When is the Future?

I was talking to a friend about my idea to buy a Belltown condo. He and his partner are interested in moving in the opposite direction -- out to the country, perhaps on one of the San Juan Islands. Where my motivation is to walk to work, his is to telecommute from a remote spot. When his partner got a new job where he can telecommute, all of a sudden the present turned into the future for half of the pair. If Travor was going to telecommunte anyway, why not move to the islands now? Zach wasn't ready for this.

Sometimes the future has arrives sometimes like a train on a schedule. Other times, it pops up when we least expect it.

When I started to look at condos in Belltown, the future came up out of the ground like an early crocus in the spring. You know it is coming, and you know about when, but it still is a surprise. I was surprised that Jack and I had such synchronicity, that we both thought that the time for the future was now.

My other future, the one I knew was inevitable since the day she was born, arrives tomorrow morning at 7:45 a.m., when Claire-Adele gets on a plane for College Park, Maryland. That had always been a someday, a point in the future that we could and couldn't imagine.

I am surprisingly sad about this. I thought I'd be immune to these emotions, that my happiness for her would override my own sense of loss. That didn't happen. I don't want to rain on her parade, be a wet blanket snuffing out her excitement and anticipation. And yet.

I got her (and me) some flowers, the all purpose gift, appropriate in times of both happiness and sorrow. And so we share them, and each enjoy them for our different reasons.

London -- Low Maintenance

Forgive me for being off my blog for the past several days. Claire-Adele and I are on a mother-daughter trip to London before she leaves for college in less than a month. When Claire-Adele was ten, she and I made a trip to London. Now, she is eighteen.

What was she most excited about for this trip?

Drinking.

Every night so far, we've had a glass of wine, beer, prosecco, cider or sangria with dinner. As a very lightweight drinker, I am feeling a little sloshed after a week.

"I don't think I'll have an addictive personality," said Claire-Adele. She's probably right, yet there were nights when she drank more than I did. Which means she finished her drink and I didn't.

"I'm going to be responsible," she said as I bought her a 14 pound glass of champagne, hoping this would be a good investment in her learning to control her alcohol at college. Hoping, because if I am wrong, she cold be screwed.

Why did we come here instead of going someplace new? I wrestled with this, and here are my thoughts:

1. It is London. Seriously, how could it be bad? I love big cities.
2. They speak English and the food is predictable.

Most importantly,

     3.  This is an easy planning trip. London is the perfect low-maintenance destination for high maintenance people.

Compare to our two week trip to New Zealand a few years ago. It took us months to plan the logistics of that trip. We stayed (if I am remembering right) seven different towns on two islands -- Auckland, Pohara, some cute spa town with a hot springs water park, Christchurch, Queenstown, Manapouri, and Hamilton. We took three plane rides within New Zealand.

For this trip, all I had to do was book theater tickets (Ham for me, Harry for Claire-Adele), book airline tickets, and find a place to stay. In that order. Done. I was ready. Need to get from destination to destination? Buy an Oyster card for the Underground. Done. Easy-peasey, lemon squeezy.

Jack and I went to brunch last weekend with Carla and her husband who met in London while they were working there.

"What are you going to do while you are there?" she asked.

"I dunno," I said. Then she told me 300 things we could do, and I wrote down about 150 of them. I didn't open a guide book until the third day of our trip. Why? Because there is so much to do here that in Central London you can walk five minutes in any direction and find a castle, palace, museum or place of cultural or historical significance. With the Internet and a printer, you can find train schedules and print tickets for taking tours of Parliament or Bletchley Park.

Plus, Claire-Adele already had a ton of ideas in her mind of what she wanted to see and do, which made my life much easier.

Can you imagine how little I would write if I had to plan a trip, too?

Egads.

Final Draft

This isn't my last blog post, in case you were confused.

Last week when Claire-Adele and I were at Maryland, she critiqued my blog.

"That's not what really happened," she said. "I need to edit your blog posts to correct the errors. Or I should write my own version of what happened and post it on your blog.

"I'll call it Final Draft."

Maryland!

It is hotter than fuck here.

Seriously.

If I lived here, I'd be like super skinny because I would sweat five pounds off every day. Even the squirrels here are languid from heat. The move so slowly, as if they have given up and don't care if you catch them. Not that I want to chase a squirrel in this heat. Claire-Adele and I walked around the campus for an hour without a water bottle. Mis.Take. I was parched at the end.

I am further convinced that the Pacific Northwest has the best weather in the continental U.S.. Rainy and cool while at times can be emotionally bleak, it is at least livable. In the fourteen years I've lived in Seattle, I never thought I might to die because of the weather. I can't say the same for the Midwest, with its heat waves, freezing spells, blizzards, tornadoes, floods, etc. I am sure four of the six of my blog readers will agree with me about the Pac Northwest. The other two live in the Midwest.

