Ten years ago we left New York for Fayetteville, and within a couple months we adopted Sunny. We’d been dog-less for four years, and Troy and I were more than ready to begin again. Huck was not so sure, but he knew this was not negotiable. We had planned on naming our new dog Banjo, but this Benji lookalike didn’t seem to fit. Huck suggested “Sunny” or “Lollipop,” and so we grabbed the first name and that was that. After a week or so of having Sunny in our family, Huck announced that she was the perfect dog for us. “I don’t like dogs and she doesn’t like kids!” Sad but true.

In a heartbreaking bit of timing, Sunny left us on August 28th, a week after we said goodbye to Huck. We had one very delightful decade with her full of joyful hikes and snuggles, and we miss her very much. She was scared of most every other human until they came with her on a walk, especially a hike when she was allowed to run free. So many family and friends over the years exclaimed, “She’s like a different dog out here!” As my best friend Shannon says, “I’ve never seen a happier dog off a leash than Sunny.”

Last Thursday evening Troy had a work event, and I texted Huck that I was about to go on my first solo walk around the neighborhood, as we are trying to continue exercising without our favorite companion. I set off, praying no one would ask me where my dog was, and Huck texted, “do you want to facetime on ur walk?” And so we did, and it was one of the most comforting things anyone has ever done for me.

Speaking of Huck, he’s one happy nerd. He says his math homework is SO FUN because it’s all puzzles and riddles and impossible problems that remind him of his workbooks as a child, only much harder. His French class is full of students who are fluent, which is scary and exciting for him. He just got cast in the non-theatre majors’ group Scotch ‘n Soda’s musical “Carrie” and begins rehearsals today. (Possibly the world’s first math major dabbling in musical theatre.) He and his friends made pie dough in the community kitchen last night. He’s taken the bus to Target for banana bread ingredients. He goes by his middle name Will at CMU, as he felt that sounded better than being known as “Huck from Arkansas.” A rowdy group of math majors had lunch together in a courtyard on Friday and ended up with post-its on their foreheads shouting passionately as they attempted to solve one of their bonus problems. He often sends me pictures of his meals, which are usually Indian.

As for me & Troy, we hardly run the dishwasher, we take great pleasure in the sight of hummingbirds in our back yard, and we live for texts from Huck. This morning Troy is taking down his once beautiful sunflowers, and we’re slowly accepting the gradual loss of our spring and summer beauty as we prepare for the glory of fall. And Huck’s Christmas visit.

August 27, 2013 – the day we brought Sunny home

964 miles away, Huck texted that he was off to get some dinner last night, and I secretly pulled up the Carnegie Mellon web cam just in case I could get a glimpse of him as a college student walking across campus. And I am happy to report that Stalker Mom (as Troy just named me) succeeded! I would recognize that joyful gait (and super long hair) anywhere.

A week ago Huck began his new life in Pittsburgh, and Troy and I began to slowly fade into the background. A wise speaker congratulated us parents for no longer being our children’s problem solvers; now we were their advisors. “This is your life!” one of the slideshows exclaimed to the students. I could feel Huck’s heart pounding with excitement.

Two doors down from Huck’s very nice apartment-dorm is the TV studio where Mr. Rogers was filmed. Troy finds great comfort in this.

While away for five days, Fayetteville had quite the heat wave and we were worried about our flowers. Upon arrival home, we went to the back yard to assess the damage and were pleasantly surprised; the flowers needed water, but they weren’t as dead-looking as we feared. Most delightful of all was our hanging pot of million bells (calibrachoa), which were struggling even when watered daily. Before we left town Troy moved the pretty flowers to the shade, and five days later they looked better than ever with seemingly a million more yellow blooms. Left on their own, they thrived.

Hoping Huck is like the million bells.

