It has been a quiet couple of days. I’m not tripping over 17 pairs of cute size 5 shoes left in the doorway.
No dishes are piled in the kitchen sink. (The task of bending over to put them in the adjacent dishwasher is — let’s face it — arduous.)
We’ve not been inundated by the throbs of strange music from the second floor, or the lip gloss, sunglasses, gum wrappers and other teenage detritus that is usually left all over the house.
Catherine’s been at Hofstra New Student Orientation since Tuesday. Basil will drive back to Hempstead, NY, today to pick her up.
We went to orientation, too, but just for the day. There we were, southbound on I-95 at 7:30 Tuesday morning, a carload of nerves and anxiety (Catherine, too).
At the dorm where we dropped her off, she was whisked away (I tried to get a photo under Basil’s reproving glare, but succeeded only in capturing the flash of her pink suitcase).
There was no choice but to park the car and join the lemming-like parade of Mom jeans and golf shirts to the sessions for those of us paying the bill.
Save for a photo of her freshly made dorm bed, we didn’t hear from Catherine all day.
By the time we chose our box lunch and settled in for the midday session on all things IT, however, we’d begun to relax a bit.
It’s likely because the steady stream of rules, regulations, policies, suggestions, advice, handouts and deadlines had scrambled our brains.
Still, we looked askance at the helicopter parents in our midst.
We privately ridiculed the mother who monopolized a full 5 minutes of the Public Safety Q&A with endless questions about how her daughter would register her car to park on campus.
By the time we slunk back to the car, though, our resolve was flagging.
Basil found lots of time to fidget with the car windows and A/C.
He stopped for a cigarette, wondered aloud if they’d let us see Catherine before we left. I assured him that was unlikely.
We settled for a phone call and left an over-cheery, silly voice-mail that likely caused her to cringe.
Then we (only) half-joked that if we pressed our faces against the windows of the dorm building, they’d HAVE to let us in.
Finally, though, we put the car in Drive and ever … so … slowly started our way down Hempstead Turnpike, feeling more than a little out of sorts.