Thursday, 30 June 2011

Promp and Circumstance

It's all over. Without much trauma to boot. We survived Prom.

Needless to say I left my part of getting ready to the last minute whilst lecturing Eldest about not doing the exact same thing. This lead to rather unattractive sweating, frizzy hair and needing assistance getting my underwear on due to wet nail varnish. And let me tell you - getting into a pair of holdy-in knickers straight after a shower is akin to squeezing into a too-small sausage skin. Having someone else do it for you is a little traumatic. For both of us.

I finally tamed my hair, swabbed the sweat off and got dressed. A few photos (hurrah) and off we went to go to another parent's house for cocktails before the limousine arrived to whisk them off to Prom. Problem number 1: limousine double booked. How can this possibly happen? Oh, I know. Seventeen year olds arranged it. Problem number 2: and in my view a much bigger problem - no cocktails. No drinks at all. Just a vegetable dip. As far from a cocktail as I think is possible. I'm sure the other pre-Prom parties would have cocktails. In fact the only reason I agreed to go was for the cocktails. Problem number 3(4 and 5): eldest had forgotten her ticket, her perfume AND the bloody limousine guy was saying they'd have to leave in 10 minutes or he was buggering off. This is a full hour before they were due to leave. Eldest calls Husband - 'we need to leave in 10 minutes, can you bring my ticket and perfume? He's said he's leaving straight away.' Leaving straight away? He's suited up already? Half an hour before he was due to leave? Most unusual.

He arrives 8 seconds after the limousine has left with them all in it, in shorts. 
'Why aren't you dressed?'
'I didn't know I had to be,' he says looking confused.
'But we're going now.'
'I didn't know.' Eldest had not mentioned that everything had been brought forward.

An hour later we arrive at the hotel where the prom is being held. Or should I say, a car park not really close to the hotel. I tottered in my heels, whilst my once un-frizzed hair got swept into a beehive, to the venue to be faced with hundreds of teenagers in dresses and suits of every style and colour. It would be mean and harsh to say that some of the dresses were grotesque. Wouldn't it. But predominantly it was a sea of smiley faces, shiny clothes and noise. Fortunately we were only there for an hour before being evicted so the kids could enjoy themselves. 

A glass of $10 wine later we were outside (in the beehive-inducing wind) for the Father/daughter dance. Husband was not looking forward to doing one of his least favourite things. What am I saying - his MOST loathed thing - dancing. I had assured him he just had to shuffle around and he took me at my word.  Two minutes of shuffling later which I gleefully recorded for later amusement and it was all over for us.

Of course Eldest came up with a last minute hair-brained scheme for post Prom frolics which we promptly quashed. She had a great night. Danced all night in her bare feet with just about everyone. She's her mother's daughter.

Thursday, 23 June 2011

Graduating to graduation

I am blessed with children. One of them is 17 years old. And has been for the last four years.

The lead up to graduation for her has been frantic. Frantic in the Ineedtuitionadressandshoes way. The biggest issue was, of course, Prom. The hunt for the dress almost led me to violence; time after time trawling shops, discussing styles, arguing about the merit of the whole bloody thing in the first place. Did I get a party when I finished my 'O' levels? Did I badger my mother to watch me try on 357 shiny, shitey dresses? I think I did not. 

Victory (in the dress sense) eventually struck last week - barely two weeks before Prom. Unheard of here it seems. Most of her peers were horrified that she hadn't found a dress by some time last summer so the pressure was on. No more would I hear 'you're going to ruin my prom' or ' it's going to be a disaster', I thought as I queued up to pay. Alas, I forgot.  A dress needs all that other stuff like shoes, bag, hair stuff, make-up, etc. 'Borrow', I said. Her look of horror was akin to me asking her to eat the dead insects on our window cills. 

Oh, then its Convocation. 'What's that?', I ask. 'It's where we get our certificate.'
Yes, the whole cap and gown thing; i.e. the important thing wasn't discussed until two days before it was due to happen.
'I need an outfit.' Her middle name.

And fast forward to the (newly dressed) daughter's Convocation. Lovely weather. New outfit.  Boring ceremony except for Eldest's 8 seconds of fame. Follow them all off afterwards for refreshments and photos. But where is she? I text 'Photos!' Alas - she cares more about going to the pub with her mates and has handed in her gown. Utter. Disappointment. 

Prom is next week. Let's hope she keeps her dress on. For many reasons.

Friday, 3 June 2011

The Book Club

I joined a book club recently and I have to share a few things with you. Firstly, the books are not the primary focus of these meetings so 'Book Club' is a misnomer - by miles. Don't get me wrong - we talk about books but it is a 20 minute sandwich of time between the hours of 6pm to midnight. We whisk around the table with people being encouraged to give a short summary of their book (author, title, liked it or not) before moving on. Thank god someone actually takes note of the books we have read because this 20 minute slot never happens before 10pm. Or before much has been imbibed. Or before we are stuffed full of food. 

This blog is twofold really.....I didn't write this after the first meeting I went to because I had little memory of it. Last night, however, I was the designated driver. Or rather I volunteered to drive in a fit of either madness or improbable kindness. So I remember everything. Not a good Thursday night.

As usual the gang of women there were full of life, funny, loud. The food was fantastic and the company even better. I did, however, have an unusual focus on the various conversations going on around the table. Usually I just join in with whoever is nearest to me at any point - pouring myself some wine, coming back from the loo, etc. Last night I sat in the mid point of the long table. There were, I think, 11 of us. At about half way through the night the table was suddenly divided between two distinct conversations; on my right they were talking about the school system, and on my left they were talking about sex. Each were animated about their subject. A dilemma....which conversation should I join? Do I want to hear about problem primary schools? Or do I want to hear about misguided salty missiles? (Don't ask). I erred on the side of caution and leaned to my left. 

Next time I drink and talk utter shite. Just as it is meant to be.