The Big Day has come and gone. The guests have all gone home and so far, I’m still walking into my living room, stopping in surprise and wondering “whose clean house is this, anyway?” (That's Wyatt, btw, with Deacon Tom.)
Thank you btw for all the helpful tips –and notes of concern—from all of my blog friends. I didn’t mean to worry anyone with my ranting, LOL, safe to say I stress about the little things way more than I should.
The Big Day went pretty much without a hitch. I dressed my son in his white shirt and white tie only fifteen minutes or so before he had to be to church to meet and wait with his class. Those of you with boys know why I didn’t dress him sooner—keeping the white shirt and tie clean and those black pants pet-hair and smear free even for that length of time was tricky! The one and only glitch was when I realized he didn’t own a pair of black socks, something I hadn’t given much thought to. Oh sure the world wouldn’t have ended if I’d sent my son to the altar in black pants, white socks and black shoes, but instead he went wearing a pair of mom’s black trouser socks, LOL. I don’t know whether his foot is big or if mine is small, but it was a pretty good fit and he didn’t mind wearing “girl socks” for a day. (I have never been one of those mom’s who regrets not having a girl to dress up—I love dressing my little gentlemen, and with his hair combed and spritzed and just a touch of Daddy’s cologne, he was a handsome little guy if I do say so myself. )
The ceremony was lovely. I was proud of the way my son conducted himself. Nice to know that they can get it right once in a while, isn’t it? (Here he is licking his fingers instead of steepling them beneath his chin, LOL.) Not as quiet as some of the kids, but not as wriggly and squirmy as some of the others, LOL. More than once when he was up on the altar, I saw him look toward our family’s row and his face light up. A look that can only mean he spied his favorite cousins, my 18 and 20 year old nephews—aka The Gods. So his entire day was made right then and there. Not just one of The Gods—but both.
The celebration afterward was kind of a bittersweet occasion. This is the first time my dad hasn’t been present for such an event. Oh, sure my mom could have brought him, but knowing the proud, private man my dad was before the senile dementia, I was more interested in protecting him from embarrassment and prying eyes. Besides, navigating the steps into my house is not easy for him with his walker, and he would have been very confused and disoriented by all the people around. I planned to take my son to show him off to Grandpa, but my mom mentioned dad was having an “off” day where things were a bit fuzzy for him and it was probably better not to confuse him too much, so we didn’t. But in times past, whether its baptisms or my nephews’ first communions, my dad has stayed behind to Man the Kitchen. It was a little sad for me that he wasn’t there this time around. The relatives began to arrive, including my husband’s 80 year old uncle (and my youngest son’s godfather). I was stunned at how gaunt and frail he looked. Like my dad used to be, this is a man who defies the odds of what you’d except a man his age to be like, and to see him like that really startled me. I hugged him and even through his shirt and sweater could feel the bones in his back. Naturally, he refuses to see a doctor (much like my father a couple of years back!). So that was a sad sight to behold.
One unexpected thing that happened during the party was my book getting passed around. Oy vey! I left a copy on my desk to show my (oldest) nephew since he and I have always both had an interest in writing and he has helped me with different web site questions and so on, I wanted him to see it. His wife took an interest in the book and the reviews—and then somehow the book got passed around the guests in the living room. Mind you, I’ve never told my IL’st that I’m published, she doesn’t approve of “those trashy books” and he’s way too uptight. So to see them reading the back cover blurb and flipping through pages definitely left me a bit red faced. All in all, there were lots of congratulations, LOL, but I hid out in the kitchen while the book was thumbed through, LOL. My niece (by marriage. I have a 31 YO nephew and a great-niece. All at the ripe ol’ age of 41!) began to read The Model Man and asked if she could borrow a copy. I gladly handed her one to keep and autographed it for her when she asked. . That was a great feeling. They stayed and visited long after everyone left and I have to say it was just a great, relaxing evening that I was sad to see come to an end.
Speaking of the end… the night ended in a way I’m sure all moms out there are familiar with. I had just gotten into my jammies when my son, still in his white dress shirt and black slacks came up the stairs and said “mom, I feel like I’m going to—“ and made a mad dash for the bathroom. Thus began a half hour of non-stop vomiting (oh that shirt! As if the strawberries, chocolate cake, frosting and hotdog relish stains weren’t bad enough, now there’s vomit dribble all down the front!) He had a fever and chills, so some Tylenol and an electric blanket made him comfortable and Daddy stayed until he fell asleep (I was dealing with a very jealous younger son who wants to know when HE gets a party, LOL). I’m not sure if it was just too much excitement, too many different foods or a little bug, but I remember finishing out my First Holy Communion party the exact same way.
Now the only remaining question I have is... where on earth am I going to put that nice white tie where it will stay clean and where I'll actually be able to find it three years from now when I need it again?
Hope you had a great weekend, too!