Boot Barn
The August ritual of getting a kid out the door — and the first year nobody needed me to manage it
There’s a pattern that’s repeated itself every August for years in many houses, but especially mine: approximately three weeks before kids go back to school, I say “Do you have everything you need? Do we need to go shopping? I don’t want to leave anything to the last minute.” And the response is somewhere between silence and “I might need to do one Target run but that’s it.”
Except that’s never it and suddenly two to three days before said child returns, we learn that they have no bed sheets because they set last year’s on fire or “have no idea” what even happened to their towels or rug or lamp. Shoes that I had said looked like they were on their last wear in May, and I’d been assured that was the style, need to be replaced urgently.
And so once again, we find ourselves at the mercy of Prime shipping or stuck at a shoe store with a child with weirdly sized feet and very particular taste (always a recipe for a pleasant and efficient trip). Whether a real phobia or one grounded in the neuroses of my mother, I was trained that you ALWAYS wash new clothes or sheets or towels before wear/use because you never know what germs are on them from the manufacturer or store or shipping. And even though “please wash these sheets” is said the minute new sheets are procured, I find myself, without fail, on the night before a departure either washing the sheets myself or having an existential crisis over whether I’m a bad parent for letting my kid get some kind of skin infection as the fallout from poor hygiene.
This year was always going to be different: for the first time in exactly 10 years, we are not sending a kid off to college. We’ve closed that chapter physically, metaphorically, and financially.
Instead, in a couple of weeks, Youngest will be heading off on a new adventure: a residential volunteer program on a farm that could not be a better match. This program comes with a number of requirements similar to the college return, though — including multiple doctor/dentist visits and forms that need to be signed off on, a TB test that I will not mock since reading John Green’s book Everything Is Tuberculosis, and an all-new packing list full of what’s needed for life on a farm.
Having learned from past mistakes, I started my nagging early — like as soon as I was made aware of the forms and appointments I said “Okay, you need to call and get appointments early, you never know how long the wait is.” And the response I got was absolutely insane: “Yeah, I already did.”
Shocked, but I knew I still had a purpose.
“Okay, don’t forget to put all appointments on the family calendar so we know when we have to take you.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Shocked and awed.
“Great, and we’ll have to look at your packing list and figure out where you need to go since I don’t know anything about farm equipment.”
“Yeah, I’m making a list of what I need and what store has it and doing some research on farm boots.”
What. Was. Actually. Happening?
So naturally, since that point, I have had “Youngest farm supply shopping — where?” and “Make sure Youngest submits all forms by 8/3 deadline” on my list for the occasional nudge. I know my role, I know my responsibilities (I’ve held them since I married into this blended family) and I’m the holder of all the open tabs for the family. Historically, Middle and Youngest have needed A LOT of reminders to do things, and even with those reminders, we still have an under 50% success rate on making needed appointments and getting ahead of deadlines.
Shopping trips are always where it falls apart due to the challenge of finding anything that works taste-wise with anything that fits properly — shoes tend to be the Moby Dick of every list because somehow the women in Jeff’s family all inherited very tiny feet, something I, at 5’9” with giant boat feet, can’t begin to understand.
Youngest did do the research and discovered a store called “Boot Barn,” an establishment that I’ve never had a need to visit before and likely never will again. And then she coordinated with Jeff to take her, so I was once again unnecessary. Last week, they went and bought everything she needed. Jeff is convinced I would actually really love Boot Barn for all my country-western needs (sadly with the Cowboy Carter tour behind us, I’m not sure when that’ll come up again, but good to know).
Basically everything is off the list. The doctor’s office owes Youngest one thing, but that’s on them. We texted yesterday morning to remind her that everything was due and that she might want to send early and let them know about the delay on some forms, and we were told she’d already called the doctor to pester them AND already submitted all the forms with the suggested caveat.
I want so desperately to be proud or grateful or relieved. Months ago I was panicked there’d be no plan and I would be using a crowbar to remove this kid from my house. And today I’m literally useless. All my pending items on the list crossed off and no new ones to add at this moment.
Even her sheets are washed and ready to go. And as for washing farm gear… I don’t even know how to do it. Do my mom’s rules about packaged sheets from random factories apply to work boots from Boot Barn? When I brought that up, I found out Boot Barn had already given detailed boot care and cleaning instructions, and Youngest was all over that too. The neurosis my mother handed me has spent thirty-some years looking for a place to land, and it finally lands on a kid who doesn’t need it; the clerk at Boot Barn knows more about farm boots than I picked up in all my Little House on the Prairie rereads.
Which, of course, has prompted only one thought in my mind: has she been playing us the whole time? Why did so many other activities require so much project management and/or hovering (or just didn’t happen at all)? Was weaponized incompetence the MO all these years? And now that she’s really excited to get going, have all those hidden industrious skills finally surfaced?
Maybe she just wants the life waiting for her on the other side of all that paperwork.
So now my list has one remaining item: “determine whether Youngest’s entire adolescence was a ruse.”
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