Confronted with logic I couldn’t argue against, the cost of gas, the amount of stuff you’ll be hauling to school in a little more than two weeks, leading to lack of space in the car for me and the dwindling number of days in my vacation bank, I’ve decided I won’t be dropping you off at school with Dad. Taking two cars doesn’t make sense and you will need to arrive on a weekday, so it’s up to you guys to manage the move-in without me.

It’s not what I always pictured, but I have a little time to adjust to it. It won’t be the Hallmark scene you have probably been dreading, nor can I slip an extra $50 or, depending on my grief, $100 into your pocket before we leave. I’ll save you the sobbing mother routine, the awkward hug goodbye in front of your new roommate. Instead, I’ll be able to bid you farewell at home, where, after you’ve gone, I will throw myself into what will hopefully be a busy day at work.

I’m planning what I’ll say, wanting to impart some words of wisdom, something along the line of, “Plastics.” But that won’t do, no, not at all. I’ll probably, like you, try to be all casual and throw off a “See you in October,” or some such, jovially sidestepping any emotion that would probably embarrass us both.

Oh your dad must be delighted to have found this convincing argument for taking you off to school alone — for the first few years we were married, every time we visited my parents I would cry halfway home. This way he can drive back in peace, with no gasping and nose-blowing nonsense going on beside him.

Maybe I won’t even cry! How’s that? I didn’t cry at graduation; not a tear! In fact, I may even just celebrate. One down, one to go! Empty nest, here we come.

So maybe this is what I’ll say when you go: “Thank God, I thought this day would never come.” Or, “Write when you find work.” Or, “Don’t call for money unless you’ve got a good story to tell.”

You have never asked my why I’m a blogger; why I started this blog.  Mainly, it was because of you and your sister. I wanted a way to capture what you said and did, how I felt about you and what I wanted for your future. I was never one for baby books, have been a total scrapbook slacker, and videos of you both as kids are few and far between. I think there are years in which you went unphotographed. We’ll refer to those as your Amish period, in the future.

I hope you don’t mind that I’ve used this blog to capture those moments, to relish in my joy of being your mom, of being a person allowed into your life, if only from the time you were born, until you grew up and went your own way.

I will not, however, forgive you for not accepting my friend request in Facebook.

One day, perhaps when you are 37 or so, or when you have snarky kids of your own, you will realize that I was maybe just a little bit cooler than the other moms.

Maybe.

Happy half-birthday, buddy.

I hope you know I’m making tremendous progress toward my goal of not freaking out when you go away to college, but if you think about it,  my life with you has been one long series of freakouts including the following: you were born, you got sick, you got angry, you got that weird lump on your neck once, you started school, you had a life outside of home, you grew up and up and up.

I stood by and listened as you said, “It was OK,” when having the time of your life, you clammed up, were chatty, took up the trombone, studied, played, fell in love, got your heart broken, learned to drive, came home late, held a job and did chores.

You made us laugh; oh, how you’ve made us laugh, but also cry, worry, get mad, smile, forgive and most of all, love you.

I will miss you and I will look forward to the time or two you decide to come home.

Remember when you were in pre-kindergarten? Probably not, but I do. I was getting ready to graduate from college, a little later than most, but still getting it done. You were excited to be going to my graduation in your little clip-on tie, your little man shirt and dress shoes. You told your teachers that your mom was graduating — from high school.

That’s OK, I can understand how you may have been confused, but seriously, wasn’t it bad enough having a mom who was just 25 and finally graduating from college?

Right, I know — you’re thinking, Springsteen was already here and it’s true, he was. But it is not THAT boss of which I blog. My boss, the president and owner of the company for which I work, is coming to visit me in Charlottesville.  It’s her first visit to the village since I’ve been here, and I’ve geared up for an all-star agenda.

Now, how many of you have been able to entertain your boss in your home? How often do employees get to take a boss on a ride-along for an entire “typical” day, ending with dinner with the family and maybe a little Rock Band?

Yes, of COURSE it’s unnerving — I’m not sugar-coating. I love her and love working with her but I think she may be a little unnerved by my life! She’s known me for three years but this will be the first time she’ll meet the rest of the family. The girl is already practicing, as she said, “being a little angel so I don’t mess things up for you.” Huh. We’ll see. I hope the boss is ready to have her ears talked off and to pay sufficient attention to Clover, who, for at least the first five minutes will be rather demanding.

I’ve spent the better part of the weekend cleaning, planning what I’ll make the boss for dinner, baking another fabulous from-scratch blueberry lattice-top pie and planning where we’ll go and what we’ll do while she’s here.

Thanks to the C’villian folks and my C’ville Twitter friends, I’ve gotten lots of great recommendations for where to take her for dinner — I will let y’all know what she thinks of our town!

Lest you think I’ve been too uptight about this visit, I’m sure my kids (and my husband) will be delightful and charming while she’s here. I just hope the boy remembers she’s visiting and doesn’t (as he usually does) make his morning trek through the house in just his boxer shorts. That might be asking a little too much for her to bear.

The phone rang and we stood there, as we do, and waited for the Caller ID to reveal the identity of the person on the other end. It was a name I didn’t recognize. The girl swooped over my shoulder and said, “I’ll take this,” and grabbed for the phone. “Helloooo Jacob,” she said and sashayed from the kitchen, up the stairs and to her room.

I stood there, dumbfounded.

And so it begins.

Listen, kid. I don’t expect you to call every day. Far from it. But don’t get so carried away having fun at college that you forget about your old mom. Check in once in awhile. Let us know what’s going down. I’m available via text, e-mail, voicemail and actual mailed letter. (I seriously would faint dead away if you wrote an actual snail mail letter).

Of course you don’t need to tell me every minute detail; I know you won’t, but just tell me this: if it’s better or on par with Disney World — then I’ll know you’re OK.

The boy made a list of items he needs for college. Peppered throughout is his new favorite word: janx. The list includes items such as the following:

1. Shower janx
2. Stain removal Janx
3. Toiletry janx

Janx is interchangeable with Junk, or stuff. I hear it so often it has almost infiltrated my own vocabulary. I don’t know where it came from, but I am resisting the urge to adopt it. However, it is amazing how much janx I must buy this kid before he leaves.

I went shopping for the boy. $200 in college supplies that included Advil, cleaning supplies, toiletries, Band-Aids, hangers, paper clips, Post-it Notes, etc.

The school published a long list of recommended items including this one: Air mattress for when you have guests.

That one made me chuckle. Guests in dorm rooms pull up a piece of the floor or, the more intimate kind bunk with you in your single, crammed in like sardines. We just earned a free air mattress from the loyalty program at Harris Teeter. Maybe I should pack it with the rest of the stuff for the boy.

The countdown has begun. The boy will leave for college in 24 days. I’m sleepless, thinking of all I may have forgotten to tell him before he goes.

Does he know he was the best thing that ever happened to me? I mean, besides getting married and of course, having his sister, those were also ?best things”. He was the best thing that happened to me in 1990.

The boy was born the Monday after Superbowl Sunday. It was icy and cold. He was two weeks late and a dollar short. Irony.

Now he’s the age I was when he was conceived. How is that possible? Wasn’t I older, at 18 and a half? Just after my freshman year of college we learned about the boy, and to some, it was tragic. Who doesn’t think teenage pregnancy isn’t tragic? And yet, the boy has charmed my life from the moment he made himself known.

I know who and where I was before he was around. I wonder who and where I’ll be when he’s away?