I will not be winning this year’s prize for the best Mother-of-the-Bride. I forgot to buy the book, and all of a sudden, I have a daughter getting married. I know that a mother with three daughters should be some sort of expert. I think I have a brain block or some other force at work keeping me from doing the right thing.
On Thursday, daughter number one, number two, and I rented a Ford Explorer in New Orleans and over two days drove to Chicago to pack up daughter number three and haul her back to South Louisiana. In early August, Katherine (daughter two) and Wayne became engaged. She pinned a designer dress and thought why not go try on wedding dresses while we are in Chicago. She made the appointment for 4:30 PM on Friday. So we had to leave Memphis in the early morning to make it.
What I didn’t know was we first had to check in at the hotel. We made it through crazy traffic (I was not driving, thank God.) The girls had to freshen up and change for the occasion. Maggie (daughter one) said, “Are you wearing THAT?” I was in my cropped jeans and a t-shirt. Proper traveling clothes, but apparently not proper shopping-for-a-wedding-dress clothes.
“What’s wrong? I didn’t know I was supposed to dress up.”
“Where have you been, Mom? They may serve us champagne!”
“Well, all I have are these hospital pants.” I call them my hospital pants because they are so comfortable that I wore them overnight in the hospital.
“That’s better than jeans.”
“How was I supposed to know this was a dress-up occasion?”
“Don’t you watch TV? Bridesmaids, duh!”
We head over in an Uber to the appointment and make it only 5 minutes late.
Another thing I forgot to read in The Idiot’s Guide to being the Mother of the Bride was how to properly respond to your daughter in a wedding gown. Apparently you are supposed to know which one is The One, and you are supposed to cry when you see it. I didn’t cry. In fact, I made a comment about lace. This first comment cannot be taken back. Over and over I have said, “If this is the one you want, you should get it.” But it doesn’t help. She cannot erase my first response.
For the record, I did tear up when she put on the veil. I properly held my hand over my mouth and exclaimed, “Oh my!”
In the end, we all had a good time. No champagne, but the other daughters got in on the fun and tried on dresses they loved. I texted a picture to my husband, and he responded, “Scary.” Scary, and crazy, and fun.