This is the third part of a year-long series where a stay-at-home mom shares insights from her youngest daughter’s final year of high school and the college application journey. In parallel, she reflects on her own transition as she prepares for an empty nest and contemplates her future as her primary role as a homemaker comes to an end.
Three years ago, as my youngest daughter was gearing up to start high school, a friend of mine was preparing to send her last child off to college. I constantly asked, “What’s that like?” My curiosity was fueled by a mix of jealousy, fear, anticipation, and an overwhelming sense of disbelief—I couldn’t fathom my youngest ever leaving for college. She was only 14, just stepping into high school, and I had barely survived my older daughter’s tumultuous high school years. It felt as if I would remain trapped in a time loop with my youngest, as if senior year would never arrive.
“It’s hard to wrap your head around,” my friend replied. “And it’s going to be strange.” She faced the prospect of having all three of her children in college at the same time, meaning that after 21 years, she and her husband would often have their home to themselves.
In my emails, I began signing off with my name along with the countdown of years and months until my daughter’s departure for college. “Three years, 18 months,” I recall typing. Then it became “two years, 11 months.” I wasn’t actively wishing the time away, but I was undeniably aware of it passing. High school felt like a battleground where we had to fight our way through. By documenting the countdown, I wasn’t wishing for her to leave; I was simply reminding myself that she eventually would.
Just yesterday, I baked cookies for her. Baking is one of my favorite ways to unwind, and my daughter enjoys having homemade cookies to take to her summer job as a camp counselor, and as a sweet treat to share with me at bedtime. As I mixed the batter for her beloved red velvet cookies, it hit me: my days of cookie baking for her are limited. What will it feel like when I’m no longer whipping up her favorite treats a couple of times a week?
Of course, I could still send cookies and muffins to her at college. I can picture boxes filled with her favorites and her PO Box number scrawled in bold black marker. I’ll race to the post office to ensure they’re as fresh as possible upon arrival. She’ll share them with her roommate and friends, regaling them with stories of how her mom has always baked for her since childhood. She’ll undoubtedly be popular for her delicious goodies. But it won’t be the same, and that’s the lesson I’m learning this final year of high school. Nothing will be the same.
I’m someone who craves consistency. I dislike change. I want to know the restaurant menu beforehand. I prefer to be familiar with my routes. I like predictability. My daughter’s senior year is challenging my very nature, as uncertainty looms large.
She’s set her sights on applying to ten colleges—a well-rounded mix of target, reach, and safety schools—and assures me she would be happy attending any of them. That’s the crux of it: happiness.
Next year, I might find myself sending cookies to the West Coast, or perhaps just a neighboring state. Maybe she will be close enough for me to drop off cookies directly at her dorm. The uncertainty of it all unsettles me, but I must come to terms with it. For both the student and the parent, uncertainty is a significant theme of senior year.
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Summary
This article reflects on a stay-at-home mom’s emotional journey as her youngest daughter approaches her senior year of high school, highlighting the bittersweet nature of impending change as she prepares for motherhood’s next phase.