Try On, Cry On

Being the ringbearer meant trying on a tux.

Getting measurements was the easy part.

In a large, open store on a cool February evening,

with an easygoing
tailor who joked in a Latvian accent, the mood was light.

The mother says to the boy in her best bass voice

like the man on the commercial,

"You're gonna like the way you look."

\

The dad stands nearby,

also getting fitted.

The occasion becomes a memory

of pre-wedding pleasantries.

Being the ringbearer meant trying on a tux

Again.

Three days before the Big Day.

To make sure everything fits.

It's early March in Maryland,

but feels nearly Bahama-ish.

Which is great

if you're outside.

Trying on a tux means putting on
layers of clothes.
And accessories.
Shirt.

Vest.

Tie.

Suspenders.

Jacket.

Pants.

Socks.

Shoes.

In a small dressing room,

already too warm,

he begins to panic.
Dramatic breathing.
Pulling at his collar.
The shirt sleeves are too long.
The lady rolls them up.
It looks tacky.

"Let me try a different one for you,"
says the lady.
"No, please not another one!"

His mother is helping him get the shirt off,
but she is also overheating
in more ways than one.
It's not drama, it's real.

"Mom, I have warmaphobia!"

The mother smiles, but the boy says it's not funny.
His brother in the next dressing room

trying on his own tux that fits beautifully.
He hears the commotion, embarrassed,

and when he comes over, says
to the sibling half his age,

"Man up. Don't be such a girl."

"I'm not being a girl! I'm dying of heat!

Get this off of me!"

The mother tells the older brother (the best man)

not to antagonize. It IS really hot.

The pants are too loose, but the new pair, says the

lady (who is not the Latvian comedienne, but a

serious Sally)--"the new pair might stay up better."

"What?? I have to try on another pair of pants???!!

The new pair is too tight.

You would think he had just been squeezed by a boa constrictor

the way he fought the black fabric on his legs.

Put the first pair back on with suspenders, I suggest.
"They're fine, Mom. They'll stay up, don't worry!"

I believe him. Let's just get out of here.

I share his warmaphobia.

I snap a couple of pictures of the suffering.

Photojournalism at its best.

Or worst, depending

on which side of the camera you're on.

The store lady is doing her best to hurry up and get us

"scanned out."

Thank you. Yes, we'll go across the street

to your other location for a shirt that fits right.

What's one more trying try-on session

if the promise is that

You're gonna like the way you look.

Three days later,

in a very-cool-on-purpose hotel room

the mom stood by with her camera

while her boy and his dad tried on

those tuxes for their March Down the Aisle.

The mother smiled yet again.

She knew

she was gonna like the way they looked.

Later.

Much later.

When the wedding day

was a cool 45 degrees outside,

he was feeling great in all those layers.

And he did, indeed, like the way he looked.

Snow. Shower.

What do you get when you cross a thin layer of snow and ice,

icky rain and old windshield wipers, too little sleep the night before, followed by too much coffee the morning of, fur-lined snow boots and daringly high heels, pink
carnations and baby's breath, toll booths that could bankrupt a Rockefeller, fifty women dressed in pink and black, one really tall dimple-faced guy in a Ravens polo, a lot of prayer and Kleenex,


darling shoe-shaped white chocolates, a show-stopping leopard print chair and a tiara, delicious food, thick gloves and thin stemware, a heavy microwave and a light Christmas ornament,

with a petite dimple-faced sweetheart of a girl who thought she was just going to breakfast at Chick Fil-A before an 11:15 premarital counseling appointment at her church?



You get a surprise bridal shower in New Jersey, that's what!



Ben did a super job of getting Dee there without her suspecting anything. She expected to see our daughter later in the afternoon at her wedding dress fitting with bridesmaids, but she was clueless about the shower.


She dressed in casual pink and black (her signature colors) and looked adorable, as usual. But her twin sister had brought her a leopard print jumper and black high heels and black sweater to change into.










He stuck around just long enough to eat lunch and publicly honor her with a few words.

I had the distinct privilege of hearing so many good things about my son from ladies in that church who have gotten to know him over the past year.

I heard the following.

1. "So you're Ben's mom! He is
such a mature guy. Really a great match for Deirdra."

2. "Ben is a real man's man. A strong leader. I can't imagine him saying, 'Whatever you say, dear. Whatever you want, honey.'' I chuckled, "No, not at all. On the small things he'll compromise, like wearing pink in the wedding, but on the big stuff he sticks to his convictions."


3. "Deirdra used to babysit my girls and we all just love her. When she told me she'd met this great guy and fallen in love, I had to meet him. Had to see if he was good enough for our DeeDee. Don't worry, he is!"

4. (From Dee's mom) " I could not have picked a better man for Deirdra if I'd tried. He treats her so well. When you're a single mom, that's just extra important to know your girls are being taken of. Ben is an answer to many years of prayers." Dee's mom knew he was special when he helped pack, carry, and load up boxes and stuff into her car after her other daughter's wedding. "He is so helpful and such a gentleman. I don't know how we could've done it without him. I knew at that moment he was a keeper."

