A whole year?

It's just us

Once again Chloe doesn't live here anymore, although this time she's closer than an ocean away. Yesterday we moved her into her dorm, to her room on the fourth floor, exactly eleventy-billion flights of steps up, after walking uphill to get to the first flight of steps. No, no elevator to assist with moving in, but it might be a cure for the freshman 15. I love these dorm rooms and have wanted to live in one ever since I visited a high school friend who lived there. She's on the top floor so they have vaulted ceilings and it looks and feels like living in a treehouse. Her roommate is really nice and they live very close to the new state-of-the-art rec center so Chloe should be in good shape.

On the way home Steve, out of nowhere, says, "I don't have to wear my bathrobe anymore." Well, hon, you might want to wear it in the kitchen in the morning when your sister is looking over to see what's up. Then, while waiting for the ferry, he was joking about me fishing through my purse getting money to buy a can of pop and he told me to hurry up. I told him to keep his pants on. "When we get home I won't have to." Apparently we're taking different paths to processing our emotions related to our last kid leaving home and it being just the two of us from now on.

They're leaving home

Chloe's friend has foiled my plot to be nowhere near any of them when they leave each other for college. We use Chloe's departure for Spain as a cold, hard touchstone: nothing will ever be as bad as that day. It's been almost two years and I still can't describe to anyone that morning on the ferry when Chloe's two best friends walked off the boat to go to school while Chloe stayed behind to go to the airport. Even that was almost more than I could write.

Chloe's friend leaves for Bennington on Wednesday and Chloe asked if we could take them to the airport. Of course we can. Oh, crap. That means I'll be there when she leaves her best friend that she's had an otherworldly connection with since the first time they saw each other when they were two years old. No, I won't. I'll be in the car. At the other end of the airport reading headlines from the newspaper stand. Wandering the parking garage looking at cars. Inspecting the garbage cans for freshly discarded, still-usable gels and liquids. I'll be there to pick up the pieces, but I will not be there to witness Chloe say goodbye to her best friend and to the life they've known and loved so far. Or to watch her friend's mother, a good friend of mine who is not at all looking forward to her daughter's departure, watch them leave each other. A while ago - we might have had a glass or six of wine - we were talking about this day and I mentioned that Chloe had spontaneously said, "I'm going to have such a great life! Aren't you excited for me?" and we both cried. I'm staying away so as to not contribute to that volatile combination. Sure, exciting things are on the horizon. But the horizon is out there somewhere and in the moment it doesn't mitigate the profound sadness of leaving each other while wondering if anything will ever be the same again.

It will be a lot easier this time

"We've done this before." That's been said a lot recently, in relation to Chloe leaving for college. She'll be only a few hours away so it will be nothing like waving goodbye to a barely-16-year-old who is going half-way around the world to live for a year with strangers who speak a language she doesn't know. She doesn't understand, and I haven't mentioned yet, that it's not her that I'm worried about when she leaves for college. For her, it's an exciting beginning. For us, it's an end to the biggest part of our lives so far. I can't help but think about people who complain about their parents, who roll their eyes and worry about what to do when their parents come to visit, who can't wait until they leave. Will our kids ever say to their friends, "Oh, crap! My parents are coming next week."?

We think about one of Chloe's friends who will be going to the opposite coast to school, a friend who has never been away from the home she loves, and how hard it's going to be for her and her family to say goodbye. And then we sigh with relief that we won't be going through that again. Chloe's departure for Spain is a touchstone that we revisit to assure ourselves that it won't ever be that hard again.

I'm excited for Chloe to live in a dorm and begin college. She'll be just a few minutes away from her brother. Her dorm room, the one she wanted, is close to the amazing new recreation center that has more equipment than she'll know what to do with ("She said the elliptical machines have DVD players!"). We went to orientation yesterday and, through a series of fortunate events, the door to her dorm room was open. She even stretched out on what will be her bed until I reminded her that she didn't know where those tousled sheets had been, although that might have been an image that would have been better left unpainted.

