I don’t talk too much about the kids, here, anymore, on account of their being whole adults—not just, like, “okay, legally they’re adults,” but more like “they have retirement accounts with a corporate match” kind of adults. It’s weird. You have to remember that not only do I routinely picture the ones I baked myself as wee, puppylike children, but Chickadee and Sunny actually went to elementary school together. I met Sunny when she was EIGHT. All three of them should be small and slightly rumpled and gap-toothed.

Instead, all three of them lead their own lives largely without my input (though Chickie does love to FaceTime me at random times and skip “Hi” in favor of a burning question like “Can this pan go in the dishwasher or nah?”), with the girls living entirely too far away, in a state even redder than the one in which I reside.

Which brings us to our current situation, which is—in my mind, anyway—akin to a game of Oregon Trail, except maybe we’ll call it Northward Trail. In the wake of, um, everydamnthing politically, plus Monkey’s government job evaporating, my singular focus has turned toward Getting The Kids Out. Go, young people! Take your queerness and your gender nonconformity and GO; find you a different country, or—barring that—a blue state and a blue city and please, PLEASE, stay safe.

[Sidebar: it’s difficult for me to imagine anyone who bothers to follow me here not understanding my fear for all three kids, but if you don’t get it, that’s… fine? I guess? But don’t bother coming at me with any sort of “You’re overreacting!” because we’re already seeing targeting of every marginalized group these three people most precious to me belong to, AND there is more than one reason per person for them to be targeted, so understand that I say this with all of the love in my heart I can muster, but if you’re about to try that: kindly STFU. None of them are safe where they currently reside.]

Anyhoodle, I have about as much control over the girls as I do over the tides, which is to say none at all, but they have been following the same Master Plan for the entirety of their relationship; said plan leads to Sunny beginning her graduate studies this summer in a bright blue city. Hallelujah! (Brag alert: she not only was admitted to her program of choice, they gave her a big merit grant, too. Because she’s awesome.) In a few weeks, Chickie and I will travel to their future locale and scout things out and hopefully find them a place to live. And then later this summer the dads will be assisting with the great trek across the country. I am more than ready for them to be situated in a saner area. But I have almost nothing to do with any of that, because they do what they do and I’m just pleased to be included whenever I am.

On the other hand, I do hold a fair amount of sway over Monkey, still, as despite their adultiness, they 1) still live here at home and 2) don’t find me quite as dumb and/or exasperating as Chickadee often does. After some indeterminate period of time (that felt like several lifetimes) of applying to jobs, talking with a job coach, leveraging every connection any of us has, etc., it became clear that they needed a new plan. And they were open to ideas.

So I pounced: I think you should go to grad school, I told them. “Maybe I should,” they mused. Great, I said (trying to stay super casual), How about in Canada? We have friends in Canada, and there are great schools there, and P.S. Canada is unlikely to decide to detain or jail you just because of your gender identity, and PLEASE GO TO CANADA SO I CAN SLEEP AT NIGHT.

They were reluctant, but I talked them into it.

For about a week.

And this is how I know that Monkey has joined the ranks of full adulthood: after about a week, they came to me and explained that they understood my fears, and they knew I was trying to help and keep them safe, but the very same fears leading me to think Canada was the answer are the reasons they don’t feel like they can leave the country right now. What if they get detained trying to come back to visit? What if the border ends up being closed? They’re not ready to potentially be cut off from all of us, even if it is in the name of safety. And before I could ask what else would make sense, they continued: So I’m going to pick out some schools in blue cities and at least move someplace safer, okay? I’ll get the additional training I need to be more employable, and I’ll be in a less fraught area. Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’m going to be fine.

I honestly don’t know what would’ve happened if I’d tried to insist, but I didn’t try. They are, after all, an adult. And they would be safER, even if not as safe as I might like.

We spent about a week researching programs together (I offered to help), and Monkey narrowed it down to a reasonable pool. They then spent a couple of weeks tracking down their favorite undergraduate professor, as said professor is never in his office, appears not to read/respond to email, and does office hours over Zoom, by appointment, if you can catch him in person and schedule. (Do you enjoy a semi-predictable narrative arc? Imma tell you right now that this is foreshadowing.) In the end, Monkey was able to pull this man’s class schedule and ambush him after a lecture. They scheduled a call, and after the call, this professor—really the ONLY one Monkey felt knew them at all, on account of most of their classes being huge, and his class being the one they’d participated in the most—said he’d be “absolutely delighted” to write recommendation letters for them.

Perfect, right? They had one professor from undergrad, their supervisor at their current job, and their boss at their current job. One school required just two letters, but the rest required three. This seemed the logical way to go, to give them the best pool of strong support for their applications.

[Another sidebar: I have mentioned that Monkey is somewhat underemployed, but they ARE working in their field. It’s not like they majored in computer science and then went to the mall to sell shoes. They did a summer internship at a different college within their university, and did well enough there that their boss asked them to stay on part-time until they graduated… and then hired them as a full-time temp after that… and then (thanks to the government job situation) they ran out their allowable time as a temp… and their boss brought them back as a permanent part-time hire, which is their current situation. Their boss has sung their praises continuously, keeps magically finding money to keep them around (and give them raises), and has generally been a huge champion for them over the two years they’ve been working for her. (This is also foreshadowing, but not the way you think it is.)]

