Fly, little birdie. Fly.

And just like that, eldest is off to Liberty University to continue his pursuit of higher education with an aim toward some sort of pastoral ministry or missions (or, tertiary consideration and the subject of his second major, psychology in some manner or other.) The trip down was...fraught. But it all worked out in the end.

The plan was to leave on Tuesday, around 1 or so, so that we could get to the hotel and settle a bit before heading to supper and just making it an easy evening. Now, I had been gently suggesting (with varying interpretations of the word "gently") that he begin packing for roughly 80 million days only to be told that he had it under control and it wasn't going to be an issue. Despite, of course, nothing having actually been packed.

But whatever. He's an adult. College is for him to figure out. It's time for me to step back and breathe.

Monday night, he asks if his friends can come over. I casually remind him that we want to leave at 1 and he's yet to pack and his response is that he's going to do it in the morning. When I asked when he usually got up and moving, his response was that he was setting an alarm and getting up early. So okay. Sure. I trust you.

(Narrator: I did not trust him. I knew it was going to end badly. But it allowed me to begin resetting my own expectations a little early. So win?)

Friends, that boy did not get up until noon. 

We did not leave at 1. Or 2. Or even 3.

No, it was fully 4 o'clock when we finally pulled out of the garage to embark on the three and a half hour drive.

You can then imagine that we did not have a laid back and relaxing evening, as we all arrived in Lynchburg teetering on the edge of hangry and generally annoyed.

That hangry incited a meltdown by his college-ness about how this was stupid and he didn't even want to do this and he wasn't going to make friends and it was awful and...panic. It was change-induced panic.

Food helped. So did sleep. But the next morning, move-in day, he was still not completely embracing the grand adventure of it all and I was metaphorically biting my nails about the whole experience while trying to be outwardly jovial and encouraging (not my normal go-tos, as you can imagine.)

Thankfully - and seriously, it could only be God - as the day progressed, we had more and more interactions that confirmed for all of us that this was exactly where he was meant to be. And after a time of prayer on the lawn (put on by the college and really just a fabulous experience), we left him to finish setting up his room and settle in and returned to the hotel with a hysterical younger brother who just had it hit home that his brother was not coming with us.

In the morning on Thursday, I texted that we were up and would like to hang out for a few minutes before we headed home and how was he doing? And he texted back that he'd made like ten new friends, they already had a group chat going and lots of plans for the day but that if we could bring him some hangars, he'd meet us in between all the fun he had planned to say goodbye.

Which is exactly as it should be.

I haven't cried. I'm not sure I will. It is oddly quiet and the house feels just a little...off now. But the new normal will settle in and we'll go down for parent's weekend in September and he'll be home for fall break in October. So it's really not all that bad. And I am grateful to see him flapping his wings and praying that he will catch an air current and soar into all that God has for his future.

The Call of the Wild

This year for schooling of youngest, we've decided to give Classical Conversations a try (have I mentioned this? I can't recall and I'm too lazy to look.) I have numerous reservations about this, but he's a little extrovert in a family of introverts so I really just want him to have more peers in his life (which is not to say he doesn't already - because he does - but more is always better, according to him.)

We recently received the book list for what he'll need to read for English, along with indications as to whether or not it's an essay book or just discussion, with the encouragement to read the discussion books during the summer so as to get ahead because the reading pace is fast. (This is a massive understatement. And it's definitely one of my reservations. Youngest is not the world's best or fastest reader by any stretch. He's improving every day, but he hates it and I still think there are ocular issues be it with focus or motor skills or both, but nothing we do seems to help so yeah. Good times.) (Point being, it's a concern.)

The first two books are The Sign of the Beaver - an essay book, so he's reading that a chapter a day, because the essay is part of week one?! And then week two is a discussion of The Call of the Wild. So I got the audiobook for that from the library and we're listening to it together.

I have never read TCOTW. I have never, to my knowledge, read anything by Jack London. And I wish, most heartily, that this state was not changing. Because OH. MY. FREAKING. WORD. 

This book is horrible.

Not the writing. That's fine. But the story. Whyyyyy do people insist on making children read books wherein dogs are mistreated and killed? What is the possible redeeming value of this???

I am STILL traumatized by Where the Red Fern Grows and that was read to me in elementary school which was eleventy billion years ago. When I started homeschooling, I very vocally asserted that I would NOT make my kids read that book, or any that has passed on lingering trauma to me even to this day.

