Prom 2018

Yesterday, the boy smelled like baby lotion, and I still treasured his feet, because they were soft and teeny, and his toes looked like miniature grapes.  Yesterday, the boy slept in Star Wars pajamas and told me his dreams of growing up to be Indiana Jones, which is why he absolutely HAD to practice snapping his whip in the driveway, even though I thought the neighbors would think we were plum crazy, having a little kid cracking a genuinely real whip outside.  Yesterday, the boy still needed me to cut his pizza into bite-sized pieces, and he asked me to read just one more chapter out  loud to him, from the first Harry Potter book.

And then yesterday disappeared, and the boy’s feet grew and left the stage where I’d ever rub lotion on them again or call them cute.  Yesterday disappeared, and I don’t read books to him out loud any more before bedtime, because my elderly self is sound asleep hours before the boy even GOES to bed these days.

This weekend, the boy put on a tux, which made him look like my dad, circa 1968, and he went to prom.

That’s right.

He went to prom.

It’s because he’s not a little baby any longer.  It’s because Hubs and I clapped for all the milestones he met… walking… learning to ride a bike… losing his front teeth… instead of squashing him down and telling him he was going to live in our basement for the rest of our lives, amid discarded pizza boxes and all our love.

(I also know that YES!  I really should get on Pinterest and find a way to hide all of the cables coming out of our TV, so that the top of our fireplace doesn’t look like a jumbled mess of cords, cords, CORDS, but this is not a home decorating blog for a reason.)

The boy’s date for prom this weekend was one of the very sweetest… very kindest… girls our family knows.  She loves messy buns, good music and Jesus, and she makes our boy laugh every single day.

I know.  If you’re having problems taking that snapshot of the two of them in, it’s because THIS is what they’re still supposed to look like:

They should still be reveling in the summer between kindergarten and the first grade, when C was a foot taller than our half-naked shortie.  They should still be thinking that glow sticks at night are every bit as cool as Christmas morning, and they certainly shouldn’t be driving cars or wearing formal evening attire.

So clearly.  These two have known each other since they were all of five years old.  Now, C is as grown up as the boy is, and she was able to rock the most stunning dress featured at Small Town High School’s 2018 prom.

There were flowers to put on, and questions to ask.

Mainly, the evening’s biggest question was, “How do I pin a boutonniere to a tuxedo lapel?”  My short answer was, “The last time I did that was my own prom of 1988, and the knowledge is no longer in my short term memory.  Just keep swimming.  Just keep swimming.

After a few misplaced stick pins, where we feared that someone was going to end up with stitches, the boy turned to You Tube.

If you can’t figure out how to do something by watching a You Tube video, then it’s basically UN-doable.

The flowers were perfectly secured (Thanks, You Tube!), and the kids were off to one of their friends’ houses, where their little group was meeting up for pictures.

To say that there were a few cameras there would be an absolute understatement, as the amount of flashing camera bulbs equaled Julia Roberts’ arrival on the red carpet.

And nothing says PROM IN SMALL TOWN quite like having a working tractor photo bombing your formal pictures!

The boy’s friend E decided not to go to prom this year.  He and his date skipped all the fanfare, but they came for pictures.

And yes.  The boy and E should also look entirely different, because this was the two of them…

… yesterday….

For all of you new mamas out there, time really IS going to go quickly.  You’re going to be knee-deep in diapers and juice boxes this week, and next week you’re going to send those little stinkers to prom in a tuxedo, and your heart is going to snap right in half.

See what I mean?


… and…

… now…

Of course we made them pose with their mamas, because we are the ones who birthed them with pain, after months of bloating and strange food cravings.  They owed us these pictures.

And then the mamas left them, so that we could race across town to Small Town High and get front row seats for the Grand March.  The Grand March is when all of our grownup, dressed-up babies have their names announced and walk on the red carpet, through the gym, so that we can admire all the gorgeous gowns and luxurious hairstyles and say, “Yesterday, our kids were eating mud pies, and tonight they are high class citizens.”

We even saw a couple of cousins at Grand March.

And then…

… well…

… the parents were basically dismissed for the night, so that all the dancing could get started.  But… we managed to snap some more pictures in the gym, before we left.

We found our cute neighbor boy and his even cuter date.

And then I basically cried, because yesterday the cute neighbor boy and the boy looked like this, and they weren’t even interested in girls or fancy dances:

We found little cousins, who came to watch the Grand March.

We found more friends.

And then we left our babies to their very first prom.

It was ridiculous.

I had to resist the urge to tell the boy to be home by 9:00 and to eat something healthy, instead of junk food, after the dance finished and they were off to their after-prom parties.

And that was that, y’all.

Another milestone is in the books, because we have finished a real prom.


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