MANDY FLYNN: A parent’s college education

Two sponge mops. Three brooms. Two bottles of Mr. Clean. Six rolls of paper towels — the good ones. A half-used bottle of Windex. A jug of bleach. Lysol. A feather duster. One huge box of garbage bags. And a super eraser sponge. No … two super eraser sponges. Is that a Super Swiffer with a spray attachment? Back there in the corner?

Yes, yes it is.

Ironic, I think, that four college graduates, boys … young men … can be in possession of so many cleaning supplies, yet have been living in … how can I say it? … such less-than-clean circumstances. By their own choosing. Because they think, and I quote, “Mom, it’s not that bad.”

It’s not that bad. I kept repeating that to myself as my husband and I made our way to Athens two weeks ago to help our son move out of his three-year college abode he shared with three of his pals. Great guys. Graduated from college — yay! — all moving on to make their mark on the world with jobs and graduate school. Three of them moved out a couple of weeks ago. And then there was one. Our son. The last to move out.

Stop here. If I have any advice for parents who are just now beginning to go through the college experience with their children, this is it. Listen carefully. Do not let your child be the last person to move out of a house or apartment that he has shared with three (or less or more) individuals of like-minded cleanliness. Can’t say I didn’t warn you.

“How is the situation?” I asked our son the night before we left to join him.

“Mom, it’s not that bad,” he said.

“So the others got all of their stuff out already?” I asked.

Pause. Pregnant pause. “Well, they got out what they wanted and told me I could throw away the rest of it.”

I think I blacked out a second. What did that mean? How much stuff was still there? They took the broken ping-pong table, right? Please tell me someone took the framed portrait of Jesus made out of shag carpet? What about the refrigerator … did they clean out the refrigerator?

I learned a lot those two days. A lot about college boys and their fascination with saving bottle caps and tabs … and koozies. Like the green one I found from the wedding of Betsy and Jeff, married Aug. 11, 2001, in Charleston, S.C. My son was seven when you got married, Betsy and Jeff. Who are you and why does my son have your koozie?

I also learned a lot about myself. The limits I will go to for my child because I love him. Let’s be honest … the limits I will go to to get a security deposit back.

“I have a whole new respect for you after you got in there and cleaned that shower,” my husband said. I consider us even. He had to witness the not-so-miraculous parts of childbirth and I cleaned that shower. We shall never speak of it again.

We sweated. We laughed. My husband bonded with the guy at the landfill. I threatened to spank my 22-year-old, 6-foot-4 son if he ever taped anything to a wall again. I didn’t scare him. Exhausted and sore, we survived.

And he is out of that house, ready to move into a new apartment and a new life of a law student. I will be praying for him each and every day. And I suspect someone else will, too. Somewhere in his new apartment, shag carpet Jesus will be watching over him.

Oddly comforting?

Yes, yes it is.

Contact Mandy Flynn at her website, www.mandyflynn.com.