Dee's twin sister, Siobhan (pronounced "Shuh-vahn") knows her better than anyone. The shower was perfectly decorated in a very Dee way. Check out this chair, but first the story behind it.

As you know, twins have this mysterious "thing" between them --a sixth sense, I guess--that they are really in sync with each other when they're miles (or states) apart. Siobhan was looking at Craigslist for furniture for her own place when she spotted (no pun intended, truly) this leopard print spiked-heel shoe chair. She emailed her mom the link. "We've got to get this for Dee. It would be great for her shower and her house!" Of course this was all hush-hush. Siobhan bought it for $30 really fast. A few hours later, she got a text link from Dee. "Check out this chair. I love it! Ben would kill me if it came in the house, but isn't it great?!"


















photo credit:
Ambrey Zaun

(The shoe chair and all the ones with brighter lighting are her pictures. The others are mine.)









Cupcakes courtesy of her friend,
Katie, who has her own cupcake
business. One word for these:
Wow.









The prayers of blessing meant so much
to us. Marriage will be a big adjustment, but maybe moreso for Dee since she will be leaving all her friends, her mom, and her church in NJ. Thankfully her sister lives ten minutes from their new apartment.





















One woman asked if I was embarrassed as Ben's mom to see Dee opening
lingerie. I jumped up with my camera and said, "No way! If it leads to grandkids, I'm all for it!" (I'm all for it anyway, but I can hardly wait to have grands of my own.)




























Hugs and kisses for the soon-to-be Mrs.

I'm on Overload

I'll say it right off the bat. I could use a hug. Not a virtual one, but a real live one. The past two weeks have been one adrenaline rush after another, positively and negatively. I've been riding an escalator up and down since Sunday, and there are more rides in sight.

Down: Last week--fridge died
Up: This past Monday morning-- got new fridge
Down: Monday night --my husband fainted and knocked 2 teeth loose when his face hit the floor. Had emergency orthodontic repair the same night.
Up: our blood pressure after it happened
Down: Tuesday- dentist appt for x-rays.
Up: He said teeth should be fine, but it takes time to tell if nerve lives or dies.
Wednesday--exhaustion for both of us, and arguing about whether he should see specialists to see if there was an underlying cause for the syncopal episode (fainting)
Down: Thursday--Oldest son came home sick from work
Up: Friday (today) hubby agreed to keep cardiology appointment that *I* made for him
Down: that dr was superconservative and hubby didn't like what he had to say
Up: my oldest son's mood because he gets to move into his first apartment tomorrow
Down: my mood, for maternal reasons related to son's moving out
Up: my mood when our pastor, Arie, called to see how we're doing. I don't think pastors realize how much it means to get a caring call even when you're not in the hospital.
Down: Paul's immune system. He can't figure out why this cold is lingering and why it's not responding very fast to antibiotics.
Up: my daughter's mood when she got to sub four times this week in the kindergarten class she loves.
She takes the Praxis tomorrow, so she's nervous.

Add to this mix the effort I am trying to lose weight, make a scrapbook for my mom's birthday this coming Sunday, dust and vacuum to reduce allergens bothering my husband...

But hey, the Ravens are going to the playoffs so that's a big "up". If they lose, it will be a big "downer." It's not a fun house here when our team loses.


I haven't cried yet. I used to cry very easily, but the older I've gotten, the more scabby my heart has gotten. Or am I maturing in my ability to control my tears? Is it grace that I haven't cried, that I am strong for those who need me for soft foods and doctor appointments, shared excitement over getting hired two days after graduation, helping with a "moving experience," literally, and someone to drill him on Latin verbs and sign his permission slips.

I feel like there's going to be a crash soon and all this bottled up tension will pour, pour, pour out of me.

I would appreciate your prayers, and really wish I could get a hug.

Summa Cum Laude!

Graduation Day came at last and our daughter was at the top of her class with a GPA of 4.0. Who could be more ready to graduate than the graduate herself? Who could be more proud of their daughter? (And more eager to be finished with tuition payments!)

Each grad was allotted just four tickets to the ceremony. Her older brother had to attend premarital counseling with his bride in NJ. Her youngest brother would be bored. Her grandmother couldn't handle the walking and stairs. That left her parents, grandfather, and younger brother to attend.

Having forgotten to buy flowers ourselves ahead of time, we joined the throngs of others who spent a pretty penny for roses on site. I chose yellow roses to match her hood, and because I adore them.

My dad was full of strength and energy. Several times I asked, "Daddy ,are you okay?" as we walked probably a half mile from the parking lot to the auditorium in chilly air. (I was the only one who'd brought a winter coat. So glad I did!) We were following a girl who was in cap, gown and 6-inch heels! Steve was shivering, but came out with a funny question . "I wonder...this would be like a Candid Camera gig or something...if they got an actor to dress up in cap and gown and then start walking quickly around campus, going nowhere? I wonder how long people would follow?"


