Braces? Or A "Wait" Problem?

11:45 a.m. -- Darling Daughter just walked back for her appointment with the orthodontist. An innocent bystander might think she was being escorted to the gas chamber. But in fact, she’s supposed to have her braces removed today.

11:46 a.m. -- Everything hinges on “supposed to.” DD hasn’t told her friends. She hasn’t told Cougar Bait. She hasn’t told her brother or her dad. Partially because she wants to surprise them. And partially because, well, she’s my girl, which means she won’t be convinced that those braces are coming off until they’re rattling around at the bottom the orthodontist’s bright orange trashcan of hazardous bio-waste.

11:50 a.m. -- So for now, I sit here, heart pounding, hands clammy, trying to concoct a reason to peek into that back office and find out what’s going on. Or perhaps, stride back there and demand, as a parent, to know what’s going on.

11:57 a.m. -- It’s been 12 minutes, which is 12 minutes too long. Or, which means, that in addition to needing to drop five pounds, I have a wait problem.

High noon -- W. T. Aitch?  I could’ve taken those braces off of DD and three other needy teens by now. Probably should have. What?  You don't think I could do it?  Really?  Is my degree in communications worth absolutely nothing?

High noon-oh-three -- What if the reason I haven’t yet seen DD is because they’ve told her the braces need to stay on another two years? Or so? What if she’s sobbing, wretched, inconsolable? What if she is so distraught that she’s disoriented and can find her way back to me?

12:05 p.m. -- This is ridiculous. Really. How did I end up with a kid old enough to have braces – much less old enough to have them removed? Wasn’t it only yesterday that she didn’t even have any teeth at all?. Sigh.

12:11 p.m. --  What are they doing back there? They must be fitting her for headgear. In which case, they may as well go ahead and fit me for a strait jacket.

12:23 p.m. --  Whoa. What’s that?  "Show me.  Show me!  SHOW ME!"

And then, because she’s my girl, she shows me this.

And later, this.

Smile.

We're On A Boat. And We're Engaged.

When I was a kid, I wanted – desperately – to be surprised.  I craved a surprise party (complete with party horns, streamers and a tiara).  A surprise vacation (to France, first class, please).  A surprise kitten (blue-eyed with long gray fur).  A surprise concert where the leader singer pulled me up on stage to dance.  (I love you, Philip Bailey!)

But I’m no kid.  I’m 49.  The only surprises I expect nowadays are bad ones.  So imagine my astonishment when, last week, I celebrated my birthday with a surprise party (on a 90-foot party boat filled my nearest and dearest family and friends) and a surprise marriage proposal (from my nearest and dearest “Cougar Bait,” a.k.a. David R. Bonner.)

Hoo boy.  I could go on and on about what a totally unexpected and fun evening it was.  In fact, “going on and on” is kind of what I’ve specialized in these past few days.  And I could go further on and on about what a darling, conniving, dead-sexy secret-keeper CB is.  In fact, anyone who knows CB can tell you that he’s the first to describe himself as “dead sexy.”

But one week after the fact – and the surprise and the engagement (well, of course I said “yes”!) – the “stun” is now a manageable “glow.”  Looking back, I can admit that I even learned a few things that evening, including:

1.  Everything is better on a boat.
2. There’s an entire untapped demographic audience for Depends.  (Let’s just say that surprises can really, well, take a girl by surprise.)
3. Not many 49-year-olds can say they are engaged.
4. Not many 49-year-olds have friends who are engaged.
5. Whether you have been engaged for two seconds or two years, someone – no, make that everyone – is going to ask, “When are you getting married?”
6. I don’t know when we are getting married.
7. My friends don’t eat enough.
8. 15 pounds of barbecue – plus turkey breast and beef tenderloin and birthday cake and heaven-knows-what-else -- goes a long way.  (All the way, in fact, back home to my refrigerator.)
9. My kids’ ability to keep secrets is somewhat frightening.
10. Everything I know about love, I’ve learned from a man I met in kindergarten.

