I used to get irate at the amount of money I spent on back to school supplies when my kids were in elementary school. Now I chuckle at my naiveté and long for the days when they were thrilled with such paltry offerings.

When your kids hit college, the real spending begins. And I’m not talking about the cost of tuition, room and board.  The extras we all get sucked into buying can add up surprisingly fast.  In fact, according to the National Retail Federation, we spent $43 billion on non-academic items this year.

When I heard this figure while listening to NPR one morning, I was completely flabbergasted. I was even more shocked to learn that more than half of it is spent on room furnishings. That’s right. Americans spent more than $21 billion on stuff for a room that already has furniture.

If you’ve been to a major retail store during the month of August, you can see how easy it is to get carried away. Walking through the aisles you become convinced that your child needs accoutrements of every conceivable variety if he or she is to survive while away at school. But let’s face it. Most of the paraphernalia you cram into your oversized SUV or van is totally unnecessary.

I would love to be able to say that I resisted the temptation to go on a buying frenzy when my kids went away to college. Alas, I foolishly bought (pun intended) into the notion that I had to equip each of them to the teeth. It’s only looking back – and being confronted with the staggering amount spent on this stuff – that I can appreciate my folly. True, we don’t want them to go hungry. But do they really need a premium coffee maker, microwave, and fridge in their room when they have a meal plan? Yes, we want them to be comfortable. But how many types of pillows can fit on a twin bed? And don’t even get me started on toiletries. If you have girls you already know you need to take out a second mortgage to keep them in hair and skin products.

Before you get too discouraged, not all of the $43 billion was spent on shiny new tidbits.  Every school year, college students spend $5.5 billion on alcohol. You may want to rethink that allowance.  Or join them for a drink before they start having to repay those student loans.

It’s ironic that I am posting this on Facebook, considering what I’m about to say.

Like many people, I check Facebook periodically – although less often nowadays – to find out what my “friends” are up to. But there are certain kinds of posts I’d really rather not see:

“Post this if you love your daughter/son/cat/dog/sister/brother/niece/nephew/best friend, etc. I love many people and they know who they are. They don’t need me to repost a gratuitous and impersonal message to be reminded of my feelings and neither does anyone else.

“X did this and you won’t believe what happened next.” Guess what? I believe it and it’s not even that interesting most of the time.

Posts with sloppy grammatical errors. We all make mistakes and I can forgive the occasional typo. But if you post something along the lines of “Your the best friend I could of imagined,” shame on you. Read a book, consult a dictionary, and reread your posts.

Requests to donate to a cause. I contribute to all kinds of causes and might contribute to yours too, but not if you’re too lazy to ask me personally. If you’re not willing to put in a tiny bit of effort, how can you expect other people to do likewise? Pick up the phone, send me a private e-mail, or write a note and mail it to me. I would be hard pressed to turn you down.

Posts of puppies and babies doing adorable things. Just kidding! Who can resist a puppy?

Now that my kids are out of the house, my husband and I get along swimmingly. I’d like to think it’s due to the fact that the stress of child rearing is behind us, that we’re mellowing out as we get older, or that we’re more accommodating towards one another, finally able to bask in the love that is the bedrock of our relationship.

Alas, that’s not what’s happening. As with so many things in life, it all comes down to one thing: hormones.

Thanks to decreasing levels of estrogen, I’m no longer a quivering mass of smothering maternal love, ready to burst into tears at the slightest provocation, whether it’s a true crisis or a Hallmark commercial. At the same time, my husband’s decreasing levels of testosterone mean that he’s no longer swaggering around wishing he could feel the bones in someone’s face crushing under his fist.

By now you’ve probably realized what’s really going on: I’m turning into him and he’s turning into me!

This would be hilarious, except that it’s happening to a lot of my friends, too. The men now have more patience while the women have less. Husbands are getting choked up at college graduations and fantasizing about playing with grandchildren, while their wives tell their young adult children to suck it up and get a job as they plan an extended trip that doesn’t include the whole family.