The ceremony started at 10, and from the first strains of "Pomp and Circumstance," I felt that familiar lump in my throat. We saw Sarah round the corner in the mob of grads, and I felt little tiny tears in the corners of my eyes. I had a flashback to her kindergarten graduation when she donned a pink cardboard cap with pink tassel, tall and proud, waving to Mommy and Daddy. Back then her grandmother had missed the ceremony as well, because of a broken foot.

We were sitting in the nosebleed section, but that was okay. The panoramic view thrilled me. All the flags on the stage represented the different countries from which the graduates hailed. All the people who had some part to play in this moment were there, whether in body or in spirit.


The commencement speaker was a Baltimore philanthropist and adjunct professor (in his fifties, I'd guess) who received his honorary doctorate with humility and humor. "This is the first degree I've ever gotten. I love this country." He went on to say that he checked out the "Rate your Professor" online, and saw that he got a chili pepper. He bragged to his wife about it, and "she let me have my glory for about a minute, and then said, 'Calm down, Frank. Your daughter gave it to you." Except for grating Baltimore accent ,he was easy to listen to.

I hadn't replaced the battery in my good Nikon soon enough, so I had to rely on a small point-n-shoot. It was better than nothing, but for distance, not the greatest. It didn't lessen my enjoyment in the least.

It was cool when they asked all the alumni to stand. My husband and I rose. We were in the class of
1987 and took the stage in January of '88, babe in the womb as we'd been married in December of '86. Once again, I had a flashback of being very, very hot and wondered how many hours it would take to get to the end of the alphabet in a class of 800 graduates. Thankfully this time the room was cool, I was way past childbearing ability, and the class was about 250.

When they called her name, we yelled and stomped and clapped and "woo-hooed" our lungs out. My dad leaned over to me from the right and said, "I knew I should've brought the shofar!" My husband leaned over to me from the left and said, "Two down and two to go!"

Enough about the ceremony. Let's jump to the pictures.



With her loyal Christian friend, Kelly, from her cohort.



With her sweet, doting dad.




With her short, happy mama.

With her funny, supportive younger brother, Steve.




With her Pappaw (my dad).



The proud, happy, and cold family.

Congratulations, beautiful daughter. We love you.

Yo Yo Week

Up: Joel loves school and is diligent in his work.
Down? He's had to miss two days because of early pneumonia.
Up: Sarah is getting a new (to her) car today.
Down: because her convertible is no longer practical and is costing more to repair.
Up: Steve has gained compassion for students who study really hard but still don't grasp the material in a class.
Down: His GPA.
Up: Ben's spirits because he's getting his passport for the honeymoon.
Down: The wedding is still almost four months away and he can hardly wait.
Up: The temperature earlier this week, and leaves on trees.
Down: The temperature today, and leaves off trees.
Up: My mood.
Down: My weight. Just a little, but still I'll rejoice, okay?
Up: My parents' thumbs to the invitation to Grandparents' Day at school tomorrow.
Down: Nothing about that unless they end up unable to come.
Up: The new car should pass inspection.
Down: I have to go to the DMV for tags.

I would guess you're having your own ups and downs this week, huh? What are they?

Pro Rege and the World's Oldest Profession

Last night I was putting my nine year old to bed. Soon he will find he feels too old to snuggle, but for the time I have left, I enjoy the ritual of reading aloud, exchanging back-scratches, talking about anything and everything, and sometimes helping him master a memory verse.

What's been especially sweet about his attendance at this new Christian school is that he has begun to sing again. And not just commercials. From the time he was about five until last month, he didn't think it was cool to sing. That broke my heart. He wouldn't sing in church. He wouldn't sing when I tried to teach him some hymns at home, and only once in a while he'd sing in the shower. At his old school he felt uncomfortable singing on stage in the musical.

Imagine my joy at the resurrection of his singing! All the kids, even the boys , at school not only have to sing, but enjoy it. I love it!

So far he has learned a US history song that recounts major players and events from the 15th century to the French-Indian War. He was signing it for me as I lay there in the stillness. His voice is precious and nearly pitch-perfect. Then he asked if I'd help him with his Bible verse which he'll be tested on today. His dad had written it on a card and helped him remember the first letter of each of the four lines: BBTW. I told him there were 25 words and the lines have 6,6,7,6 words each, respectively. Then I got to explain to him what the verse means, because, let's face it, words like "reconciled" and "blemish" need some 'splaining to a fourth grader.

I suggested we put the verse to the tune of "Amazing Grace," and it worked! (We messed around with the meter, of course, but doing so only bolstered the memory.)

But now He has reconciled you
By Christ's physical body through death
To present you holy in his sight
Without blemish and free from accusation.
Colossians 1:22

Joel then asked if we could sing the real song. So we did, in the dark, cozied up under blankets; we sang "Amazing Grace."

Pro rege. (For the king.)

