No, I’m not one of those helicopter parents. I’m not writing his essay for him. I haven’t charted out a week by week set of deadlines for him. (I really wanted to, though.) And I haven’t told him where he should apply.
He’s doing all of that on his own.
But I’m in the middle of them too. I have a ream of paper full of financial aid information, spread out over my dining room table, and it’s taking me a lot of time and research to fill out the forms. How much do I have in investments? What’s the equity in my house? And how many men have I slept with in my lifetime?
Ok, that last question isn’t part of the financial aid paperwork. (Thank goodness.) But the questions are intrusive. I understand that the colleges are trying to get a full financial picture of our complicated divorced and re-married lives. And I’m filling out the online form as honestly as I can. I even got professional advice from a woman whose company does this for real.
Because even though I have an MBA, and have worked as a bookkeeper for the last ten years, it’s not an easy process. Some of the questions are a little subjective. Like how much is your business worth? How much is your ex-husband, the non-custodial parent, going to be contributing to tuition on an annual basis? (I’d like to know the answer to that question as well.)
And did you really need to spend all of that money on two new Madewell long sleeve t-shirts? (Well, yes I did. Plus, they were 30% off and they look really cute on me.)
I’m almost done with the forms. And he’s almost done with five of his applications. The first round will be submitted before November 1st. And one of his schools is early decision. He’ll know the status of that one before the holidays.
I know he’ll do well no matter where he ends up going. But I would really, really love for him to be accepted at his first choice. I think it’s a great fit for him.
But what I really want is to get my dining room table back.