Anyway, Claire-Adele was excited to show me around. It looks lovely.

Isn't this great? I am sending my cosmopolitan, nose-ringed daughter to a farm school.

Ha ha. Not really. But they do have a little farm in the middle of campus. The colleges we looked at in NYC and Philadelphia didn't have cows, sheep or horses. The campus has a dairy and the student union sells its ice cream. That's kind of cool. You don't see that every day.

The rest of the campus looks like a regular college campus. It has a bit of southern influence, but not that much. Technically, the university is south of the Mason-Dixon line, but there is enough Yankee influence and sensibility here that I can tolerate it. I hope. This college didn't let women attend until 1916 and African Americans in until 1951. Seriously? WTF? Wait. I did some googling and it seems that that was fairly common. And some people don't believe in institutional racism. This institution (like many other universities) was racist, which is the definition of institutional racism.

Tomorrow is new student orientation where Claire-Adele will meet other students and I will learn all sorts of administrivia about the college. Goodnight, University of Maryland. I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.

State School

Claire-Adele committed to the University of Maryland.

I should be thrilled, right? She's in the Honor's Program, she got in her major government and politics, and she will be in Washington, D.C. where there are hundreds of opportunities to get internships with the federal government. This will be awesome for her.

For me, this is a state school which is about $22K less than a private school, plus she got a nice scholarship, saving me close to $30K.

Claire-Adele joined the UMD freshmen Facebook page, and connected with several like minded students. Claire-Adele could have written this herself:

"I like hiking, reading, going to political protests and watching Parks and Rec on Netflix."

I was happy for her.

Then, she said, "I am going to need cut-off t-shirts to wear to tailgates."

Whaaa, I thought. She is on the waitlist for an all women's college in NYC where, if they did tailgate, they would not wear cut-off t-shirts.

I did not go to a state school. Neither did Jack. I know not all state schools are party schools and private schools van be rowdy. Animal House was based on Washington University in Saint Louis, blocks from where I used to live. Yet, I have an assumption--that might be right or wrong--that state schools party more than private ones. Jack checked out some videos on YouTube of UMD students. One girl was at what looked like a fraternity party where she smashed a beer on her head, it cracked open, and she drank it.

Oy. At that moment, I realized I know nothing about UMD. Sure, the college counselor said it would be a great fit for Eleanor. Sure, it has great programs in what she is interested in. Sure, it is considered a top twenty value in college education. (That is per Claire-Adele. I did not verify.) Sure, it is saving me $30K a year compared to a private school.

But is it a party school? Am I sending my daughter off to a drunken bachanal for the next four years? I hope to god not.

Then I wondered, could this be good for Claire-Adele? No, I do not want to see her hammered in a YouTube video slamming a beer. But maybe an environment that is somewhat festive could better than a school where everyone studies all of the time. Or better than a school where everyone studies all of the time and then power drinks on the weekends to escape the intense academic pressure.

So I googled "Top Party Schools" and found a few lists. According to the Princeton Review, UW (Wisconsin) Madison is the number one party school in the U.S.. That list wasn't complete enough, so I continued to Google and found another list from niche.com. UMD is listed at #41. University of Washington, in my backyard, is #84.

I relaxed. That isn't so bad, but I did figure out where all of my angst was coming from, in addition to one YouTube video. What college conference has the most party schools?

The Big Ten. Eight schools made the top 25, including UW Madison, Ohio State, Penn State, Indiana, Michigan, Michigan State, Iowa and U of Illinois if I remember correctly. MIT and Rice beat out my alma mater, which ranked so low, I can't even find it. (Okay, I did. #260.)

No wonder I was freaked out. I was born and raised in Big Ten country, home of some of the big party schools in the country. Then I read a little more. While my alma mater was ranked #260, its partying grade was A-. UMD was graded an A+ in partying. I suppose it is all the same, at some point. Unless I send Claire-Adele to a convent, partying will be part of the scene.

The Baby Bucket

Today, Claire-Adele heard from a few colleges she applied to. Nixed at one, waited listed at another. She seemed to be in a reasonable mood, considering.

I bought her some flowers at the Market today before I heard any of the news. I made the decision to buy flowers last week, knowing this week was going to be crazy. We went out to dinner at Rositas to celebrate the near end of the college admissions process/rat race.

At the table next to us was a young couple with a baby in a baby carrier car seat bucket. The baby was covered up, so I didn't get a peek. While Claire-Adele and I waited for the check, Jack and the Boy went to Gregg's Greenlake to look at mountain bikes. (Gear heads...) The couple and their baby walked by.