I asked Joel if he knew what "Pro Rege" means. He said no.
I explained, "Pro means for. Rege means King, like regal. Like pro-life is for life."
He asked, "Professional is for fessional?"
I snickered. And then he said, "How about pro-stitution?"

I snorted and gathered my wits.

"Do you know what that means?" I asked.
"No. What?"
"Never mind. I'll tell you when you're older. Good night, son. I love you."

Oh, boy. How did we get from "Amazing Grace" to pro-stitution in a matter of seconds?

Ready

I'm ready to see my little boy after a week at camp.
It's too quiet here. What was good for a day or two
--uninterrupted hours to myself, to write, to work, to clean--
no longer appeals. I long for his voice asking me
questions, giggling, singing when he thinks I'm not listening.
I can't wait to hear about his experiences. Intriguing
and amusing he is, in his story telling. The words he
uses seem, at times, too big for a nine-year-old.
Like when I asked him if he'd be taking his
everyday Bible, he said, "Nah, it's too cumbersome."


I'm ready to see my big boy again, too.
My young man who turns 20 on Monday.
(Really, Lord? Will I really have three children
at least 20 years old?)
I'm ready to hear how God spoke to him, and
through him, into the young lives of hurting,
hungry kids in a remote log cabin atop a
wooded hill in a state we call "P-A." I'm ready
to hear him jam out on the drums again in
the basement, to hear him sing praises in
the shower.

I'm ready to see his girlfriend again. These
ladies my sons hold dear , I hold dear. It's
a rather unexpected thing for me. Always
wondered if I would understand what it means
to love like family someone my child falls
in love with. But I get it now.

I'm ready to witness the moment they behold
each other again after eight long weeks. If I
feel like a balloon about to burst with joy and
relief, how must they be feeling?
She was in Zambia for five of those weeks,
without no telecommunication.

She texted me from DC
when her first of two remaining flights
landed back
"home". She would've called him first,
of course, but Steve gets almost no cell
service where he is. She had not talked
to him yet. She said she's dying to see him
Saturday night. She was about to board the
next flight to Texas
for a mission team debriefing
so our texts were of the hyper-
informational type and then "See you soon!"

But I twisted her message in a very cruel
tease that only a son's mother can pull off.
During a Facebook chat a couple hours later,
I said to Steve, "I have some news from her.
"She decided to stay in Africa another month."
There was a pregnant pause. Then he wrote,
"Really? Why?"
And I said, "She fell in love with someone else.
A black drummer."

"Ha ha," he replied.

"'I had you going, didn't I?"

"um, well, I could see her staying another
month in Africa, but was trying to
figure out how that'd
work with school. The whole black drummer
thing, though? No. LOL."

We both know she is
way too smitten with my son to march to
the beat of a different drummer. Sometimes
I think her heart beats in time with his.

I am ready to go on vacation. We're heading
to the beach as a family next week. All of us,
including the white drummer boy and his girl,
minus our oldest and his bride-to-be. I am
sorry we can't all be together. Sunbathing
on southern sand. Soaking up views of the
grey-green Atlantic from
our balcony.

Ahh, summertime on the East Coast.

Susan Asked; I Answered. "A Blog Retrospection"

For whatever reason, Susan at thecontemplativecat chose me as one of five bloggers to do this Blog Reflection/Retrospection post. Given that I've posted some 1323 times, maybe she figured I'd have myriad selections upon which to reflect or retrospect. Or because she knows I'm not afraid of prickly topics. Or that I am just a sucker for thought-provoking memes.

Thanks, Susan. You made me smile. (And folks, you must visit her blog. She'll make YOU smile, too.)


Category 1: Most beautiful "Hallmark Commercial in my Classroom." While rereading this post, tears flowed down my cheeks. How I miss teaching, and "Ryan" in particular. He has a beautiful spirit, generous and encouraging and pure. Just last week I saw him and he told me he still misses having me as his teacher. It doesn't get much better than that.

Hallmark Commercial in my Classroom

Category 2: Most popular "Walking Cliche' for Halloween" (a humorous piece) garnered a lot of laughs. I wrote it while thinking about Halloween costumes and simultaneously grading some high school essays. I had read one cliche' too many that afternoon, which led to a "eureka!" which I carried out only on paper. I was in a really giddy mood and apparently a lot of people needed a good laugh that day. The comments cracked me up and I wished I could take all the commenters out trick-or-treating with me.

Walking Cliche' for Halloween

Category 3: The Most Controversial There may be others, since I get a bit "riled up" now and then. It happened as I was blog-hopping and I came upon an ultra-crunchy momma's page whose "About Me" stuff made me say to myself (in the words of my dad, "Oh, forevermore." I questioned why people find it necessary to include "we cloth diaper" in their blog profile. Shoulda figured that a topic that covers waste products would create such a stink. I realized that it takes intestinal fortitude to stand up for what you believe, or bowels of mercy to stand down on bandwagon issues that truly, in the whole scheme of things, don't matter. At all. To me. So I wrote,

Seriously?

