Mother of the Bride

So this past weekend, I accompanied Hilary to a bridal expo at the resort where her wedding is to be held. We looked at the room and had a little tasting of the food offerings. We got a feel for the venue and how things would most likely come about. Hilary was stressing. She worried about the "ugly" chairs and whether or not they should be covered for an extra $3.00 a piece. She found the food not up to her standard, and her forehead ( a tell tale beacon telegraphing her state of mind) remained fretfully puckered. She was overwhelmed.

It is at times like these that I feel most like apologizing for being her mother. I am a hopeless procrastinator with no sense of personal style and an even more pathetic sense of decor. I don't know what goes with what and I honestly couldn't possibly care any less. It's a chair....and as long as you can sit on it.......well........where exactly is the problem? What I'm trying to say here is that I'm no fucking help at all. If it were to be left to me, she'd be married in a lovely backyard and we'd have a nice barbecue and cook up some ribs and wings....pop a couple bottles of wine and swap embarrassing Hilary stories.

This is not the way with Mother of the brides on this planet. I know because I saw them at the expo. They were wearing designer separates, capri pants and sparkly tops, and matching shoes. They were walking around measuring doorways and windows and feverishly writing said measurements down in large 3 ring binders that held the blueprints to their daughter's wedding. No such overwhelmed look in their eyes, these women had every tiny detail under control like it was the job they were born to do. I felt like walking up to one of these ladies and asking what color underwear the waiters would be wearing on the big day. I'm sure any one of them could flip to the waiter/underwear/protocol section of their binder and tell me in no uncertain terms.

I could only stand and watch in awe and wonder if my daughter wishes she had a mother like that. One that could help her tackle that pesky waiter under garment problem. Instead she has a mother who caught her purse strap on a display easel and scrambled to catch and re set all the airborne parts. The room seemed to turn all attention to the woman who was wearing jeans and crocs and a name tag that said "mother of the Bride" as she did her best Lucy Ricardo with the display easel.

My future son-in-law broke the tension by announcing that everyone should stand back because "Nancy's wreckin' the joint"

.....and my daughter loves me anyway.

I'm really good with that.