Huck’s dorm – Residence on Fifth

The Last Supper

The Last Family Selfie

The Goodbye

The Web Cam

I see you, innocent parents of brand new high school seniors. Your beginning and our beginning are somehow overlapping. Your children are entering their last year of high school while ours destroy their bedrooms in an attempt to empty them. You’re beginning to ask questions about senior pictures and college applications while we’re paying room and board and buying towels at T.J. Maxx. Yours are beginning a series of lasts while ours tries to make room in his fashionable, overly small wallet for his insurance, HSA, and voter registration cards. The other night I woke up in a cold sweat with this new idea: “He’ll need Command Strips!” That’s when you really know you’ve slid right off the deep end.

Today is Huck’s Final Fayetteville Day before we begin our drive to Pittsburgh in the morning. Ever loyal to his beloved high school choir program, he has a long to-do list that ends with section-leading at their first Thursday after school rehearsal of the year. This isn’t only because he’s an overly helpful person; it’s mainly because he gets to be a high school choir singer one last time before coming home to help load the car.

Leading up to this Last Day, there has been the purging of his massive tea collection and Apple product boxes (he has hoarder tendencies like his father), army roll video tutorials in an attempt to get all those shirts into suitcases, a Lana Del Rey concert, a surprise visit from Aunt Jeni, a family viewing of Heartstopper Season 2, lots and lots of time with friends, and a constant countdown to Sunday’s goodbye, which has been moved back to 4:30pm as if to torture mothers.

The first time Aunt Jeni visited Huck was when he was three weeks old, beginning a tradition that would last much longer (and with more lip syncs) than we could have ever imagined. I felt completely incompetent and embarrassed as I struggled to calm fussy Huck while my little sister patiently encouraged me, offering gentle ideas here and there until finally I began to relax. We were down by the Hudson River enjoying a quiet, peaceful walk when she said, “He’s really turned a corner,” which meant that I’d really turned a corner, which was the best thing I’d ever heard. So many more long, dark hallways to come, but still.

Here’s to all of us and our corner-turning and first days and last days and all the ones in between.

First, a quote: “The day the child realizes that all adults are imperfect, he becomes an adolescent; the day he forgives them, he becomes an adult; the day he forgives himself, he becomes wise.” -Alden Nowlan

Second, a snippet: During one of our nearly daily summer drives to the Mount Sequoyah pool last Friday, I missed my turn and sadly said to passenger Troy, “Sorry. I was thinking of Sinead O’Connor.” To which he replied, “It’s okay. We all are.”

Third, a short story: Back when Sinead was first becoming famous, I was Huck’s age about to head off to college 84 miles away from home. My memories of that summer before I left are hazy – it was 35 years ago, after all – but I do remember feeling like my parents were being extra mean to me. My mom in particular, always so loving, was argumentative and accusatory all summer long. It finally came to a head one August day when she asked why I was packing up so much of my bedroom, and when I reminded her of the upcoming trip to Wichita State she cried, “I thought you were just going to college! I didn’t know you were moving out!” And though I was an innocent 18 year old, I knew enough about the world to understand that she was sad, not mad. And she was right; I never lived at home again after that move.

(And within a few days I’d meet 18 year old Troy, but that’s another story.)

Earlier this month my sister Jeni and I made a quick trip to that same house, and on the last evening we read letters we had sent to our parents long ago. One was written by my mom to me right before Huck was born. It was a pep talk, reminding me how strong I was and how much pain and then love I was about to feel. I considered taking the letter home with me – why did they have it anyway? – but decided I liked the idea of it mingling with letters I wrote in my twenties.

When our weekend ended, my mom and I headed south to get her back home, driving right by the Wichita State University exit we’d taken all those years ago, and I asked her if she had any advice for our upcoming trip to college. With Elvis playing on the radio, she agreed that it would be sad and told me to always put Huck first – more wisdom about the pain and love of parenthood. “He’ll miss you too,” she added. I asked if she remembered my last summer at home. Staring straight ahead she nodded and said with a hint of sadness, “You moved out.”