But my excitement for the next part of Chloe's life doesn't prevent me from getting teary-eyed thinking about driving home alone from her school in about six weeks. Even so, that beats the hell out of what we went through last time.

Catching up

Once again the exchange experience has come in handy. Writing college-application essays is so much easier because Chloe has something meaningful to say. Writing essays for American Studies is easier because she has something to compare her America-ness with. She learned lots of European history at school last year so she can use that in her history classes here (not a lot of study of the popes in her public school here, but a study of popes is a study of history). She doesn't spend all of her words on variations of "When I was a Rotary Exchange Student in Spain . . .," but there are so many opportunities to work in what she learned and discovered, even if she doesn't write as an Exchange Student but, rather, as an exchange student.

Using last year can be a crutch, shorthand to get through an unimportant assignment quickly, or it can provide the basis for a thoughtful essay, even if the specifics of being an exchange student are never mentioned. It also forces her to analyze her experience because she compares and contrasts - for credit - home and abroad.

A few people have asked how Chloe made it through the rib resection and the wisdom teeth extractions: Just fine, although she wasn't eating any turkey sandwiches for quite some time, Katy. It wasn't a picnic but her mouth is almost back to normal and most of the swelling on her side where the rib cartilage was removed has subsided. For the rest of her life she'll have a scar that looks like someone tried to take her appendix out from the wrong side.

Fun times ahead

Chloe was glad to be home for Christmas and we were glad to have her here. I read various ex-pat blogs and it sounds like Spain is not the only country that doesn't make a big deal about Christmas, and by that I mean mostly a big commercial deal. I think Chloe's decided she likes the commercial part of Christmas as well as the family part. Sure, seeing friends and family and celebrating the holiday season with them is wonderful, and the warm feeling we get from maintaining traditions just makes us feel good. But presents - receiving and giving - are a part of those traditions. It's more than getting stuff, it's thinking about what would be just the right gift ("right" doesn't necessarily mean expensive) and anticipating how the receiver will react. It's getting the perfect gift, which demonstrates that the giver thinks enough of you to put so much effort into making you happy. Without gift giving, an important component (one of them) of the season is missing.

Chloe had to make the most of Christmas because the rest of her Christmas break is going to be not so pleasant. Today at noon she is going to have some rib cartilage re-sectioned. She's had a bump that sticks out from one of her bottom ribs for about two years now and we finally got someone to say that, although there is nothing there that shouldn't be there, the cartilage is definitely the wrong shape. The surgeon said it probably broke after her trip to the gym and work on the ab machines with her aunt months before she left for Pamplona. The odd thing is that it never really hurt, although she said it often feels like something inside is getting caught on it. It healed at an odd angle so he'll cut it up and connect it the way it should be. It will never be perfect, but if it's not sticking out it won't be a constant source of irritation. Although the doctor has never seen this particular kind of case (he's a thoracic surgeon so has worked on lots of rib cages), it will be a simple procedure and should take only about half an hour. Now she won't teeter when she lies on her stomach.

Then, on Friday, she gets all four wisdom teeth taken out. I'm not a fan of removal of wisdom teeth simply because they exist (and neither is the dentist, who has referred her to an oral surgeon), but she does need them to be gone because there is no room for them. Chloe has no friends who have had rib cartilage re-sectioned and so has no frame of reference for how the recovery from that will be. She does, however, have lots of friends who have recently had their wisdom teeth pulled and is not looking forward to that recovery one bit. It's a bit like when a woman is pregnant: Suddenly everyone she meets is compelled to recount in gory detail the dozens of hours they or someone they know spent in agonizing labor. Now she knows all about bloody gauze, irrigating the wounds, and a swollen face.

When Chloe had been in Spain for about a month she had a tooth that hurt quite a lot so she went to a dentist in Pamplona. She said it was in an apartment and the whole experience reminded her of the scene in Minority Report where Tom Cruise gets new eyeballs from the same guy who dispatched Steve Buscemi through a wood chipper in Fargo. The assessment was that Chloe had "perfect teeth." Wrong: she has at least four cavities that the Spanish dentist missed. It's worth mentioning that Chloe rarely saw anyone during her exchange year brush their teeth. Another cultural difference, one that we won't be embracing.

