I accomplished something historic today. I stumped a barista. Little insignificant PLAIN tall coffee of the day with cream and two Splenda me freaked the Starbucks guy totally out. It was rediculous.  

I ordered my typical tall and a latte for my boss because she is balancing two (hundred) projects. Not knowing her drinking habits, I figured she could sweeten the latte if she preferred it sweet or leave it plain if not. Bam. But somewhere between placing my order and the pick-up window, self doubt rocked me.

“What about her administrative assistant? I struggled to remember ever even seeing her with a coffee cup. Wait, does she even drink coffee? How does she take it? What about the rest of the life enrichment team? How would they drink theirs? And what about our residents in the activity room?” As my first world anxiety about where to draw the Starbucks cut off line heightened the waiting line shrunk and I had to make a the call. 

In my daily decision-making I employ a process of future-casting to try to anticipate the likely ramifications of my decisions. (If you see me squinting at Brussels Sprouts in Kroger now you know why.). I just could not picture myself blowing past one person to deliver a caffeine gift to someone else. I decided the only moral course of action was to bring coffee to Judy as well.  So glad I’m not an over-thinker. 

I progressed to the window where the Hipster Barista repeated my order and said “That’ll be $6.43. ”

“Great, but could you please add a tall latte to that order?” I asked in my sweetest voice. 

Silence. 

The pupils in his eyes contracted, his beard scruff bristled, even his man bun quivered beneath his 100% locally-sourced stocking cap which in a Louisiana late Summer one truly needs. He then sighed dramatically and closed the drive-thru window to call me a harlot. I mean I did not actually hear  the last part but we can all safely assume. 

I witnessed him draw a cleansing breath through pursed lips and re-open the window. Then Starbuck loudly asked for a tall latte ON THE FLY with all the drama of Nick Cage playing The Hollywood Medium channeling Texas Governor Greg Abbott’s sign language interpreter. You know, the expressive one. Clearly my last-minute request for a latte threw a wrench in the bean grinder which made him bitter as an over-roasted red-eye. 

On the FLY? I smirked to myself. Really barista Rhett spelled RET. That was a lotta harsh. Could this be the outlandish request he made a tacked-on beverage seem with his Lamaze breathing and rolling eyes? It wasn’t so much even what he said but the way he said it. As I waited on the outside of his java kingdom I felt the shade being thrown upon me with cold dismissiveness. BECAUSE I ADDED ONE LATTE. 

I get it. I admit that I have no idea how an extra drink ruins the rhythm of the line and interrupts the flow. I promise here and now that it will never, ever happen again. True story. I do not begrudge the individual his frustration but I am theorizing that some people are incredibly inflexible and others have  beautiful bendy-straws spirits. And who can adapt, adjust and contort better than the group of people known as Mothers?

This potters wheel of masterpieces over which Mothers toil does not spin at a perfectly consistent pace. Sometimes hours of delicate effort is ruined by an invisible air bubble and sometimes the entire hunk of clay flings itself onto the wall because you asked one question. As we love and feed and counsel and refrain from soiling ourselves in the passenger seat during the 7th level of Hell known as Driver’s Ed we adapt. We flex. We roll. We stretch rather than shatter. It’s not just what we do, it’s who we are! 

Moms don’t get to go all barista when  there’s a sudden “bonus passenger” in carpool and the work presentatin is in an hour. We do not get to melt when rain ruins the outdoor birthday party or even if rain invades our homes and claims everything. Life will come at us on the fly but you know what? We got this!!!

We soldier on because we were absolutely made for this and we totally get points for survival. We create elephant costumes using only a sponge, dingy sock and re-routed bag of Goodwill donations. (which to be fair we only discover the need for by trolling  Perfect Pinterest Paula’s Instagram.)  

Be great, Paula with your grey ombré trunk and peanut-free soy-nut butter cupcakes with elephant fondant characters gripping the initial of each child in the class you made just for fun. You set the curve on your end and I’ll be balancing you over here with mine. I’m just hanging on with white-knuckles trying to make dog food pass for cat food and KFC pass for our own. 

