One meal plan swipe card deactivated. Two parking violations. Three RA interventions to manually unlock her dorm room door.

The first weeks of college are over. Our youngest is adjusting in fits and starts. Bill and I are, too. We are currently in our “let’s keep busy and avoid being sad” mode. A classmate’s father just confessed that he alternates between shutting and opening the bedroom doors of his two college students. Me? I just avoid going upstairs to her hallway. Either way, the house feels vacant.

It’s an adjustment going from being the person responsible for everything to being the parent of virtual adults. And while I know we will adjust to this new reality and its newfound freedom, the empty nest feels so … empty.

When my oldest started her freshman year, weekly email updates and campus announcements kept the parents in the loop. When my son went to college, another Boy Mom taught me how to hack his college email, and mark snooped-on messages as “unread.” It was reassuring to know about campus activities. More than once I “just happened” to remind him about upcoming due dates. My electronic prowling abruptly ended when he changed his password during his sophomore year.

With our youngest, there are no emails and my hopes of a second spy career have been shattered. Her school sends an authentication code to her phone whenever the portal is accessed. My feeble attempts have been greeted with texts asking, “Why are you trying to look at my account?”

So, what’s a mom to do? Just let go and hope for the best. Or join every college-related social media group? That seemed to be the logical next step. After all, they should be full of useful information, right? To a certain extent, yes. There are recommendations for trustworthy auto mechanics, places that deliver birthday treats and procedural clarifications. What I didn’t expect was that the posts would be unintentionally entertaining and make me feel better about letting go.

Actual posts have included a quest for a housekeeper to clean a son’s off-campus apartment once a week. To be fair, my mother has been contemplating this avenue for my brother ever since college. She has, however, always been too savvy to put her threat into action. He is in his 60s, so I don’t see it ever happening.

Next was a complaint that a child’s shower wasn’t hot enough. As other parents checked with their students, it was evident that it was a timing problem, not a maintenance one. In this case, the early bird gets the hot shower and the late sleeper gets an icy jolt of reality.

Then, there was panic that a child had to walk a quarter of a mile to get to the dining hall. A fellow parent’s comment that exercise was good for health was not appreciated and prompted a tirade. All comments quickly ended after that rebuke.

My favorite was a thread with 33 comments concerning the correct laundry detergent — pods vs. sheets vs. liquids. That discussion ended abruptly when a parent wanted to know who would teach their son how to use the machines. Once again, someone mistook this for a joke. It wasn’t.

Sending my kids off to school is a lot different than my college drop-off. This last month I walked a tightrope between my memories and current parental expectations. I remember my parents helping me carry my belongings and then saying goodbye. It was basically a dump, hug and run. I’m pretty sure there were no tears involved. I don’t think the phrase “empty nest syndrome” even existed. Then again, I was a difficult teenager, so I am sure they were glad to have a bit of a respite. So somewhere between my inherent mother’s guilt and my own experience is the path I am following. My advice of “just deal with it” has softened to “don’t worry, honey, you can deal with this.” Same message, softer delivery. Even still, I’m far from the social media posting Tiger Moms.

My husband Bill tells me I should unfollow these online groups. I won’t, though. It’s like an accident: You know you shouldn’t look as you drive by, but you do anyway. I’ll admit I check for new posts daily, even against my better judgement. After all, I am getting an education, too, just not the one I expected.