Category 4: Most Helpful "Let Me Tell You, I Love My Man!" It buoyed my spirits to write it, since I tend to focus on the negatives of people most important to me, or-- if I think on the positives-- the thoughts don't necessarily flow freely from my lips or pen. It's a terrible thing. I have to work at being encouraging to my closest companion. Judging from the comments, it helped other women to focus (at least for a little while) on the good they see in their husband. And, I would guess my hubby felt bolstered by reading it, even though he pretends he doesn't read my blog.

Let Me Tell You, I Love My Man!

Category 5: The Post whose success surprised me Well, that one is from the A-Z Challenge, a challenge for which I chose "memories" as my guiding theme. "M is for Mailboxes" was a gutsy confession of something I'm not proud of. In fact, I was sorely tempted to simply keep it in my drafts, but wanted God to be spotlighted as the loving forgiver of the sins of my youth "and my rebellious ways." For it is His kindness that leads us to repentance.

M is for Mailboxes

Category 6: The Post most ignored Pshhhh. Too many to choose from. I figure if it was ignored when it was fresh, why mention it now when it's stale?

Category 7: The Post I am proud of . Okay, the phrase "proud of" makes me squirm with regard to my own writing. But I can say that a post which took some work (and you will agree that I use the term "work" loosely if you choose to read it) was one called "Three Wee Rings." I wrote it after my hubby took me to the jewelry store on our anniversary a while back to get my wedding rings and a diamond band upsized. (Yes, I asked for the sizing as a gift; he would never dare suggest it.) Our anniversary is at Christmastime, so the post is a poem set to the tune of "We Three Kings."

Three Wee Rings

Now I must choose five fellow bloggers, and notify them of their choice to participate or not. I'm choosing ones I think will say yes and who occasionally spark controversy but keep it civil.

The writers I'm picking for this blog reflection post are:
Sarah (my delightful daughter) at Homeward Bound
Kelly at Through the Water
Amy at Lavender Sparkles
Krista at Corn Rows and Meadows
Joyce at From This Side of the Pond

"Duly Initiated": Is That What You're Calling It?

This is my second rant about how colleges "honor" their good students.
Last night was the so-called "induction ceremony" for Sarah into the Tau Sigma Honor Society. It's for transfer students who have achieved a 3.5 or higher. She holds a 4.0.

A little background: at first she didn't want to go because it was a care group night (what our church calls small group meetings) with this meeting being a social among college-age kids. She loves care group. I love ceremony. A couple weeks ago I told her it's not often that parents get to see their kids shine on stage, but she gets to go to care group every week. Please humor me. (Yes, I am a terrific travel agent for guilt trips.) My plea became even more important when Ben's graduation tickets didn't materialize because his college "ran out" (see previous post if you haven't, and if you care, and who could blame you if you don't?).

Sarah was told there was no guarantee that it would be over by 6:30, but that her name would be called first since she explained she needed to leave by 6:30. I was expecting to have to slip out inconspicuously while some big whig was yammering away at a microphone.

So we make plans to arrive at Towson by 5:20, hand Joel off to Ben in the parking lot, expecting that "light refreshments" start at 5:30, will last 15 minutes with mingle-till-you-tingle, and then the formalities get underway .

What actually took place was a far cry from our expectations. Sarah and I fought rush-hour, accident-laden traffic in the rain and arrived at 5:25, did the hand-off, met up with Paul, and headed upstairs for the light refreshments, which consisted of small cold tortillas, cold stuck-together mozzarella sticks (I couldn't even separate the two in order to leave one in the pan). I took a bottle of water and called it a snack. Apparently the "mingle" portion was more about hungry guests getting something to tide them over. All of this took place in a crowded little conference room with a banner up front, some TS souvenir stuff like beer can holders (because the brightest students can hold their liquor as well as their GPA with the greatest of ease).





It was standing room only for Paul and me and a few other parents.
The emcee stood up and introduced himself as a native Baltimorean who was glad to be back in the area after three winters in upstate New York.
Okaay, so ....what does that have to do with this? Well, then he added that
these students should be very proud of themselves to be the "cream of the crop."

Then a girl in a mini-skirt introduced herself as a senior, having transferred from U Mass. She asked the inductees to rise for the Tau Sigma pledge. Some yim-yam about striving to do well in their education and upholding the principles upon which the society was based. WhatEVer. Sarah told me in the car she has no intention of getting involved , nor taking a leadership position, that the school already sucks enough time, energy, and money out of their students. She thought the $45 TS app fee was plenty "giving back"! She just wanted the certificate for her portfolio.

