Saturday, September 25, 2010


I have an idea for a new TLC show – MOBZILLA!

Everyone has seen the expected Bridezilla. The one going off on her bridesmaids for looking better than her. For not allowing them to color their hair or tan days before the wedding. Even those brides that insist the bridesmaids gain weight so that she, the bride, can be the skinniest.

Well, I have invented a new reality show, MOBZILLA. Yes, I am the mother of the bride that went ballistic.

It was bound to happen. Everyone kept commenting on how mellow and together I was through this last year. Calm, cool and collected, that’s me. Not really. I am the epitome of passive aggressive. The bride would make me angry; I would have a glass of wine and just not talk to her for the night. The groom would irritate me; I wouldn’t buy him beer for a few days. Just a few subtle ways of me dealing with my anger. Probably not the text book way of doing things, but it works for me.

What does this lead to? Let’s see, there are a lot of ways to describe it. Rivers run deep. Cold as ice. A disaster waiting to happen.

Well it happened. . .

And who should be the brunt of my explosion? My best friends.

A perfect wedding ceremony.

The flower girls made it down the aisle!

The bishop didn’t even mention eternal life or being sealed in the temple. Bonus!

The groom cried, priceless.

The bride panicked because she didn’t get her ring before the I do’s!

The untraditional Father-Daughter dance was beautifully executed.

Bar tab came in under budget.

So what went wrong?

The stupid flowers got thrown away. And who did I blame? My best friend. The one, who wrote a beautiful speech, spent countless hours sewing flower girl dresses, filling petal boxes, shopping for baseballs, getting me wine, holding my hand and encouraging me for the last year. And that is just the tip of the iceberg.

It was a few seconds in lapse of my judgment. Why cry over flowers that will die in a week? I didn’t. I cried over hurting my best friend’s feelings – all of them.

I have pictures of the flowers and that is what will last. Every bride tries to save her bouquet but in years it is thrown away. It is the memories that stay. That is what I forgot. No one cared that they got to take an arrangement home for a week. But they will all remember that I blew up for a split second.

It wasn’t just hurting my friend that gave me anxiety, it was the thought of the bridal bouquet that kept me up. On it was pinned the something borrowed: KyKy’s god-daughters baptism rosary that we had blessed by the Pope when we were in Rome and the something old: Kyky’s Great-Grandmother’s watch that her Great-Grandpa gave her grandmother on their wedding day. The same something old that my sister used on her wedding day. Things that only have meaning to us. Silly I suppose in the realm of things. Friendships are more important than objects aren’t they?

But I was the MOB. KyKy was texting me from her honeymoon to make sure I got her bouquet and the treasures off of it. How could I tell her it was gone for good? Compacted in the daily garbage?

To make you feel better . . . I dumpster dived! Knee deep! A very nice non-English speaking facilities man escorted me and Spermy down to the trash bins and together we tore through eight dumpsters. We found nothing but a lot of hotel room garbage. I mean nasty stuff. Dirty q-tips. Kleenex. Room Service. You get the idea. I stunk! Not sure my hands are clean yet! Where was Kir for those pictures?

Our good friend Ron proceeded to dive through several more, eventually finding THE flowers!

Scott, the hotel manager took charge of holding MOBzilla’s hand through the crisis. A reward was put out to find the bride’s bouquet.

Monday morning, 8 AM I received a call. It was Scott. “I have good news, I’m holding the bouquet!” He insisted on delivering it to my room.

Needless to say, the concierge, the bell desk, the check out guy and the valet all asked if we found the bouquet. I am the crazy mother of the bride. Not sure I wear it proudly.

I thank my friends for forgiving my selfishness. They did not deserve my tirade.

The bouquet, watch and rosary, are drying for the bride who knows nothing of the event.

It Takes a Village

Calm cool and collected . . . that was me. The epitome of the perfect mother of the bride. Not anxious. Not nervous. Why? Because my girls had my back.

They spent hours fussy cutting fabric to create perfection in a flower girl’s dress. The use of ninja sewing squares to insure precise mitered corners on custom sewn table runners. Toting steamers and irons up a canyon to eliminate press lines in provided linens. Climbing ladders to hang column wraps to disguise avalanche cement columns. Every detail covered, nothing left to worry about.

They were up to their elbows in rose petals stuffing Chinese take out boxes ‘til wee hours in the morning to shower the wedding party during the recessional. Meticulously pulling scissors to curl chartreuse ribbon on the handles while affixing the little programs. Making it all a party with glasses of wine. These are my friends, my best friends.

Who deserves friends like this? Ones willing to take the background as second string bridesmaids?

I’m not sure how I became so lucky as to have so many women love me. Do I deserve this? I’m not sure. For the last year all they have heard from me is wedding, wedding, wedding. Bitch, bitch, bitch. Yet they hold my hand, run to the fabric store or the sporting goods store, stay up late, lose time with their own loved ones and help me pull off the most perfect wedding ever.

The week before the wedding all they would say is list, list list. Give us your list of to do’s. Your job this week is to relax and enjoy your daughter and the joy of the weekend to come.

Incredibly, that is what I did. I had no worries. They took care of everything. The last minute details were divided amongst them. I got to go to dinner with my daughter and laugh and enjoy life. Hems were sewn. Linens were starched and pressed. Beautiful speeches were written. I slept without waking to terrors. I have great friends.

The day of the wedding they showed up in force to make sure my vision came to life. Friends from out of state hung pillar wraps. Husbands hauled outdoor heaters into place. Bridesmaid bras were sewn into place and priceless photos of the entire event were taken.

They say it takes a village . . . and the village rallied and came to my rescue.

Thank you to –

My second string bridesmaids:

Kel, Sandy, Mia & Kir

My second string groomsmen:

JD & Corey

Honorary Line:

Ron & Eileen!

The MOB has been MIA

As much as writing this blog was therapy, I ran out of brain capacity to keep it up. Between meetings with florists, bakers, photographers and alterations I completely lost all capability to do anything but wedding. My mind has still been running while I sleep with blog ideas and in my spare seconds I have written them, yet not posted. So now, it is time. The bride and groom are relaxing in Mexico. I am still having an anxiety attack now and then but am ready to share the events of the past year. Please forgive me for my laziness but realize that I was busy trying to be the best mother of the bride I could be.

It is in retrospect that I make these posts now.