Making Do

When your life is packed away in a storage unit, a maze of boxes stacked several feet in the air, you learn to get creative for seasonal decorations.  While we were on our second rental house, Christmas approached.  I couldn’t bring myself to sort through boxes upon boxes, knowing we would just be moving into our own house a few weeks later.  So my children cut out paper circles and decorated them with a variety of tempera paints.  

It was an enjoyable art project, and I thought, in the years to come, it would bring back of memories of the time when we lived in Limbo.

(See the box in the background?  That's what Limbo looks like.)

In the end, a new friend handed down some Christmas decorations of her own.  They were prettier, and a sweet reminder that the kind of people who take time to think about others still exist.

Our paper decorations are still patiently sitting in a box, waiting for me to punch holes and thread ribbon hangers through them.  And I will, so that we can use a few to remind us of our year-long journey to our new home.  

Prom

When I was in high school, I didn't go on a lot of dates.  (The guys, I'm sure, were intimidated by my good looks and sparkling personality.)  But I did go on a double date to our neighboring high school's prom.  To say that dance was awkward would be a bit of an understatement.  My date seemed equally inexperienced, and it made for a stiff evening.  He shadowed our friends, didn't really talk much, and made the deacon shuffle look smooth and rhythmic (but not because he was doing it).  That is, until the final song of prom.  Between the chords and lyrics of "Stayin' Alive," something crazy was unleashed right before my awe-filled eyes.  Arms were thrown around in a disco frenzy, hips followed suit, and beads of sweat clearly testified to the power of the Bee Gees.  It was awesome.  And then, as the last note faded into the distance, the crazy beast was quickly stuffed back into his tux and the night continued just as awkwardly as before.

A couple weeks ago, Clint's principal assigned him to be a chaperone at prom.  I saw it as an opportunity to redeem all but that last song of prom, and pre-emptively invited myself.  (For the record, I'm pretty sure I was going to be invited.  But I didn't want to take any chances.  It has, after all, been 20 years since my last prom.  Ya.  20.)  We scrounged up some suitable clothing, arranged for babysitting, showered and did our (?) hair for the occasion.  Truth be told, I even painted my fingernails.  Then, we climbed into our 15-passenger van (nothing but the best, baby), and were on our way.

Ahm... kids don't dance the same way anymore.  Deacon shuffle?  Disco?  Facing your date?  Totally unheard of moves.  Instead... well, this is a family blog, so I won't describe what we were subjected to for a very long evening.

Along with another teacher/wife couple, ours was the task of making sure the dancing didn't get too out-of-control.  When I noticed some especially friendly dancing, I would smile at the couple in the most motherly way I could muster.  If that didn't work (it turned out to be semi-effective), we tried to make them uncomfortable by getting closer to them (Hey, guys.  How's it going?).  Once, Clint had to ask a couple to cool it.  (They took it all right in that they didn't throttle the algebra teacher.)

Finally, our prom duties fulfilled, the last song ended and we were sent on our way.  I walked to the parking lot full of gratitude that, eons ago, I had an awkward prom.  What the world needs is more awkward proms.  But not when you go again with your sweetheart.  Although a tiny bit disappointed that he did not perform to "Stayin' Alive," it was still nice just to be together.

Me and the Mr. after a long night of prom-chaperoning

He didn't have time to shave, but that's okay because I think his scruff is kinda sexy.  (Just don't tell him I said so because it can be a little uncomfortable too, sometimes.)

Good night kiss and we were ready to hit the sack.  (And, yes, it looks like we missed.  It was very late at night.  Old fogies... that's what we are.)