For a few moments, I remembered bringing Claire-Adele to Zuzu's, a Mexican restaurant in Clayton, MO. It was the first time we went out with the new baby, which was scary and thrilling. People stopped and told us what a cute baby we had, and of course, I believed them. This was the cutest, best baby ever. The first time people come up and look at your baby is something remarkable. It is amazing that this little tiny creature exists.

And here I am, seventeen years later, my baby in the bucket is about to leave for college in few months.

Holy crap. I hope the next six months aren't like this. I hope I don't start weeping every time I see a wagon or a stroller because my kids is going off to college. Ugh. I am going to sound like a new mom who thinks they baby is pure angel and they are the first person to ever experience the miracle motherhood.

And yet, I think this is as big as becoming a mother, maybe even bigger. It is easy to bring a kid into the world, and much harder to get them to the proverbial finish line.

Out with the Old

The next two weeks are going to be rough as Claire-Adele waits to get her acceptance letters from colleges. Our Spring Break plans hinge on where she gets in, which is a drag since this is her last Spring Break before she leaves.

Last night instead of getting involved in her spinning about what to do over break, I re-arranged my book stacks (i.e., the stacks of books I have around the house that don't fit on our shelves). With Claire-Adele leaving in less than six months, I don't need these books anymore. This morning, I donated them to the Little Library in our neighborhood.

We bought these books when we moved to Seattle in 2004, and they were well used. Instead of getting a pass to the Seattle Children's Museum (which is cool if I remember correctly), I am now buying tickets to Bumbershoot for the Boy.

These new books have replaced those old ones:

I had to balance out the geriatric knee book with something more inspiring. The Pacific Crest Trail is a gorgeous coffee table book with cool photos of places I'd love to see. While I have no plans to do a Cheryl Strayed and hike the whole thing from Mexico to Canada (or wherever she stopped), I wouldn't mind hitting parts of it. I can't imagine the kids would think it would be a fun vacation, but I can make plans for when they are gone. My neighbors Jen and Dave are empty-nesters as of this year, and they are having a blast traveling all over place.

After I moved some books around, I went to brush my teeth before I walked the dog and take the books to the Little Library. I looked around the bathroom and found other debris that will likely be left behind when Claire-Adele leaves, including a drawer full of nail polish. The old eye shadow will need to be tossed, but maybe I can find a place to donate the nail polish. If the YMCA Homeless Teen Center doesn't want it, maybe I can offload it on some of the neighborhood girls.

It is hard to believe this phase of my life and Claire-Adele's is coming to an end. It is not like she's dying, but there will be an extra empty bedroom in my house by the end of the summer. When someone dies, the loved ones are left with all of the crap the person has accumulated over a lifetime. Except for what she decides to schlep to east, all of her shit will still be here: dozens and dozens of books, a closet full of games, craft kits that are mostly used up, and a baby grand piano in my living room that no one will play, except maybe the Boy who dinks around on it once in a while or his friends who play when they come to visit.

Some parents leave their children's rooms as museums, untouched after the kids leave. That's not going to happen here. The Boy, who has been sleeping in the coverted attic space, will move into Claire-Adele's room when she leaves.

"Oh that's mean!" you might be thinking to yourself. "Poor Claire-Adele getting booted out of her room when she goes to college."

Nope. The kid has a view of Lake Washington and Mt. Rainier from her bedroom. It is the nicest room in the whole house, and she has it all to herself. There is no way I am leaving the hottest piece of property in my house unused while she is gone. Instead, she was extremely lucky for the years she was here. When she visits, she can either sleep in the converted attic, or out in the shed.

Brag and Drag Letter -- Senior in High School Edition

This week was part of ten days off of work. This will be the longest break I’ve had since I started my job last summer. Before the break, I was kind of dreading spending a week with my family.

The weekend before my break was total shit. Claire-Adele was in a rare form of bitchiness, so much so I was counting the months until she is 18 (six months) and leaves  for college (nine months). At one point last week, I was rooting that she’s choose a nearby state school. Now and rooting for her going to school on Mars. The following Monday I was giddy to return to work. The source of this general moodiness (I am guessing) is her applying to college.

Normal Mood of Daughter during Senior Year of High School

Mood of Daughter During College Application Process

I was complaining to my friend Jen about Claire-Adele's noxious behavior.

“Work is easier than home,” she said. How come no one told me that years ago? Why does the world keep this a secret from stay-at-home moms?

I could be simple and say Claire-Adele is horrible and awful all of the time, but no. With this experience comes exceptionable bouts of helpfulness and kindness.