But I digress. this is not about hate. Not for Paula (because we know jealousy, despite being the breeding ground for amazing humor, is self-destruction.) No hate for Barrista RET. Frankly my dear…. No! This is about how we may assume that life’s unanticipated, unforeseen wrinkles make for some incredible smile lines in time. Our capacity to deliver on the the last-minute necessities as Mothers becomes God’s gift to us when we deliver our children.  

Well, Junior has left the nest. It would not be a Henson adventure, though, without a whopping whipped-cream dose of wackiness on top. 

Full disclosure: I am laundry-averse. I love my Persil detergent but even the delight that is to my olfactory senses has not transformed me into a laundryphile. But because I can be phenomenal in short spurts I rose to the occasion and washed every garment in Jack’s dirty clothes hamper (closet).  I began the process by dousing the farm shirts in Spray & Wash and gleaned deep satisfaction when I was able to eradicate grease spots. I have never felt more feminine. I washed all the new dorm linens and towels as well so that his bedding would smell like home. 

Packed lovingly into Jack’s Camp Pine Cove trunk his shorts were neatly folded and stacked on the left one-third. The middle third row held T-shirts and the far right was overflow/ sock collection/ long sleeve T’s. With each load I felt the smugness of an Olympian whose dedication had finally been rewarded. I left the trunk open for packing because I never close anything. As I threw the final folded objects in the container a full week before move-in, I closed the lid and celebrated my accomplishment. The balance of the week was spent locating vital items like $33.00 worth of Command Hooks we used precisely not one of. 

We left Saturday morning and stopped several times en route to Lubbock. Our first stop was visit John’s adorable Dad.  To prevent a lunch stop, I suggested we just grab snacks at the grocery store. We were right next the Aldi and since I’ve heard pray tell of 19-cent avocados, I had to see for myself. I told Jack to pick a snack and between the bulk peanuts, random bungee chords and produce it was slim pickens. He asked to go next door to the 7-11 which would have added on travel time. I was committed to the plan so when he said, “there really aren’t drinks here” I set out to prove him wrong. 

“Look- there’s kefir and squeeze tubes of yogurt, what do you mean there aren’t drinks here? We don’t need to stop again.” I insisted. Ultimately I did spy a gallon jug of tea which he settled upon. I picked the string cheese of many colors which, let’s be honest, is actually the same flavor cheese in a sinister faćade of different hues. Jack rounded out his nutritious lunch with knock-off “Little Debbie” Peanut Patties. 

Since John was guarding the truck from looters, I asked Jack to switch out with Him so that John to cobble together a snack lunch from Aldi. John entered as I was checking out and yet I when I tried to locate him, I could not find my husband anywhere.  I looked throughout the store to no avail. He was not there. 

I returned to the truck and a Jack said, “Daddy went to 7-11 since there’s nothing to eat here ” Elitist. I ambled up into the jacked-up cab and handed Junior his tea jug and Peanut pattie box. John surfaced from the convenience store and we were off. 

I savored the ride with Jack at the wheel. This was so much more pleasant than his initial foray into Driver’s Ed. He had mellowed as a driver and I longer reflexively reached for the imaginary brake with my right foot. Time had been good to us. He played the just-released “Until My Voice Goes Out” By Texas Tech Alum Josh Abbott. Jack’s fave. We talked a little but mainly just were. I silently prayed for all aspects of his new life and enjoyed watching him try to drink tea from the gallon jug.  Good times. 

Panic struck me just West of Abilene when I saw “Move In Day” posts from Texas Tech on my Instagram feed. No! This was just Saturday. Move-In was not until Sunday, August 20th at 10 a.m. I re-checked the website and the information had not changed. My anxiety hit the roof of the F-250 as my FOMO hit the fan. Panicked, I called the dorm and the move-in noises in the background could not have clashed more with the chill voice of the college student on the other end. 

