Surviving Pomp and Circumstance

I was doing just fine until the Herron High School orchestra started playing Pomp and Circumstance.

Turns out that tune is severely emotional and has been evoking the drama for more than a century, so I'm not crying: you're crying.

Also, my mascara dripped into my eyeballs, so I was fighting on two fronts.

I have two words of advice for moms still to face this rite of passage: waterproof mascara.

Alison's graduation was marked more by laughter than tears, thank goodness.

In preparation, Ali and I cleaned the house. That included waxing the floors, which I haven't done in a while. I have a fun video of her but the technology isn't working for me to share it here. You'll have to go over to Facebook to see that and her walk across the stage to snag her diploma.

Ali enjoyed the smooth surface on Day 1 which included her making a slip-and-slide with a furry throw onto which she threw herself and slid from the hall to the fireplace. I submit it was her extra polishing that made the floor a danger zone, but it seemed to be my name invoked whenever anyone slipped a bit.

"Watch out, Mom greased the floors," is Alison's warning to anyone who steps foot into the living room.

The Captain was not amused whatsoever. "Never again, Cheryl Reed," he said more than once.

There's more risk of slippage to come with her party this weekend. I'm sure Ali will post warning signs. So come at your own risk. But please do come. If you want to check your hair or your make-up, all you have to do is look down. Also, if the rain ever stops, much of the event will be outside where it's safer.

Slippage and the occasional loss of emotional control aside, it has truly been a wonderful week - made infinitely better by the appearance of family from Maine and Indiana and the friends who count fully as family. We're very grateful to those who who celebrated with us for the official night where seats were limited and occurred in the evening of the middle of the work week.

Grandpa is still recovering and had to stay home, but we toasted him and knew he was with us in spirit. Auntie Jen and Uncle James flew in from Maine and I I forced them to pose with the airport Indy sign.

Let's refrain from trying to understand exactly what Jen was trying to convey.  She'd come a long way and had been up since 3 a.m. Personally, I think it was a good effort at a capital "I." I probably love her more than you do, so I won't make scarecrow references...

We had a great, albeit rainy, few days of shopping for dorm room necessities, eating, catching up and trying to stop an explosive-laden passenger train from killing a bunch of people. On paper, we failed in our Escape Room adventure. That was in part because one trick failed to work as designed and also because great detectives, we are not. On the other hand, we didn't kill each other as we scrambled to decode and detect in a timed game that required math.

Because graduation night was so late, we delayed our dinner to Thursday night and walked up to Petite Chou fortified by Dom Perignon in King David Dog cups.

There's more graduation fun to come, of course. Tonight is Rachael's grad party down home. Ali's is next weekend and there are dozens in between. It's also Race Weekend  in Indy, or as the rest of the country defines it: Memorial Day weekend. That means race parties on top of birthday and grad parties and Book Club last night.

I'm going to need all of Memorial Day to recover.

I have the best in-laws in the history of marriage, but that's not getting me out of cleaning.

It's been approximately 743 years since I really cleaned my house. It's neat, and I get most of the surface grime every week or so, but deep cleaning is a special occasion. Say when your only child is preparing to graduate and family is coming in from out-of-town and out-of-state.

So I've been weeding and doing all sorts of work outside as well as wiping crevasses and disturbing homes spiders have had for generations kind of like Daenerys  but without benefit of dragon.

The would-be graduate is helping out mostly un-begrudgingly. She didn't notice me noticing her sigh of relief when she spied me scrubbing her bathroom sink.

When I advised her that her bathroom was her responsibility, she said, "But you already did it."

I informed her I'd stopped at the sink and you would have thought I'd pulled a bag of Cheerios away from a starving baby. Yesterday, I cleaned the upstairs floors, and today I waxed them.

I haven't waxed them in a while. Both she and Jeff complain when I do because they don't believe that wooden floors should shine. Left to clean our floors, those two would have to dust bunnies biting their ankles before they'd go in search of a broom.

Also, it was a freshly waxed floor that was the beginnings of Alison's potty mouth. She was somewhere in that pudgy age of 2-4 when she still wore what we called "dog ear" ponytails -- two rather than just one down her back. She was running from one end of the hallway to the other, building up speed so she could slide a little bit.