After Miss U Mass was finished, Mr. Native Balmer took the floor again and said, "I've got your certificates here, so just line up and I'll hand them to you. " He didn't call anyone's name. He didn't acknowledge anyone's GPA, didn't thank the parents or significant others for coming to honor their achievements. Nothing. While I was snapping this only "official" (ahem) picture of Sarah at the "induction ceremony," another mom squeezed into the room and asked me what she missed. She had just come from Annapolis. Wow. She had just fought the DC beltway rush-hour traffic AND the Baltimore beltway traffic? I hated, hated, hated to tell her, but I said, "It's over. The guy said a few words and now is handing out their certificates." The look on her face was a mix of shock , disgust, and disappointment. "I chose this one over my younger daughter's awards ceremony tonight, and I missed this?" I said, "Yeah, I know. It took us longer to find a parking space than it took for the "ceremony." She wanted to know what the emcee HAD said in five minutes. I told her, "He said they're the cream of the crop."

We had to get "real" pictures at home. Mind you, it was 6:40 and Sarah was in a rush to get to care group, Paul and Joel to a coin show, and I to the Recitatio at the new school of some of my former students. The shots below? Well, I have Joel in a half-Nelson saying, "I'm not gonna bribe you to smile. Just do it." Loving mother that I am. Paul is saying, "Dumb dog!" to Reilly who hasn't learned the command, "Smile pretty for camera" while I say, "Joel, don't worry about the dog. Just shoot from the waist up."

And a picture of Sarah's certificate which proclaims she is hereby "duly initiated" on this day in May. Yeah, okay. If you say so. Sarah and I got a couple mother-daughter close-ups, which I'm glad for, but all in all the evening left me saying, "Colleges don't care about the students. They just want money." Why am I dwelling on this when what I should be dwelling on is how proud I am of Sarah for this achievement. She studies till wee hours of the morning, making lesson plans, writing papers, studying for tests. She has interned once a week this semester in an elementary school. Sarah works as a church secretary part-time, and doesn't neglect her friends, and takes on extra babysitting jobs for money. (She chooses the better-paying ones at this point in her career. When gas costs 4 bucks a gallon, you don't take $5 an hour when some people offer you $10 for fewer kids.) All that to say, this girl doesn't sit around waiting for life to happen. She is a doer and a sweet, godly doer at that. We love her to death and were glad to be part of her seven-minute hooplah yesterday. I'm still licking the grease off my face from those symbolic-of-the-evening "hors d'oeuvres."

A Rant about How Students are (dis)Honored by Colleges

The University of Baltimore is the school from which our oldest son, Ben, has earned his Bachelors of Science in Accounting. We are so proud of his achievement. It's a tough school, and he has studied very hard for his degree. But we're angry--"we" being namely me. Let me explain why.

Yesterday was the graduation ceremony, but we weren't there and neither was he. Why? Because the school ran out of tickets. Originally they posted on their website that each graduate would be allotted "only five" due to the unusually high number of seniors this year. We figured our five would be there in a school office, on reserved for Ben who could waltz in during business hours and pick them up. Simple, right?

Well, fast forward to six days prior to graduation. Ben's taking a breather on the deck while studying for finals. He came to me and said, "Mom, if I can get tickets, it'll only be two. And you might end up being put into an overflow room to watch the service on a big screen.The lady at the office said kind of rudely that there are no more tickets. You can email fellow students to see if they have any they're not going to use."

What? Let me recompute. Only two? What kind of college only gives out two tickets to each grad for graduation? Don't they think that by the time you reach that point in your life that you might have several people who might want to be there? Don't they see that they've squeezed and squeezed our collective wallets for tuition, book money, parking fees, honor society dues, not to mention the gas and tolls it takes to show up on campus?

University of Baltimore is mainly a business and law school. Translation: they specialize in handing out degrees in business administration, in accounting, in criminal justice. How ironic, then, that the powers that be cannot see in September that X number of seniors are enrolled, therefore X number (or close to) will be graduating in May? So let's book a venue that will hold (X times 5) to accommodate all five guests per grad. Granted, I majored in English, so math isn't always easy, but in this case, I find it rather elementary, my dear Watson.

Colleges are businesses, first and foremost. They exist to make money, and perhaps, to educate. I am convinced of it. Students are the "customers" keeping them in business. We have spent thousands of dollars to help put Ben through UB. And now he has to fight for two stinkin' tickets because they ran out. Why could they not plan for the end back at the beginning? I'm sorry, but as a parent, I feel that's an injustice. I really do. I am not a person to just shrug it off and say, "Oh, well, what are you gonna do about it?" I am angry. This past weekend I was boiling over with anger. I love ceremony, love to see my kids receive their well-deserved diplomas as they take the stage in cap and gown and special "robe thingeys," as Sarah calls them. And I even bought a dress for the occasion. (Okay, so it was doing double-duty for a wedding, but still!)

Isn't it the LEAST you can do, then, U Balt? Can't you honor your graduates and their parents by providing either a larger venue or having two ceremonies broken down by the various schools ( e.g. School of Business at 1 pm, School of Law at 5 pm, or on two different days)? Can't you plan for the "unusual volume" of grads with an equally high volume of tickets? There will always be people who don't want to go to their own ceremony, let alone invite others to the "boring event," but let those be the extra tickets after the ample five have been claimed, say in the last 48 hours before the ceremony. Don't tell students who are studying for finals to scrounge for two tickets like rats in a concentration camp.

