May The Odds Be Ever In Our Favor

My daughter only applied to four colleges. Among her honor student peers in our upscale little town in hyper-educated greater Boston, this is quite unusual. Some girls (and guys, I assume) have applied to eight or ten or twelve or more. All that paperwork is daunting enough. But, the campus visits?

Oh, my dears!

Libraries and lecture rooms, dorms and dining halls. After a while, how do you tell one from another?

Nevertheless, last Friday night found us, once again, heading to a college. In this case, it was one that we had already visited three times and toured twice. In this case, it's out of state. And, in this case, a blizzard here in Massachusetts meant that our late night flight was even later than expected. We got there after midnight.

No big, right? Except that we had to be on campus at 8:00 the next morning for ...

The 75th Annual Hunger Games.

Not really. It just felt like it.

Picture this. Just like in Suzanne Collins' popular dystopian novels (and J-Law's even more popular dystopian movies), game young men and women from all over Panem arrive to compete against each other. I'm not sure what district my daughter would be from — I can't remember, is there one buried under snow and ice? Regardless, these earnest competitors look simultaneously fierce and frightened. Are they fighting for their very lives? No something even more important ...

A full scholarship.

That's right, a "full ride," the magical mystery prize, the holy grail of straight A's and killer SAT's (neither of which, by the way, can my daughter brag about). Having been accepted in October and awarded a nice merit award already, my daughter had been invited to compete for a full scholarship.

(This, btw, created much stress and great angst in my young student. I tried to impress upon her (as did her dad) that it was a "no lose" situation. If she won, it would be amazing! Absolutely amazing. But, if she didn't win and wanted to go to this particular school, she still could.)

We didn't know much about the contest in advance. My daughter had been sent an article and would be writing an essay about it. There were sessions with deans and faculty from her major, and there were concurrent sessions for parents. But, we didn't know how many seniors (or should I call them "tributes?") had been invited. Or how many awards there might be.

Upon arrival, we quickly realized that the odds were not (to quote Effie Trinket, "ever") in our favor. There were 150 students battling it out for 3 scholarships. "Just do your best," I whispered to my girl as the contenders were led from the campus theatre center to the classrooms where they would write their essays. I settled in to hear about the wonderful world of freshman orientation, community service, junior year abroad and, of course, financial aid.

When the Provost welcomed us, he cleared his throat, picked up the mic, raised an arm above his head and — I was so sure — was about to say "Welcome to the 75th Annual  Hunger Games!" 

But no, he made a soccer analogy instead. At his urging, we all yelled "Gooooooooooooooooooal!", holding the word as long as our lungs allowed. I realized his comparison was better.

Getting that scholarship is a goal — and a fine one — but not life or death. And, as far as I'm concerned, my daughter's already a winner.

If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.    

College-Level Math

Like so many other parents of high school seniors, we're in a holding pattern right now. My daughter has been accepted at three of the four schools to which she applied. We're still waiting to hear from number four, but since that fine institution wasn't her top choice, it's a moot point. Although she seems to be honing in on a decision (and a campus visit several weeks ago knocked one contender out completely), she has been thoughtful and patient about it. 

Or else she's procrastinating. A more than likely possibility. After all, she's eighteen.

Meanwhile, her father and I (well, mainly I) have been doing a lot of math. For the next four years, not just her higher education expenses, but things like new cars and vacations, are up in the air. Mathematically speaking.

How much will we owe? That's the two hundred thousand dollar question.
 
Each of the three colleges that have accepted her have offered my daughter handsome merit scholarships.

Me: See, honey? All that hard work paid off.

Her: (eye roll)

But, each school presents a unique and complicated equation. For example, one school has a discount for students from our state majoring in her concentration. Nice, right? But, then they offered her slightly more as a merit award. The two are mutually exclusive and come with their own rules and regulations. If she takes the merit, she has to requalify every year. If she takes the discount, she can't change majors.

And none of this comes without work on our part. The FAFSA is looming, although we won't qualify for need-based aid (like so many middle-class Americans, we can't exactly afford tuition, but we can't can't afford it to the extent that someone else wants to pay it for us). But, we've saved since she was three, plus there are grants, work-study opportunities and the dreaded college loans to consider. And, she is being considered for an additional equestrian scholarship and will compete for several more sponsored by organizations in our town.