The next crop

Last Saturday were the district interviews for next year's Rotary exchange candidates. Among the interviewers were Chloe and Anna Rae and they also talked about their experiences and answered questions from the group. This is an exciting time for the soon-to-be exchange students because they're waiting through the holiday season to find out where they'll be living next year.

Part of what Chloe does is dispel the myth that the kids shouldn't call home for months so they'll integrate into their new cultures without holding on to home. She told the group that, although they (Rotary) didn't want to hear it, she called home every day for the first few months and it was the best thing, for her, because it kept her grounded and was a small reassurance that this part of her world still existed. Knowing that freed her to immerse herself in her new life. I rarely called her, but let her call if she needed to. She never complained and never said she wanted to come home (but she did want all of her friends and family to move to Pamplona for the year). Mostly we just chatted about nothing in particular. It was understood that if she were ever to stay home just to call us that the phone calls would stop. She was mildly insulted at that: Yeah, like I wouldn't go out with friends or tour a cathedral just so I could stay home and call you. Blanket rules don't apply to everyone and for some kids calling home often would keep them from exploring their new surroundings. A student here last year talked to her parents almost every day and she was very happy to do so. It didn't hinder her integration into the American way of life, but she wouldn't make even the tiniest decisions without consulting them first. It made shopping a frustrating exercise: No, I'd better wait to talk to my parents tomorrow before I spend $8.00 on this pair of jeans that I absolutely love that originally sold for $75, even though my mother told me to buy new pants. Tomorrow, sweetheart, these jeans ain't gonna be here and you can afford them even at $75! On the other end of the spectrum, I talked to an adult who was an exchange student more than twenty years ago. She said she talked to her parents maybe a total of 40 minutes in seven months. And she liked it that way.

There's a new group of Rotary members on the exchange committee and some of the old suggestions seem to be disappearing. For example, Chloe's group was told to call home when they arrive and then not call home or e-mail for three months. They're also beginning to understand, based on last year especially, that cell phones are extremely important (if they're widely used where the student will be living). I didn't think the phone was that important when Chloe left, and not even so much when she'd tell me often that she really needed a cell phone. Not until I spent a week in Pamplona with her did I realize that a cell phone is all but necessary and is an efficient tool that will help the kids integrate into their new culture quickly. Kids with cell phones are often looked on disparagingly by older adults ("spoiled brats"), but they are a huge part of the culture that is such an important component of exchanges. For some reason new things, like cell phones, are often dismissed during all the highbrow talk of multicultural experiences. If I were to do this again I would make arrangements for a cell phone for my student as soon as possible. Almost all of them in Europe (not sure about other parts of the world) are prepaid so there is not a danger of your child ringing up hundreds of dollars in unexpected phone bills. Besides, they use them for text messaging much more than for talking because that's cheaper.

Chloe had fun interviewing and was happy to be able to answer questions. Partway through the day she had an overwhelming compulsion to get on a plane and go somewhere. That made me happy.

Secondhand memories

It looks like our state just passed the strictest no-smoking policy in the country. No smoking in any public place (including bars, bowling alleys, taverns, clubs, restaurants). No one in my family ever smoked so I've never had to live with it and I hate cigarette smoke and can't stand to have my clothes or hair smell like it. But, although I'll thoroughly enjoy not having to smell other people's smoke, until smoking is illegal I think a bar owner should be able to decide if his customers and his employees will be allowed to smoke in his establishment.

In Spain Chloe spent a lot of time in smoky bars at night with her friends. For many of us that sounds like she, a 16-year-old high school student, spent all of her free time hanging out and drinking in unsavory places. But that's what they do there. Friends don't hang out at each other's houses and so at night they meet at different establishments to socialize and dance. And lots of them smoke. That social part of her year and the evening activity is something she still misses (in this rural area there is nothing to do and no where to go at night) and every time she passes by a place where smoke is wafting out she experiences a melancholy twinge of other-homesickness. Although Chloe doesn't like cigarette smoke either, the obnoxious smell of second-hand smoke now evokes fond memories. It looks like that source of memories, dubious though it may be, is disappearing.

