Author: jachristofersen8

I picture each year as a clock with colors. The year itself is written in the center of the clock. There are no other numbers. January is at twelve o’clock and the months go counter clockwise. Every year I look forward to each color and the time periods they represent and the possibilities they present.

January, February and March are bright yellow. Yellow represents the light of hope and dreams of the new year. The slate has been wiped clean and it is time to start anew. I don’t make New Years resolutions, I just make a list of things I want to do and I do them. If I find myself getting off course, I try again.

April, May and June are green signifying new life, growth, renewal and the season of Easter. Winter turns to spring as the ice begins to melt. Humans and animals emerge from hibernation, plagued with cabin fever from a long winter, eager to get outside. Green is everywhere. New grass grows and plants and flowers are in bloom adding color to dull branches of winter.

July, August and September are orange. These are longer days with suffocating summer heat, time spent out doors and colorful sunsets. I enjoy that feeling of freedom I get when I put on my favorite summer cloths, shorts, tank top and flip flops. My favorite part of orange is spending a long day on the water, soaking up sunshine, making mental notes of every detail, inhaling the smell of the water and being thankful that I am there.

October, November and December are blue gray and the darkest days in my year. There is a chill in the air as the sky darkens early. The colder it gets the more I smell people’s fireplaces when I walk my dog in the cold night air. I cook hearty meals and enjoy early pajama time when I can. I often feel like I’ve been hit by a train during this time period. My life becomes consumed with my children’s back to school and fall school activities. Fall flies by and pretty soon it is black Friday and the chaos of the holiday season begins. The quick transition between fall activities and the holidays is what makes this time dark for me. I often feel like I don’t have time to catch my breath before the ridiculousness of holiday shopping begins.The meaning of Christmas has blown out of proportion by retail stores and the emphasis on the birth Jesus Christ is lost.

My last blog post was on October 18, 2015 during the darkness of the blue gray time. Fall activities were going at full force and occupying several evenings of each week. My days at work were busy and we were swimming in my son’s college applications. Soon it was Thanksgiving and the beginning of the holiday season. With each added responsibility, my mental clarity, creativity and desire to write deflated like a tired balloon days after a birthday party. I spent my downtime watching television and reading. This year wasn’t as bad as some though and I somehow managed to get through the holiday season without a temper tantrum.

In early December I attended a holiday brass concert at a local cathedral here in Baltimore. The music was moving and uplifting and the scent of the incense of the cathedral reminded me of the many Christmas Eves I spent in midnight mass when I was growing up. My heart was suddenly filled with the desire to attend midnight mass on Christmas Eve. I was determined to attend this year and I did just that.

As I sat in the wooden pew, admired the decorated alter and waited for mass to begin, I thought of my grandmother. My grandmother cried every year during Christmas Eve mass because her own mother died of a massive heart attack while walking home in the snow after Christmas Eve midnight mass when my grandmother was only nine. Despite her own pain, my grandmother always managed to make Christmas special for us and I hoped that six Christmases after her own death she’d be proud to find me in church on Christmas Eve after a long absence.

I inhaled the familiar, comforting smells of incense of the Catholic Church. I pictured myself being present at the birth of Jesus Christ. I sang in celebration and listened carefully to the Priest’s sermon, savoring every word. It’s the best Christmas gift I’d ever given myself and it gave me the faith to believe all things are possible in the upcoming year.

I have no regrets of the year 2015. I’ve learned valuable lessons, tried new things and built a foundation for things I’d like to continue in 2016. Today, December 31, 2015 as the blue gray darkness of December fades into the bright yellow light of January 1, 2016, I’ll carry out my hopes and dreams of the new year by remembering what the angel said to Mary prior to Jesus’s birth, “Do not be afraid”.

Happy New Year.

