Year Two

Eldest called on Monday night; her laptop died. She's taking two computer science courses (one of which has a huge term project due next week), so this was a bit of a crisis. However, before she called me she'd taken her computer to tech support, found out it was a hard drive problem, learned that everything was covered under warranty, and resigned herself to a computer-less life until Thursday. I commended her on how she'd handled it... and suggested she steel herself for the possibility that the computer might not be up and running on the anticipated schedule. Delays happen. I know.

Then Eldest called last night. Since she'd had to go to the computer lab to do her work she was efficient about it. Browsing through FanFic sites when someone is waiting for a computer isn't cool. And so 9pm rolled around, and she unexpectedly had a whole evening ahead of her. No onerous problem sets to keep her up until midnight. Oy, what to do?! (I should pause to explain that Eldest attends one of the geekiest schools in the nation; everyone has too much work, and if they're not doing p-sets they're squeezing in an extracurricular activity.) My heart sang hallelujahs that calling home to talk to the family qualified as a good way to fill time. Though I did suggest that later perhaps she could do something novel, like read a book.

Year two of having a child in college is a lot easier than year one. It's akin to the second year of parenting: when the raw newness has worn off, you realize that you can actually do what's required with some illusion of competence. You've amassed enough data points that you grin when you fly only half-blind. The relentless letting-go-of-my-child ache is ameliorated by knowing that every string that has been cut is being replaced by new connections that will allow you to relate as adults. And all that is good.

Love that girl. I just love her and love her and love her.

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