Frankly, it’s a relief to finally be on an even keel with my husband. And although we enjoy one another’s company more than ever these days, there is a nagging doubt at the back of my mind: maybe we should be embracing our differences, while we still can.

I have to admit that when my older daughter left for college, it wasn’t that difficult to say goodbye. At the time, I was so busy patting myself on the back at how well adjusted I was, I didn’t stop to think about what was really going on.

The truth was that she was so busy during high school that she was rarely home. When she graduated, she immediately left for the summer to work at a camp. So I was already used to not having her around. Plus – and here’s the kicker – I knew she would be coming home again.

So you can imagine my surprise earlier this week when she left for her senior year and I felt as if I had been run over by a truck. I couldn’t hold back my tears as I said goodbye to her in our driveway. In fact, I couldn’t hold them back for the next two hours as I sobbed uncontrollably.

Three years ago, I said goodbye to a kid who was just dipping her toe into the waters of independence. Three days ago, I said goodbye to a young woman who is filled with confidence and excitement. And it kind of broke my heart. Not because I am sad or worried in any way whatsoever. No, this is the kind of bittersweet heartache that you feel when you truly have to let go of someone you love. You know it’s time. You know it’s the right thing to do. But still, it’s hard.

My daughter did, in fact, come home as I thought she would. For the past two summers, she has had internships in or near our town. She was working full time, but we had daily contact. I knew exactly how she spent her day, ate dinner with her every evening, and kissed her good night every night. We binged watch TV shows, worked out together, went shopping, and had long, satisfying talks.

She has finally grown into the person she was meant to be and I guess I didn’t want to say goodbye. I know I will see her often – next week in fact – but I doubt that she will ever live under our roof for an extended period of time. She is planning on travelling next summer and already has excellent employment prospects post graduation. Besides, even if she does end up living with us, it won’t be the same. Our little girl is gone. I am happy to welcome the young woman who has taken her place, but she doesn’t live here anymore. She is busy creating her own life and her own home.

Luckily, we still have our younger daughter to take the edge off. Eventually, she too will leave the nest. Maybe next time I’ll be better prepared for those tears.

As a regular frequenter of the gym, I’ve had ample opportunity to observe those around me and work myself into a lather – and not by exercising. Here are eight of my pet peeves. Do you have any to add to the list?

1. Guys, when you rearrange your package, we can see you! It’s kind of like when you’re in the car and pick your nose, which we can also see. Just because you do it quickly and furtively, doesn’t mean it goes unnoticed. So if your twig and berries need an adjustment, maybe it’s time to step into the locker room.
2. Just because you’re a trainer, it doesn’t mean you get to kick me off a machine. Yes, you’re underpaid and overworked. I get it. But I pay for my gym membership, so wait your turn.
3. If we see each other at the gym every day for years, you can spare a nod to acknowledge my existence. I know I’m old, invisible, and not the eye candy you normally scope out, but I’m still here! Ladies, that goes for you too.
4. Wearing makeup to the gym is a breach of the sister code. It’s like wearing a slutty Halloween costume. In both cases, the point is not to look good, so don’t even try. It just makes you look desperate anyway.
5. Wearing sexy workout clothes is also bad form. We know you have a rockin’ body, even if you’re not walking around semi-naked.
6. If you don’t wipe off the cardio equipment when you’re finished using it, that tells me all I need to know about you, none of it good.
7. If you’re one of those people who join the gym in January and only go for a month, skip it. The overcrowding – although short-lived – is annoying. I refer to it as amateur hour. Get back on your couch and sign up when you’re committed to making exercise an unwavering part of your life.
8. If you’re fit, what are you doing at the gym anyway? It’s like you’re taunting the rest of us. Can’t you just go run a marathon or something?

When we brought our firstborn home from the hospital, we were amazed that we were actually allowed to be responsible for another human being. We wondered:  Is this legal? Where is the instruction manual?