Yesterday my husband, my mother in law and I took a random drive to Havre De Grace, Maryland for lunch. We were surrounded by the spirit of fall. As we drove north on 95 we noticed the amber, red and brown earth tone colors of the leaves on the trees. When we arrived in Havre De Grace and walked to the restaurant, we zipped up our jackets when we noticed a slight chilly breeze in the air coming from the Northern point of the Chesapeake Bay.

We chose to eat at Laurrapin, a contemporary American cuisine restaurant that uses fresh ingredients from local Maryland farmers and the Chesapeake Bay. The décor of the restaurant furnished a cozy ambiance of mustard and brown painted walls, copper tabletops, hardwood floors and paintings by local artists.

We ordered the fried eggplant appetizer. The eggplant was covered with goat cheese, basil and a touch of fresh tomato marinara. My entree’ was a generous portion of baked Rockfish on a bed of succotash with kidney beans, lima beans, zucchini, brussel sprouts, and onions. My accompanying glass of white wine gave this dish a hearty, earthy taste. It reminded me of the Top Chef Boston episode where the chefs went to Plymouth Rock to cook Thanksgiving dinner using only the ingredients and utensils that the pilgrims and the Indians used to prepare their very first Thanksgiving feast in the New World. I have a tendency to inhale food when I’m enjoying it and there were moments I had to force myself to chew slowly and let all of my taste buds savor each bite before I swallowed. Dessert was a fresh apple crumble with a hint of caramel sauce and a freshly brewed cup of coffee. It was the perfect ending to a delightful seasonal dish.

Afterwards we did some window-shopping at the various shops in the historic district. We discovered there was an Oktoberfest going on so we took a gentle stroll through that, enjoying the music, people watching and inhaling the scent of various sausages and beers that the vendors were selling. As we made our way to the dock we inhaled the clean sea air and watched a few sailboats floating by allowing the beauty of the golden autumn sun shining upon us to complete a perfect fall day.

I spent several hours from morning into early afternoon cooking. For some, cooking is a chore to be done to provide nourishment. For me, cooking is so much more.

My cooking has evolved throughout my nineteen years of marriage. Even though I grew up in a family that valued good food, my mother was not the most patient teacher when I asked her to teach me how to cook during the year that my husband and I were engaged to be married. After I got married I followed the recipes from friends and cookbooks given to me as bridal shower gifts. I frequently called my brother who had recently graduated from culinary school and was working as a chef for what I called a “culinary consult”. I also called my grandmother. My grandmother made the most beautiful lemon meringue pies. I thought since I’d watched her make those pies since I was a little girl that I could make one tool. The only time I attempted to make a lemon meringue pie, I ended up calling my grandmother in tears because the meringue fell. She just laughed and asked, “Well honey what did you do to it”. I realized then that I was not a baker and should stick to savory meals.

Over the years my cooking abilities have expanded from “I hope I get this right” to “I can do this dish”. My husband and I enjoy cooking together. We watch cooking shows and consult each other with ideas for meals. I grew up in a Sicilian family watching the women in the family cook. He grew up in a Scandinavian family watching the men in the family cook. With our different back grounds, we’re a perfect match in the kitchen and we work well together.

In the years since I’ve proclaimed myself as a writer, I’ve learned that engaging in other creative activities besides writing actually enhances creativity. Although I’ve returned to my cross stitch after a fourteen year hiatus and I occasionally enjoy my anatomy coloring book, cooking is my favorite creative outlet. There’s much to be said about the acts of planning a meal, refining a recipe, chopping, measuring, sautéeing, stirring, simmering and tasting. It requires focus and concentration and provides a wonderful feeling of accomplishment when the meal turns out delicious. Sometimes when life is stressful, focusing on a cooking a meal is a therapeutic distraction within itself.

Last year my husband gave me a compliment that I never forgot. I was on the phone complaining to him in the craft store about an assignment that our son had for his English class. He had to write poems and design a homemade notebook to put the poems in. It had been a busy week for the family and I just didn’t have it in me to help him design a notebook. My husband said, “Let me deal with this. You have the ability to think on the fly in the kitchen, not in a craft store”. Some women would have considered that a sexist remark. Not me. I knew exactly what he meant and because of that, whenever I look at a difficulty recipe and wonder if I can pull it off, I remember what he said and know that I can.

