The last time I was a Mother of the Bride was in 1995. It’s been a while. I’m an entirely different person this time around than I was when my older daughter got married. I was a hyper-involved helicopter mom back then. Just ask my daughter. She will tell you that she really had very little to do with her wedding because it was MY party. Many years of therapy later, I can now see that I lived the life I wished I’d had vicariously through her. I had terrible stage fright. She was in theater. SO cool! I wasn’t popular or athletic enough to be a cheerleader. She was. Uber awesome! She had cool friends that I got to hang out with. She got to go to college and live in a dorm! I was positively green with envy. She married the first young man she met in college and they were (and still are) perfect for each other. I wanted the fairy tail life she had. She loved me because I was her mom. But she hated me all the same. And I don’t blame her.

As her little sister, sixteen years her junior, was growing up, I can’t count the times Daughter #1 huffed at me because she wasn’t allowed to do this or that like her little sister. “She gets away with murder!” “You would have killed me if I did that!” She’s right, of course. I was already too tired to fly that helicopter over the young one and I had a crapload of my own issues by that time. Siblings are different anyway…but the difference between these two is remarkable.

Consequently, I am hardly involved with Daughter #2’s wedding. For one thing, I live on the other side of the country. For another thing, she and her fiancée have incredibly eclectic taste and their’s will hardly resemble a traditional wedding. I’m just tickled to pieces she has found someone whose beat matches her own. I’m happy to show up with a smile and stand where she tells me. This is going to chap her sister’s hide, I can assure you. But it is what it is.

I am actually going to be the Co-Matron of Honor at this wedding…a position I will happily share with her BFF, Lizzie. When I asked my daughter what she wanted me to wear, she said she didn’t really care as long as it was in the colors they chose for the occasion. Royal Purple and Hunter Green. I laughed and thought maybe I could wear Gold Lame and we could throw beads and pretend it’s Mardi Gras! You can clearly see my thinking is different now than in the ‘90s. 

I chose to go with purple instead of the dark green. For one reason, the green just sounded way too hot to me and this little soirée takes place the first weekend in August. Also, I look better in purple. And, it’s a little bit easier to find appropriate attire this time of year if you look for spring colors. 

I’ve been scouring the dress shops in our little burg and the selection is somewhat limited. I really don’t want to spend a boat load of money on a dress I will more than likely only wear once and since she doesn’t really care, I’ll go the least expensive route. I’ve scanned the internet and finally found this dress. I like it. It will hide a multitude of self-perceived “flaws” in case I don’t lose as much weight as I would like…a task I am hard-pressed to accomplish if I continue to eat pizza like I did as I wrote this. I did break one of my cardinal rules ordering this dress. I believe it is coming from one of those foreign clothing manufacturers and I have no idea if it will look anything like the picture. It was less than $40 so I’m not getting my hopes up, but if it’s a fiasco I’m not out a ton of money. I’ll let you know if/when I receive it.

In the meantime, the plans continue, my smile is ready, and it will be a beautiful day.

❤️

“We are careful to be honorable before the Lord, but we also want everyone else to see that we are honorable.”    2 Corinthians 8:21 NLT