fifty isn't terrible, but it's definitely different. Yes, many people are living longer, remaining physically and intellectually active for decades beyond their 50th jubilee. We're a good-looking bunch...for our age. And examples of folks pursuing new careers and accomplishing amazing things only because of the seasoning that comes with years lived truly inspires me. But, it feels like a bittersweet graduation of sorts. Congratulations! You made it through life's undergraduate school! Graduate programs are highly individualized and length of study is unknown. Good luck! Commencement date for advanced life degrees varies. And, it's curtains.

In addition to being 50, I'm now the mother of a college student. My oldest son, Parke, graduated from high school and is studying something...somewhere. He's as prepared and ready as a young person can be in this fast-paced, competitive, complicated time. He left excited and happy!

My college transition experience was the antithesis of Parke's.

August 1984 -- Austin, Texas
I watched the rental car back away. My parents in the front seat, Dad driving, looking over his shoulder to avoid hitting something -- and probably avoid looking at me -- Mom sitting beside him, and my 15-year-old brother peering between them from the backseat. My family said goodbye to me, returned their rental car, and boarded a plane for Phoenix, Arizona. They moved for my father's job the same weekend I transitioned to life as a college student.

I stood in an alley adjacent to the women's co-op that was my new home as my family left, and cried. It was what I thought I wanted. I was three months beyond my 18th birthday. The boy I loved, and had planned to attend college with, had bizarrely been denied admittance to the large state school. He instead, was going to an even better private university in Dallas -- three hours away. I didn't have a car or much spending money, and neither did he. I was completely alone. My family, now states away, and a steady boyfriend, essentially gone.

Dad, me, and Mom -- Wakonda Women's Co-op, University of Texas, August 1984

Me -- Co-op Courtyard, University of Texas, August 1984College wasn't awesome for me. Confused, mentorless, heartsick, and homesick, I flopped around for a few years unsure of what to do or who I was. I only lasted in Texas for a year before transferring to a smaller Arizona school. In hindsight, the giant state school was a terrible fit for a young, naive, immature, directionless girl. There's no one to blame and there's much more to my story; my experiences have made me who I am.

But, I want something different...better...for my kids. My husband feels the same and comes from a similar mentorless, freewheeling past. Some guidance, attention, and support within the education system would have been nice. However, as the saying goes...if things had been too much different, my husband and I wouldn't have met, fallen in love, and created our family. None of us can imagine not knowing our children.

August 2016 -- Malibu, California
So...my son. We attended a comprehensive new student/parent orientation program for a few days at his school before saying goodbye. Then we cried like babies. Parke's attending a school of his choosing (funded by a sizeable scholarship -- we're not fans of paying big money for undergraduate education), and we've done our best to ensure he's had, and has, the things we felt were lacking in our stories. Classic projection. But, projected with so much love, sincerity, and desire for our son to know he is supported. No matter what.

 Me, Parke, and Chris -- Pepperdine University, August 2016

Back to my 50th
June 5, 2016 was a beautiful day. My son had graduated three days prior -- an equally beautiful day -- and my family was happy and healthy. A 40-mile bike ride with my husband and father made me feel grateful for my health. A barbecue dinner in the backyard with my parents, husband, and sons left me feeling loved and celebrated. The simplest things are truly the grandest, and most memorable. For me.

Chris, me, and Dad -- Alpine, Utah, June 2016

I know my son's college commencement date -- May 2020. My advanced life degree commencement date? TBD. But, I intend to graduate with honors.

Hello JELL-O!

Redmond (6) and I were cruising the aisles of Costco recently. He asked for the giant above-ground swimming pool, I told him no. He thought the 10-person tent would be perfect for our family, again I said no. The outdoor play house (too tiny, actually) and playset (assembly required) were reasonable requests. I'm sorry, honey, but we have plenty of things to play with at home.

He felt denied and mildly disappointed. I don't believe he expected me to purchase any of those dreamy items, but summer's nearly here and the merchandising at Costco is heady.

Then I spotted her. A sample lady...and she had Jell-O.

We waited in a line as long and intense as one at the Magic Kingdom entrance gates. Frazzled mothers with handfuls of kids, whining, grabbing, the frustrated sample lady asking unattended kids where their mother was and informing them that she needed a parent's permission to give a sample, self-restraint evident in her voice and eyes.

Finally, our turn. Redmond didn't know what we were waiting for. "A special treat," I told him.

"Would you like green or red?" the sample lady asked him.

He surveyed the little white cups, each with a tablespoon or two of jiggly goodness, then looked at me confused.

"It's Jell-O," I said.

"What's Jell-O?"

The entire store silenced. I think. All of the moms and kids behind us gasped. A young voice said, "I'll take his!"

I grabbed a green and headed toward the eggs—the Kirkland Organic Brown Eggs (Cage-free!).

Parke and Duke have had Jell-O. I don't know how Redmond missed this experience. I don't care for the *food* myself, so it's not a treat in our house, but to live almost seven years and not even know what Jell-O is...

He hesitantly tried the sample. "I like Jell-O," he said. "Can we buy some?"

No.

The MorphOsuit

Redmond (6) gave me his Christmas list a solid month before the big day. There were only a few items on the list, one of them a "morphosuit".

"Where would Santa find a morphosuit?" I asked.

"I don't know, but he will. Or he'll make one. Santa can do anything."

I assumed the suit was something created in Redmond's imagination. A magical cloaking device that would allow him to become invisible, fly, float, battle bad guys, or just look cool.

As Christmas approached, I reminded all three boys that they should refine their lists—add or eliminate items—and to remember that just because they want something didn't mean they would get it. They understood. Except, Redmond refined his list to two items and one of those items was still a morphosuit.

"What's a morphosuit?" I finally asked him.

"I don't know."

"Where did you see one?"

"In the Thanksgiving Day Parade . . . on TV."

I found out that Redmond saw people in the parade wearing solid color spandex-y suits. Blue and green specifically. He was intrigued, asked his older brother, Parke, what they were and Parke told him morphosuits. And so was born the desire to have one of his very own.

I chatted with Parke about the suit. Turns out he wasn't making up stories—something I had suspected. The suits were legit. Only, the spandex get-up is called a Morphsuit, not a morph-O-suit.

Santa came through for Redmond on Christmas morning. Our boy quickly overcame a feeling of slight disappointed that the suit was black, not purple, and then he was overjoyed. Especially when he discovered the purple wig, orange sweatbands, and silver glasses.

Morpho-Boy!Mary can't stop staring.We spent the rest of Christmas day adjusting to the sight of a little kid running around the house covered from head to toe in black.

Morpho-Boy coming through!

Playing with his Leap Pad Explorer (the other item on his Santa list) at the dinner table.

Playing Wii

Fighting over the Wii remotes.

Mary still can't stop staring.

But my mom will still kiss him.Now we all want one.