As a third generation American born Sicilian, I grew up knowing that a family meal was a sacred thing and the person who cooked the meal, cooked it out of love. I have carried those beliefs into my own kitchen and those that I cook for will always get my best.

Some weeks I only really have time to cook on the fly and get a meal on the table quickly because everyone is busy but other weeks I do have the time to try new recipes and plan different meals. Last week was an emotional and eventful week for our family and I’ve been running around for days. Despite my need to sit on the couch and relax, today I decided to cook. I approached my stove at nine o’clock this morning. In the course of a few hours I had made a long over due pot of sauce for a friend, breakfast sandwiches for my family, I put a brisket in the slow cooker and made a batch of my grandmother’s chicken soup. I was focused, organized and moved easily from one meal to the next. I also managed to jot down notes for this post. Everything I cooked today was successful and I am pleased. I finally did get the chance to relax and watch my favorite football team play their home opener. Oh and by the way, I don’t do dishes.

You are a vain man and you have lost your purpose. Somewhere in your life, an incident occurred that your vanity would never allow you to admit to others and caused you to lose touch with reality. Since then you have spiraled more and more out of control faster than a tornado can rip through a mid western town.

You’ve had many valuable purposes in your life but your vanity has clouded your vision and removed your ability to see what is in front of your eyes. You had one of the most cherished purposes a man could be privileged enough to have; to be her father, her daddy, the first man in her life who should’ve loved her and protected her, taught her, encouraged her and supported her. Instead, as you positioned yourself high above her and created a world of hurt for her.

From her childhood and long into her adulthood, you’ve turned her simple rights of passage into a viscous arena for your life long game of battle of the wills. You put yourself on a high pedestal, and looked down at her while you made her struggle to achieve the simplest notches on the belt of adulthood when you should have been walking beside her through each journey of her life, cheering her on along the way.

As she grew she became wise to your cruel games and started to defend herself. You’ve been trying to drown her from the very first time she stood up to you. You then realized it was going to be more difficult to play your games than you’d anticipated.

You have now released all of your toxins into the water that she is swimming in. She is swimming just below the surface of the water. Her head is pointed upward and she can see the sky through the water. The sky is gloomy grey and the clouds are going to open up and dump hard, heavy rain at any moment. The current is very rough and the waves are choppy with whitecaps. She is trying to come up for air but she can’t just yet. She kicks her feet and paddles her arms with all her might.

She’s challenged you again and you are trying to drown her. She knows you’ve been trying to drown her throughout her life. She knows how unpredictable you are. Sometimes the sun shines and the water is calm and warm and you let her enjoy her swim. She always falls into your trap and thinks the water is going to remain calm but then you throw her back into a raging sea.

This time she had the courage to make a move in your game that you could not predict, enabling her to break free of your strangle hold. She’s climbed out of the water, cut your rotten umbilical cord and finally turned her back on your vanity, your mind games, your cruelty and the relationship you had with her. The atmosphere is so thick at the height your pedestal is on, you’ve forgotten what a good swimmer she is.

I read a very interesting blog today entitled “The Diet Coke Incident” on a blog http://www.florenceisdead.com. I’ve enclosed the link above.

It’s an interesting article and I’m not going to summarize it here but it basically elaborates why nurses don’t want to do patient care anymore. I left a very short compliment on this blog but I wanted to elaborate the topic more with my readers.

Although nurses hold PhD’s MSN’s, BSN’s and nationally recognized certifications, we are not considered to be a “profession” by the vast majority. To them we are just a glorified waitress and over time, incidents like “The Diet Coke Incident” leaves nurses bitter, burned out and looking for the first opportunity for a change of scenery.