And so, on the day the squirrelly professor was finally cornered and agreed to write their letters, Monkey had already secured letter-writing promises from the supervisor and boss, and had already done everything else, too—that night they turned in all their apps and triggered the letter request emails to their recommenders. Additionally, they sent all three recommenders their Statement of Purpose and an updated copy of their resumé.

What a relief! With everything turned in, Monkey was the calmest I’d seen them in quite a while. “How long until they turn the letters in, do you think?” they asked me. I said to give it a couple of weeks. And I don’t know if you know this (I didn’t!), but when I applied to grad schools back in the Stone Age, you just sent your stuff off in the mail and waited in the dark, but nowadays you have an interactive “Application Portal,” so you can see exactly what (if anything) is happening.

Here’s what happened:
1) Monkey’s “student submitted materials” were checked off in all the portals, the night they submitted.
2) Four days later, their direct supervisor’s letters were marked as received in the portals to which he’d sent them. (I mentioned one school only required two letters, right? Monkey opted to have their supervisor skip that one, so that it would be their boss and the professor. But I forgot to mention that this particular school was also their first choice.) (FORESHADOWING!)
3) A day after that, all of their official electronic transcripts were marked as received by all schools.
4) Two weeks went by, and there were no additional letters. Curious, no? I told Monkey they could politely remind their boss—WHOM THEY SEE FIVE DAYS A WEEK—and send a reminder email to the professor.
5) Their boss told them yes, of course, but she would be busy traveling, so it would be another couple of weeks. The professor never responded at all.
6) A week later, they went back to the lecture they’d originally ambushed the professor at, and talked to him again. He said it was next on his to-do list.
7) Two weeks after THAT—letters still MIA—I told Monkey to go back into the portals and trigger an official follow-up reminder from the schools themselves. They did, as well as reminding their boss in-person, again. She said absolutely, please send me an updated version of your resumé. Monkey was confused, because it’s not as though they’d gotten a new job in the last *checking the calendar* nearly six weeks. But they sent her another copy.
8) Two weeks after THAT, the proverbial shit hit the fan.

Let me tell you something about my beloved youngest child. When they were little, their distress tolerance was… close to non-existent. Our standard family jokes included an entire library based upon Monkey’s ability to ramp up from 0 to 150 in an instant, over anything at all. With time, maturity, and a lot of coaching, Monkey is now someone I would classify as easygoing, which is a thing I would’ve laughed myself absolutely silly at if you had told me that when they were a kid. But it’s true! They have a kind of patience I’m STILL working to master. They are not just patient, but kind, as well—throughout this process, as my bile began to rise and my incredulity take over, Monkey kept insisting that the professor was “a little odd, but he’ll get to them” and “you know [my boss] is really busy” and they seemed unbothered by it all.

But here’s the kicker: should you push this kind and patient human to the point where it’s clear you’ve betrayed them, the switch will flip.

And flip it did. THEY did.

We reached 8+ weeks out from their initial applications, and the letters still weren’t in. And Monkey went from “It’s all gonna be fine” to “EVERYTHING IS RUINED AND WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE.” (Okay, not quite that dramatic, but close.)

Now, I had been coaching them to find a backup for the professor, as the difficulty reaching him had me nervous from the very beginning. I think, deep down, I never really expected him to come through. I mean, was I still BAFFLED about it? Absolutely! It costs zero dollars to say, “I’m sorry, you’re obviously great and any grad school would be lucky to have you, but I just don’t feel like I know you well enough to write you a strong letter. Good luck, though.” You don’t have to say yes if you’re not going to do it! Say no! But for the love of all things holy, don’t say yes and then ghost. That’s shitty and unnecessary. But whatever—Monkey had already approached another person, explained the situation, and asked if they might be able to step in if the professor did, indeed, flake out. This wonderful human said “Absolutely, you just let me know!”

So in the midst of their freaking out, I reminded them that it was now time to return to that additional person and ask for the letters. And also to ask their direct supervisor to write one additional letter (to the school initially skipped). But… we also had to grapple with the reality that Monkey’s boss—who adores them! has always championed them! has been a mentor and valued role model!—was INEXPLICABLY not going to do the letters, either. And in addition to not having another sub for her, they had to grapple with this personal affront.

The professor is a jerk, but Monkey doesn’t care much about him. But they’d ADORED their boss. And now they had to figure out how to work through realizing she simply wasn’t who they thought she was.

For the record, I probably would’ve quit in a fit of rage, if it had been me. I find her behavior unconscionable, and I would’ve cut off my own nose right there just to let her know exactly how awful she is. I’m not saying that would’ve made sense, I’m just saying Otto and I ended up sitting Monkey down and explaining to them that if they didn’t feel like they could keep working for her, we understood.