"I'll make the Christmas cards this year," she said.

"I wrote the family Christmas letter," she texted me, including a copy of the note.

"Where is the address list? I'll address the envelopes," she said.

"Oooh, can I make the chicken parmesan for dinner tonight?" she asked. Uh, yeah. No permission needed to make dinner for the family.

I have three days left of vacation, and I've survived so far. Here's hoping I can make it until Tuesday. At the very least, I have my fancy red shoes to welcome me back to work.

Disappointment

Claire-Adele did not get into the school she applied to for Early Decision.

The night before she found out, she did, however, get accepted at the state school she applied to, which softened the blow a little bit. Her letter from Western said she was accepted with distinction and would be considered for merit aid. Which is all good. Now she has to buckle down for the rest of the break and finish her other college applications, which might be harder to do after the sting of rejection.

I had a million feelings after I found the news.

• I feel bad for my daughter for not getting into her favorite school.
• WTF? Her favorite school is one of the most competitive in the country. What kind of Princess cries over losing something that would be an honor and a privilege, not a right?
• Yay! I don't have to shell out an obscene amount of money for her to go to school.
• But I don't get to go to New York a few times year for vacation.
• How would she navigate the big city anyway? She could go to school much closer to home and that would be nice.
• She would learn so much in the big city and it would be fun. I am sorry she might miss that unless she gets into another school in the Big Apple.
• I could buy a new car, a vacation home, Jack could quit his job or retire early, etc., with all of the money we'd save on tuition if she went to a state school instead.

And back and forth and back and forth...

Saturday morning, I woke up and talked to my dad on the phone about Claire-Adele not getting into her top choice college.

I told him I felt like Rachel from Friends when she is finding out of she was pregnant. Phoebe took the test and told Rachel she wasn't pregnant, and Rachel was got weepy when she heard the test was negative. Phoebe lied, and said "No, you are really pregnant, but now you know what you really want."

When I was growing up, my mom thought it was outrageous to spend a ton of money on a private college education for me.

"I don't need the mother of my grandchildren to be that educated," she said. My mom turned the corner a little bit when a friend told her that it is good for women to have the capacity to be financially independent in case they get a divorce. My dad never participated in those discussions. He quietly wrote the tuition check and that was the end of the conversation.

Fast forward to 2017, the Year of the Gropers, Assaulters, and Rapists: Donald Trump, Harvey Weinstein, Matt Lauer, et al. Now more than ever, a woman with a strong education is a woman who has power over her fate and destiny. Now that uneducated women deserved to be harassed or assaulted--hardly. We need more women who can step into leadership roles in all areas -- business, government, entertainment, education.

A good education is a shield, a weapon against the bullshit of sexism. I am not talking here about assault or rape. I am talking about mansplaining or the automatic assumption some men make that women don't know what they are doing. I remember I met a young journalist from Northwestern when I was President of the Seattle Council PTSA. I told him I was an NU alum, too.

"What did you study?" he asked.

"MMSS," I said.

"Oh my god," he said, eyes wide. "You must be smart." As if I wasn't. It was as if I were an airhead until proven otherwise. Does this happen to men? I doubt it.

I had my Rachel pregnancy moment when Claire-Adele didn't get into her to favorite school. I realized how much I wanted it for her when she didn't get in. Sure, I had been saving money for this (and the Boy) since before they could walk or talk. I gave up a fancier house, clothes, and car so some day my kids could have the education they wanted.

But maybe I am wrong. Maybe she'll be fine without a snob school on her resume as my friend Marta calls them. Claire-Adele will likely be fine no matter where she goes. She is smart, creative and independent. Still, I had thought the world was changing--as so many other women did--and now we are in a moment of national reckoning and I am boomeranging back to wanting to protect her, to give her a suit of armor to face the world.

Claire-Adele

The big day is coming up soon.

I am kind of glad she is being so difficult. If she were being sweet and normal, I’d be crying every time I’d hear a Christmas carol.

“Claire-Adele loves Christmas carols and next year she won’t be here to listen to them the day after Thanksgiving,” is what I’d say between sobs. I would think about how after she leaves for college that we might never live in the same city—or coast—again. Ever. I did that to my parents. Oy.

Still, I hope that tomorrow brings happiness for her even if it breaks my heart a little bit. My sadness will take a backseat to her happiness, but it is not as if I’ll rejoice if she doesn’t get in. I'll probably be right there in the pit with her, along with the other 94% of the students who apply and don't get in.

Would I be happier if she stays closer to home next year? Only if she is.

On another topic, I opted for the red velvet. They should be delivered in one to two days. I can wear them the dress I wore to Hamilton, forever now to be known as my Hamilton dress.