Huck and I have had our own summer of occasional turbulence, along with perfectly calm dorm shopping, dog walks, and dinners together now and then. I know enough about the world to understand that he’s ready for independence, and there’s no greater symbol against it than a Mommy. I represent everything he wants to leave behind, and I can earn angry lectures by accidentally asking if he’s had enough to eat or if he’s making enough money. But when he’s feeling tender and childlike, he asks for help composing a text to his roommate or setting up his new Discover card, sometimes asking if we can sit and talk, giving me a brief status boost during this awkward transition. I know he’s about to experience something that nothing so far in his life compares to, and Troy and I will take the back seat together and remember.

And a conclusion: I pulled up Carnegie Mellon’s move-in weekend schedule the other day and found this: “Families should say farewell by 5 p.m. on Sunday, August 20, when student Orientation sessions begin.” Then I played some Sinead O’Connor and started dinner.

Huck loves sending me funny videos of young adults imitating their moms in various states of technological distress, and they almost always make me cringe-laugh. I asked him why it’s always moms who get made fun of in these videos, for surely dads of the same age are also making these same mistakes. Huck agreed that while it is unfairly slanted toward the moms, it’s because we’re  just so sweet and we try so hard.

Fast forward a few hours to me nearly ruining dinner because I once again couldn’t figure out how to un-shuffle my Hamilton playlist.

We moms and dads go through a lot of stages in our identities over the years, and it’s sad sometimes to remember how victorious we seemed to our babies and toddlers compared to how they see us now. Huck’s overly patient face and slightly judgmental eyes when I struggle to remember how to do something he recently taught me (like how to un-shuffle a playlist) are very reminiscent of that time I caught him writing on his comforter with a Sharpie. He knew better!

But nothing, and I mean nothing, can turn two perfectly educated adults into temperamental three year olds like an Apple remote that’s gone bad. “Just use your phones,” Huck told us. “It’s so easy.” No. No, it’s not easy. Don’t believe him. It’s the opposite of easy. This summer there have been many evenings with Troy and me in tears, saying things we shouldn’t have, raising our voices to the Apple gods if only they would please, please turn our iPhones into magical TV remotes. One particularly devastating night we sat down to watch “Succession” only to realize HBO Max was now simply “Max” and required a new app and password and other awful things that challenged our mental stability. We thought we’d finally made it and started to breathe normally again when we noticed that in all the hubbub closed captioning got turned off, seemingly forever. There is no way the two of us can hear an English language show without our subtitles, so I finally managed to croak the words: “Just get him. We’re in over our heads.” And there went Troy, highly respected member of the community, shuffling with his head down toward the always-closed bedroom door of our tech support from hell. Knock-knock. “Yes?” Huck said with a mix of cynicism and self-righteousness, no doubt having heard our cries and curses. Troy raised his head, found what little self-respect he had left, and courageously whispered, “Can you help us with our phones?”

Hoping he still offers his services remotely.

As part of Huck’s final week of high school way back in early May he received his “Senior Folder.” Much to his surprise, it included assessments from kindergarten through second grade at Muscota New School in NYC, which meant pages of detailed paragraphs from his beloved classroom teachers from those early years describing his love for math and reading, Roman Numerals, Cozy Learning Day, chess, American symbols, Carnegie Hall, drama, NYC history, and this excerpt from his journal in first grade: “I always get finished early and get to free draw. Wow! Math is one of the neatest things in the world!”

Like for so many parents, this memory somehow seems like 100 years ago and just the other day.

Now that we’ve finally reached June and official summer break for all three of us, the month of May feels the same way. Here are many pictures from forever ago and yesterday of the many, many celebrations that caused “congratulations” and “graduations” to not even seems like real words anymore. WOW, however, continues to be the best word of all.

Final Choir Concert

AP Scholars Luncheon

Cousin Noah’s University of Kansas graduation!

Old pals at Washington Elementary’s Senior Walk

And here they are reenacting this sweet old pic …

Honors Night

The Twins!

Grduation (see? I can’t even spell it anymore) Night on May 18th at the University of Arkansas

Co-Mommies who together weathered many a stressful spelling bee

Sweet Mommy & Daddy

Kansas Family!

Aunt Jeni brought Huck a yarn bouquet!

