It's all about the dresss.

While I began searching for caterers, my daughter's job was to find a dress. My queen of multi-tasking told me she could only tackle one wedding thing at a time and finding the right wedding dress was number one on her list. Again, via online searching, who knew there were so many shapes for a mere dress? There's the sheath, A-line, mermaid, modified mermaid, ball gown (think big pouf of organza), and probably five more I can't think of. I must preface all this with my fear and trembling of anything having to do with shopping and my daughter. Our history goes way back, way way back, to nursery school in fact. You see, I always gave her a choice - pink skirt or blue pants; sneakers or fancy shoes; dress or osh kosh by gosh? This was in reaction to my past of course. I never had a choice when I was a child, I went to Catholic school and had to wear a maroon uniform, complete with bow tie and beanie until I rebelled and went to a public high school. We parents read all the right books, but in reality, our skills are forged by our regrettable past. Invariably, my little bride-to-be would choose the swingiest skirt, twirl around, and kick up her pink patent mary janes, happy as a clam...we said that happy clam thing alot in New England. I wish I knew why clams are considered jubilant?

Fast forward to middle school and you can see where I'm going. Madonna, Pretty Woman and Dirty Dancing were all the rage. We had moved to NJ and life took a turn toward..., well, way before Jersey Shore set the new standard for immodesty, I used to say, "there's a difference my sweet girl between class and trash," at least once a day. We learned to compromise, nothing below here or above there....we struggled. And then, like a bolt of sunshine in high school, she developed her own taste, her style. And in fact it was better than mine since my style was comfort conscious without bows, laid back, loose Eileen Fisher-like before she came on the scene. Lo and behold, she became my adviser, "Mom, if you wore it in the '60s, please don't wear it now." So the long and short of it was that we had a fine, loving relationship as she sailed off to college, so long as we didn't go clothes shopping together. I know, how could such a bonding mother/daughter activity create angst? I'm trying to explain, it happens gradually, over time. Today, she has no time to shop and wears scrubs most days, and she told me she wanted me to come to Nashville and help her pick a wedding gown. I was delighted and distraught all at once.

After making the rounds of all four wedding shops with her friends, from high to low dollar, she had her ideas ready for me and I had a plane ticket. The first store was high end and they were having a sample sale at the same time, yureka! I got nostalgic when she turned in front of the mirror and kicked her heel out to fluff the train on the first gown, my little nursery school girl again. Six dresses later, we had an idea of the shape that looked best on her - modified A-line, or semi-mermaid, something like that. Now let me make this clear, if you think you will suddenly cry and swoon when the right dress appears on your child you are mistaken. My daughter has wonderful taste and an eye for beauty which goes along with her yogi-slim, 5'8" body. Absolutely everything looks better than good on her. The only time I even started to tear up is when they whipped out the veil; be prepared for this trick. Somehow, seeing your daughter's beautiful hair hidden brings back a collective Jungian memory of being covered up and carted off to a cave. Try to ignore that feeling, unless you live in a country where indeed that might happen. We had to wait for the next day to hit the rest of the shops, but so far so good. I smiled and nodded, she was sleep-deprived and radiant.

We laughed about the semi/pushy/saleswoman/owner of one shop and had a wonderful time at another. We had come full circle, my daughter was now my friend and we could enjoy this shopping safari. We finally met a good saleswoman. She complimented at the right time, waited patiently, knew when to leave us alone and when to fuss with yet another color sash. There was another bride-to-be sharing our space in this little boutique with her mother. A cute little blond thing who I thought for sure was a country singer, but it turns out she's a teacher. I saw this young woman's taste go from over the top glitzy to classic in the time we were there sharing stories and the mirror. All the while my girl had an idea in her head of the perfect dress and we were getting close, very close. At the last shop she tried on "the one." How did I know? By the way it lit up her face. But she had previously rejected this one because of the price, it was a lovely, lacy concoction, a Monique Lhuillier. We were in heaven!! We had found the dress, but she refused to pay, or wait, let's put it another way, let me pay that much for one dress. My husband and I managed to raise a young woman with a conscience. She wants a sustainable wedding, using local, organic foods...email "save the dates" to save paper...and now we were on the hunt for a recycled or previously used Lhuillier on : http://www.preownedweddingdresses.com/

A few weeks later, with her maid of honor/best friend by her side, she raided her Grandmother's closet in NJ and came out with a 1950's designer lace gown that she happily proclaimed was "the one!"And along with Grandma, we four formed a happy circle jumping up and down while she whispered to me, "...this is how I wanted it to be."