If You’re Reading This, You’re Me. Hi.

It's April thirtieth. In three days, my son will graduate. We have four collage boards but not one picture is glued down. I have around 63,789 pictures of Drew on my phone and the reason for not picking a single one is not about picking a photo. It's about the fact that I will be driving him two hours away to college in fourteen weeks.

No one warns you about this part. The summer before your kid leaves is not a real summer. It feels like a slow-motion countdown disguised as a normal calendar. Every grocery run is possibly a Last Grocery Run. Every Tuesday breakfast can be a Last Tuesday Breakfast. You will end up doing math in your head about how many Sundays are left before the big day and you will spiral out of control. I have spiraled. I am still spiraling. If you are reading this, you are me. I am so glad we found each other.

I made this list for a couple reasons. First, I had my own personal need for it. There is a very real unfocused fear of “we need to get EVERYTHING done before August,” and having some structure is a big help. Secondly, I thought if I needed it, some other mom is probably in her dining room by her half done collage boards needing it too.

Here are forty ideas. Some are big, and some are small. Some you’ll do this weekend and others you’ll put off until July. Some you may not do because your kid may not fit them, and that’s ok. The goal is not to do all forty. The goal is to stop rolling Pinterest at 11 and actually do ONE.

Time for a coffee. Or for a wine. Hold my hand. Let's go.

The Conversations You Won’t Regret Having

1. Tell him your favorite memory of him as a kid.

Choose one. The exact one. The time he was four and attempted to give the dog his cereal. The time he came back from kinder and had a story about a boy called Henry. The evening he dozed off on you while watching a movie and you didn't budge for 2hrs. Say it to him. He will roll his eyes. But he will keep this in mind for ever

2. Ask him what he’s nervous about. Then don’t fix it.

This is definitely the most challenging one. For 18 years, your job has been about fixing things. The wounded knee, the math homework, the friendship disputes. When he asks about his college worries, don’t do anything. Don’t fix it. Don’t reassure. Just say, “yeah, that makes sense.” Then watch. He will say more.

3. Tell him the one thing about being an adult you wish someone had told you.

What I believe is that no one really knows what they're doing. Perhaps yours is different. It may be about how to get out of debt. Or how to get over a bad day. Or what to do when you mess up. Just grab one big adult insight that no one gave you and toss it to him. He'll pretend he didn't listen to you. But he listened.

4. Apologize for something specific you’ve never apologized for.

This isn’t an “I’m sorry for any time I let you down,” apology. Those are worthless. Find a specific example. An offhand comment you made when you were too tired, a time you made a mistake. Take ownership of it. “I’m sorry I yelled at you about the dishwasher in 9th grade. That wasn’t your fault.” He will always remember the details. Always.

5. Tell him what you’re proud of about WHO he is, not what he’s done.

It's not about the grades, the awards, the team he made, or anything like that. It's the way he interacts with young kids. The way he makes his friends laugh. The polite act of holding doors for people without being asked. Tell him you notice these things. Most kids only hear what they accomplished. Tell him who he IS.

6. Have the “if something happens” conversation.

It's not morbid, it's practical. What if he runs out of cash? What if he gets sick? Is the family doctor’s number saved? What if the roommate situation goes sideways? Walk through it like a fire drill. Boring, but necessary. In October he’ll thank you.

Adventures, Big And Small

7. Take a road trip. Even just an hour away.

Make sure to pack some snacks and pick a playlist. Drive to a destination that neither of you have been to before. The main thing here is the car. There are conversations that are only possible at 65 mph while looking out the front window. He will talk to you in the car in a way that he wouldn't if you were sitting across a kitchen table from each other. I don’t create the rules.

8. Walk his college campus together one more time before move-in.

Go again, even if you already toured it. Even if you already did admitted students day, walk the dorm building, find the dining hall, drive past the library, eat lunch in the town. The point isn’t the logistics, the point is both of you seeing the place that’s about to hold him next, together, while it still feels like a “we” thing.

9. Take him to your favorite restaurant from when he was little.

Whatever memories are held in the diner you used to go to after T-ball, the pizza place by the old house, and any other location that holds 50 tiny memories, take him there. Order what you used to order. It will feel oddly emotional in a way you didn't expect. Bring tissues.

10. Go to a concert. HIS music, not yours.

No matter what artist he's been obsessed with in the car for two years straight. Buy two tickets. Don't complain about how much they cost. Don't complain about how loud it is. Stand beside him in a sea of teen moshers and watch him be 18 and living his best life. You'll remember that night at least a decade from now.

11. Spend a whole day outdoors with no agenda.

State park, pool, beach, lake. As long as it's outside, it doesn't matter what it is. The point is you, your fam, and your friends spending hours outside and unstructured. No phones, no plans, maybe some books, and no responsibilities. Just chill. When was the last time you did that? Let's do it again.

12. Have a “yes day.” He picks. You go.

Within reason. (No, you are not buying him a motorcycle.) But for one day, let him plan the whole thing. Breakfast, lunch, what you do, where you eat dinner. Watch him be in charge. It's a sneak preview of who he's about to become. Heartbreaking. Also kind of cool.

