Mom on the Run: Prom takes this mom’s breath away

Lianne Wilkens/Columnist
Published: May 25, 2008

The day is all mapped out. It has been for weeks, and the schedule is necessarily tight: Manicure and pedicure at 1:30 p.m. Hair at 3:30. Dress at 6, boyfriend and parents arrive at 6:20, dinner reservations for 7 p.m. And finally, the big event, prom itself, from 9 p.m. to midnight.

We get off to a fine start. Right on schedule, my daughter changes into a button-down shirt and flip-flops and takes herself over to the nail salon at 1:15 p.m. I leave at 2:15 to pay, picking up the boutonniere on the way.

Nails runs a little long, though, and after the shortest of stops at home to put the flowers into the fridge we leave 10 minutes late for the hair appointment. We worry the whole drive, but still walk in at 3:30 p.m.

"Excellent!" my daughter and I agree: it's our first time, but we have this prom thing figured!

But then the uncontrollable: hair takes longer than anticipated, too. A lot longer. Marta at Solace does a beautiful, fairy-princess job, but my daughter's hair is long and the style is complicated. Beth just starts make-up at the time we were expecting to leave, and I watch the clock tick from my sofa across the room as she brushes on powder and eye shadow.

Finally we're done and we speed-walk to the minivan. "Mom, we're so late!" my daughter wails. I hand her the restaurant's phone number: "Move the dinner reservations back a half-hour," I tell her. "And get everyone to arrive at 6:45 instead. There's plenty of time between dinner and prom."

She makes the calls, moving dinner is fine, but: "They already left! I don't want them to see me before I get my dress on!" "I know," I say, thinking fast. "Have them wait in the TV room. You can sneak up the steps, they won't see you. It'll only take a minute to zip up your dress."

I tear up the road, watching for back-ups, one eye on the clock, my daughter fidgeting nervously beside me.

Sure enough, her boyfriend's car is out front when we arrive, and I go in first to keep every-one from peeking while she slips up the stairs. A minute later I run up too, where she's already stepped into her dress. I zip and hook the back, clasp the necklace, and start downstairs as she adjusts her silver sandals.

We're almost out of breath, the two of us, from the rush and the fuss, and it's hard to suddenly stop. But my daughter makes her entrance calmly, smiling, head held high. The crowd "ooohs" and "aaahs" right on cue, and she circles in her purple sequined gown, tilts her head to show off her gorgeous hair. We all troop outside for pictures against the lush green springtime backdrop; we trail back inside for poses in front of the fireplace. She pins on his bouttoniere, grabs a jacket against the cold evening, and suddenly they're gone, out the door. We've been home for no more than 20 minutes.

"She looked so beautiful!" her father says and everyone starts to chatter, "Oh, yes!," while I slump and finally breathe.

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at .