Prior to the wax job, she'd get a few feet and squeal like a little girl. Post the wax job, she literally took flight, and landed on her backside. At which point, she exclaimed, "Jesus Christ!" with perfect inflection for the occasion. (Unless it was my mother who heard her; had that occurred, her backside would have gotten another slap or 12.

She's two days away from graduating from high school and 15 days into her 18th year. What did she do when she learned I'd waxed the floors?

https://www.facebook.com/cheryl.reed1/posts/10216760208391174?notif_id=1558384947607987&notif_t=video_processed

One of these is not like the others

I know most moms like to have breakfast in bed or a fancy brunch or dinner on a day like today. And that's wonderful. I hope every mom -- and every woman who mothers -- had exactly the day they wanted.

As for me, I never do a good job of giving Jeff and Ali a list of things they should consider as suitable Mother's Day gifts. They always rise to the occasion, though, and I've been showered in flowers and gifts from the extreme to the silly in the 18 years I've qualified for attention on this annual day.

This year, though, they've outdone themselves.

• Flowers, yes. But this year's crop were new types AND there were fresh cut and some lilies to plant if the cold, cold rain ever stops.
• Jeff mowed the yard yesterday while Ali and I went to a Girl Talk brunch and then she had a study session and I worked out. This is a big deal because A: I wasn't expecting it and B: Jeff would rather clean toilets with a toothbrush than do yard work. That's my domain, and he gives me merciless grief when I fret over weeds or leaves or the general scrub-grass nature of our lawn.
• I even won a basket of wine at the brunch. We'll use the wine for an upcoming sleepover with Aunt La, Amy and Jenna.
• A King Rib feast greeted us when we got home, too.
• Ali and I spend the morning in my bed watching trashy TV. Jeff had gone off to basketball, so we had the house to ourselves, and it was glorious. His game was unexpectedly cancelled, so he came home early. He shook his head because he hates trashy TV, and he also brought us popcorn. For breakfast. Kind of. We had to leave Savannah and Chase still dealing with their LA adventure to go to a girls' movie: The Hustle. But we did it in our pajamas.
  
• "Let's be THOSE people," Ali said, when she suggested that instead of trinkets, her gift to me could be an experience. We were totally those people. The ticket-taker was a kid from Ali's school, and he greeted her by name. She didn't know him, but here's the thing: Even at Herron High School where kids give themselves new names, have hair of every pastel shade known to man (and some unknown) Ali's hair stands out. She may also be the school bully or its guardian. Or it might be her love of profanity for all I know, but even in that school where individuality is a celebrated art, she's recognizable."Yeah, I can't ever be a spy or disappear in a crowd," she said. 
• Jeff's opened our last bottle of Venus, an Agrapart & Fils champagne. It's one of the best champagnes we've ever had.
• Ali and I are about to finish off "Growing up Chrisley" because it's still rainy and cold out, which doesn't make for a hospitable environment for planting my new flowers.
• Oh! And there was a real gift, too. My sister Debbie made a corner shelving unit out of doors. It's super cute and will look perfect on my back porch. I can't wait for its delivery. It's extra special because it's a sister-made product. There aren't a lot of those around...
  
  

It may not be a fancy day, but it's been wonderful and just about as good a day as I could have ordered up. I think we're having breakfast for dinner..... which if I've been a very good mom, means pancakes. 

Hope you're having a great day. Whatever that means for you. (No: we did not brush our hair.)

Ali is 18: Part 2

The week got away from me, but Alison's 18th just kept getting better. Jeff came home and we opened family gifts once her friends left. As all good birthdays go, it started early and didn't end for a while.

Monday was a trip to the IMAX theater to see "Avengers End Game." Ali and Jeff have seen every Marvel movie ever made, and I've seen most of them. They laugh at me when I get something wrong as only serious Marvel nerds can do. It was super fun. Ali had seen it already and was hawk-eyed, watching Jeff for the big moments.

We all love it, and I don't care that they think my contention that that the Avengers would be seriously bad for the environment is a bad assessment of the franchise.

On Tuesday, Ali exercised her new right to vote and met our long-time precinct committee woman who was pleased to have another Democrat to add to the polling list.