Babies, especially for inexperienced parents, can be challenging. There’s a lot of stuff to figure out. Yet somehow we all muddle through and make it to what I like to refer to as the halcyon years – from ages 5 to 10 – when the kids are adorably dependent yet not so demanding.

Then come the teenage years, when all good things must come to an end. If babies require an instruction manual, teens require a Ph.D. When my kids hit the age of 12, all of the certainty I had been feeling as a parent went out the window. All of a sudden, they started asking to do things they had never done before – mostly going places without me – and I had no idea what to do. Every time they asked a question – Can I go to the mall with my friends/ride my bike around the block/wear makeup – I panicked. I knew I had to give them a longer leash, but I was afraid of what would happen if I did.

Luckily, I have amazing parents and was able to recall my own adolescent years, when they gave me the freedom to test the waters. Following their example, I was probably among the more laid-back among the parents of my kids’ friends. I tried to convey an air of authority while hiding the fact that I was scared shitless. 

The good news is: my children and I survived those years! The bad news is: I’m still scared shitless.  Not as scared as when they first started spending time away from us and my fears were both rational and irrational – I actually wondered how I would know they were breathing when I wasn’t there – but worried nonetheless.  The fact is that worrying about your kids never goes away.

By now I’ve gotten used to it, in much the same way one gets used to an old wound that has scarred over. These days, my worry is usually low-level, with occasional spikes to keep my blood pressure up and my adrenaline surging. As my kids enter the young adult years, I can breathe an occasional tiny sigh of relief…but that instruction manual would still come in handy.

Remember your college and post-college years, when you were inevitably stuck with bad roommates?  They didn’t pay the rent, they made noise at all hours, and their mess was out of control.

 Guess what? They’re baaaaaaaack! They’re called your children.

They look grown up and they do grown up things such as driving a car and (hopefully) earning money, but as soon as they cross the threshold of your home, teens and young adults turn into roommates from hell.

Let me make clear that, by now, my children have moved beyond this stage. They have sufficiently matured to the point that they are no longer petulant five-year-olds trapped in the bodies of young women.

But, oh, how I remember the days – not so long ago- when they were the epitome of bad roommates.

It goes something like this: Your kids don’t contribute monetarily to the household in any way, which is fine. No surprise there. But they also don’t pitch in or help out unless coerced, and even then it’s a crap shoot. Never mind that they don’t sweep a floor, wash a dish, or launder a towel, they don’t even have the decency to confine their mess to their own rooms. They also don’t have the common courtesy to inform you of their whereabouts, yet expect privileges such as having a car at their disposal. Even with their incessant demands and slovenly ways, it might not be so bad, except for one thing: They speak to you as if you were an idiot.

Lest you feel as if there is a sign on your back that says “Kick me,” rest assured, it’s not you, it’s them.  Your very presence will irritate your kids, yet will not deter them from living in your house, eating your food, or expecting you to do things for them.

The truth is, the demands of a toddler pale in comparison to the demands of some teens and young adults. The only difference is, you can put a toddler in time out. With roommates from hell, you have to put yourself in a time out…which will give you plenty of time to think about how much you’ll miss them when they’re gone.

By now we’ve established that teens and young adults do a lot of stuff that that they shouldn’t be doing and that we (hopefully) know nothing about. All kids of a certain age test the boundaries, as did we when we were their age. Most parents understand and accept this. But there’s always one among us who swears that his or her precious little angel is perfectly behaved at all times.

To these outliers, I say: Come on! Who are you kidding? What makes you think that your child isn’t drinking, cutting class, lying to you about his or her whereabouts, or engaging in some other meaningless act of rebellion?

Do these parents seriously believe that their children are going to skate through the teenage years unscathed and untainted, to be held out as shining examples of obedience and good judgment 100 percent of the time?

News flash: It is a biological impossibility for this to be the case, because our brains aren’t fully developed until the age of about 25! Even if our teens and young adults wanted to always make wise decisions and follow the straight and narrow, the fact is, they’re not equipped to do so.