Prada and a Fortnight

Years ago, before I had kids, Jack and I were shopping at Marshall Field's in Chicago on a Saturday. It was January and we were getting ready for our upcoming to trip to Thailand in March and we both needed new clothes. The previous week, I was feeling a little funny and wondered if I was pregnant. I was too naive or in denial to think it was a real possibility for about a week after I missed my period. In Marshall Field's, I was riding the escalator down, I saw I giant shoe display. Even though I didn't know I was pregnant at the time, I remember thinking, I will never own a $400 pair of shoes.

The deep recesses of my mind knew I was pregnant even if the front end of my brain didn't know what was going on. The backend of my brain knew that if I were pregnant, that every decision in my life thereafter would be different, and spending $400 on a pair of shoes would be an absurd and unnecessary expense with baby clothes, new furniture and saving for college. To this day, I've never owned a $400 pair of shoes. 

In less than two weeks, Claire-Adele will find out if she gets into a college that will have a major financial impact on our lives. Even if she doesn't get in early admission to her dream school, she will have more chances in the winter to apply for more schools that will cause an equal amount of financial wreckage. I've scrapped and saved and invested and got a job to prepare for this. Like childbirth, I can prepare and be ready, but that won't make it any less painful as I open the outflow of money we set aside for saving for college that hasn't been touched since 2001. The thought of taking more money out of savings than I am putting in makes my head spin. 

I know it will be for a good cause and I am willing to spend a boatload on my daughter's education. First, I know she wants it and will work hard. Second--and I don't know if this is reverse sexism or not, but I know from my own experience as a young woman in the workforce I benefited tremendously from having a degree from a top-notch university with a top-notch major. Whenever I got mansplained to or had to speak up in a meeting, knowing I had a great education gave me confidence and credibility I don't know if I otherwise I would have had. Maybe I was like the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz--I had a brain all along, but Northwestern was my Oz, telling me it was true. I want Claire-Adele to have that advantage because I know it helps, and as such I am willing to pay for it. It isn't just the brand name, either. It was four years of being surrounded by people equally smart and hard-working, who challenged, humbled, and supported me. 

Let's go back to $400 shoes. I was reading the fashion pages in the New York Times this week and I saw this amazing--amazing--pair of red velvet Mary Jane pumps by Prada. I have two weeks before I find out if I am going to have to adopt a major form of financial austerity for the next four plus years, depending on where the Boy decides to attend college, too. Is this now my window of opportunity--the window that closed when I first became pregnant--to buy an outrageously and irresponsibly expensive pair of shoes? In two weeks, that window could slam shut and not open again for eight years during which time I will be shopping at the Rack.

Nordstrom has these shoes (not in red, though) on sale for $389 with free shipping! 

They would even be less than my $400 threshold. Then I start wondering, would these be the perfect shoe? Are these shoes simply awesome, or are they the most awesome? Should I look for a better shoe, like these...

And they too are on sale, even though the sale price is crazy. These silver ones are wild. I have no idea where I would ever wear them, but aren't they fun? 

Fun...fun...fun.

Perhaps that is the theme here. This for the past seventeen years, my life has been primarily about responsibility and taking care of other people, not fun and frivolity. I can't say I mind. I am glad I have two kids and love them deeply even though at times they drive me crazy. I suppose that is the point of parental love. I remember thinking I was ready to have kids when I had more to give than I needed to take. Somehow I took that to mean I didn't need to give anything to myself. Buying these shoes aren't going to deprive my kids of food or shelter, or anything, really. 

Fast forward thirty years when Claire-Adele's daughter is going to college. What would I tell her to do? Buy the shoes or save the money?  

I don't know. I have a fortnight to decide.

The Senior Crying Season and the Wishbone

Claire-Adele applied Early Decision to one college and Early Action to another this fall. Applications were due Nov. 1. She will hear from the Early Decision college on Dec. 15. For those who are unfamiliar with the process, Early Decision applications are binding. If she gets accepted, that is where she will go. She will withdraw all other college applications. This early decision school is her first choice, her dream school. The odds are slightly more in her favor of getting in early decision than in the regular application pool, though the odds of getting into this particular school are very, very low. On the other hand, they have to let someone in. Her odds of getting in would be zero if she didn't apply at all.

We have now entered the Senior Crying Season. The applications are in, and everything is beyond her control. All she can do is wait.

I didn't realize how stressful this waiting time is for Claire-Adele until a few days ago. In the past two weeks, she has thrown two tantrums and had one stressed out crying fit, which is out of character for her. I am not talking about being a usual snitty teenager who makes rude and insensitive comments. I am talking about toddler level meltdowns at a grocery store two hours past nap time and mom said no to buying a box of cookies. That kind of uncontrolled and irrational meltdown.