And yet here we are, reading about a whole team of sled dogs (who are not actually sled dogs - just dogs that were bought or stolen and conscripted) being beaten with straps and clubs, starved, overworked, encouraged to fight one another, abandoned on the frozen track, and then forced to cross thin ice wherein they fall into said frozen water when the ice breaks underneath them.

What, I ask you, is my tenderhearted boy supposed to learn from this? What am I supposed to learn from this? And how am I supposed to respond when he looks at me with tears streaming down his cheeks and begs me not to make him read the rest of it.

Because I'm with him one hundred percent. I don't want to listen to any more either. I just don't. It's horrifying. And there is no possible ending that's going to make the journey okay. There just isn't. (I guess maybe if Buck breaks free of his harness and goes on a brutal mauling spree, leaving every human who he encounters bleeding out slowly and painfully on the frozen tundra it might--might--be acceptable. But even then I don't think I'd be satisfied.

We're up to chapter 7 of the 9 (66%) per my Libby app and I'm not sure we're going to make it through those last three chapters. (I mean, we will, because we have to. But OMG. It's horrifying.) All I am learning, honestly, is that I'm grateful London died at 40 before he could inflict more of this hideousness on the unsuspecting youth of our world and that maybe miserable alcoholics shouldn't be allowed to get published.

Those are the shrieking....frogs?

Out here in the forest where we now reside, the sounds of nature are one of the things we have come to love most. Many are the evenings where hubs and I will go out and sit on the deck and listen to the varied birds and the rustling of squirrels and all the other delightful noises that are there for the taking.

One of the joys of summer out here, however, has also become the frog song.

This has only grown more vociferous thanks to the maybe-someday-they'll-finish pool.

In fact, said frogs have become so abundant in number (at least I assume there are more, and not just one or two incredibly loud and obnoxious gentlemen) that we've taken to using a white noise machine for sleeping. Because while it's rather nice and soothing when on the deck with an adult beverage, it's considerably less so when trying to sleep and being rendered incapable of same because of the noise.

Of course, there are still nights (like tonight) where the frog party gets so loud and ridiculous at 2 a.m. that I am rendered incapable of further sleep and must, instead, drag myself down to the sofa (so as to avoid waking hubby with my annoyed tossing and turning) where I try - with the assistance of coffee - to convince myself that nature is beautiful and I'm grateful to experience it. 

Pool? What pool?

Pool installation shenanigans continue apace. Will there actually ever be more than a big concrete hole in my hard surrounded by mud for the dogs to drag in with them after every venture outside?

Jury's still out.

The pool peeps did come by on Saturday (after having assured me LAST week that they'd be there working all week and we were absolutely on track for a pool party to bid farewell to eldest prior to college move in.) (They did not show up all week. Until Saturday. I can kinda get it. The weather was hot. There were the dumb fires in Canadia making our air bad. SO yeah, I wouldn't want to be outside working either. BUT...would it kill you to send an email? A text? Smoke signal?)

Anyway, they dug up more space to put pipes in around the pool so now it's muddy with bonus ditches to fall in or jump over.

Yay, I guess?

I would have thought (hahahahaaaaa) that they'd be back Monday to finish the plumbing or something. But alas, no. Will they come today? Seems unlikely. Tomorrow is likely right out as it's saying there'll be thunderstorms all day. Which leaves us where?

No idea.

(Or maybe the thunderstorms are today? I know I saw rain later this afternoon in the forecast.) (It really doesn't matter. The TL;DR is that they aren't finishing my pool and I'm grumpy about it. Especially since eldest keeps giving me long looks as if I contrived to taunt him with a pool he won't get to use. But then, he seems to find every opportunity to make things my fault these days. Because mini-adult, I guess. I don't know. It's super fun.

If only I could blow off my annoyance by taking a nice, refreshing swim.

At the risk of being a Luddite

As we're prepping eldest for college, I find myself more and more annoyed by the current trend toward putting everything online -- and only online.

Basically, I miss paper.

Eldest is struggling with being nervous about this big change (not unwarranted - it's a big change!) and as I've been pondering the situation and trying to help him navigate, I can only think back to how things were when I was heading off myself.

What I remember most? The HUGE packets of information that I was sent. Schedules of orientation week activities. Maps. Rules. Suggestions. Checklists. All on paper. So I could get to them easily and highlight them or check them off etc.

And most of that information (probably all of it) is available. But it's in an email sent to his college email account and then you have to find the link and click it and then scroll and then click and...by the time you find it, you can say "aha"...and then if you need it again, you have to do allll that discovery over again.

It's so much more overwhelming. I'm overwhelmed and I'm not the one who really needs the information. Is it any wonder that he's struggling?

