Trying to get places in Irish college is worse than queuing for Taylor Swift tickets

"We didn’t get into Cursaí A," someone writes in all caps. The WhatsApp is hopping.

Visiting The Gaeltacht for two weeks in the summer is a rite of passage for some

Nobody knows what in God’s name we are doing. Our kids have just crossed the threshold into the First Year of Secondary School, and the parents are distracted by the newfound discovery of Snapchat.

We are supposed to have signed up to the social media app to keep an eye on the kids, but we streak each other pictures of our own warped faces, or cute with freckles and glasses... my face on a foot. Total hijinks like we are not 42 years of age and tight on the mortgage.

Everyone’s whispering about the date. THE date. The day the entire population applies for places for the Gaeltacht, it seems.

In my day, (I’m now a person who says that) we were forced to go. Today there are pockets of Ireland that provide watersports and activities like it’s Club Med, or Club Meánmhara if you don’t want to get sent home.

Now céilís are cool again. The bean an tís have upped their game.

Today is one of the dates to book one of the popular Coláistes. The 12-year-old eyes me mournfully on the way out the door for school, as I flex my fingers and crack my knuckles in anticipation of the race across the keyboard to secure a place.

‘What if I don’t get it?’ It’s the same look she gave me four hours into phone-queuing for Taylor Swift tickets for six hours – right before I considered actually putting the €700 VIP tickets on the credit card. There’s always a second job I can take, right?

FOMO

‘What if we don’t get the right dates?’ She needn’t have worried about that. The dates have been agonized over on the parenting groups for days. There’s been an analysis, a report, and a thesis on the best weeks to go, as well as the best Coláistes to go to. 

One is far too strict apparently. ‘I’ll send my Tracey to that one so,’ a mother types on the WhatsApp.

Tracey is already a mini Beverly Hills Housewife – all golden curls, false eyelashes and claw-your-eyes-out nails. Tracey should definitely go to the strict one.

Then the shouty messages start. 

"We didn’t get Cursaí A," someone writes in all caps. They send the message twice for dramatic effect, or perhaps that’s the panic setting in.

Why are we all panicking?

"Coláiste whatever-its-called’ is totally booked up in June," another message drops.

This is the VIP tickets to Taylor all over again. Why do we do it to ourselves?

"Has anyone heard of Coláiste Name-starts-with-a-C’?" More flurries of panic. No, is that good? Is it in demand? You can cut the tension with a bread knife.

My fingers start to throb.

I picture our children lolling in their desks at school, relaxed in the knowledge that their frenzied parents are falling over themselves to Make Life Wonderful for them.

I imagine their 12-year-old conversations in their YouTube American drawl; ‘Oh, so which Irish college are you going to?’ Then the answer, while yawning and checking their nails ‘Not sure, mum’s sorting it out for me…’ 

 I think this is an adult form of FOMO, an echo chamber that we’ve created for ourselves. Fuelled with a cocktail of reality TV, Friday wine and chips stolen from the middle child’s plate. And Instagram. Bloody Instagram.

We are doing this to ourselves again?

Besides, they’ll still tell us they can’t speak a word of it when they get home. 

An hour later, I finally get an email confirmation. We are GO for the medium-sized, medium-strict coláiste. Champagne for lunch.

My own mother’s words echo in my head as I screw up my face and send First Daughter a Snap of my face as Gollum. ‘Irish college? Sure you’ll only learn how to French kiss boys…’ 

I try not to think what it all really means – growing up. My sweet girl away from me for two whole weeks.

We’ve never gone that long.

What if she’s homesick?

What if I got her the Taylor Swift VIP tickets instead?

Then I realise that perhaps it’s not FOMO the WhatApp group flurry represents. It's not panic over the ‘right’ Irish college.

Maybe we’re just scared our babies are growing up and out? 

Maybe all this represents just one more step further away from us.