In addition to the stress of knowing her fate lies in the hands of strangers, she is also having to prepare a second round of applications for regular college application decision in case she doesn't get into her first choice school. She is stressed, and I feel for her. I, too, hope she gets into her favorite school.

I wish she could understand that whether or not these schools pick her, she will still be the same interesting, curious, hard working person she was before. She doesn't beleive me when I tell her that. She is a teenager, and needs validation from someone other than her mom. I get it, but I wish she could get it from someplace else in addition to a college application review board. Today, she went to work and after work she staying downtown to go the YMCA Youth Leadership Program that she was a part of for the past two years. As an alum and camp intern this summer, she is welcome to crash the party. I am glad she is seeking self-care by surrounding herself with people who love her as she is who aren't in her immediate family.

This Thanksgiving, Claire-Adele and I broke the wishbone. She begged to do it. I knew what her wish was without her telling me.

And I wished for the same thing.

Halloween and College

Instead of trick-or-treating or going to a Halloween party Tuesday night, Claire-Adele submitted online applications to two colleges while the Boy was at a movie with a bunch of friends. I am glad he wasn't home. The applications were due November 1, but she decided to submit the applications a day early just to get it over with. The websites were having problems on Monday, and there was major freak out in our home. There is enough drama with the applications that I didn't need to add a failing website to the pile and angst and anguish. She is freaked out enough by the whole competitiveness of the process, that I didn't need a late application due to technical errors contribute to her already insanely high level of stress.

Tuesday after dinner and homework, Claire-Adele hunkered down with her laptop at my desk. I cleared out so she could command the space. Jack sat next to her and read the final draft of her answers to the questions. This was the first time either of us saw her application aside from the part we had to fill out with all of our information.

"Maybe we should break out the champagne!" I said. The night before, Jack and Claire-Adele were screaming at each other. I thought I might need to be totally tanked to get through the night.

"I am not having any alcohol until after the marathon," said Jack.

Party pooper, I thought. I looked at Claire-Adele and raised my eyebrows. "Do you want some champagne?" I said. She smiled, "Are you serious?" Yes, I thought. Maybe a half a glass will cut the edge off.

"No," said Jack.

Ugh. I thought. I am not a big drinker but man I didn't want to go through this sober.

I needed a distraction, so I put on my wireless headphones and cranked up Macklemore's "And We Danced."

And we danced
And we cried
And we laughed and had a really really really good time.
Take my hand
Let's have a blast 
A remember this moment for the rest of our lives...

The night before, Claire-Adele was complaining how unfair the college admissions process is, and Jack was arguing against her.

"Some kids needs a leg up," he said. "They don't have as many opportunities as you have." Yes, that it true, but not what a stressed out seventeen year old needs to hear two days before her college applications are due.

"Why do these schools need so many athletes?" she said. "They have such an advantage just getting in." She is right, too, but again, this was not the time to debate the finer points of the college admissions process.

Just as my Macklemore song finished, Jack called me over to read one of Claire-Adele's answers. She wrote that she was inspired to studied politics because of my run for School Board two years ago.

"It's is different than watching an election on television," she wrote. "I remember the mail-biting drama of election night..."

I started to get a little teary. "Maybe you want to save that to a Word file," I said.

Two minutes later, there was hyperventilating from my office.

"The answer is gone," she said. "I meant to do a control-c and I did a control-v and now my perfect answer is gone!"

Jack came to her computer, hit a few "undo's" and the answer was back. Crisis averted. At the point, I decided to walk the dog. When I got back, I volunteered to pick up the Boy from a friend's house. I let Jack hold the bag here.

When I got back, Claire-Adele hit the send button. We were done for now.

The next morning, the New York Times had an article with a subtitle: Yes, college admissions are unfair. If I recall correctly, one-third of students at Harvard are legacies. Colleges consider the wealth of parents to determines who gets in. And colleges still need "an oboe and a goalie."

Which makes me thinks about the Boy. He plays bassoon and he is reasonably athletic. Jack and I went to a fancy college, so the Boy could possibly get legacy status there. Heck, he could phone in the rest of high school and still get in. I am joking, but not by much. On the other hand, why should all of these kids across the country have to kill themselves with stress and effort to get into what is perceived to be a "good" school?

A lottery might be a better choice to determine who gets into college. Kids would still have to apply, but they could get a notice that said "Congrats! You made the lottery. You have a better chance if you are a goalie or play an obscure musical instrument, but you are worthy! And if your parents have money, all the better!" It might not be more fair, but at least it would be transparent.

