It’s a done deal, he’s cooked, finished, officially graduated! Not without a moment of trauma, mind you. Yes, the Tuesday morning before graduation my mom and I were chatting in my room with the little birdies singing outside my window in the glorious sunshine, when His Nibs comes up (after sleeping in) and says, “When is my graduation practice?” WHAAAAT? Tuesday morning, of course. EARLY Tuesday morning. And, another of course, the note that I frantically find says in CAPITAL LETTERS, “IF YOU DO NOT ATTEND THE PRACTICE YOU WILL NOT WALK FOR GRADUATION.” For a moment there was absolute, complete panic (i.e. the whole reason my mother flew down here). Thankfully, all was well, and that moment of sheer terror was followed by a day of three hours in the burning sun to make sure HE GOT THAT DIPLOMA.
Yes, I did bawl. Actually, through most of the program—from the start with the hang gliders flying in carrying the American flag, to the 21-gun salute, right through to the “Pomp and Circumstance” music as they took their victory walk around the football field. Sure, I was an embarrassing mom, but I had a lot of company (Embarrassing Moms Unite).
So my congratulations go out to all mothers of all graduates this year—whether high school, preschool, or college—for the massive hours of love and patience, craft paper and print paper that went into that significant achievement!
All my best,
Connie
