Mary Kay's Blog

We returned yesterday afternoon from student orientation with our second and last child, Chelsea. Since it has only been two years since we went through this two day adventure the first time, I didn't expect it to be as exciting, and to be truthful, it wasn't. However, there is a lot of comfort in feeling like a veteran, and it was fun to watch Chelsea take on the role of college student. There is something about orientation that suddenly makes it all seem more real to the student. And being the social butterfly that she is, it was amazing to watch how easily she made new friends and how much she enjoyed it. I, on the other hand, would probably have stayed within my circle of friends I already knew. It takes me much longer to warm up to strangers than my daughter. It is one of many things I really admire about her. . .

My husband and mine's favorite part stayed the same -- the talk on the second morning by Tim Rogers, vice-president of academic affairs, concerning cutting the apron strings and life outside the classroom. While this had not changed very much at all, it was like an excellent sermon, something it surely didn't hurt us to hear twice! As a high school counselor, I always conjure up images of certain parents who would benefit the most from hearing his remarks. In fact, I toyed with the idea of asking him to come speak to my senior parents. He definitely has some wisdom to impart, so go and listen, and please don't adopt that "not my son" or "not my daughter" attitude. What he says applies to everyone.

One of the most unsettling things I overhead that morning was a mother say that she had made her son request dormitory "a" because she didn't want him near all the freshmen shananigans that would go on in dormitory "b." The man sitting next to her summed it up nicely when he said, "If he wants to find that type of behavior, he'll find it, regardless of where he is living."

You raised them for 18 or more years, parents, now is the time to sit back and see what took. Granted it may take a few years for the finished product to emerge, but like a butterfly whose cacoon is cut open, if you don't let them struggle a little, they won't be strong enough to survive.

Well, we're moving again. This, frankly, is a royal pain and yet a common occurence with college students. Next year will be his third year in college and his third living space. The first year is a given -- you'll be in the dorm. Many student, however, either opt for an apartment or Greek housing their sophomore year. After a year of that situation, many have learned what they really what and make one more move. It's kind of like buying houses, by the time you've lived in three, you know what you're really looking for. David likes apartment living WAY better than dormitory life. The personal space, the quietness, the freedom -- it all appeals to him. However, his current apartment is just far enough off campus to make it impossible to roll out of bed and head to class. That was what he really liked about the dorm.

SO, he will live in a new complex next year that looks down into the backyard of his fraternity house. (we'll see how that goes; we're hoping that by junior year he'll have enough maturity to maintain a good balance of frat and study. I should really say, continue to maintain, because we're very proud of his choices so far) He is once again looking forward to walking to class, and setting his alarm for only enough time to roll out, pull on clothes and go. (Must be nice to be male and do that; I wouldn't know)

An aside: next year my daughter will join her brother at UT. So, I get to experience this all over again from a different angle. It's different already. Roommates have been picked, as well as comforters! David and his roommate never even talked about comforters! Suite mates have been found via Facebook and an electronic relationship is beginning there. I am suddenly making a mental list of what sororities my friends belonged so I can ask for recs. It is all very different, but just as exciting. However, neither my husband nor I are looking forward to coming home to that empty nest. We'll post about that next fall.

It started when he was just an infant. If David was fussy in church, I would scratch his nearly bald (he was a blondie, after all) head and he would immediately settle down and fall asleep. As he grew older, this became part of the bedtime ritual, and as he grew to be a teenager, it happened less and less, but was still a good way to calm him down, cheer him up, or get him to talk about what was troubling him.

On Sunday night, I received a phone call that really, really tugged at my heartstrings. His stuffy voice returned my "hello" with "Well, tonight is one of those nights I really wish you'd been around to scratch my head." "What's the matter?" I quickly asked. Apparently, nothing of great significance; he just felt lousy and had a full week of tests and papers ahead of him. My emotions were mixed. I was thrilled that he still wanted a little mothering when he was down, and distraught that my hand couldn't reach the 170 something miles necessary to do so.

He amazed me by reading aloud his charted scheduled for the week, complete with little notes of inspiration at the bottom of each day, such as, "Spring break is only five days away. You can do it."

By Wednesday, when I talked to him again, he reported he was "feeling much better" and the school work was all falling into place. He didn't really need me, but it was nice that for a short period of time, he still wanted me.

The young man who lived with us this summer was different from the young man who had previously lived with us for 18+ years. The first time I noticed it was when he had an extremely frustrating day. Instead of just totally "losing it," he began to list all the positive things that had also happened that day. You'd have to know him to understand what a major step that was . . .