I'm tempted to start wholesale printing things, except that he's going to have to figure out how to navigate it all, since this seems to be the way of the world. But honestly, paper is underrated.

We'll get through it. 40 days until move in - he chose the bright and early 8 a.m. move in time (I suspect, since he procrastinated and then had a hard time finding which portal to log into and how to do it blah blah blah that's all that was left. But it's fine. I'd already reserved a hotel for the night before, so we're good there.)

It's fine. It's all going to be fine.

If I say it enough, will it be true?

Serpent! Serrrr...pent!*

One of the surprising parts of putting in a pool, is the need for said pool to need "watering" for like 28 days while the gunnite cures. There's science behind it, which is actually kind of cool to read about it, but it's a whole "who knew?" situation for me.

Regardless, we've been dutifully watering the pool as recommended by our pool installer.

So, this morning, in my jammies and without my glasses, I shuffled down the deck stairs to the spigot to turn on the water to the sprinkler that sits in the bottom of said pool, and as I reached for the knob, something poked it's head up and then back down behind the wall that separates the space under the deck from our patio.

It's a little knee-height wall.

And...I might have freaked out a little.

But I hurried back upstairs, telling myself, "Maybe it was a rat."

Now, I'll be honest. A rat isn't better. I know that. You know that. Everyone knows that. But I did not want it to be a snake.

When hubs came down, I said, "Can you go down and look and see what poked its head up when I turned the water on?"

And he's all, "We get a lot of skinks."

Friends, I can tell the difference between a skink and...well, anything. Skinks are tiny. They are not scary.

So he's gesturing to me through the window and finally, I go out on the deck as he's going down the stairs and, having woken up a bit more I am now wearing my glasses, so I lean over and look down and before I can point the damn black snake is already in the process of crawling over the wall.

So I shriek, "Snake!" Because terror. Even as I'm trying to tell myself that it's a good kind of snake to have. They're good. They're not dangerous. They're not scary. It's not even that big. 

And I run back inside. Where I proceed to not-quite-panic.

Hubs comes back in while I'm trying to not curl up in a ball on the floor saying, "It's okay." over and over and he asks, "Do you want me to move it?"

"No. He's good. He's fine."

And ...yeah. All true. But also? Whyyyyyy?

Why do snakes exist? Surely there are other choices God could have made?

Anyway. It's about time to go turn the water on for the next round of pool watering and...I don't want to.

*spot the quote

(It's from the Disney Alice in Wonderland. No one was going to spot that.)

Back in my day...

We're at the 54 day mark before eldest heads off to college and, as it's also Prime days at Amazon, Big Brother seems to know that they should inundate me with all the ads for college dorm necessities.

Boy, it's a lot.

And also...I'm so confused.

Back in my day (and yeah yeah, I'm old), I packed up my clothes, bedding, my shelf stereo with CD player AND cassette capability, my state of the art desktop computer running Windows 3.1 and I was good to go. Oh, and an answering machine. I really think that's all I took. There might have been a framed photo or two.

Now?

Everyone apparently neeeeeds a mattress topper. And the numbers and varieties that are available are mind numbing. Memory foam. Gel. Cooling. Cooper infused. Set up like a bottom sheet to elastic all the way around. Just a rectangle that sits on top. Down filled. Two inches. Four inches. 

Just...it's baffling.

Also suggested are rolling carts. Skinny drawer collections (some with casters, some without). All manner of over-the-door hanging organizing things. "Safes" that are lockable boxes, basically, that hook to your bed to also be a desk type thing. Fans. (Oh my word, the fans.) And Fan stands that hook to the bed. Charging stations. Rugs. Removable wallpaper.

Honestly, if you can think of something that could possibly go into a college dorm room, I guarantee there are at least sixteen people selling them as "essentials that you'll regret not having."

I've asked eldest which, if any, of these things he needs and/or wants and he just shrugs. Which...maybe that's good? But I suspect what will really happen is we'll get ready to pack the car and he'll realize that he doesn't have anything he actually needs and so we'll be trying to navigate WalMart or Target (or both) when we get down to school. (And I mean, fine. If that's what we gotta do, that's what we gotta do.) Of course, this is the same kid who, when I was reminding him to go in and reserve his move in time and talking about logistics, looked at me completely confused and said, "Wait. Why are you going to be there?"

So there's that.

(*To be fair, hubby's parents put him on a plane and said bon chance. So I know there are families that do that. But...I am not that mom. At least not for freshman year.)