I work on a perioperative unit in a hospital. My job is to get patients ready for the operating room. I read through their labs and medical history, I do a physical assessment, a care plan and a preop checklist, medicate them as needed and place an IV in them with a limited amount of time all while providing emotional support to the patient and their family about their illness, their surgery and what to expect. It is also my job to use my critical thinking skills while I am reading their medical history and labs to look for any red flags to present to the anesthesiologist and surgeon that may prevent them from going into the operating room safely.

Earlier in the summer our unit was awarded with the highest patient satisfaction scores of the hospital and given a nice party by administration. It was nice to be recognized like that but I can honestly say that my coworkers and I bust our butts day in and day out to get our patients in and out of the OR safely while dodging “Diet Coke Incidents” in effort to keep our patients satisfied with our care.

The general public has no idea what nurses go through during a workday. They think they do because they watch television. They think that just because we are nurses, we have to tolerate abuse. They have no idea that some of us dreamed of becoming a nurse since we were young children or what we went through to become nurses. We had long hours of study, clinical time in the hospital and nursing instructors that would fail you in an instant if you compromised a patient’s safety. As nursing students we missed out on plenty of  fun with family and friends because we had to study, study, study or work, work, work at the part time job many of us had in the hospital as student nurses.

They have no idea how long we go without food or a bathroom break and that we are expected to function despite the fact that we haven’t eaten or have had to urinate for several hours. They have no idea what it feels like to be barraged with several different situations going on at once always having to stay sharp and on our game because we are dealing with human lives, or that we put our nursing licenses on the line every time we walk into a patient room. They have no idea what it feels like to hold a BSN and a nationally recognized certification and to be screamed at, threatened with violence, sexually harassed and treated in a way that lets us know that they consider what we are doing for them in the care we provide is insignificant. They don’t know how hard we bite our tongues when we are mistreated so we don’t get fired because we really want to scream at them in retaliation while we are trying to be a patient advocate, create a safe and caring environment, take care of the patient and the family, carry out physician orders and be at the ready if an emergency arises.

I often joke if I won the lottery, I’d walk my nursing license back to the board of nursing and retire. In reality I’d miss the interaction with my patients. I’d miss caring for people through life and death situations knowing that I did everything I could to help them and hoped I made a difference even though I may never know if I did or not. There are many of times that I have a wonderful conversation with a patient while I am getting them ready for the operating room and wish I could continue to chat with them. In these cases it’s a win-win situation; I am able to give the patient the last few moments of normalcy before their surgery by distracting them from the reason they are with me and they are able to make my day by treating me with like a human being instead of a servant, reminding me that this is why I went into nursing to begin with. On the contrary I also get the patients that I care for that I look forward to releasing them from my care so that I don’t have to deal with them anymore and who make me wonder why I went into nursing to get this abuse.

I am a big girl and I have thick skin. I have no desire to ever leave the bedside and I can take a lot of crap from people and set limits in a way that doesn’t buy me a ticket into my boss’s office for a reprimand. Sometimes I might just put that large bore IV needle in a place that hurts because a patient was rude, or make them wait for me to get them that Ginger ale they’ve asked for several times for when it’s convenient for me to get it and not at the instant they demand it. Other times if they are really nasty, I might just go silent for the duration of my time with the patient, going through the motions of my job duties, making sure I provide the same safe, effective nursing care I provide for everyone, just not caring for them from my heart. I have no problem asking a family member to have a seat in the waiting room because I don’t like the way they are speaking to me and they are a distraction to me while I care for their family members.

Nurses are no longer the submissive  angels in white with caps that you see in old movies and on television. We are degreed professionals trained to promote health, prevent illness, and care for the sick, disabled and dying. We too are always striving to learn more about the patient care we do so that we can be the best we can be. In reality, nurses shouldn’t have to experience any “Diet Coke Incidents” but unfortunately they do. Moral of the story, treat your nurse like a human being because they are here for you.

Every year at this time my daughter asks me the same question, “Mom when are we going shopping for school supplies”.

