What memories will this first apartment hold?

Let’s hope the oven door stays on

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After living in a summer sublet near Tufts University following my college graduation, I moved into my first official rental—meaning, my name was on the lease—in the fall of 1995.

Situated on Mass. Ave. in North Cambridge, this narrow house wasn’t in the greatest condition. Our group of recent college graduates plus one graduate student were no doubt a thorn in our landlord’s side given that we documented our complaints and requests in lengthy, single-spaced letters. Granted, our complaints and requests were not unreasonable. There were constant issues; among them, lack of heat, persistent rodents, and the oven door falling off in my hand when I was trying to remove baked goods from the oven. 

Even so, it was in this space where I started to feel like an adult. I was a college graduate with my first salaried job (a research assistant/lab manager salary of $18,500 LOL). It was the place where I co-hosted my first housewarming party. It was where I started to learn how to cook and bake. I splurged on subscriptions to Bon Appetit and Gourmet and spent an entire day laboring over an overly complicated lasagna recipe because I wanted to make something special for a dinner gathering. It was also the place where I started to discover my crafty side; I learned how to knit, ordering wool on giant skeins from a farm in Maine. I made my friend/housemate Jonathan a pair of socks in addition to learning to make sweaters.

I lived in eight rentals before becoming a homeowner and when I think back on each location, there are key memories in each—whether the memories involve ridiculous renter/landlord stories, formative life moments like getting engaged or watching Laurel take her first baby Frankenstein steps holding a pair of whisks for balance, or funny moments with friends. There are also plenty of mundane memories; basic in scope yet the experiences in real time were formative in helping me learn how to cohabitate with others, carve out traditions, find joy and silliness, and discover new priorities and hobbies.

On Sunday, about 29 years after moving into my first rental, I moved Laurel into hers—an off-campus apartment she will share with college friends. There was so much that was familiar about the experience—the struggle with the locks, the physical chaos of having several people move their lives into one space in a short amount of time, the unbridled joy of realizing with your friends that you are doing this very adult thing together. The physical anchors of their forthcoming togetherness—two couches flanking a coffee table and a dining table with four chairs—filled me up and I wondered, what memories will this first apartment hold?

It made me tremendously happy. 

After we moved Laurel’s belongings inside, I went into mom mode, inspecting the apartment and checking the kitchen and bathroom for issues. Laurel and I headed to Target for final apartment supplies and a massive stash of groceries (she has also opted to go off meal plan given how savvy she is in the kitchen), with me emphasizing, “We have a car! Make sure you get all the heavy stuff!” We headed back to the apartment to unload and Laurel put away her groceries while I made up her bed. And then we declared the day’s work done and it was time for the relaxing part of our itinerary. We drove to our hotel, got cleaned up, and enjoyed dinner and Netflix together before passing out from utter exhaustion at 9:30pm. 

Yesterday morning after we said our goodbyes, I thought with awe about how different our circumstances were from our first college drop off two years ago. This time I didn’t even step inside the campus perimeter. This time I left Laurel to take the Metro North back instead of driving her to campus because it would give me a 20-minute jump to drive home to help Violet with final school preparations (she started eighth grade today). This time Laurel was heading back to her city apartment instead of a dorm inside the gated confines of campus. This time the tears were brief and minimal because she has the anchors of so many incredible experiences and relationships forged during her first two years of college.

As we broke from our hug—me still in my seat with my seatbelt on—I said, “It’s normal to be sad saying goodbye and in about 25 minutes you will be overjoyed to see your friends and set up your new apartment. And I am just so happy for you.”

Parenting is such an extraordinary long game. What a gift it is to be in this season watching the formative experiences unfold.