She was slightly late to school, but when she flashed her sticker, "The teachers fawned all over me," so I didn't even get an email ratting her out for her tardiness.

We had dinner with Aunt La that evening and Ali was surprised with another extravagant addition to her jewelry box. "All my good jewelry has come from you," Ali breathed as she inserted  her new earrings. "Well, some from Grammie. And Mom. But yours is special like that."

All in all, a great birthday. And now we have an adult...

Birthday #18 Part 1

"So, Alison," I asked yesterday. "How do you want to spend the last day of your childhood?"

She shot me a look that perfectly captured the moment. Part sad, part excited, part happy. All Ali.

"Childishly," she said, finally, with a grin.

With Jeff out of town and Jenna awaiting a day when just she and Ali can celebrate, it was up to me to decide how far to take the plan to have her Herron High School posse over. I pretty much said yes to everything and added a bit here and there.

Below is a fairly accurate journal of what has transpired so far. Toddlers don't care - or often enjoy - a mom with a camera at a birthday party. Not only do teens care and general do not enjoy that, they probably have rights or something. But I do what I can:

Saturday the 4th/Birthday Eve: I drive Ali to a morning AP study session and then hit the gym before picking her back up. We hit the grocery on the way home. While I clean up from a fabulous dinner/champs and bourbon with Nikki and Ehren, Alison finishes homework and chores. She moves on to prepping the family room so everyone has space to veg, watch movies and eventually sleep. She steals half my pillows and scrounges storage for extra blankets before declaring herself satisfied.

4:30 p.m.: I drop Ali off at the HHS annual Food Truck/Art Fair where she met up with various friends and did her last (I assume) volunteer effort for the school swim team.

4:31 p.m.: I decide we haven't decorated enough and drive to the Dollar Tree in deference to the Captain, who will think I overdid it. But you can't overdo it if you shop at the Dollar Tree. #AmIRight?

5 p.m.: I start the process of creating a rainbow of tissue paper pom pom streamers to lead into the family room where movie night will ensue.

5:10 p.m: I tire of creating the pom poms and move on to banners and signs knowing the pom poms await.

5:20 p.m.: Back to the freaking pom poms that had seemed like such a good idea at the store. So much better than the original plan, which was to just hang streamers.

5:30 p.m.: My arms hurt. I curse the shreds of tissue paper scattered on the basement floor as if my rainbow has dandruff. (In actuality, I'm a bad pom pom maker and I've torn a few of the petals. I hide the damage as best I can and remove the evidence.) I wonder if she will care that I went to the trouble. I stretch. I have a snack. Back to the freaking pom poms.

6:30 p.m.: Done with the goddamned pom poms. For the record, I had to unfold and fluff 480 petals to form 30 pom poms. I'm 100 percent certain the plain streamers would have sufficed. I stretch my back and wonder if I should finish the champagne left over from the night before.

7:30 p.m.: I pick her up and we hightail it home to finish anything she finds missing and to prepare for guest arrival. She is surprised and pleased at the additional decor.

8 p.m.: Guests begin to arrive and I get to interact before they hightail it downstairs to start their movie marathon. I settle into the couch to greet stragglers and listen in. They find the noise makers and it sounds like an elephant rumble. This is repeated each time a new guest arrives.

8-10:30 p.m.: In past years when I did this, it was largely giggles and screams that would float up the stairs. With most of the girls in their advanced teens it's screams and laughter and more than a bit of profanity.

10:30 p.m.: The champagne long finished, I relocate to bed as the movie noise overtakes conversation and goofy outbursts.

Sunday (Ali's actual birthday)

7:30 -9 a.m. : I would normally awake her with presents and a fun breakfast, but we'll put off family birthday stuff to this evening when Jeff is home. While the coffee brews and my paper awaits, I pull out the three pounds of bacon and ponder whether to cook it all. I do, thinking I'll have leftovers for the coming week. I cut fruit, prepare a buffet of juices and milk and cereal. I decide I'd be an excellent Bed&Breakfast host.

9:05: I creep downstairs to see if anyone is awake. It looks like the aftermath of a tsunami in the family room, but somehow the pompoms have survived essentially intact. I creep back upstairs to enjoy my coffee and paper.

