A Toast to the Bride & Groom

 My toast is a two-parter:

First, I so wish Tom were here today; I know he would have loved Hannah's smarts and her sparkle. And he'd be crazy proud of you, David. So first, a toast to Tom.

But I want to tell a Tom story from back in the early days of our marriage, when we were still starry eyed newlyweds whose default response to any gift for any occasion hadn't yet devolved to "Whydja get me that?" or the dreaded "Look what I just bought..." spoken a day before someone's birthday. 

Giftwise, possibly the most offbase I ever was (worse than the dribble hoses, Tom would agree, but I still think the dribble hoses were a good idea) was the time I made him a little wallet card with his favorite quote on it. I'd paid like $3 a sheet for the fancy paper at Michael's, and I worked on the calligraphy for literal weeks. I even put little blue butterflies in one corner.  He opened the small gift  box, expecting maybe a tietack?. But he looked at the card, and he looked at me, and from somewhere he found some words -- "Thank you, Linda; this is very nice. But I am never going to carry this in my wallet." And that little card went into in his top dresser drawer, but right there in a spot where I know he saw it every day, and that thought still makes me smile.

Helen Keller had written an essay I think around 1900, late in her studies or shortly after earning her degree from Radcliffe, called Optimism. Marriage requires a fair bit of optimism, and over a lifetime you'll have maybe six big decisions like Should we buy this house or Do you wanna move for my new job ... followed by months and years of cleaning underneath the toilet seat and bellyaching that someone put the good knife in the dishwasher again. Or so I've heard.

So while Helen Keller wasn't talking about MY marriage when she wrote it, I'm talking about YOURS when I tell you that she shared that "I long to accomplish a great and noble task; but it is my chief duty and joy to accomplish humble tasks as though they were great and noble ... The world is moved along, not only by the mighty shoves of its heroes, but also by the aggregate of the tiny pushes of each honest worker."

To David & Hannah. I love you both. Welcome to married life.

I May Not Have Mentioned ...

... or I may have mentioned it 73 times since Spring, but 96 graduated from BC High this past weekend. Now that he's officially an alum I'm thinking a lot about how he was born old for his age.

"Never wake a sleeping baybee!" they'd tell me. And I'm proud to say I followed this sage advice even when my eleven-day-old was sleeping through the night.

By first grade he had decided that he was too old to have his mom kiss him goodbye at the school door -- we lived across the street and there was no privacy to be found behind the tinted windows of a private vehicle. Heck, there were no private vehicles anyway, but he knew he was too big to kiss his mom in public. "You can't kiss me anymore, mom. But you can shake my hand when you drop me off at school." Oh, thanks, kid. Way to establish a reputation as a warm and nurturing mother of young children among my circle of friends, comprised almost exclusively of other mothers of young children who likely made a daily habit of kissing their children, and had probably never bid their children Godspeed with a shake of the hand.

Then there was that summer before seventh grade. We lived north of Boston, and BC High was south of Boston, about a 45 minute train ride. The saving grace was that he could do it by train without needing to make any changes or connections. Heck, he wouldn't even have to cross a street. In at Davis (usually after a quick kiss and an "I love you Mom"  to make up for lost time and assuage a guilty conscience, I like to think); out at JFK, across the footbridge, and bam, he's there. So we did, ahem, a few practice rides during that summer of 2008. Eventually 96 put his foot down, announcing, "I know how to do this, mom. I don't need any more practice. Sheesh." So I had to admit that the dry runs were for my benefit, not actually for his. Maybe a month after school started he got home a little later than I had come to expect. He had decided to experiment with other routes home and had discovered the Orange Line and Sullivan Station and a whole series of bus route numbers that even now I don't know to where they go and on which I have never ridden.

Now it's all  cigars and colleges and California and he's still old for his age.

Ninety-Six is so close to going off to college. Now I'm beginning to panic about all that wisdom and maternal crap I'm supposed to send him off with. What if I've forgotten something?

Ironing Shirts: Here a helpful little mnemonic to help you remember: CYCSFSBOCOSFOSBPFFB. An easy way to remember Collar, Yoke, Cuff, Sleeve Front, Sleeve Back, Other Cuff, Other Sleeve Front, Other Sleeve Back, Front, Front, Back. Better yet, buy blends.

Cooking: No matter the recipe, double the herbs and spices. Recipes are written for normal people; you're a Gentile, man. Double the herbs and spices.

Hearbreak: I know you're going to get your heart broken, maybe probably even more than once. I'm not exactly a pro in area of grace in the face of heartbreak, but I really do have some knowlege to impart on this score. First, yes, it sucks. Bad. You literally feel like your heart is breaking. Because it is. But I promise, if you just breathe -- just breathe -- it will be better in the morning. It'll still hurt, but tomorrow it will hurt less. I promise. Heck, it will hurt less in an hour. Just remember to breathe slow cleansing breaths: Innnnnnn through the nose; ouuuuuuut through the mouth .... Innnnnnn through the nose; ouuuuuuut through the mouth.

In Tonight's Episode ...

In tonight's episode of "Linda, We Don't Care" ...