13. The grocery store run plus a quick lunch.

This may seem like nothing, but it’s definitely not nothing. The mundane errand and lunch combo is the most underrated mother-son activity. Casual, low-pressure, and lots of space for him to bring something up while you’re at the grocery store. Some of my favorite memories with my mom are next to a pile of grapefruits.

Keepsakes And Things To Hold Onto

14. Write him a letter to open in his dorm room.

When you sit down with him and talk to him, remember to write everything down. Nothing is off limits: your most cherished memories, your hopes, your fears, the things you would say if you had courage. Seal it up, and the day of his drop off put it in his suitcase. He will read it by himself on a twin bed in a room that is still unknown to him. Just believe me.

15. Make a “Mom’s Recipes” notebook.

Your meatballs. Your chili. The chicken thing he asks for on his birthday. Write them out by hand with notes in the margins. ("Don't burn the garlic." "I always add extra cheese.") By sophomore year, it'll quietly become his most prized possession.

16. Take a photo on the front porch in the same spot you’ve taken them in for years.

We all know it’s coming every year. The kindergarten photo; the very first school photo; the class photo from first through fifth grade; and even from junior high and high school. The graduation picture, the moving away for college photo. Your child will roll their eyes and groan every time. But they will do it anyway. Picture it next to the kindergarten photo and commute to work and cry every Wednesday for the rest of your life. It’s worth it.

17. Record a video of his voice answering a few questions.

It doesn't have to be a big interview. You can literally give him a phone and ask him some questions like: What do you remember most fondly from your childhood? What do you think you would advise your younger self if you could talk to him? What is something that is absolutely true about you that no one knows? Keep this video. One day it may be valuable, especially when his voice has changed.

18. Frame something of his old work for his dorm.

An artwork made in second grade, a school assignment that he was featured on, a middle school picture he didn't know you kept. Frame it. Wrap it. Put it in his moving pile. He'll pretend to be embarrassed, but you know he's going to put it up on his dorm wall.

19. Make a memory jar from family and friends.

Send a message to everyone that knows him: aunts, grandparents, his coach, his best friend's mom, etc. Ask for a favorite memory. Print them out, fold them, and drop them in a mason jar. You can add a ribbon. You can give it to him at his graduation party or on move-in day. He will read all of them. So will you.

20. Print actual physical photos for an album he can take to college.

Not on his phone. Photos. On photo paper. Walgreens does it for under thirty cents a print. Pull 30, spread across his life, and put them in a small album. Slip it into his suitcase. Watch his roommates be jealous of the boy whose mom did this for him. Pure mom flex.

Life Skills To Send Him Off With

21. Teach him laundry. For real this time.

Unfortunately, "I showed him when he was 12" is not applicable. Walk through it again. Whites and darks. The thing about the new red shirt. The mysteries of the dryer settings. How much detergent is too much. Have him do a load while you watch. He'll roll his eyes. He'll also ring you in October about a stain, and you will be smug.

22. Teach him five actual meals.

Eggs can be cooked in so many different ways and different styles (on a sandwich, or scrambled). nPasta (real sauce, not just butter) nBasic stir fry nGrilled cheese and tomato soup nSheet pan chicken and veggies, nnThat's 5 meals. Enough to keep him alive. Enough to impress someone in 2 years. And while you're cooking together, it's a great way to have some side conversations. Bonus!

23. Walk him through a real budget.

How much is currently available in his account? Which jobs are coming in? Is he getting any allowance or financial aid? What money goes out for food, gas, or other random things? How do you keep track of it? What are some strategies to avoid spending four hundred dollars at restaurants in a single weekend? Open up an actual Google Sheet and we can do this together. He'll act like this is uninteresting, but he will appreciate it in November when his roommate runs out of money and he still isn’t.

24. Show him how to make a doctor’s appointment and refill a prescription.

Believe it or not, most 18 year olds have never made a health appointment for themselves. Show him what to do. Show him where the health clinic is. Show him how to make a phone call. Explain insurance (or pretend to). Explain how to refill a prescription, if he has one. It may be boring, but future you will appreciate it.

25. Teach him to write a professional email.

To an advisor, a boss, a professor. A subject line that says something, a greeting with their name, a brief body, a clear ask, a polite close, his full name. The man has spent 4 years texting in lower case. This is a different language. Teach it before September.

26. Basic car stuff.

Even if he doesn’t drive himself, he needs to know about gas, oil changes, tire pressure, car warning lights, how to jump start a car, how to change a flat, etc. He will need at least two of these in the first 6 months. I promise you.

27. How to mend a button and use iron-on hem tape.

Five minutes. One needle. One spool of thread. One roll of hem tape. He'll never sew anything else in his life. But one day when he loses a button on a nice shirt before an important event, he will think, "wait mom showed me this once", and his world won't crumble. That's the goal.