I wanna drive

Tomorrow morning I have to meet a guy in a parking lot and give him 55 bucks in cash.

Chloe's taking the driving test for her license, but because it's been so long since she had driver's ed we're paying the driver's ed teacher for a one-hour lesson and the use of their easy-to-drive little car for the test. He didn't specify why he needs cash and I didn't ask, but he did say that 98% of students who opt to use that service pass the test on the first try. I seriously doubt they've ever done any statistical analysis to back up that claim.

It's funny how "must haves" vary with the culture. Chloe couldn't get her driver's license before her exchange because she didn't turn 16 until the day before she left for Spain. There, kids don't have driver's licenses and don't really need them (and she was told by her host father that it costs about $2,000, in which case my 17 year old wouldn't be getting hers, either). Here, everyone 16 and over has their license and Chloe, apparently, is the only loser who doesn't, and she's - horrors - 17. She's informed me she'll likely be scarred for life by her unfortunate lack of licensing. Then she said she'd add it to the list of topics to discuss with her future therapist.

She spent a whole year with Spanish kids her age and the only time driving came up was when they'd discuss differences between there and here. In fact, one of the things she misses the most is being able to walk to wherever she needs to go. Helps to live in a city for that, though. Here she could walk for five miles and still not do much more than buy a pack of smokes and a newspaper. And it doesn't help that her entire family on her mother's side is obsessed with all things automotive.

Now, she wants her license so bad she can hardly sit still, as if the license itself will spawn a car and unlimited insurance and fuel. But I remember very well what it was like to get a driver's license: I was there on my sixteenth birthday to take the test. When she passes, she'll be a licensed driver and we'll have even more reason to finish rebuilding the Jetta that is gracing the driveway.

Interpretation validation

A week and a half ago Chloe took the written part of a test to become a DSHS certified medical interpreter in Spanish. DSHS is the Washington state social services agency. We still haven't been able to figure out in what situations the certified interpreters are used because no one at the agency that administers the program in our area seems to know (DSHS in this state is not a well-oiled machine). She was told that she'd get the results in a month. Today she got a letter saying she'd passed. Now she has to take the oral part and when she passes that she'll be certified. In May and June are the tests to be come a Washington State Courts certified interpreter (any criminal defendant who needs an interpreter must be provided one by law). After she's certified she can put herself on a list of interpreters statewide and hope to get some work out of it. It would be a nice college gig because it's on a freelance basis and the pay is about $45 per hour, a nice byproduct of her having to learn Spanish on the fly last year. You just never know what areas of your life will be influenced by your exchange experience.

Stop the world, I want to get off

Having to take the required American history and English classes that she missed last year along with all of the required senior classes means lots and lots of work for Chloe and she doesn't even have math this trimester. Although she complained about all the studying she had to do last year, those seem like the good old days of no assignments and no long-term projects. On top of that is the SAT and ACT tests that she couldn't take last year (SAT is tomorrow, ACT is in two weeks, same day as the Homecoming dance). Next week she's taking the first part of the state test to become certified as an interpreter for the state social services agency. Also next week she starts her community service project helping a native Spanish speaker with her English. And the seniors at her school have to compile scholarship notebooks which require a lot of work and reflection.

And, she has to think about college which means applications to complete, essays to write, and recommendations to request. It's going to be an intense few months for Chloe. Today was a field trip to the college fair in Seattle so she got lots of information about potential colleges but is worried that she doesn't have a plan (even though we've told her she doesn't have to have a plan today). Tonight she said she's not sure if she really wants to go to a "real college with sororities and fraternities and all of that." At a loss for what else there might be, I asked what the alternative to a "real college" is: "Not growing up?"