And, let's get real, it isn't as though we'll stop working while she's in school. (Don't I wish?!?) Tuition will become another bill that we pay. We're used to that. (Aren't we all?!?)

The good news (well, aside from acceptances and scholarships, which I would classify as great news) is that — in theory — some of our expenses are going to decrease when she hits the road. For example ...

1. Stabling and other costs
Wherever my daughter and her trusty steed end up, we will still be footing the bill for his room and board as well as hers. But, happily, the costs are considerably lower outside our general area. Then again, so is real estate, but we'll probably wait on that.

2. Cookie dough and other comestibles
This fairly expensive so-called "after-school snack" (so-called by my daughter, obvs) will no longer be required. Call us crazy, but my husband and I prefer our cookies cooked. The same holds true for other weekly grocery staples, such as orange soda, fruit roll-ups and cheese poofs.

3. Boots and other necessities
My daughter has only two feet, but a boot collection that somehow continues to grow. In fact, many of our trips to the mall for completely unrelated errands result in a new addition. And, I could make the same observation about leggings, tee shirts, jewelry and more. You may (rightly) view this as an inability on the part of yours truly to use the word "No." But, we have to assume that less shopping together will mean less ... well ... shopping.

Hmmm. Our monthly finances may not feel so different after all. 

Now, if I can just make sure there isn't a Starbucks, Panera, Bertucci's or Chipotle (e coli scare not withstanding) near her campus, we'll be all set.

If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.  
 

A Long, Slow Look at College Decisions

Often I see glimpses of my husband in our teenage daughter. Her natural athletic ability, for example. Her sense of humor. How fast she drives. Some of these attributes are good and some ... not so much. Some make me pull my hair out. 

But, I digress.

Other times, I see myself in her. I take pride in her creative writing, in her diligence and determination. Her obsessive appetite for particular TV programs. Sadly, she's inherited my sweet tooth as well. 

But, again, I digress.

Then, there are situations in which I watch her and think "Who are you?" and "How can we possibly be related?" 

We're going through one of those now as she hones in on the college decision that she'll (and we'll) be living with for the next four years.

When I was a senior, my college prep counselor (who knew me btw; he was one of my math teachers) took a look at my transcript and my SATs, asked what I wanted to major in, and made a single suggestion. "Tufts has a great drama program and they love early decision applicants." I went, I saw, I applied. They said, "Yes." I said, "Yes." And we were done. Signed, sealed, delivered before Christmas my senior year. One thing, one very big thing, crossed off my list.

This was 1979, and early decision was still a fairly new idea. Forget about all its modern permutations: early action, rolling admissions, restrictive early action (WTF?), as well as plain old vanilla regular decision. 

Everything is much more complicated nowadays, although with most schools accepting the "Common App," there's a lot less paperwork. Still, it's mid-December and a compulsive young person (such as myself 35 years ago) can already know where she or he will be going.

Not my daughter.

She applied to just four colleges (less than most of her peers in our high-achieving little town; her very focused intended course of study made the universe much smaller). Her applications were complete in late October, neatly within any early action or rolling deadlines. She was almost immediately accepted into two schools, which happened to be her first choices, at the time. I say, "at the time," because times have already changed. Now, we're waiting to hear from the other two. And, my daughter (not a particularly patient young woman under normal circumstances) seems perfectly content to wait.

I would be pulling my hair out! 

Don't get me wrong, I completely understand — and even support — my daughter's thoughtful consideration during this important time of change and choice. After all, chances are she will spend a substantial chunk of her formative young adult years at whatever fine institution of higher learning she chooses. Then there's all the associated fallout: friends and significant others, where you live and what you do. I have never attended a Tufts reunion, but my decision to go there affects my life every day.

Nevertheless, my seventeen-year-old self was way too eager to debate, contemplate, ruminate or meditate (Hmmm ... I seem to have missed my calling as a middle-aged white rapper). My daughter is taking her time.

She has an equestrian scholarship application due tomorrow, but no other paperwork or tests to worry about. In essence, the admissions ball is not in her court at the moment. Once she hears from her other two schools, we may have to do some additional campus visiting (bake-off style, perhaps). But, there's no rush.

You see, she has until May to make her decision.

I just hope I can last that long. 

If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.