Make no mistake: earning their good grades takes a lot of hard work and sacrifice. Late nights, saying "no" to a lot of fun things, fighting for points to keep their GPA up there. And for their parents who have saved since they were born, can you not honor us as well with two reserved tickets and a seat that's not in the overflow room?

No, you planned so poorly that your mistake has resulted in countless let-downs. No cap and gown for our son. No ceremony pictures. No tassle to hang on the rear-view mirror. No corporate feelings of pride and elation with other "cheerleaders" in a crowded arena. Nope. Nothing. Oh, yeah, and how about the money he paid to apply for graduation? Shouldn't that at least come with a handshake from the Dean?

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Next up, "How Sarah was 'Honored" Tonight"

B is for Bel-Loc

Aah. The Bel-Loc Diner. The place where Paul took me for our first official date. By official I mean, all alone where he spent money on me. I remember how much money, too. About eight-five cents. It was the price of a cup of hot tea in mid-November of '85. He ordered a glass of iced tea, his beverage of choice to this day. I'm not sure how many refills we had during our romantic conversation in that made-for-television ambiance, but he got his money's worth. What I remember is that this was the place when he finally told me how he really felt about me. Up until then, he wasn't altogether sure how I felt about him, either. The situation was this: I had met Paul through a friend of his. (I'll call him Vince.) Well, Vince started liking me. A lot. But even though it wasn't mutual, Paul didn't want to upset the proverbial apple cart. The two of them had been having lunch downtown together nearly every day for many months because they both worked in Baltimore city. Until I came along, their lunch conversations had flowed freely. Then they started mentioning "the ministry" that the three of us were involved in on Saturdays in the city. (It was an outreach to kids--Bible study, games, snacks, singing.) The ministry was quickly becoming a magnet for my heart in more ways than one. I was drawn more to Paul than to the ministry, sad to say. He could play a mean guitar and he was so gentle and good with kids, and easy to talk to. By that I mean, I could talk a lot and he was a good listener! Poor guy. It's still that way. And his jade green eyes? Well, they were made to look into my hazel ones. (Are you gagging yet?) Long story short (do I know how to make that happen?) I wanted to cut Vince loose so I could be pursued by the tall, slim guitar player whose last name I thought would be cool with my first name. You know, in case we ever got married or something absurd like that. I mean, how often does a person get to choose double Z's for initials? Thankfully, I didn't have to cut Vince loose. He cut me loose. One evening he invited me over to his place for dinner. I got so lost on the way, showing up more than an hour late. He thought I'd stood him up. When I finally got there, he said to me, "Z, it's okay. Paul only has eyes for you. It's obvious. No one can deny that." The awkwardness was lifted, and I felt free to be friends with Vince and maybe Paul's girlfriend. Maybe more than his girlfriend. The Bel-Loc Diner , conveniently located just across from where I worked as a hostess, became the place where Paul shared, in very few words, that he wanted to get to know me exclusively. I wish I could remember his exact words.( I think I was so smitten by his eyes that my hearing suffered.) Right there in a 1950's diner in a Baltimore 'burb.

Let Me Tell You, I Love My Man !

Let me tell you about this man I married. (The picture is of us on our first anniversary and I was 6 months pregnant. Paul was 26, I was 22. Back then he had brown hair and I had one chin. Life was good, and I could not imagine us in our 40's with grown children or where he'd be in his career, but I knew his work ethic impressed me. Now on to the blog post.)


My husband does not like for me to write about him, but I have to say this today. I love him and I want the world to know how hard he works. He is a successful man in so many ways, and the Lord is good to us by giving Paul to us.

Yesterday was one of those days I found myself telling God how much I love Paul and appreciate him, and what a good man he is. Mind you, we have our struggles and so many of them are over petty things, but then there are times I just step back and say, "Wow. What a man! Who else would work this hard, day after day, year after year?" (Well, I know there are many men in that category, but to live with one solidifies my knowledge.)

For just one example this week: On Wednesday he was gone for 14 hours, working hard on a presentation he had to give Thursday. The presentation was in Atlanta, and we're in Baltimore. If you know anything about BWI airport or Atlanta, you can picture two hours at each one on each end of the flight. That meant he had to get up at 4 a.m., do the security thing, fly, land, give a presentation, do what he does best--which I'm not sure how that looks but would love to be the proverbial fly on the wall-- then do the Atlanta airport thing, fly back, get into a cold car at night, and drive home. None of that except the actual flying appeals to me one bit! It doesn't appeal to him, either, but he presses right on through.

What impressed me was that, not only did he work so long on Wednesday, he also prioritized care group (our church's "small group" gatherings every other week in homes) by attending Wednesday night! That lasted till 10 pm. (I might have skipped it in order to rest up for my trip, but not him. He went.) Then after a short night's sleep, he got up at 4:00, quietly as always,so as not to wake me. But I woke up anyway--at least enough to kiss him and then get up to watch the car pull out of the driveway. I said a prayer of thanks to God for Paul and his hard work and that his trip would be a a success--and then I locked the deadbolt and went back to bed for a couple hours.