Last Week Rituals

28. One final family dinner with all his favorites.

Make your favorite family dinner with dad. Not your favorites. Not your easy meals. Make the actual things he loves, even if it’s three different proteins and a weird side. Nice table setting. Candle? Go for it. Eat slow. Take a pic. It’s the last one before everything is different. Make it count.

29. Take a “before I leave” photo on the porch.

Unlike the graduation picture, the excitement is palpable. It’s move-in week. A backpack is on his shoulder. The car is full and parked in the driveway. Snap the picture! It deserves a place right next to the kindergarten first day photo. Put it on a shelf where you can see them both. Watch them age side by side for the rest of his life.

30. Give him a small token for his wallet.

He has a laminated picture of you two, a penny from his year of birth, and a note that is one sentence. Picture it: small, portable, and not telling you about it. He has it. When October hits and he is overwhelmed, he'll touch his wallet and know he has a place to come home to.

31. Help him pack. Slowly. Not the night before.

Start a week before. Make a list. Lay everything out on the bed. Consider what is actually needed. Pack the most important items first. The framed artwork, the photo album, the letters, the recipe book. Then the practical items. The slow packing creates time for things to come up. They will come up.

32. The drive to drop him off. Let it be quiet sometimes.

Don't fill every silence with talk. Don't interrogate him about what he packed. Don't give him a binder of life advice in the passenger seat. It should be loud, rowdy, and full of driving music and snacks, but a lot of it should be quiet. Both of you look out the window, you both know what is happening, and don't need to say it.

33. Don’t rush the goodbye in the parking lot.

This is the one. This will hurt, so don't rush. Don't make it easy on him by pretending you're 'fine.' Hold him for a long time. Love him. Be proud of him. If you need to cry, do it. Get in the car, and leave. After driving away, pull over in the middle of the road, and lose it. That's the assignment. That's everything.

The Ordinary Moments That Are Actually The Whole Thing

34. Sit on the couch and watch his show with him.

It might be bad. You may not get who's who. Don't critique. Don't ask 47 questions about the plot. Just sit and be quiet. Laugh when he laughs. The TV isn't the point. Sitting on the same couch is the point. Five years from now you will not remember the show. You'll remember the couch.

35. Make him breakfast on a random Tuesday.

He wakes up early. Breakfast? Eggs? Maybe pancakes? Oooo french toast? 9 year old him would love anything. Set it on the table. Eat together. Don't post. The focus is on making it special. Mornings like this are the ones you will remember.

36. Drive him somewhere he’s perfectly capable of driving himself.

He may think it’s strange but do it anyway. Twelve minutes in the car is the most underrated mom hack on the planet. In those 12 minutes, he will talk more than he would during 3 days at home. Take the longer route. And don’t tell him you’re taking the longer route.

37. Let him sleep until noon and don’t wake him.

Ignore the voice telling you that he should be "doing something with his summer." He is. He is sleeping in the room that he won't be in three months from now. That is something. Let him be. Enjoy your coffee. The day will start when it starts.

38. Cook dinner together. No phones at the table.

Make dinner and have a real conversation. Maybe it's making pasta, tacos, or a grilled cheese. Pick something that will take some time and requires the two of you to be in the kitchen for about 30 minutes. Phones off. Music on. Talk. It can be awkward. It can be really good. It will definitely be something you will wish you can do more of when school starts in September.

39. Take a walk after dinner. No agenda.

Just walk. Around the block or around the neighborhood. It doesn't matter. Don't wear headphones. Don't even think of it as exercise, and don't make it an exercise thing. Walk and talk, or walk and talk and don't. Just walk. The pace of the conversation changes when it is at walking pace. He wouldn't bring it up if it wasn't for that moment. At about 8 minutes in, trust me.

40. Sit in his room sometimes. Just because.

Not when he's there. But after he goes to a friend’s house, or goes to work, or goes out for the night. She sits at the edge of his unmade bed. She looks at the posters. The trophies. The clothes on the floor. She takes it all in. This room won't stay a room. She'll have to memorize it while it’s still his.

OK So About Those Collage Boards.

It's only April 30th. The collage boards are still standing against my dining room wall. The party is still in 3 days. I have still not chosen the photos.

I will, and so will you. Here's what I figured out, probably around idea number 23 of writing this list. The collage boards aren’t really about the photos. They never were, and I have to confess, out loud, in glue and cardstock, in front of family, friends, and a punch bowl, that this part is done. My son is grown. The next chapter starts in 14 weeks.

And that's the purpose for all the ideas in each list. None of the 40 ideas are specifically about doing the activity listed. They are all about saying yes to one more car ride, one more breakfast, one more concert, one more long hug in the parking lot, etc. They are about making sure that the summer doesn't slip away in a blur of 'we'll do that next weekend' when we only have a limited number of weekends left.

Just pick one. One thing. Today. Don't create an elaborate plan. Don't put it on the family calendar. Don't overthink. Just text him. And say, "hey, let's grab lunch this week, just us." That's all. That's everything.

You can come again tomorrow to select another one.

I got us both a spot in the parking lot.