I Ain't Missing You At All

Yesterday morning, I had an overdue bagel and coffee with another mother. Our daughters, both seniors now (and mine already 18, wtf?) used to be inseparable. They were pretty much attached at the hip through preschool, pre-K and kindergarten. And while they ended up at different elementary and middle schools, they stayed good weekend friends for years. 

These days, they have different interests and travel in different groups at school, but our families have remained close.

Most of our conversation (the place was probably ready to kick us out after 2+ hours) was catching up on our whirlwind summers and comparing notes on the looming college application process. Every few minutes though one or the other of us would say something like: "They're seniors. Can you believe it?" Or "Where did the time go?" Or "How did we get here?"

These are the same bewildered murmurs I'm hearing from all my fellow mothers. We're all thinking the same thing. If our daughters are finishing high school, how old are we?

Wait, don't answer that.

We know our girls have wonderful adventures ahead of them (if they can get through the next six months of unrelenting stress). We're proud of their accomplishments. We're compassionate about their challenges. We (usually) excuse their attitudes. Most of all, we want to help them make good decisions and move forward positively and productively into their next oh-so-exciting chapter.

And, in the moments when we're not offering opinions on essay prompts or SATs, senior projects or safety schools, we miss them. 

Well, not "them" them. Not the sometimes sullen (okay, often sullen, almost always sullen) teenagers we're currently cohabitating with. 

We miss the old them. 

We miss the princesses and the mermaids and the astronauts, the ballerinas and the gymnasts and the softball players and the ninjas. We miss making cupcakes and reading bedtime stories, doing art projects, watching Disney movies. We miss zoos and museums, amusement parks and bicycle rides. We miss science projects and field trips. We miss tucking them in at night and waking them with hugs and smiles (not exasperated yet utterly toothless threats). 
  
And speaking of teeth, we miss the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, the Great Pumpkin and Santa Claus. (We even miss that ridiculous — and, let's face it, kinda creepy-looking — Elf on the Shelf.) We miss dancing and twirling and splashing and skipping. We miss holding hands and all things first: first words, first steps, first teeth, first haircuts, first grade.

We miss sharing their secrets and being the one person, the one and only person in the whole wide world, they can't wait to see after school. 

I wonder sometimes if my daughter misses any of the magical-mundane moments I do. I think she probably will some day.

But, right now, she has too much to look forward to.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book  Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

High Stakes

Several years ago, I complained to a coworker about a particularly late night I had spent helping a particular daughter with a particular science project.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because she wouldn't have gotten it done otherwise."

"So?"

"So, she would have failed."

"So, let her fail."

This left me speechless. It was a completely unacceptable concept for me (and absolute proof that the aforementioned coworker was not a parent).

In hindsight, maybe, I should have let her fail. The stakes in third grade weren't so high. Today? Oy vey. It feels like any little hiccup on any quarter's report card will mean the difference between attending a respectable university and becoming a productive member of society. Or wearing a batik skirt, Birkenstocks and hitchhiking cross-country following the Grateful Dead.

Except these days, she would wear something from Urban Outfitters and follow Imagine Dragons or Walk the Moon or, her personal favorite, Magic Man.

I can't begin to tell you how tired I am of the never-ending mantras of my fellow terrified parents ...

"Junior year: this is the year that really counts."

"It's harder to get into college now than when we went."

"Your son/daughter simply has to take the SATs twice plus ACTs (and three subject matter SATs and at least two APs)."

To say the stakes are high — or, at least, that we perceive them to be — is the understatement of the year. And, if I've learned anything so far about this whole college application process, it's that there is no room for understatement. Your child must be the best, the brightest, the biggest thing since sliced bread. A scholar, a leader, an athlete, an active and compassionate volunteer.

And, failure, is absolutely not an option.

After years of micromanaging my daughter's homework, I've stepped back. (My new and improved attitude coincided with many "I'm not a kid anymore!" protests.) Now, we have an agreement. It's a quid pro quo thing.

The quid includes riding her horse every day, competing in equestrian events (many of which involve long distances and heavy entry fees), going to concerts, and watching her favorite TV shows: Pretty Little Liars, New Girl and Dance Moms.

The quo is a little simpler. She has to keep her grades up. 

My daughter would argue that I have unreasonable expectations where grades are concerned. But, I honestly don't. I want her to continue to make the honor roll, but if that means excelling in some classes and coming in around average in another, that's ok. As long as the net net is good, I'm good.