Sometimes this question spins around and around in my head like a broken record that is stuck on a song you just can’t stand! She can be demanding about it and always manages to ask at the most inopportune times; when we may be low on money or at a time when it’s simply inconvenient to shop because we have other pressing obligations to attend to first.

When I was in nursing school I had an instructor that told me I tend to be task oriented and sometimes forget to look at the bigger picture. I never forgot that instructor or what she said because it applies to all aspects of life. When I see myself doing that at work with a patient,  I am usually able to catch myself and refocus quickly. As I tend to the tasks of my own life with two teenagers all over the place, a full time job, a household to run, and the things that I am involved in outside of work, I am so focused on completing the tasks I fail to realize what the people in my life truly need from me.

My daughter is my extroverted child. From an early age she’s demonstrated her ability to think outside of the box. It’s my favorite thing about her. She challenges herself with complicated tasks. She enjoys trying new things and experiencing different types of people. She and my husband appreciate sampling cuisine  that our son and I refuse to eat. She looks into the future instead of dwelling upon the past.

While most kids frown at the back to school commercials and the idea of returning to school, she embraces it. At the end of each summer she looks forward to the school year, her friends and her routine. All week she’s been comparing her eighth grade school schedule to that of her friends, taking mental note of who’ll be in her classes this year, her final year of middle school.

This morning as I sipped my coffee and explored the possibilities of today, the paintbrush moved swiftly and in bright colors boldly painted the bigger picture before my eyes. For my daughter, the act of buying school supplies is something she needs. For her it signifies a new beginning, a fresh start with interesting things to learn, exciting experiences to be had and time spent having fun with friends. It energizes her with hope and anticipation.

We don’t have any pressing obligations today as a family. There are so many things I want to do. I hope I can get to all of them before I head upstairs for the night with my dog and my nook. One thing is certain, we will definitely be buying school supplies.

I am a daily coffee drinker. For me, it’s not just trendy refreshment I buy at Starbucks to look like an intellect, it’s a daily ritual, a feeling of calm and some days when the coffee doesn’t reach me in a timely manner, an addiction.

The two things I enjoy most about coffee is the aroma and the first sip. My husband makes the coffee in our house. Each evening before bed he pours the water into the coffee maker, scoops the coffee grounds into the filter and sets the timer. The aroma of the coffee grounds finds me where ever I am and reminds me of what I have to look forward to the next morning.

When I get up in the morning, I walk downstairs through the quiet, dark house to the kitchen where the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee greets me. I open the cupboard to retrieve our favorite coffee mugs. A splash of cream for each. As I pour the coffee, it’s aroma is even stronger and it makes my empty stomach let out a growl as if it’s saying, “hurry up with that coffee already”.

I bring the cup of coffee to my lips. Before I take my first sip I let the steam from the coffee fill my nostrils as I inhale it with a deep, long inspiratory breath. As I take my first sip a wave of calm washes over my body making it okay to wake up at 0415, turning my brain on at the possibilities of the day. My body tells me to keep drinking it and I do until late morning when I know I have enough caffeine to sustain me through the rest of the day.

This morning as I sip my coffee I feel a sense of calm I haven’t felt for a few weeks. Our days of afternoon boat rides with the wind in our hair, afternoon visits to the Lakeside Creamery and evening campfires seems like a long time ago. I have spent my weekend picking up the remnants of a cyclone called Marching Band that surges through my household every year at this time.

My son began his senior season of marching band with the start of band camp on July 27, 2015. Band camp is much more than band geek jokes. For marching band members it is a place to welcome and initiate rookies, to gather on the field in the heat for two weeks to memorize and rehearse music, learn dot formations and march until their legs ache, their feet are blistered and they’ve consumed liter after liter of water to prevent heat exhaustion. It is also a place for them to participate in team building activities and games. At the end of those two weeks they have become a cohesive group, a community within themselves; a marching band. If you sit and watch them rehearse during band camp, you’ll see them play it over and over again and wonder if they’ll ever get it right. Once you see them play what they’ve learned at the Parent Show which concludes band camp, you’ll notice with the blink of an eye, it’s all coming together. For any marching band parent, it is an amazingly beautiful thing to observe.