This week was another major illustration of his growing maturity. He was frustrated with a certain professor and shared his feelings with me, but didn't expect me to "fix it." Instead, he was, as my walking buddy and college professor friend described it, "very proactive" and took care of the problem himself, even though he met up with one less-than-helpful person along the way and had to traverse the majority of the campus several times along the way. The bottom line is, he handled it, all by himself, without losing his cool. Whose child IS this? Perhaps that is the point, he is no one's child anymore . . .

Last weekend we moved my son back to school. I was a bad blogger last spring, but no news was good news. He completed his freshman year with a 3.8 GPA and was selected as an Ambassador Scholar (the students who lead tours for the admissions office). This year's schedule looks more challenging to me academically, and he has chosen to live off-campus in an apartment with three other boys. Two of them I know fairly well. I am worried that he is over-confident after such a successful first year. I am worried that four 19-20 year old boys in their own apartment will party more than they will study. And I am not thrilled that he has decided to go through fraternity rush, even though I was a National Officer for my sorority for many years. My daughter, who is a senior in high school, laughs at my worries and tells me my son makes good decisions and will take care of himself, but I worry, because I am a mother!

Last weekend I was talking to the parent of another freshman. But that parent has a female freshman, and that makes a world of difference when it comes to the amount of information exchanged between parent and child. She mentioned something about the fires on campus, and luckily, I didn't have to respond with a blank look. You see, I knew all about it! Not because my darling son had so much as mentioned it to me, but because I had received several emails from the Parents' Association, keeping me up-to-date on the situation. These emails have been coming regularly all year, letting me know about the good, the bad, and the ugly, and I really do appreciate them. They let me know about important dates and functions on campus, as well as concerns and situations that less "open" instutitions might try to gloss over. It is rare that my son even thinks to mention any of this to me. So for those of you whose child quit keeping you up to date on school happenings about the time they quit pinning the school newsletter to his shirt, the emails from the Parent Association are a blessing. Make sure you join! You'll be glad you did, and I promise no one asked me to say this!

Our first born and only son has now completed his first semester of college. Academically, he did very well. He managed to keep all his scholarships with quite a bit of breathing room. I don't think, in general, parents of boys can expect to know as much about what is going on in their students' lives as parents of girls. This was a pattern that emerged in high school, and it hasn't changed any in college. David is quite independent and was very "ready" to go off to college. Here are some things that he grasped early that I think made his first semester go smoothly:

• there is a direct correlation between going to class and doing well in the class. He got sick of people telling him that before he left for college, but fortunately, it must have had an impact because except for a few times when he was truely sick, he went to class (as far as I know . . .)
• professors really do see students during office hours. He was more than a little insulted and surprised by his first grade on an English paper, but he handled it appropriately and met with the professor one-on-one during her office hours to find out what she wanted. His grades steadily improved and she realized that he was a conscientious student.
• don't give up. A great number of students dropped his math class after the first test. It was the hardest test of the semester, in his opinion. Had they stuck in out, things would have gotten better, and easier.

What he may not have learned until too late is that you can't burn the candle at both ends and that your body tries to tell you when it needs more rest. The week of finals his finally threw in the towel, and by that final Thursday, he was really sick. He called after the last final to say he was headed home, but that he felt horrible. What do you say? What I said was, "Well, come on home, and I'll take care of you." Unfortunately, he was sicker than I realized - too sick to drive. He woke up as his head hit the steering wheel as his SUV bounced along the median of I40 about a half-hour west of Knoxville. Luckily, he managed to get control of the vehicle and neither he nor the car suffered any damage (yes, we said many prayers of thanksgiving). His father and I immediately took to the road to go get him. Strictly by coincidence, the transmission in the SUV decided to give out at the same time, so he wouldn't have made it past Cookeville anyway. Of course, there was a wreck on the interstate headed east on I40, and it took us twice as long as usual to get to him. He sat at a gas station, with a 103 degree fever, absolutely miserable, waiting for us. I took him straight to the doctor when we got home. Diagnosis? Mono. Christmas break, lots of rest and as much of my hovering as he could stand had him ready to return to school for second semester, but as I reminded him last night, "Take it easy. Your body still isn't functioning at 100 percent probably." We'll cross our fingers and hope he believes me.

He forgot to call when he got back to Knoxville from Christmas break. His father became frantic pretty quickly after the incident on the way home . . . He'd just gotten busy unloading the car and then had seen friends and gone out to eat. He was very apologetic when we reached him. Those are things are bound to happen, so get ready.