CSS or the FCS-- The Financial Cavity Search

Claire-Adele is a senior and is applying to college for next year. We were at a picnic last week and every single adult she spoke to asked her about her plans for next year. What is often considered polite conversation starter: "Where are you applying?" is considered by Claire-Adele to be a crazily invasive question. Afterward, she said she wanted to wear a sign that reads "Please don't ask me about college."

I can appreciate her stress. She is applying to some serious reach schools where it comes down to luck as to whether or not she'll get in.

In support of Claire-Adele chasing her dream schools, Jack and I (mostly I) worked on the FAFSA and the CSS forms this weekend. FAFSA is the Free Application for Federal Student Aid. That form asks for some basic tax info from the previous year and how much money you have in cash and investments. They don't care about retirement or the value of your home. It didn't take that long to fill nor was it complicated as long as you have a copy of your previous year's tax return in hand. Enter your AGI, the amount of taxes paid, the balance in your bank accounts and your kid's accounts, and you are basically done.

Jack and I know the kids aren't going to be eligible for much (or any) financial aid until the Boy starts school, and even then it might be dicey, especially now that I have a job. We filled out the form anyway as a baseline in case something happens to our cashflow and we can no longer afford tuition. Jack could lose his job or become disabled. Both of us could encounter elder care expenses for our parents. Seattle could get hit by an earthquake or Jack could run off with another doctor at the hospital and we could end up divorced. None of these are likely to happen in the near future, but the probability isn't zero, so I buckled down and filled out the forms.

Fine.

The FAFSA was one thing, then there is the CSS, sponsored by the College Board, the same organization that charges $60 (or whatever) for every high school student to take the SAT and $100 (or whatever) to take an AP exam. The CSS is the College Scholarship Service, but it should be called the FCS, the Financial Cavity Search. Most private colleges want both the FAFSA and the FCS. Here is a summary of the FCS:

• How much money did you earn last year and this year? How much do you expect to earn next year? 
• When did you buy your home? How much did you pay for it? How much you owe on your mortgage? What is your monthly payment and how much is your home worth now? (Damn you, Zillow!!!)
• How much money did you put in retirement funds last year? 
• How much did you spend on healthcare?
• Are you being supported by other people? 
• Are you supporting other people?
• Do you own a vacation home? Family business? Farm?
• How much money did your kid make last summer? Next summer? 
• Do you have a trust fund?
• Life insurance?
• How many cars do you own? What are the makes, models, year and how much did they cost?
• How much money are you hiding in your mattress? 
• Have you looked in the cushions of your couch? 
• How much money is in your coin bucket?
• What is your non-taxable income? (This one is for the likes of the Corleone and Gambino families. Michael Corleone went to Dartmouth, after all, but I doubt he applied for financial aid.)
• Are your parents rich?
• Are your parents old and decrepit and you need to take care of them? How much are you paying for that nursing home?
• Do you have a rich, childless sibling who is going to pay for your kid to go to college?
• Is there any money anywhere else that you are not telling about, because if there is and you are not telling us, you are in big, big trouble, Mister!

Oh. My. God. It was awful. I only made up three of those questions on that list. The rest of them are true, and I left some of the other ones out because I blocked them out from the pain of answering them. The only question they didn't ask was how much jewelry I owned and how much was it worth. I bet next year it gets added to the list, or else they know not to get between a woman and her bling. They also didn't ask about the cash back program for my credit cards. Oh shit--would that be non-taxable income? Too bad. They didn't list it as on option on the form.

Yesterday was a beautiful, sunny day, one of the last before the hellish Seattle rainy winter brings nine months of gray and gloom, and I spent it exposing every financial detail about my life to the internet. People aren't supposed to talk about money but here I am having to financially strip down and be evaluated by complete strangers.

I would have said FTS to the FCS and not filled it out. I might have gone rogue and said "Ha! I am not playing your games and and and...wait, how much does this dream school of my daughter's cost? Really?" and then I buckled. They might decide to give us some money some day, I thought. We should fill it out on the off chance something bad happens.

I entered the list of all of the colleges she is going to apply to that require the FCS and hit submit, when I got a delightful* surprise: It was going to cost $110 to send all of my private financial information to all of these schools. It is bad enough my daughter wants to leave me and move to the East Coast. And now I have to pay for the privilege of having my family's financial situation scrutinized?

Kill me now, I thought. Kill me now.

* By delightful, I mean hellish.

Reveal Year

Before our vacation last week, I was walking my dog, and I ran into a neighbor. We chatted about our Spring Break plans. I told her we were going to the East Coast to look at colleges for Clair Adele.

