Painful Prom Preparations

Ahhh...the changing of the seasons:  Northern Pike, deer, ground black pepper, prom.  After weeks of preparation, Sydney was off to prom last night.  I'm not a "coordinated colors" type of mom or a "subtle shade of lipstick" sort of mom.  As I'm more of a "white socks with sneakers" mom, planning for prom was a bit challenging for Sydney.  Naturally, it all came together beautifully.  Syd ended up with a shimmery mermaid-y blue gown ("It's green, mother," my seventeen-year-old daughter gently corrected) with toweringly-tall gold glitter shoes.  Even shopping for the accessories was daunting.  My friend Sarah and Sydney plowed through "Charming Charlies" with a singular focus while I trailed along, attached to Sarah by a prom gown leash.  They'd hold coordinated or complementary jewelry up to the material while I became dizzingly distracted by the pretty colors.  I helpfully held up a diamond-studded owl pendant only to be publically ridiculed and dismissed.  I pouted and refused to offer any more opinions.  They later rewarded my behavior with a trip to "Brad's Cookie Nook."  The stop at the shoe store was also tiring.  If the dress is blue, shouldn't the shoes be blue too?  "The dress is green, Mom," Sydney reminded me.  I stood by, confused, as Sarah and Sydney debated the merits of the stratospherically-high silver or gold shoes.  Sarah handed me another cookie while Sydney shot off to purchase her pumps. 

On prom day (or is it "Prom Day?"), Sydney was off doing whatever it is that girls do to get ready for the prom.  Suddenly, I received an urgent text.  A relevant accessory had been forgotten in Sydney's bedroom and I was being called upon to retrieve said item and deliver it to the preparation center.  I was in a quandary   I wanted to be THAT mom but I didn't want to go into THAT room to do it.  Sarah wasn't available to give me a cookie so I quick-consulted Amy-Five-Years-in-the-Future to see what I should do.  The Amy-of-the-Future seemed to think that Amy-of-Today would look like a big ol' jerk if she didn't respond to Syd's prom emergency. 

Crrrrkkkk...I pushed the door open slowly with my big toe until it met with resistence from the three feet of junk on the floor.  I squeezed myself through the crack and gingerly stepped into the darkened room.  Taking a deep breath, I waded forward.  Ouch!  My bare foot was punctured and I took an uneven hop to the side before toppling over into a cesspool of teenage trash.  Successfully procuring Sydney's requested item, I crawled to safety. 

Later that day, during the picture-taking session, I marveled at my beautiful daughter.  How the dress brought out the vivid blue in her eyes.  How I feared her slender ankles were going to snap as she carefully navigated the driveway balancing on shiny stilts.  We took her picture cuddling Chlo and grasping a gosling.  Gosling...not Gosselin.  Baby goose...not "Whatever happened to that wacky reality-tv family with the eight kids?"  As she hauled herself up into the truck and crawled gracefully into the back, I realized that, like me, Sydney was crossing a threshold today.  This was no longer a little girl playing dress-up; draping herself in long beads and boas and tripping along in flimsy plastic heels. This was a young, sophisticated woman elegantly dressed for an evening out. 

I breathlessly followed her responsible texts that night with the eagerness of a zealous Bieber-fan.  I awaited her arrival with excitment.  The young woman would return home from the prom, tired but eager for the next chapter in her life.  We are entitling it:  Grounded:  Clean Your Room.  Oh...I guess I'm THAT mom.

The scene of the crime:  THAT room!

No...that is not the skin of an 80-year-old elephant...that's the
soft, fleshy instep of my now-punctured foot!

Sydney and Chlo