“Hi there. My son is going to be a resident at Murdough this year. I see on the official Texas Tech Website that move-in begins tomorrow at 10 a.m but I noticed posts on Instagram of people moving into the dorms,  and I’m confused. When is move-in day?”

Knowing the jig was up, the Raider then replied, “Yea, so if you’re here and want to you can move in today. I guess with 8,000 Freshman they kinda want move-in staggered.” My stomach bottomed out. How could I not have known this dirty little secret which apparently is passed on at send-off parties, none of which did happened in our neck of the woods? I thanked the young man, hung up and let out a large sigh. I. Was. Beside. Myself. 

“What does it matter, Mom?” Jack calmly spoke to my fierce agitation.  

I retorted, “Because I wanted to be there the second your dorm opened so that you don’t miss out on anything. It matters to me. Matters a LOT.” Jack reassured me that his moving in would happen and his patience made me really angry. 

“We won’t get there until 5 and I watched the move-in video three times and you have all this paperwork to do and your Freshman Year is RUINED because no one told me unofficial move in day is TODAY. We could have left at 5 a.m. had I known that.  I’m so upset. ” 

Let’s just be honest, he will miss my irrational rants most of all. 

I have worked extremely hard on embracing the phrase God gave me, “If it doesn’t matter to him why does it matter to you?” this past year. It is never the huge issues that torpedo my maternal mindset it’s the tiny ones. Tiny ishes like the wife beater he wore for Senior pictures, using my vintage mixing whisk on the end of a drill as a fish aerator and NOT having people sign his yearbook. Weighty stuff here. So I tried to breathe and called John who was driving the other car with the plan. 

“Move in is actually, unlike the website claimed, today. We’ll hit campus, unload as much as possible and then meet your cousin for dinner.” We arrived, my guys hopped out, Jack checked into his dorm like a grown person and John somehow scored a bucket cart. Co-eds began removing the Murdough flags for the day at 5p.m. and I parked near the entrance. I unpacked the truck bed hastily and stacked jack’s items on the sidewalk to make good use of our time. 

Fever-pitch anxiety took over as we made it to his dorm room.  Inside the minuscule space was Jack’s room mate and parents. I hugged the mom as I met her and she sweetly said that she looked as sweaty as I was when they moved their son in. Fishing rods on the side of room mate’s already- organized room so I knew that this was going to work. 

I unfurled the Bissell rug, made the bed with the sheets So dutifully laundered and repacked in the zipper bag. I then opened the trunk and began unloading  clothes and organizing them in the dorm dresser. I thought I smelled something sour and after a clandestine pit-sniff I removed the t-shirts to give them a secondary whiff. 

The ammonia smell was so dense that it blew my head back. As a life-long dog lover The smell was undeniable. “One of the dogs wet down your trunk!” I screamed in horror as the room mates parents bristled. Then,  like the odor of rotten milk which everyone must experience once identified, I shoved the shirts Jack’s and John’s direction. Smell these clothes!!!! Dog urine! Pungent did not begin to describe the horror. As usual we were in a hurry and had to deal with laundry later. 

We left to meet John’s cousin for Italian food and enjoyed old stories of XIT weekends past. After a lovely meal Jack and John hunted for a printer while I gathered the canone’s send-off soaked clothes to wash. Thanks to “limitless laundry” (FREE WASHERS and DRYERS) the entire trunk of clothes was knocked out in less than 2 hours. 

John and I said good bye for the evening and when we opened our hotel room door wondered whose toothbrush, food and bags       were scattered about our room. Eventually we were given a less-lived-in room and called it a night. 

The next day (official move-in day) we were good to go. We mainly sniffed out Mac Davis Boulevard and tried to avoid campus parking tickets. I conveyed my pride in my child and promised to pray without ceasing for him. Just a few days have passed but I feel great about his choice of Texas Tech. I mean where else are you going to meet Josh Abbot at Chimy’s on your second day in your new home town? 

#texastechmovein

#joshabbott

#collegefreshman

#petownerprobs

#dorms 

#texastechroommates 

#13thgrade