The big day finally came last Saturday, and my son is now officially married to the lovely young woman he has been dating for the last several years. People have been asking me, “How did the wedding go?” and I answer, honestly if vaguely, “Very well, thank you.” The thing is, my memories of that day are jumbled images that are all mixed up together in my mind. I’ve always been told I’m a bit of a scatter-brain, and I guess this proves it. But that’s okay, because all of the images are good ones.
I remember waking up on the morning of the wedding and immediately checking to see if the weather forecast of a cool but sunny day was correct. It was, which meant that it was a perfect Fall day for the outdoor ceremony. I remember getting my hair done later that morning, and telling the stylist to be very generous with the hair spray so that my hair wouldn’t be drooping by that evening. I believe my exact words were, “Use enough so that if I walk into a brick wall, the wall will be dented but my hair won’t.” And she did. I think I finally washed the last of it out this morning.
I remember seeing my daughter-in-law in her wedding dress for the first time and how incredibly beautiful she looked, but also thinking how lucky I am that my son chose to marry someone who is even more beautiful on the inside. I remember seeing my son, all dressed up in his suit and tie and wondering exactly when my energetic, loving and creative little boy turned into such a handsome, intelligent and caring young man. (I know I’m bragging here, but I’m a mother, and that’s one of the perks. It makes up for all those years of dirty diapers and sleep deprivation.)
I remember blinking back a few tears during the ceremony, and not even being sure why, because I felt nothing but happiness at that moment. Later, during the cocktail hour, I remember greeting so many friends and family, and feeling so grateful for each and every person who came to share the day. I remember being nervous right before the mother and son dance, because I rarely dance and never like to be the center of attention. But I followed my blogger friend Jodi’s advice and simply focused on my son, and enjoyed it so much that I was actually just a little sorry when it was over. Who knew?
Once everyone was dancing, there was so much to notice I could hardly keep track. I was touched when my son-in-law asked my mother to dance, and impressed with their moves on the dance floor. I remember trying to follow along in a line dance, being glad I was at the back of the group, and my surprise when they all suddenly did an about-face and I found myself front and center. (I have since learned that where you want to be in a group dance is in the exact middle, sandwiched in between tall people on all sides.) I remember watching in awe as my son (who hates to dance) danced not only with his new wife, but with his grandmother, his friends, and (briefly) with his cousin Travis.
I remember posing for many photos, some serious and some silly, and texting a few to dear friends who were not able to attend the wedding, because we wanted to find a way to include them. But mostly, I remember looking up to see my son, my daughter, my son-in-law and my new daughter in-law taking a group photo and thinking, “That’s my family now. Those are my kids.” And I couldn’t have been happier…..
Personally, I like the idea of a mother/son cake eating. At some point during the reception my son and I could sit down at a table together and enjoy a piece of wedding cake. It would be that special “mother and son moment,” and I would even have a chance to pass on some valuable marriage advice, such as “the wife is always right.” (That one has served me well, lo these many years.) I don’t think we’d even mind if others watched while we were enjoying our cake, as both of us are actually good at cake-eating.
Muddling Through My Middle Age 