Wild horses couldn’t have kept me away from our recent trip to New England. It was important.

Rory, The Princess of Boston, was graduating from high school, and her brother Malcolm’s final concert of the year with the Boston Youth Symphony Orchestra was on the agenda. For the same weekend. Our far-flung family was gathering from both coasts. Richard and I were driving, with a planned overnight enroute.

We had dinner reservations in Albany at our favorite on-the-road restaurant. As we loaded the car, and as the clocked ticked down, a mild panic was setting in. We hit the road at 2:00PM – three hours past our Estimated Time of Departure. Rush, rush, rush. We have physically slowed down and are hating to admit it. We have realized that the packing and staging of tote bags the length of the front hall is going to have to begin three days ahead.

The car was jammed to the roof: suitcases, hanging clothes, an electronics bag, a dedicated medicine bag, a book tote, two computers, a heavy oxygen machine, two canes, and one walker, just in case. We named ourselves Team Excitement. The cooler containing lunch was on the floor behind Richard, my lead-footed NASCAR wannabe. And our toiletry bags? They weren’t anywhere. Either one of them. Even with check lists, we both managed to leave them behind.

We realized our mutual mistake when we arrived at the hotel in Albany. We had driven 5 ¢ hours directly to the restaurant, so we were unloading in the dark. When we do the quick overnight, we try to take only the necessities to our room.

We were standing at the back of Richard’s SUV with the rear door up. I had checked us in at the front desk while he began stacking our stuff on the hotel’s rolling luggage rack. “Where’s my hanging toiletry bag?” I asked him.

“I don’t know what you did with it,” he said.

“Oh no. I can’t have left it. My whole list is checked off.” But I did. And just then Richard stopped, and looked at me as if he’d just learned his dog had died. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t’ have mine either.” Whadda couple of doofuses. Wait. What Is the plural of doofus? Doofi? Or dooforum? Well, either way, the description fits. We both simply forgot.

We were too tired to shop that night, but at least we were clean. The hotel gave us their little bag of Necessities for Doofuses to get us through the morning.

After breakfast, and with the help of Onstar, we found the Walmart. Armed with our shopping lists, the renamed Team Doofus arrived at the Health and Beauty aisles only to find everything locked up. Under glass. From shaving gear to deodorants, mascara to moisturizer, everything was available – if we could find someone to unlock the glass cases. It took more than an hour, but we finally got on the road knowing we wouldn’t smell bad at graduation.

When my daughter, Alix, first mentioned the big date last winter, I quickly asked if there would be enough graduation tickets for grandparents to attend. Some schools allow only a few tickets, and I wanted to make sure.

“No problem, Mom. The class is almost 600 kids. They can’t begin to hold it in the high school auditorium, or erect tents for that many people. It’s being held in the huge arena at UMass Lowell. Whew. Lowell is about 17 miles north of Lexington and it took three cars to get us all there. But it was worth it. The view was good and seating was generous.

The ceremony served up some beautiful student music, some humor and appropriately inspirational speeches. It took lottsa time to graduate those 579 young people in their blue mortarboards, but I had to admire their efficiency.

Alix planned a graduation luncheon at a really cool Brazilian restaurant. The waiters travel between the tables slicing sizzling beef, lamb, chicken and pork off of 3-foot skewers. Lottsa fun, laughter, and togetherness.

And together we went to Malcolm’s concert. When over 70 stringed instruments hit the downbeat at the exact same time, terrific music follows. Mostly, we had great family hang-out hours. Togetherness.

Rory is no longer merely the little girl I have cherished for 18 years. She has begun to make her mark. She is bookish, but fun. Accomplished, but modest. And hard-working, but sensible. She is heading for Scotland next week to spend the summer working on a cousin’s dairy farm before leaving for college.

Our confident young woman is entering her new world, accompanied by all the love and support a family can muster. One of life’s milestones captured in time. Together.

Despite the challenges of oxygen machines, lost deodorant and those wild horses, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com