I’ve never been drunk, but I’ve watched enough TV to understand the idea of a hangover—a nauseating headache mixed with cloudy memories of the previous days’ merry-making. After three straight days of GRADUATIONPALOOZA, I think I can diagnose myself as sufficiently hung-over.
And now for the highlight reel:

It started with this on Friday afternoon. (Why is it blurry? Because I had tears in my eyes. Duh.)

We brought Christian with us because we thought it might mean a lot to him to be there. Ryan’s brother, Val, asked him, “Are you excited?” to which Christian replied, “Oh yeah!” And then to clarify things a little, Val said, “For what?” to which Christian replied, “The Jazz game.”

At one point in the ceremony, someone came up from behind Ryan and tried to strangle him. Wait. No. This is actually when Ryan was “hooded” by his mentor.

My gosh. And all this time I thought he’d never look sexier than when does the dishes.

After the graduation, we drove around and found a walking trail and took a walk. I took his picture under this tree, because I’ve heard that taking your picture under a big tree after graduating will bring you a long and prosperous life. (OK, actually I made that up.)

Then we headed to our dinner reservation at fancy-schmancy La Caille. We walked around the grounds before dinner and I took his picture under this fancy-schmancy tree because I’ve heard that taking your picture under such a tree will bring you monogrammed bath towels and I’ve always wanted those.

The restaurant was elegant and charming and the perfect spot to celebrate. If Ryan looks a little bedazzled here, it’s either because he has just read the price of the shrimp cocktail that we ordered; or because the tight-corset-clad water girl came dangerously close to bumping into my fork, which would have likely caused her to whiz around the dining room until finally deflating in a heap on the floor. Or so it seemed.

That’s my wallet on the table. It looks thick and robust, doesn’t it? Obviously, this photo was taken before we paid. (Sigh.)

After dinner, we stole away up the canyon to stay at The Blue Boar Inn. Ryan sacrificed his Jazz playoff tickets to accommodate all of my elaborate plans. We arrived at the inn during the first quarter, and quickly ran up to the room to see the rest of the game. Within a minute of turning on the TV, the satellite went out. It came back on twenty seconds later. And then went back out two minutes later. Then on. Then off. We called the front desk to see if there was an issue with the dish or something. Within five minutes an employee was at our door to let us know that there was nothing wrong with the satellite, it was just our particular receiver that had been having problems. Soooo, she said that if it was alright with us, she’d just move us to the vacant room next door that just happened to be the executive suite. Alright. I guess if there’s no other alternative, we’ll just have to move over to the executive suite. The moral of the story: being a supportive wife of an avid Jazz fan will eventually pay off.
We came home Saturday afternoon to relieve DeDe (and later, James) of their babysitting duties. (Thanks, DeDe and James!) It was time to surprise Ryan with some more good news—I was planning a surprise graduation party for him Sunday night. What’s that you say? You say that people don’t normally inform the guest of honor about their surprise party ahead of time? Whatev. I was running out of ways to explain why I needed to be gone for undisclosed periods of time, why there were fifty votive candles in my trunk, and why I needed to pick up twenty pounds of turkey from the grocery store. Surprise, honey, we’re having a surprise party for you tomorrow! It’s been said before, the truth shall set you free.

And what a relief! I’ve been planning this party for about two months and it has caused me much insomnia. Finally, Sunday arrived and it was time to fill this lovely hall.



With food and family and friends…

…and party favors. Don’t forget the party favors.

Here is my mom. She worked her tail off all night preparing food and making things look nice. (Thanks, Mom!) My dad is not featured in this photo because he was outside grilling all the delicious meat. (Thanks, Dad!) In the background of the photo are Ryan’s sisters, Alison and Andrea. They helped a lot, too.

After all the eating, we had a short program. I asked some of our friends and family to share some words in honor of Ryan.
There was laughing. There was crying. There was reminiscing.

I’m not sure what’s happening with my eyes in this picture, but please don’t make fun of me. I’m sensitive. That’s my little brother Jesse hooking up the sound system. (Thanks, Jess!) He and I wore coordinating plaid outfits, as we do every day.
Speaking of sensitive, every time I thought about this party in the weeks preceding it, I had an emotional meltdown. Which led me to think of an alternative method for sharing my thoughts. The following is a reenactment of my speech for your viewing pleasure. If I hadn’t spent so much on party favors and turkey meat, I was hoping to hire James Earl Jones to read it aloud at the party. Try to imagine is velvety voice as you read/watch this.

And finally, here is the guest of honor thanking us all for humiliating him. You’re welcome. Anytime.
Thanks to everyone who helped us celebrate, and thanks to all of you who left such nice comments last week.
Congratulations, Ryan! And watch out, Dr. Phil!