In the meantime, a family friend caught wind of what was happening, and immediately offered to write letters. (Said family friend is also employed at the same university, and high enough up the food chain that none of us had even thought to ask, but YAY.) Monkey mailed her their materials and the letter links the night they were told this, and she had the letters turned in the next day before lunch. (It’s almost like it doesn’t take much time at all! HUH!) This calmed them down a little bit, and also they let us know they’d decided to continue working, because the odds of finding another job so flexible where they could continue saving money for school were slim. They could manage it, they said, because they mostly work with other people there on the day-to-day, anyway.

Y’all. I think my kid might be a better adult than I am.

Maybe a day later, after the one sub had already submitted, and while going into their portals to add the second sub, Monkey discovered that the two-letter school—their top choice, remember—had marked their second letter “Waived” (???) and their application complete. That night they received an email from that school, too, letting them know that their application was complete and had been forwarded to the Admissions Committee. None of us have any idea how/why that happened, but okay?

The next day, Monkey also received an email from their boss after-hours, asking them if they could put together a report on something ASAP. Mx. Easygoing, Always Ready To Help reported this to me via text, adding, “Ooops, I guess I didn’t check my email, on account of I’m off the clock.”

The second sub recommender also turned around his letters within 24 hours of receiving the links from Monkey. (You’re telling me two people managed multiple letters in a very short time span? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE? It’s a mystery!) (I know, I know; what you like most about me is how I’m not bitter.)

While all of this was happening, I baked a four-layer gluten free specialty cake for sub one, and a giant container of cookies for sub two. In both cases I made sure to mention that they KNOW I love to bake, and I value their friendship, and maybe they could use a treat, and bribery, I’ve never heard of her. (I really just needed something to do. Both people know Monkey well and have known them for many years. I was just trying to inject a little levity into a difficult situation.)

Time is pretty blurry in here, but I can tell you that the “your application has gone to committee” email came in on a Wednesday. Thursday evening, Monkey and I ended up having a loooooong philisophical conversation about everything under the sun until well past our bedtimes. We concluded with a tight hug, and I shooed them upstairs. Imagine my surprise when they came tapping at my bedroom door just a couple of minutes later.

Worried, I gargled “come in” around my toothbrush, stepping out of the bathroom just in time to see Monkey fling the door open and say, “I GOT INTO [TOP CHOICE SCHOOL]!”

We shrieked. We jumped up and down. We hugged and did more shrieking and jumping.

Once we calmed down, I asked if they were going to tell their boss. They considered for a few moments.

“Not yet. I mean, eventually she’ll go to submit and the link won’t work, I guess.”

Ahhhh, there it is. They’re definitely my kid, after all. (Ha!)

Friday morning, for the first time in a couple of weeks, easygoing Monkey was back! They fairly skipped out the door to work, and I exhaled for what felt like the first time in a month. All’s well that ends well.

When they got home from work later that afternoon, I asked if they were just going to accept or wait to hear from the other schools. One of the other schools is… well, let’s just say it’s pretty prestigious. I wondered if they’d want to hold out for that one, maybe. Monkey said that honestly they’d happily just go ahead and accept, but they hadn’t seen anywhere in the email to do that. I told them they likely overlooked a link or something, and they should check, or show me the email, and we could figure it out.

So they ran upstairs to their computer (behold, Monkey is the only GenZer on the planet who doesn’t do mail on their phone), and came back down a minute later, racked with laughter. It took a couple of tries for them settle enough and get enough air to explain: First of all, apparently they’d sent out a batch of acceptances without the necessary information about confirming, so there was a follow-up “oops, our bad” email, and…

… the school had also forgotten to tell them that they’d not just been accepted, but awarded a merit scholarship.

All the stress and angst of the last NEARLY THREE MONTHS melted away. Obviously things were unfolding as they should.

There’s a weekly staff meeting Monkey attends, and one of the things they do there is share announcements. The day before said meeting, Monkey’s boss had mailed them late at night, asking for a copy of Monkey’s updated resumé (the unadulterated AUDACITY, amirite??). Kind to the core, Monkey decided they’d waited long enough; it was time to make their announcement at the meeting. Everyone was super excited for them, and their boss said—this is a direct quote—“sorry for slacking” there in the meeting, but never pulled them aside to deliver a real apology. To Monkey this is a “whatever” situation, but she’s dead to me. She had a hundred opportunities to make her shitty behavior less shitty and she took advantage of NONE of them. But I shall continue to trust that the universe works things out, because:
… what goes around comes around…
… Monkey was also accepted to the very prestigious school (!!!), but without money, and remains delighted to have confirmed with [Top Choice School]…
… AND…
… all three of the kids are moving to the SAME very blue city this summer!

Do their schools start around the same time? No, of course not! So we’ll be doing the Northward Trail trek twice this summer, but I foresee smooth travels for all involved. I haven’t felt this hopeful about… well, anything, really, in a long, long time. They’re all gonna be great. And they’re gonna be great TOGETHER.

And maybe the boss will end up with dysentery. You never know, right? (And no, I’m not baking her anything. She can eat all three identical copies of my kid’s resumé, for all I care.)