I Survived the Graduation Party!

My daughter’s graduation open house was last night. (In our area of the Tundra, kids who graduate in May tend to spread out their parties all through the summer. This ensures that every weekend there will be somewhere to go and something to celebrate.)

At first, Ms. MiniD did not want to have a graduation party. (I didn’t want to either, just in case she didn’t graduate, but that’s another story.) Later on, she relented.

At first, she didn’t want to help with the planning. “What kind of food do you want?” I would ask.

“NOTHING.”

“You have to have food.”

“NO I DON’T.”

“Sure you do.”

I DON’T CARE.”

Since she declined my offer to input, I came up with a menu of items that I thought would be nice and easy. When you’re my age, it’s all about nice and easy. My son and his girlfriend were supposed to pick up the party trays at our local gourmet market, thus making my involvement minimal.

About three weeks ago, my daughter decided she was going to plan her dessert. She wanted a chocolate fondue fountain. I had already ordered a cake. It was a cake that I chose, because she hadn’t given me specific directions. I was pretty firm. “I’m not buying a fondue fountain,” I said.

“You don’t have to. Matty (her current boy du jour) has one. You just have to buy chocolate.”

OK, so I bought the chocolate, the strawberries, the Rice Krispy treats (I would have made them myself, but this party was all about nice and easy, remember?), the marshmallows and bananas. I cut them up. The fountain was a smashing success, as witnessed by the huge pool of chocolate I found this morning on my kitchen floor.

Last week, she decided she needed a tent. The “old” people would be inside, and her friends would be outside. They needed shelter, since this has been a summer of many rain storms.

It’s hard to get a tent on short notice. I dialed around, and finally found someone who would deliver, set up and take down. It was expensive. My husband, the Thrifty Dude known as Mr. D, had congestive heart failure when he learned of the total cost for tent, tables, chairs, tablecloths and lights. I revived him by putting him in charge of beverages.

This was a huge mistake. I’m the type of person who likes for people to come over. I’m casual about it. I don’t fret over the way my house looks or if my food will be edible. I know my house is okay and my food (should I decide to cook) is always top-notch. A dinner at my house is close to a fine restaurant experience. Mr. D, on the other hand, is a big pre-party worry wart. He has to have crib notes on all the guests’ names. He makes sure the house is spotless. Yesterday morning before work, he was out in the front yard pulling weeds. “The party’s at night. No one is going to see those, and even if they do, they’ll be trampled by daybreak,” I said. He just harrumphed and kept going.

Beverage Boy went off the deep end with his assigned task. Mr. D asked around to various guests as to what they liked to drink. As a result, he bought cases of beer and bottles of wine and tons of hard liquor that we don’t even drink. He also loaded up on pop, Red Bull, water and juice. If I had handled the beverages, I would have bought a few different kinds of drinks and left it at that. If you wanted something else, there’s a liquor store down the street.

Last night, while the party was winding down, he was downing shots of tequila with some of our employees. My Japanese cousin, who had flown here just for the weekend, and I cleaned up the kitchen. The fridge is full of leftovers. We have more beer, pop, wine and hard liquor than we will consume in three years. I know this because three years ago when my son graduated, we had a similar party. I pulled the last of the Michelob Lite (YUCK!) from that party from the hall closet yesterday.

Not much was destroyed. Nothing broken. No kids imbibed alcohol improperly during the course of the festivities.

I would say that the party was a smashing success.

Graduation

My daughter graduates from high school today at 2:00 p.m.

My sigh of relief is instantly replaced by impending dread for the next four years. Oh well, that’s life.

My Son is Coming Home Tomorrow Morning!

There’s not a whole lot more I can say about that. We’re really excited! He hasn’t been home in a year and a half, having written off his native city and state for his new city and state.

Also, in tow will be his Japanese exchange student girlfriend. She’s excited too.

I have already emailed him to say that they will officially be in separate bedrooms. This is because my daughter is only 17 and I don’t want her crabbing about how I condone their normally shared sleeping arrangement. (I don’t, but they are adults and she is not.) I did let him know that as long as they are discreet, I don’t really care what they do.

Now, for the last minute things to do that I didn’t have time for this week!

My Daughter is a Slob

After the tears of yesterday, regarding her rejection from a college which she didn’t really want to attend (!), my daughter must have taken an extra Adderall and came home last night on a tear to do Christmas decorating.

I’ve already decorated, with two trees and my wreath on the door, but it’s been many years since I dragged out all of my Christmas accoutrements. I don’t have time, and with only one child at home who is practically an adult, it’s just not as much fun as it used to be.

She was buzzing around the house wanting to know where the hammer was, and why was the garland so long? (It’s that long because we had a much bigger staircase at the other house.) I reminded her to clean up after herself. Her boyfriend was here too, and I was hoping that some of his common sense would rub off on her.

It didn’t.

This afternoon, I had to go up into the attic to put away some Christmas wrapping paper, and found that everything that was once neatly put into bins is now all over the attic floor.

I’ll probably yell when she gets home. I just don’t get it; I’m not a slob, and her father is pretty anal about keeping the house neat. Our house doesn’t look like one from out of the pages of Town and Country, but I like to keep the common areas reasonably tidy. I don’t know where the messy gene came from, but she’s definitely got a serious dose of it.

I’ve been nagging her about trying to stay a bit more organized. If and when she goes to college, her roommates are not going to appreciate a bathtub full of hair and dishes with food caked on them.

Maybe moving away will have a positive effect. I certainly hope so.