Monday, October 24, 2011


The big day was here. The formal.

But first, my son had early morning cross country practice. After running eight miles, he is home throwing on his soccer uniform and trying to grab something to eat.

"I ordered the corsage for you. But next time you need to do it."
"Mom, I don't even know what a corsage is!"
"It's a . . . it's a . . . flower bracelet."
"Oh. One of those things."

As we depart toward the district cup soccer tournament, my husband is already on his way with our other two boys to a baseball tournament. The florist is not anywhere near where my husband is going. I have to pick up the corsage. It is hours before the dance, it is a hot day, and that corsage is going to have to sit in my car all day long. Crap.

An hour later I feel like I am an organ courier. The orchid corsage is safely on ice in the backseat of my car. A soccer game is played and lost. A baseball game is lost. The temperature soars. Another baseball game is won. Much food is consumed. After the soccer game we run to buy a tie and pick up the suit pants which had to be altered for a slimmer physique. Yet all the while that orchid is safely chilling in my car.

We convene at home to get ready for the pre-party, an extravagance of parental paparazzi before the dance starts. When we get there, all the boys stand awkwardly around holding their corsages, waiting for all the girls to be ready to receive them. There is some happy confusion as the traditional flowers are exchanged between teenagers that have just learned what corsages and boutonnières are, but not how to apply them to the other person.

My son's boutonnière is pinned on by his date's father, as she looks on.
Oh that's how you pin on a boutonniere!

My son gives her the corsage. The parents maneuver around taking lots of photos. There is a mother/daughter group shot but none of us Boy Moms wanted to risk the extreme embarrassment of our sons to take a mother/son photo. I thought about it, then decided to take another sip of my wine and enjoy the scene. I enjoyed it even more after chatting with one mother who was just exhausted. After the drama this mother endured with her daughter's hair, makeup, dress, manicure, shoes, and purse, she could barely stand up.
Ready for the dance!
I'm absolutely certain there is less drama for moms of boys. We also hear less about the details of the evening. When my son got home, he was understandably absolutely exhausted. The only comment he could muster up for me before he collapsed was, "They only played ONE slow song."

1 comment:

Kim Ratcliff said...

Loved your posts about freak dancing!! We have the “Freak Police” at LGHS, whistle totin' students who make sure no funny business is going on! Your son looked so handsome. Very funny about feeling like an organ carrier.