Special dinner out while Troy & I attended our third graduation ceremony of the week

Lil’ Graduation Party

In an attempt to get Huck out of his room on a late Sunday morning in early April, I texted that the Easter Bunny had arrived one last time. After a brief lol, he emerged from his sweet smelling cave and politely reacted to the various goodies in his pastel basket that has held this job for many years. I casually mentioned this would be his final Easter basket, but then I promised to go to his college campus – no matter how far away – and create an Easter egg hunt for his classmates with a big sign saying “From Huck Schremmer’s Mom.” Later Troy and I attempted to make a special Easter dinner of vegetarian quiche and risotto that I promptly burnt and caused the house and everything in it to smell of fire. Not too long after Huck said, “Yeah, I probably won’t have any more Easter dinners with you guys either.” Afterwards I picked up the empty basket with its paper green grass and thought, “Now what do I do with this thing?” I put it back with the other festive containers that have served their purpose through two childhoods – the New York City one and this latest one in Fayetteville  – and are now going to become museum items.

Then came April 19th, and as I opened presents Huck said, “This might be the last time I’m with you for your birthday until you turn 60 or something and everyone gathers.” And he’s right; for decades I stopped celebrating my parents’ birthdays in person, though nowadays I tend to make a point to be with them in late June and November. For quite a few years now Huck has been in charge of choosing T.J. Maxx candles with the very best scents for my gifts, as he knows and understands my sophisticated palate better than his father (who has many other great traits) does. Since he was so extra busy this year with his school musical on top of choir competitions and regular old school work, he secretly trained Troy to take over. We were all a little nervous as I opened the gifts Troy carefully picked out, but we three quickly decided he had indeed learned from the master and is now officially capable of candle-shopping alone.

Which is a good thing, since Huck has chosen Carnegie Mellon as his next adventure! He and Troy just got back from a whirlwind trip to Pittsburgh, and within a few hours of being on campus they texted me the picture below. Since we visited a lot of college bookstores full of amazing sweatshirts over the past year and never once purchased one, I knew this was getting serious. The spot where Huck is standing also happens to be the view of the CMU live webcam. Being far away from all the excitement, it didn’t take me long to figure out how to rewind the camera footage and watch Troy and Huck walk along the path and discover the sculpture at 8:26am and then again at 12:02pm, this time with Huck in the lead. I kindly requested that Huck have his lunch there everyday and wave in the general direction of the camera.

Next up in a few hours: Huck’s first and last prom wherein he wears his first (but probably not last) ballgown!

I’m reading “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller, recommended by Huck, and the other morning this passage about Achilles’ rather intense sea-nymph goddess mother Thetis gave me pause: “She brought the whole urgent universe wherever she went, portents and angry deities and a thousand looming perils.” I realized at that early hour that this mother must remind Huck of me this year, as he often accused me of giving him emergency, life-threatening news that could ruin his day.

Now I would argue that college essay deadlines are not life-threatening per se, but apparently my delivery is sea-nymph goddess-like at best.

Like so many parents of high school seniors, I’m a little on edge, a little excited, and a little sick to my stomach at all the stimulation of the last few months, culminating in this week when every last college finally made their decision. I take comfort in texts from other mom and dad friends about rejections, acceptances, financial aid packages, quick final college visits, and insomnia. For some unknown reason, I’ve saved every college pamphlet and catalog that appeared in our mailbox over the past year, and lately they’ve been living out their days in a large box on the garage floor, always causing me to shake my head wistfully when I catch sight of them. They represent the excitement of the beginning, the stress of the middle, and all the anti-climatic moments in between before becoming irrelevant toward the end. These colorful brochures have now transitioned to the recycling bin.

I won’t bore you with the details of these last turbulent and sometimes boring months; I’ll skip to the punchline. Huck’s two college contenders are Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh and the University of Arkansas Honors College Fellowship right here in Fayetteville, where he has been offered more than a full ride. Along with maybe squeezing in a quick visit to Pittsburgh, we’re right now trying to focus on Huck’s school musical, his senior pictures, his final choir concert, his AP exams, his senior recognition night, and finally graduation itself on May 18th.