He returned to us at 9 pm, exhausted, hungry, and headachey. I fixed him a plate of hearty chicken, potatoes, and beans to slake the hunger, rubbed his neck and shoulders to eradicate the headache, and just "chilled" with him for a while on the couch. Running my fingers through his hair is a favorite pastime of mine. I like his silky silver hair! These are the times of married life I enjoy a lot--thinking of one another and doing for one another, appreciating the quiet things after a day of go-go-go.

Best part of the day? Hearing how he was affirmed in front of his boss.

I asked Paul, "So, how did everything go?" And he said, "Really good." (I didn't correct a tired man's grammar.) I asked him, instead, to define "really good." Basically he landed the account he was after, and when his boss (who had traveled with him) asked the client why they went with [us] the answer was, "We really like the responsiveness and customer service."

I said to Paul, "And that would be you?"
He grinned the grin I love and said, "That would be me."

At that point I hugged him, kissed him, and made much of him. He pretends not to like the attention, but I think secretly he does.

And...get this...he got up this morning, normal time, not sleeping in--and went to work! Man, oh man, I love this man!

Valentine's "Day" in Pictures

I put "day" in quotations because it started Friday and ended the following Wednesday .


On Friday evening Sarah, Steve, and Ambrey cooked Chicken Marsala for their parents. We had Cheryl and Marion over and just let the kids serve us. What a blast! They had done everything from scratch--the marsala, twisted breadsticks, Olive Garden style salad, linguine (from a box), and banana pudding. Everything was delicious and we loved getting to know Ambrey's folks. I regret not getting pictures of our special occasion, but things were a bit hectic!

So many good memories I have stored up in my mind and heart this year! Here's a montage...


MONDAY


Steve had this vignette ready for his sister and mama on Valentine's morning. How
sweet. (Ben was in New Jersey with his girlfriend, spoiling her.) Joel got the day off
because Feb 14th is his birthday. He put this 1,000 pc Lego battleship station together in
7 and 1/2 hours . I helped him for 45 minutes for starters, to help organize pieces.
The necklace from my kids...
Can you see the image? Mother dancing with her four children. Perfect.

I'll leave out the part where I had a doctor's appointment. Doesn't every woman want to see her
gynecologist on Valentine's Day?


TUESDAY, after we'd all gone to bed...

Steve set the table and prepped the waffle iron and ingredients for the next day's brunch.

WEDNESDAY

He and Ambrey made Belgian waffles, and she gave Joel a gift --a huge Hershey's kiss
and his choice of little gifts . He chose a plastic frog that he says looks like a Democrat.
But then he said, "No, actually, he looks John McCain.Seriously! Look at his mouth!"

We laughed at ourselves for being such fashionistas. I was so stylin' I couldn't be seen
in pictures. Don't wanna make someone jealous. Ask me how to put together a man's white turtleneck brown ankle-length skirt, grey socks, and furry slippers.



Sneaky me, I snapped a shot of Steve & Ambrey warming up for a run.



Flowers for Sarah .We love her so much.


The ring on top was my ultimate, uber romantic gift from my generous husband.





Stunning tulips from my daddy. I'll plant them somewhere special as soon as I can.

Woops--more MONDAY memories!

Found all this at my place on Valentine's morning when I came downstairs.







I made each child a big pancake.






I highly recommend what Paul did: bought a dozen plain red balloons.
We were able to personalize them with a blue Sharpie--Steve to Ambrey, and
me to my folks.



Steve heading out, bearing many gifts for his lovely girl, Ambrey. He put
together a veritable treasure chest of her favorite things: an aquamarine
necklace, a polka-dotted puppy, Swedish fish, Lindor truffles, pink Gerbera
daisies, a Wawa cappuccino, and a card picturing two Golden Retrievers snuggling.
(She has a female Golden and we're getting a male Golden in 2 days!)

Man on a mission. Made my heart sing.


I gave my parents a few little gifts to remind them of when their love was new.
After all, their love is the reason I'm here.




Daddy looking forward to opening the KU loot bag with Mama at home. (She was in bed with
a bad chest cold. He was just getting over it.) The bag itself was a thoughtful gift from
Laurie, my blogging friend in Kansas. I was painfully aware that Laurie and her family were,
on Valentine's Day, at her mom's funeral. My heart was breaking for them.


Daddy gave Sarah a box of chocolates, and both of us got a sweet card. The
boy is being his usual photogenic self. UGH! You can pick out a 9 year-old boy in any picture, can't you?





Pappaw (Lyle Dauber) and Joel Lyle (or as Joel said, "the two Lyles")


I finally got a new 'do at the end of the week.

For so many reasons, this year's Valentine's celebrations made me rejoice. How great the Father's love for us, how vast beyond all measure!