Sometimes I worry that I've run out of steam right when I need to push her the hardest. But, she needs to do some of her own pushing now. I can't email her teacher or call her guidance counselor every time I think she's received an unfair grade on a paper. My daughter has to advocate for herself. Stay after class, have those awkward conversations. She's seventeen; these aren't things I can do for her anymore.

Besides, she'd kill me if I tried. 

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.   

Junior Parents Night

I have to confess that I haven't always been a big fan of all the rules and regulations, policies and procedures at my daughter's high school. I've rolled my eyes at the dress code. I've complained about the number of (more accurately, dearth of) women authors on the English department reading list. I disagreed when they revoked the add/drop period. I despaired when they fired the arts administrator and used the money to install surveillance cameras.

So, you can imagine my confidence level as I attended "Junior Parents Night" last week.

But, guess what? I was pleasantly surprised.

The school auditorium was pretty full, with maybe 200 or so concerned junior parents. Make that, very concerned. Very, very concerned. We were there to hear about ... the college admissions process. OMG.

The guidance department ran the meeting, which lasted precisely 90 minutes (methinks they had done it once or twice before). There were lists and charts, standardized test schedules, reassuring anecdotes, and demonstrations of the online college search tool that each of our sons and daughters could access. There was even some humor.

The audience was having none of it. Not even when we learned that "Jane Junior," with her average GPA and lackluster SATs, could still choose ten schools to consider: two "safety," two "reach," and six "probable." Truly, looking around the crowd, I was taken aback by the sky-high level of anxiety and abject terror of my parent peers.

And we're still months away from applications and as much as a year away from actually receiving acceptances — or, gulp, rejections.

I wasn't feeling great, and would have bagged a less important event. But, my mommy-guilt got the better of any physical ailment. After all, if I skipped Junior Parent Night, I probably wouldn't be prepared to guide my daughter and then she probably wouldn't get into college and then she'd probably wind up on some reality show with the other beauty pageant moms who lived in her trailer park.

The probablies were positively terrifying.

Well, I rallied (as we moms do), and I'm glad that I did. Not because I now feel prepared to single-handedly run my daughter's college search. But, because I now feel like I don't have to.

The guidance department really seems to have its you-know-what together. The process starts next week. Juniors will set up their online accounts, receive their official (work-in-progress) transcripts, and fill out their "brag sheets." They'll take SATs and ACTs in May and June. Over the summer, they're expected to write drafts of their essays and visit campuses. By the fall, just like "Jane Junior," they'll have a list of their safeties, reaches and probables.

My jobs, which will include planning trips and writing checks, are much fewer and less mission-critical than I thought. 

And, I'm relieved.

So, in conclusion, I'm grateful to have been pleasantly surprised by my daughter's high school.

Now, if we could just get some women authors on the reading lists ...

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  

A Fine Line Between

My daughter hates me.

This in and of itself isn't particularly newsworthy. Or unique to me. In fact, my mom mafia and I exchange texts to that effect fairly frequently. If you don't believe the old adage "there's a fine line between love and hate," just have a teenager. And wait a minute.

So, this time I'm the target of her anger and ire because I'm forcing my daughter (practically at gunpoint, if you ask her) to go to SAT prep classes. That's right, I've actually spent significant money to assure that she does well on her standardized tests so she can get into a good college and acquire a fine education which will help her build a more productive, profitable and pleasurable life. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Man, I suck.

She says "It's not fair." Guess what? I totally agree. But, guess what else? I didn't create the system. 

If it were up to me, things would be different. I wish colleges had the luxury to look at people before numbers. That they could put individual strengths and passions and personality ahead of quantitative scores. IMHO, the only thing the so-called "aptitude test" measures is a student's skill at taking aptitude tests.

Another thing, I hate the fact that the system contributes to the chasm between haves and have-nots in our society. Let's face it, there are many students out there who don't have access to these dreaded prep programs. They are expensive and as such, they are exclusionary. In essence, students who probably already have an advantage based on where they live and the schools they have access to also end up with better test scores.

I felt the sting of this myself way back when. I went to a fabulous school, and my own test scores were absolutely respectable. But, some friends who were more affluent were able to afford private tutoring and raise their scores. Academically competitive by nature, I resented this to no end. In fact, I sounded exactly like my daughter.

