Transplant

This weekend, we celebrated Nathan's 18th birthday. He decided he wanted one last big bash to celebrate this important milestone and be with some high school friends. For some it may be the last time they are together as they head out to their after high school plans.

I can plan a great party. I've done so many times over the years. We've done jugglers, we've done Elmo, we've done trucks. Once I had a storyteller, Brio train and a clown all at the same party.

But this year, it was all his doing. He laid out what he wanted to do and we told him that we'd accomodate his wishes as much as possible. As parents we decided when our kids were young that we would not have a party each year -- only on the "transition" years -- 1 year (of course, we had to do that), 6 years, 12 years and now 18. The rest of the time we had dinner together with family and just spent time together. I think in doing so, the "big" years have become more special and meaningful to all of us.

The guest list was originally 30, then 40 and then 45 and above. I suggested -- OK, I really TOLD HIM -- to send out invites and to call everyone to make sure that he'd have a good head count. The guest list grew. And grew. And grew.

I began to be concerned about parking, food, what would happen when the Oklahoma weather refused to cooperate. In fact on the day of the party, it started with a quick rain and then the sun stretched forth and baked the earth for the rest of the day. I knew that this was the kind of weather voo-doo that creates wild summer storms. I wondered, "What do you do with 50 wet dripping teeangers in the middle of a freak Oklahoma hail storm? "

We rented a large tent, ordered massive quantities of pizza, cupcakes. Add the necessary ingredients of loud music, outdoor movies and voila - a perfect teen party. At least as far as my son was concerned.

I stood around as he was both commander and officiator of this event. I put the cupcakes on the table as he instructed. I set the tables up as he recommended. I tried to warn him about the stereo -- not getting it too close to the water misters but was told to mind my own business (in a nice way, but that was essentially the message). When the water mister burst from the water hose and sprayed friends, him and the stereo I did the near impossible: I didn't say "like I said.." Chalk one up for mom.

I watched him as his friends kept coming and watched his natural grace with them. I found myself watching him as if I was seeing him for the first time. My son, now an adult according to law, was making this transition with ease, poise and calmness. Much more than I could say for myself.

I blinked past tears almost the entire night although I kept them hidden behind the camera that I used to take pictures. I tried to make myself useful by offering drinks or food. After about the millioneth time I asked the group, "Anybody need any food?" Nathan gently said, "I think we're good Mom." I shuffled off to put away the trash.

I worried about the heat, I worried about the yard and how I just knew it wasn't a pretty as I had hoped it would be. I worried about everything which kept my mind off the thing that was really bugging me - -that this would be the last party I'd probably ever help Nathan plan. Sure he'll come home for birthdays but this is the last one we'll do like this.

As the party kicked into full gear, I walked around my garden and started making mental notes of the shrubs that needed to be transplanted in the fall. My once "sunny" garden is now almost entirely shaded by a large birch tree and so my roses need to be completely cut back, scooped up and potted elsewhere. I had been working on a new design earlier in the week and had decided that with the heat and the dust I'd be better off waiting until early fall to do much more. As I walked around the garden's perimeter I saw a shrub that had grown too large for its original planting. It was cramping the other plants around it and it was showing signs of stress for it needed more room to stretch out and grow. I had planted this shrub several years ago when I was not sure at all what I was doing and had put it in a small row near some roses. As I looked at it again, I knew that it would thrive somewhere else much better. I almost wondered how I thought it would fit in the space I had it, although I remembered when I planted it how small and fragile it looked.

I had no idea how big it would get.

I had no idea how strong it would grow.

And as I stooped to take a closer look the tears that I had been holding back sprang forth.