Planning our daughter's high school graduation party has been as challenging as choosing a college for her to attend.

My husband, Steve, and I have very different ideas about how to give our daughter a proper send-off. If left up to him, she would receive a chunk of money and a big hug and a kiss for a job well done.

But anyone who knows anything about throwing a proper party understands that the shrubbery around the front entranceway has to be replaced before any serious party preparations can begin.

"New plants and bushes?" Steve stammered when I broached the subject on one of the first warm days of April. "For a party? But why?"

Steve was having trouble seeing a connection between landscaping and a graduation party, one that seemed quite obvious to me. Besides, we've lived in our house for 20 years now, and what the kids haven't smashed with basketballs and bicycles is straggly and overgrown. The front entrance desperately needed a makeover.

"New shrubbery," I replied emphatically. This was a subject about which I wasn't willing to negotiate. And because our daughter is the last of our children to graduate, I knew that if I didn't replace the greenery this time, I'd be looking at the old stuff for years to come.

In mid May, we planted several bushes and an array of beautiful perennials. With that accomplished, I turned my attention to the next phase of party planning — cleaning out the garage.

A vintage car enthusiast, Steve has been accumulating old car parts since he purchased his first antique car — a 1959 BMW Isetta — before we were married.

Since then, he has owned a '50 Plymouth, '68 Checker, countless Ramblers, and a '67 Mini Cooper. All of which required an inordinate number of spare parts to keep them running.

The cars came and went (except the Mini, which he still has), but the hard-to-find parts used to fix these old machines seemed to have taken up permanent residency in our garage.

"You got to get those old car parts out of there," I told Steve after surveying the situation. I had already tossed out broken lawn furniture, cleaned the bin of bats and balls and recycled a trunk-load of white plastic grocery bags.

"If it rains, we'll have to set up the tables and chairs in here," I explained.

"But the car parts are out of the way," he said, "stacked in a corner where they won't be in the way."

"No," I pleaded. "It looks messy. Can't you put them in the barn?"

The boxed-up car parts have been moved to the barn, and our party planning has moved indoors. But now when I ask Steve for his opinion, he just nods compliantly.

"What should we serve?" I asked, looking for some help in planning the menu.

"I don't care," he replied wearily. "You decide."

"What time do you think we should eat?"

Same response.

The remaining details — where to put the drinks table and whether the guests should enter the buffet line from the patio or the kitchen — have been left up to me.

The party is Saturday and, despite the challenges, Steve and I are still speaking to each other. Or at least I'm still talking to him.

Linda K. Schmitmeyer is a freelance writer living in Middlesex Township. Her e-mail address is lks260@zoominternet.net.