"It's not fair."

So, thirty-five years later, my daughter is hating me for something that I feel absolutely trapped into doing. I don't believe in the system; I think it's grossly biased and I resent spending the money (believe me, even if my daughter doesn't, I can think of many, many, many things I would have rather used the money for).

Kids in our upper middle-class Boston suburb do test prep. It's just a given. And, yes, I'm going along with it. Because, until the system changes, the stakes are too high. I'll be the first to admit that I'm being a wimp about this. But, I'll also know that I've done what I could to ensure that my daughter gets into the best school she can.

I'm sorry that the summer classes, practice tests, homework problems and fairly incompetent instructor are so tedious and frustrating. I'm sorry that my daughter hates me. However, as I recently reminded her, if she made a list of all the reasons she has to love me and lined it up against a list of reasons to hate me, I'm fairly confident that the first column would be longer. Like, a lot longer.

When she was a couple of weeks old (and I was still suffering some postpartum blues), I worried that her newborn unresponsiveness was a reflection of her (lack of) affection for me. A compassionate coworker of mine had more parenting experience than I did; he had a teenage daughter at home.

"I think she hates me," I confided. 

"No," he told me gently "She doesn't hate you ..."

"... But, she will."

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com. 

Teens Stressed? Duh!

Last night, my teenage daughter had a bit of a meltdown. She had returned from the stable (practicing her driving there and back) and was getting ready to embark on what can only be described as an unreasonable load of homework plus prep for a last-minute math test. Her iPhone was acting funky, and — for several agonizing minutes — it appeared that all of the photos she had downloaded in the past year (concerts and friends and Photography 2 assignments) were missing from her laptop. OMG! I was able to find the pictures, but the damage to my offspring's nervous system had been done.

Quite simply, my daughter was stressing out. And, for the record, when she's stressed, we're all stressed.

So, this morning, when I saw the headlines reporting the findings of a recent "Stress in America Survey" by the American Psychological Association, my immediate reaction was ... "Duh!"

Teens More Stressed Out Than Adults, Survey Shows

America's Teens Outscore Adults On Stress

Teens Are Stressed Especially During School Year

New Study: Many Teens Report Being Under Stress

Teens Feel The Stress — And Many Don't Manage It Well

I repeat. "Duh!"

We all tend to romanticize the carefree (high technology-free) days of the past. I know this. But, I am absolutely positive that my high school days were less stressful than my child's. I was a high-achieving kid in a school full of high-achieving kids (when I say the girls in my graduating class were "rocket scientists," I'm not using the phrase as slang; I'm being quite literal). I had after school activities. I applied early-decision to a very selective university and got in.

Bottom line? I was no slacker.

But, I just didn't have to manage the same level of pressure.

These days, in communities like ours, students start taking AP courses sophomore year. The top performers are in a constant battle with each other for the kind of through-the-roof transcripts they need to get into Harvard, Yale or Princeton. Remember when a 4.0 was enough? Welcome to the world of weighted GPAs!

Add to this the pressure to perform athletically. The pressure to participate in resume-building community service activities. The pressure to keep up with each other — constantly — via social media. 

WTF? There'd be something wrong with our kids of they weren't stressed out.

Last night was a bit of a wake-up call for me. And it was underscored by the APA's survey. 27% of teens describe themselves as "extremely stressed." 34% expect that stress to increase. 40% report feeling irritable or angry; 36% feel nervous or anxious. Most react to the stress by eating, going online or "snapping at their friends." Very few turn to positive outlets like exercise or meditation. (Not surprising; very few adults do either.)

Teen girls are more stressed out than teen boys. And, finally, stress is associated with depression, anxiety, sleep disorders and eventually chronic illness.

So, here's what I'm going to try to do. Lay off a little. Just as my daughter is under pressure to perform, moms like me are under pressure to push their children further, faster, higher. We see the problems, but we worry about easing off and thereby keeping our kids from reaching their full potential. We are also caught up in the race to the top. Our high school has become so focused on "student outcomes" (state and standardized test scores, admissions to elite schools) that the curriculum and individual education is suffering. The place is like a pressure cooker.

In fact, my daughter's mental and emotional and psychological health would probably be better if she were homeschooled.

Except the stress would probably kill me.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.