He has exactly one month from today to make his college decision, and when he does I am sure there will be a Greek tragedy type sigh of relief and gratitude coming from a certain goddess-like mother.

Shortly before Huck was born 18 years ago tonight, I remember looking at his future high chair and saying something like, “Wait a minute. The baby will always be with us? Like all the time?” It was as if up until that moment he was an abstract idea, a so-called “baby of ours,” not a future roommate, not someone we’d share our lives with day in and day out. Suddenly it seemed so permanent – in a good way maybe – but still, very permanent.

Fast forward to the night he was born, and we never wanted him to leave our sight.

Fast forward some more, and this year Huck’s high school choir has been singing Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are A-Changin.” More than once we’ve been in the audience as he and his classmates sang this to their parents:

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land
And don’t criticize what you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’.”

Happy 18th Birthday to our favorite person, our favorite topic of conversation, our favorite mystery, our favorite permanent fixture.

When Huck was a four year old New Yorker, we scheduled a written test through the neighborhood public school to see if he qualified for the random city lottery of gifted and talented elementary schools. While Troy and I were a little horrified at this reality – not being fans of standardized tests per se – it was a dream come true for Huck. For months afterwards he would ask us to sit at the table and give him a pretend test, mostly interpreting abstract drawings. He scored off the charts on the real test and was put into the coveted lottery. We toured some gin and tonic schools – or whatever they’re called – and had our eyes on one in particular near the Museum of Natural History. Sure, it shared its old building with another school and would be a terrible commute each morning and afternoon, but New York parents will do anything! We began secretly making plans about this amazing (and free!) New York City education our child was about to receive.

But he did not win the lottery. He would attend a regular New York City school after all.

There was a spot for him at a nearby public school called Muscota that prided itself on a progressive education, one of our favorite words. And for three years Huck thrived there as a dancer, actor, artist, student council representative, and Roman numeral expert until we decided to pack it up and move down south.

Fast forward 13 years and here we are again, frantically searching for Huck’s future. Instead of a little G&T test, he’s writing essays, making videos, and answering all kinds of questions about himself and his accomplishments. The perfect grades and test scores aren’t nearly enough for the schools he loves with 6% acceptance rates; he has to somehow set himself apart from the hundreds of thousands of students with the same grades and test scores. On the first of November he applied Early Decision to the University of Chicago, and we began secretly making plans about this amazing (and totally not free) education our child was about to receive.

But he lost that lottery, too. After delaying their admission announcement by four days and nearly killing me, UChicago said no to Huck. And while we knew it was a long shot – so few spots and so many thousands of applicants – it still felt like crushing news to us fragile parents and Wichita State University grads. Huck, on the other hand, handled the disappointment like he always handles such things – something about being an Enneagram Nine. He began working on the other college applications due in the next week or two, taught me how to play Gin Rummy, and went to Target with friends. I quietly took down our favorite UChicago postcard from the fridge and resisted throwing it in the fireplace.

And then our friend Padma sent Huck and me an email. Padma and I have been co-parenting since we met in 2013, and she’s going through similar emotions with her high school senior. We’ve together weathered summer lemonade stands in Arkansas heat, cut-throat junior high spelling bees, and November 2016. Her mother voluntarily led the advanced math group for Huck and his friends in 3rd-6th grade to keep them stimulated and challenged. Being our favorite published novelist and creative writing professor, Padma met with Huck this fall to read his essays over tea and Indian snacks, giving him invaluable lessons in life. She sees the eight year old in him and the 30 year old at the same time. They will always be friends.

Her supportive and uplifting email ended with this line: “Meanwhile, stay warm in front of your fire and see you on the 25th for Geoff’s famous veggie lasagne and some games!” And that was what it took to finally release the tears of motherhood. Something about the cheerful reminder of the joys of life: a fire in the midst of zero temps, food made with love, and games. Always games.

Muscota turned out to be one of the best things to ever happen to this family. I can’t wait to find out the next one.

Spelling Bee Champs