Think about your own teenage years. Aren’t there things you did that you don’t want your parents to know about even 40 years later?  Trust me, the same holds true for your kids.

If your kids are savvy, they will successfully navigate their teenage years by hiding their misdeeds from you. In other words, they won’t get caught. But don’t get cocky; just because you haven’t caught them doing something, doesn’t mean they’re not doing it.

Not only is it normal and inevitable for kids to test the waters, I will even go so far as to say that it can be a good thing. Show me a kid who doesn’t step out of line during high school and I’ll show you a kid who goes wild in college, outdoing by far the antics of his or her peers.

So if you’re one of those parents who professes that your children don’t do what every other teenager does – at least sometimes – it’s time for a reality check. Get off your high horse, pull your head out of the sand, and join the rest of us in praying that our kids don’t do anything irrevocably stupid before their brains have a chance to put on the brakes.

It occurs to me that everyone has secrets, or at least portions of their lives that only some people know about. This starts during the teenage years, when kids begin to stake out their independence by doing things and going places that they think their parents know nothing about. They laugh at us behind our backs as they head to a party while we think they’re studying or engaging in some other saintly activity. They think we’re clueless, and we probably are. But so are they.

What they fail to realize is this: Just as they have secret lives we know nothing about, so do we. And not just now. We’ve had these secret lives since we were their age!

In the time-honored tradition of teenagers everywhere and for all eternity, we too were less than candid with our parents about our whereabouts and behavior. Our kids know this – and often use this knowledge to manipulate us – but they also think that they can gradually whittle away at our past lives to the point that there is nothing about our misspent youth that they’re not aware of.

Au contraire, my little ones. There is plenty about us that they don’t know, and will never know. What’s more, there is plenty about our lives right now that is off limits to them.

Of course, they think this is not and should not be the case. They expect us to answer their questions candidly, omitting nothing along the way. They routinely shut us down but think that our lives are an open – and exceedingly boring – book.

The truth is, teens and young adults do a lot of stupid things and I have no desire to know about all of them. Part of growing up is testing your wings, making mistakes, falling flat on your face, and covering your tracks. And part of being a grown up is the privilege of privacy and not having to share details of your life that you wish to keep to yourself.

So kids, remember that lack of full disclosure is a two-way street. And don’t be too self-congratulatory when you pull the wool over your parents’ eyes. We know it’s happening and we’re not afraid of the dark.

Not long ago, I was riding in the car when “The Loco Motion” (yes, that’s how it’s spelled) came on the radio. I immediately began to feel uncomfortable.  In fact, just listening to that song made me feel embarrassed. I was instantly transported to my friend’s Bat Mitzvah where newly formed adolescents –  including me – attempted to interact both socially and on the dance floor.

That memory led to another one that I thought I had pushed into the farthest reaches of my subconscious: my first slow dance.  If Eskimos have 50 words for “snow,” teenagers should have at least 100 words for “awkward.”

I don’t remember what song was playing – I must have blocked the memory because I was so ill at ease. All I can recall are flashes of sweaty palms, ungainly swaying, and the sensation that I was about to fall off a cliff.

Clumsy, bungling, and graceless barely scratch the surface of how I could describe this encounter. This was not the fault of the boy who so kindly asked me to dance. He was probably trapped in his own private hell of teenage angst. No, the problem was me. I was so uncomfortable in my own skin I felt desperate to escape.

While I may complain about getting older, the truth is, if I were given the chance to turn the clock back 40 years, I would pass.  I have no desire to return to those bungling years when the opposite sex seemed like an alien species and my inner voice was so insistent and full of doubt,  I wanted to tell it to shut the fuck up.

For all my ranting, I must admit that aging has its advantages. I don’t miss that deer-in-the-headlights feeling I had whenever boys were around.  I’m long past the fear of being asked to dance. So come on baby, do the Loco Motion with me!