Preparing My Kids For Life in a Dorm

My girl’s moving into a dorm tomorrow. Tomorrow, between three and five in the afternoon, is her appointment to move into what will be her home for the next four years. Yesterday morning over breakfast at Norma’s in Manhattan, we discussed what items we needed to purchase for her room. Rug. Blanket. Lamp. Maybe a microwave, if her suitemate doesn’t already have one. A couple of pots and pans for their little kitchen.

Her Nana asked how much cooking she was planning to do in her room. “Well,” I’m having my meal plan upgraded so that I get more dining dollars, which I can use at the little restaurants in the food court.” She added, “I can use them at Starbucks.”

“You’re going to eat breakfast at Starbuck’s every day?” I asked.

“No, I’m going to cook steel-cut oatmeal every day and use my dining dollars for coffee,” she answered, as if I had just asked the silliest question in history. And then, taking a bite of the steel-cut oatmeal she’d ordered at Norma’s, she said, “And nobody in my room had better eat any of my oatmeal.”

I had to laugh. A couple of years ago, I gave up on the irrational idea that my kids should only eat organic fruits and vegetables and locally-raised, grass-fed beef. My obsession with what my kids put in their bodies had been, well, overboard. And that pendulum swung completely in the opposite direction.

Now they can look like Brangelina’s bunch walking around scarfing Cheetos for all I care. As a matter of fact, I’ve swung so far on the giving-a-shit-what-my-kids-eat pendulum that my actual home is now more like a college dorm. My kids go buy junk and hide it from everyone else in the family. I can open an upper cabinet in the laundry room and find a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

Where does Lauren keep her Pringles? They used to be under her bed until the dachshunds discovered her hiding place. Now they’re stashed under her bathroom cabinet next to the box of tampons.

(As for myself, I found it easier to develop a taste for things no one else will touch. My kids hate sparkling water, so that’s what I drink now. That and Kombucha, a tea made from dehydrated mushrooms. I always know I can find some of that in my fridge.)

So Morgan's defensive attitude about the oatmeal was completely understandable. “I don’t think you’re going to have trouble with people stealing your oatmeal,” I said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Steel-cut oatmeal takes a long time to make. It’s not a microwaveable food,” I answered, afraid to tell her the real reason I believe no one will steal her food, at least not a second time.

My nephew, Chase, spent the night at our house a few months ago. His ass is still recovering from the shredding it received when she discovered him eating one of her granola bars.

We decided she is completely prepared for dorm life, this girl of mine. So after all the discussion about what she needed, we spent the day in Bergdorf Goodman buying shoes and clothes.