I am an active band parent, a marching band parent and nurse and I reside on the band booster executive board. Band camp is a busy time of year for us too. For the band parents it’s about fitting 60-70 kids for uniforms and altering them, fundraising and selling spirit wear, organizing events, meeting new parents and making them feel welcome and comfortable knowing that marching band is a good place for their child. There’s also eating on the run, rehearsals that run into the late evening, and getting ready to do it all over again the next day; in addition to the full time job you have to be at early each morning.. As the marching band nurse it’s also about being ready to treat whatever ailment they have when they come off the field and reassuring them that they can get back out there and march some more.

All of these things have happened to our band families these past few weeks. My house is a mess and I am way behind on household tasks. I haven’t had a decent home cooked meal for two weeks and sleep deprived is an understatement. Through the course of the marching band cyclone the activity seems never ending and overwhelming at times. All of those feelings disappear instantly the moment I see my son at a high school football game or marching band competition looking sharp in this navy blue uniform, holding his trombone high in the air, marching and playing music with his community; the marching band.

Ice cream makes people happy. Have you had a bad day? Here, have some ice cream. Do you feel like a few minutes out of the house on a summer evening? Go out for ice cream. Do you have a small victory to celebrate? Eat ice cream.

I am a life long ice cream lover. When I was a kid, my parents or my grandma would walk my little brother and I to the seasonal soft serve ice cream place down the street. We’d look forward to it opening each spring and would be sad in the fall when it closed for the season. To this day I still marvel at the perfect symmetrical curves of the soft serve ice cream in a cone. One of two things would always happen during my childhood walks to get ice cream. My brother would either drop his and I’d secretly snicker to myself or my father would pull a “let me clean that up for you” maneuver if the ice cream cone melted faster than my brother could eat it.

Ice cream is year round for me. My husband and I have a variety of it in our freezer. Who cares if it’s thirty below zero outside and snowing, I’ll be in the house in my robe and slippers eating ice cream.

In years past, the hospital that I’ve spent my career at used to hold “Ice Cream Socials” a few times a year. Chocolate, strawberry or vanilla ice cream with all the sundae fixins’s served to you by hospital administration. I’ve seen people skipping in and out of those ice cream socials as if they were children without a care in the world. It was just enough to make you smile and get you through the rest of a long hospital day.

My inspiration for this post is my recent vacation. For a second summer now, my husband, our teenaged son and daughter and I have rented a cabin and a boat on Deep Creek Lake, Maryland. During our vacation week, we’d spend our days on the water with the wind in our hair and our evenings in front of a campfire. Each late afternoon when we should be thinking about dinner, we’d hit the local ice cream joint called “The Lakeside Creamery”. Sure one could drive there but it’s more fun to go by boat. Once the boat is secured, step out and steady your feet on the wobbly square shaped inflatable dock. Now walk up the four flights of steep wooden steps to get that ice cream. The smell of waffle cones will taunt you as soon as you begin to climb the steps reassuring you that the shortness of breath you’ll have after walking up the steps will be worth it. Once you get in the door you’ll stand in line for a few minutes as the strong wristed staff quickly scoops ice cream into cups or cones but they are efficient and the line moves quickly.

The biggest decision of the day is which delicious flavor to choose. I try to pick flavors I don’t ordinarily eat at home. The day I wrote this I’d chosen a classic; a single of scoop chocolate ice cream on a sugar cone. When they handed me my ice cream cone, I carefully pushed the ice cream into the cone with my tongue to prevent it from breaking the cone and falling off. With each stroke of my tongue, I slowly and purposefully turned the creamy, rich milk chocolate ice cream into a perfect sphere, my mouth watering as I savored every bite. Finally, I’d worked my way down to the sweet crunchy sugar cone, mixed with chocolate ice cream. It only completed the state of euphoria this ice cream cone had given me. Once the ice cream cone has been completely consumed, a feeling of emptiness occurs. Not to worry though, we’ll return soon.

