Holiday News From The Wiles. Or, At Least, The Bits We Can Share.

Julia and Carter, Christmas 2011

Dear Friends and Family,

For most people, today would be seven days too late for a holiday letter. To that, I say, bah humbug. December 31 is actually the traditional seventh day of Christmas, landing it squarely mid-merriment and prime for festive greetings, right? Provided, of course, that I am also serving up seven swans-a-swimming and figgy pudding.

Truthfully, 2011 has been terrific. However, unlike in years past, I can’t tell you much about the kids because:

1. Teenagers are keen on privacy, 
2. I respect my teenagers’ privacy, 
3. Teenagers’ actions aren’t always suitable for publication,
4. Which is all to say that teenagers’ actions aren’t always suitable.

Still, we made it through 2011 without extended hospital stays or negative impact on “permanent records,” so I’m declaring the year to be success. As Carter says, “Mom, I may not be smart yet, but my stupidity is on the decline.” OK. Hardly a ringing endorsement, but OK.

Carter is in his junior year of high school, so allow me to speak on his behalf: He doesn’t know where he wants to go to college; he doesn’t know what he wants to major in, he doesn’t know his class rank, he isn’t sure of his GPA, and he doesn’t know where he’ll apply. But go ahead and ask him yourself. Every English-speaking friend, family member, casual acquaintance and complete stranger in the tri-state area does. And Carter loves it. Absolutely adores it.

In fairness, he has identified a few criteria. He likes schools with large football programs. He doesn’t like coats, hats, gloves and scarves. He likes schools with a high proportion of females to males. He doesn’t like studying. But mostly, he really, really, really wants to go to college. Otherwise, what would he do? Work? He did that this summer – as a country club lifeguard – and it was really hard. Like, they wouldn’t even let you text while five-year-olds were jumping off the diving board. Isn’t slavery supposed to be illegal in the United States?

Julia is in her freshman year of high school and can now fit in nearly all my clothes and shoes. But “gross.” Except for my boots, heels, and sweaters. On occasion, my jewelry’s not altogether hideous, either. But even so. Eww.

Seriously, Julia is a diligent student, maintaining an absolute focus on the two topics most critical to freshman success – getting her driver’s permit and finding a dress for the next dance. And shoes. Really fabulous shoes. That no one else has. They don’t have to fit. They just have to look good. Tossed in a corner of the floor. Because no one actually dances in shoes. How could you not know that?

I guess I ended up with the biggest news of the year. Cougar Bait (David Bonner) took full leave of his senses, giving me a surprise birthday party and then, proposing. Marriage. Silly him. According to all accounts, I didn’t draw a full breath before snatching the ring, slipping it on, and asking, repeatedly, “Did I say ‘yes’?” Whatever. The ring is mine. And so is he.

Plainly, 2011 has been a year of blessings for us, and we hope the same has been true for you!

Much love and happy holidays,

Cheri

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.