9:45 a.m.: Ali stumbles upstairs and tells me it might be time to wake the girls. I start pulling out the food. The birthday girl, apparently having already collected gifts the night before, wakes the girls with one of the noisemakers. Screams and curses fill the air. I wonder if the neighbors are awake.

10 a.m.: Everyone is upright and filing in for food. I turn off my country music and turn on whatever it is they listen to as they brunch on the porch.

10:30 a.m.: The bake-fest is on. Despite the fact that we have a small kitchen and there are other rooms in the house, the bakers fill one half as they bake and mix and hand  bowls and spoons around to be feasted upon, those not baking sit on the floor or on stools in the kitchen. I thread myself back and forth putting stuff away, cleaning a bit and making sure everyone has what they need. Several of the girls offer to help, which is nice. It's a great collection of girls. I love each of them. There's no champagne for them, but fancy glasses are always fun.

10:30 a.m.-12 p.m.: The music blares, there are stops for dance sessions. Among the pop chart music are bits of Phinneas & Ferb tunes like "Squirrels in my pants." They take breaks to watch videos. They sing. They pose. They eat the baked goods as if they haven't devoured three pounds of bacon, cereal, toast and fruit. We discuss Chinese food vs. Taco Bell for lunch.

12:30 p.m.: I've retreated to table off the back porch and am about to order Chinese food. From the sound of things, they're back downstairs watching movies or possibly moving on to video games.

We'll see what happens next. I have to go get Chinese food now.

The Exhibitionist

There's an exhibitionist in my neighborhood, and I have to admit, I'm hooked: I spy on her all the time, and I have for months.

Well, not ALL the time. She's not always out there showing off. And to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure it's a she. I think it's a she, but I haven't zoomed in like it seems to want me to. Even though it's a daily show, that degree of intimacy seems a step too far...

I noticed her over the winter after I moved my workstation off the back porch. I used to sit at the kitchen counter, which gave me a view of the front yard, but lately I've been at the dining room table, which offers up my neighbor's yard and a 5-feet-or-so tall shepherd's hook that holds a bird feeder. Lois has a lot of bird feeders and has a really pretty yard.

My little friend spends a lot of time out there visiting an aerial, red-roofed bird feeder that stands under the shade of a huge maple tree.

Back in the winter when I first spied her, she was just contemplating the act she's since perfected. I suspect she was hungry and a tiny bit perplexed as to why Lois would be setting out food for birds but not for her. I could practically hear her wondering why she was left out of the free-food equation. She's not the one who decorates the car windows, after all.

The first time (that I noticed anyway) she planned to foil the unfair feeding program, she got about a foot up the shepherd's hook and then slid right down. She didn't give up, easily. Before she abandoned her quest that day, she had gotten maybe halfway up, only to slide down yet again.

She was back the next day. I pictured her going back to her drey or hole in a tree or wherever she lives and pumping tiny, squirrel-sized barbells made of walnuts and twigs. It's a step too far to imagine her mixing up tiny protein shakes in her little kitchen, but she must have powered down on the nuts because she kept coming back to the shepherd's hook to try again, and I swear she's buffed up.

With her new upper body strength, she's perfected her foraging.  It's not uncommon to see her having a snack while hanging upside down from the feeder. Mostly, though, she makes the thing sway, or she just scrapes out a handful of the seeds to scatter on the ground where she makes like a cow in clover. Occasionally a friend will join her. This is mostly why I think it's a girl -- she shares the wealth. I think a male squirrel would bare his little teeth and dare the lesser muscled rat to a fight to the bushy-tailed death.

This squirrel has six-pack abs and some seriously shredded biceps. She'd probably be able to take on a small dog and win. I do wonder if the birds she's routinely depriving of seeds are going to mount a counter attack anytime soon. So far there's no hint of it, but if it comes to that, my money's on the squirrel.

I'm no wildlife photographer and for an exhibitionist, she doesn't really like having me document her antics, but these are the best I've gotten in the past several months.

Is it the same squirrel every time? Who can say. All I know is it took a while for the little rodent to stop sliding down the pole like an exhausted stripper and there's not a constant stream of squirrels at the trough.