I am one lucky girl.

Thanks, Harry Potter. It Was Magic.

It’s 5:30 a.m. and Carter and Darling Daughter just went to bed. Five-thirty in the morning, and we just returned from the movies – an experience easily summed up with a single word – magical.

I’m referring only in part to the movie Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part Two (or, in devotee shorthand, HP7.2) – the final installment based on JK Rowling’s books set in a world of wizardry and magic. HP7.2 was, far and away, the best in the series, by turns demoralizing and compelling, poignant and playful, thunderous and hushed, terrifying and ultimately, uplifting.

More magical for me, though, was that Carter and DD were willing to tug their sleep-deprived, teenaged selves from bed at 2:15 a.m. so we could make the show. I tried not to make a big deal about it, but I was thrilled – or more apropos of the occasion, charmed, or perhaps, enchanted – that they’d deign to go with me and be among the first audiences in America to say goodbye to magic and Muggles, quills and Quidditch, witches and wands, and horcruxes and hallows.

As the final credits rolled, I was unexpectedly overcome with emotion – not because of the ending (which is faithful to the book – full of promise and hope), but because it struck me that I was marking another “last.”

I’ve made mental notes of “last” times for some 17 years now -- ever since I became pregnant with Carter. Over the years, I sadly noted the "last" time I'd experience the delight of an unborn child hiccuping inside my belly. The last time I’d ever nurse a baby. The last time one of them would be small enough to heft on my hip. The last time I'd be able to get them into coordinating Christmas outfits.  The last time I’d be acknowledged as the family computer expert. The last time I’d reach down – rather than up – to administer a hug.

Over the years, we read the Harry Potter books together, questioning our own “muggle-ness” and magical powers.  We were so smitten with the world set in Hogwarts that Carter once directed a barber to cut his hair "like Harry Potter."  And of course, we’d watched all the movies. In fact, in preparation for HP7.2, we’d “re-watched” all of them. 

HP7.2 was the last one. Another “last.” Another reminder that – at ages 16 and 14 -- my “kids” won’t be “kids” much longer.

Driving home from the movie, the adrenaline rush that had been sustaining us collapsed. The kids were subdued. Drained. Exhausted. As I tried to initiate some post-movie chatter, Carter said, “It was great and I’m glad we went, but Mom, it’s 5:30 in the morning. Can you stop talking?”

Once home, the kids crawled back into bed for a few more winks before Carter heads to his summer lifeguard job, and DD meets up with friends at the mall.

I headed to Starbucks. As I waited for my latté, the barrista listened to my story about getting the kids up for the movie. And then, she said the best possible thing, “Wow. They’ll remember that forever.”

Hmm. Not so sure about that. But I'm pretty sure I will. It was the last one. And it was magical.

Double-Chocolatey Rice Krispy Treats
The best recipes have a magical life of their own.  I adapted this one from my friend Janet in Charleston, who got it from her sister-in-law, Lisa, who got it from her mom, Sandra.  (Aren't moms always the source of great recipes?)  Although these unusual rice krispy treats don't include any marshmallows, they are plenty sweet.  Plenty easy.  And sure to, ahem, "disappear."  

4 cups crispy rice cereal

1, 12-ounce package white chocolate chips

1/2 cup smooth peanut butter

1, 12-ounce package milk chocolate chips
1/2 cup chopped roasted peanuts (optional)

Lightly spray a 9 x 13 glass pan with baking spray.  Set aside.  In a large glass bowl, microwave white chocolate chips for 30 seconds.  Stir, and continue microwaving and stirring, in 20-second bursts, until well melted.  Stir in peanut butter until thoroughly combined.  Gently fold in cereal.  Spread mixture evenly in prepared dish and allow to set -- about 3-4 hours.  When treats firm up, melt milk chocolate chips in a small glass bowl or measuring cup, using the same microwaving technique described above.  When well melted, spread over treats.  Sprinkle with peanuts, if using.  Allow to set another 3-4 hours.  Cut into small squares and serve.