Marching Band Season begins at 0900 7/27/15. Here’s something I wrote about one of my first experiences as a high school parent.

White plumes stood proudly on top of navy blue shakos. The golden autumn afternoon sun spotlighted navy blue uniforms with gold trimmed sleeves and a gold buckle on a white sash across the chest. All eyes were focused forward on the task at hand. They’d memorized every note and every dot in preparation for this moment. The band stood in perfect formation until the announcer asked “Drum majors is the band ready”. The drum majors answered the call with a sharp salute. “Are the judges ready” the announcer asked. The judges indicated they were ready with a wave. The announcer permitted the band to perform. “Perry Hall High School Marching Gators you may take the field in competition”.

The drum majors conducted the band as they marched and played in perfect harmony. Brass instruments were pointed high in the air indicating confidence and discipline. The color guard danced synchronously with the music letting their flags flow with the melody. This marching band performed what seemed to be a flawless field show.

There were three categories of marching bands in competition that day. The category depended on the size of the marching band. Each marching band performed their field show with the same level of intensity. While the judges were deliberating the host school performed their own phenomenal field show.

Waiting for the judges to deliberate seemed like an eternity but it forced me to reflect back upon the events of this marching band season. It was a first for our son. He was a freshman trombone and trying to adjust to high school. He carried a heavy load of honors and gifted and talented courses and was deeply involved in preparing for his upcoming Sacrament of Confirmation. My husband had just begun graduate school. I was in a job that I was severely burned out in and had just accepted a transfer to a new department. In the beginning we had difficulty adjusting to this new chapter of our lives but our family soon began to march in sync with the band.

We’d attended every high school football game and marching band event that our son had performed in that season. The band had taken first place in the two previous competitions and marched away with “Best Overall Effect”, “Best Visual”, “Best Color Guard”, “Best Percussion” and “Best Music”. This band was on fire!

The judges were finished deliberating. The drum majors from each band were called back onto the field to form a line and face the crowd. They all stood at attention and with good sportsmanship, applauded each band as their award was announced. Finally, our category of bands was to receive their awards.

With eight bands in the category, our son’s band was in the largest category. Eighth, seventh, sixth place bands were called. I sighed with relief and my body was starting to tingle. Our son’s band had not been called. The fifth, fourth, third place bands were called. My heart was beating uncontrollably now. Our son’s band still had not been called.

The second place band was called and it wasn’t our son’s band. My husband and I looked at each other with tear filled eyes. Time had stopped for us at that moment with the realization of what was about to happen.

Seconds later the news roared through the microphone, “With a score of 82.738, Best Music, Best Effect and Best Percussion, the Category 3A 2012 Maryland State Championship goes to The Perry Hall High School Marching Gators”. My husband, our daughter and I flew to our feet, embraced and cheered until our vocal cords hurt. The Perry Hall crowd in the stands erupted with foot stomping cheers and applause. From across the stadium we could hear the Marching Gators celebrating their victory in a similar fashion and we knew our son would be so excited and proud. This fine marching band had won what was rightfully theirs; what they’d worked so hard for. They were Maryland State Champions.

Tomorrow our son will begin his final season with the Perry Hall High School Marching Gators as a senior trombone and the low brass section leader. This state championship experience as a freshman inspired our son to take his music to higher levels and participate in multiple extra curricular music ensembles in addition to Marching Band. As a parent, I couldn’t be more proud.

Being a marching band and band parent is no different from other extra curricular activities. It’s about carting kids around after school, weekends full of activity, late night homework, a messy house, and eating on the run. It’s also about watching your child socialize, evolve and enjoy themselves in their chosen activity. Lucky for me just as soon as my son marches out with the class of 2016, my daughter will march in as a freshman trumpet with the class of 2020 and I get four more years of moments like that 2012 USBANDS Maryland State Championship.