"I have friends with college freshmen," she said. "Two are doing well, and one isn't. It is the reveal year."

I had never heard that expression, but it makes perfect sense. Freshman year of college can be a time where things that were previously hidden become apparent. I suppose the "reveal" could be positive or negative. My freshman year I learned that I actually could do laundry, much to my mother's surprise, even though one batch of clothes turned light purple. I was at Claire Adele's track meet, and I met a friend whose son started college last fall at a major state school, but not the major state school, which I just heard now had a 15% acceptance rate. (Egads.) This young man started working hard in college, and his revelation was "If I worked this hard in high school, I would have had a 4.0." The dad--a Princeton grad--grimaced as he told me this. While it was a pleasant surprise to both him and his son that the young man possessed serious motivation, the dad was clearly disappointed this didn't reveal itself when his kid was a high school freshman.

Most of the fail stories are kept well hidden to protect the privacy of the kid. A friend of mine's kid flunked out of very competitive school spring quarter his freshman year due to excessive video game playing and lack of attending classes. The university sent him home for a year where he attended a local college. The university took him back a year later, and he did fine.

When I was in college, I knew a genius who pissed his potential away on drugs, who in the end, did not do fine. I had a friend from high school who became so obsessed with doing well in school she stopped sleeping and showering. Knowing what I know now about mental illness, I wonder if she had mania.

I wonder the reveal year will show for my kids. I think about about how in college kids are more open to focus on what they love, not what they need to study. We visited colleges where kids are studying politics, economics, finance, the classics, world languages, international affairs, math and nanosciences. I went to a presentation where one of the tour guides was a math and drama major. When my kids find their interests, will they show more enthusiasm for their studies? The Boy is not a big fan of studying French, but he loves Rocket Club and could do that all day--and has. On rocket launch weekends, he is the last to leave except for the coach, even when his rocket has been out of commission. When will my kids find get their groove, or will they be the type of kids who get lost? I suspect they will find something they love, but we won't know until the time comes.

I can't decide if I am terrified about this or feeling free. This is like the final test for parenting: do the kids launch, or do they flail? Will they find growth and freedom from being unconstrained, or will they crash and burn? And if they do crash and burn, will they be able to pull themselves together again, and give it another shot?

Home

Claire Adele is a junior in high school and this spring we are going on a trip "out East"--as we say here in Seattle--to visit colleges. Except for Hawaii, Alaska and the Olympic Peninsula, everything in the U.S. is east of Seattle.

Claire Adele wants to leave the state for college. This is fine. Her father and I both left our home states for college. College is a good time to explore another part of the country, even the world.

The Boy is not thrilled about this trip. This is going to be a big city, eastern seaboard trip, whereas the Boy would rather be skiing. I can't blame him. I was driving him to soccer practice today, and we talked about the trip. Was there anything special he wanted to see? His friends have traveled extensively. They might have given him some ideas on what to see and do. He shrugged and rattled off a few tourists spots.

"This is a big trip for Claire Adele," I said. "When you are going to college, we will take you around to visit places, too. We can go to Montana, Colorado and British Columbia."

"We can do a quick campus visit and then ski," he said. The Boy has a friend whose brother goes to the Montana State, which is fifteen minutes from a large skiing area. All year round, Ian is outside skiing, hiking, biking or climbing. Sounds good to me.

"We are going to help Claire Adele find her new home," I said.

He laughed. "'This looks like a lovely dumpster,'" he said in a falsetto.

I laughed, too. I laughed because if I didn't I would cry because my oldest daughter will be leaving our home in a year and a half. "We aren't going to find her a place to live, but help her look at cities where she might want to live." I remember growing up in Columbus, Ohio and lots kids when to Ohio State down the street. Other kids went to colleges in other parts of Ohio. Maybe they settled in Cincinnati or Cleveland instead of Columbus. When I graduated from college, I got a job and stayed in Chicago. It became my new home. I never lived in Columbus again.

"I am not sure Claire Adele will come back to Seattle," I said.

"Seattle it lit," said the Boy. "Who wouldn't want to live here?"

"Claire Adele," I said.

I haven't been looking forward to this trip. We were supposed to take this trip last year over Spring Break. Claire Adele wants to go to college in New York City, and I want her to visit it before she sets her heart on it. Can I see my daughter in the art and fashion capital of the US? Yes. If the Boy goes to Montana State, there is a high chance he would come back to live in Seattle. Not so much for Claire Adele. She would likely stay in New York or Washington, D.C.

She would be ready to leave for college tomorrow, but I am not ready to let her go just yet. I am worried that this year maybe the last year we live in the same town, part of the country or time zone. I am not ready to help her find her new home. I want to stay in this one.