Jamba, Anyone?

On my way to the Center for Service and Learning I ordered a Mango-go-a-go, then entered the office.  I would come back out in five and get my drink.  My phone vibrates.

I read the text from my mother.  I feel as if a mountain sits on my shoulders. The text reminds me that I need to send her the information of how many people will be at the lunchin for my wedding and where the lunch will be held.  I know she is helping me out but it reminds me of the discussion I had with my future mother-in-law the other day where we discovered that maybe a lunchin would be too much on the day of the wedding.  These memories only enhance my agitation. 

I call my mom.

A minute into the conversation and I feel more than agitated.  I am stressed beyond control.  I ask her to just let me speak.  I explain the concerns as best as possible and wait.

“Let’s not do it then.” But we need to do something….

“We can do a dinner the night before for immediate family only.”  Should we?  What about the people that come to the sealing, shouldn’t we provide lunch for them? I stammer my thoughts.

“They will just have to fend for themselves.”  It breaks tradition, will people be insulted?  Yet, I cannot deny that the idea brings the breath of relief to me as I hang up the phone and begin to think about which homework assignment to attack first.  It has been twenty minutes.  As I adjust my computer scree, I remember that my Jamba was waiting for me outside.