Middle Chicken gets married in two weeks.
I’m thankful Lawyer Boy is her perfect match. I’m thankful he possesses the unique ability to calm her. She can get a little frantic. Not sure what he says to her, but it works–and that works for me. I’m thankful for all the parent checkoffs: He’s got a job. He’ll make a good dad. He’s loyal. He looks at her like she hung the moon.
All focus is on the wedding. I tell her to remember it’s about the marriage, not the party. This coming from the bride who eloped when the frantic got too frantic and now plans events for a living. Irony? In-laws and family and mothers and others sent me over the edge. Middle Chicken takes it in stride most days. Other days, it’s a crapshoot.
Mostly, I want to tell her of the journey she’s about to take. She won’t know until later that it has so little to do with the dress or the place settings or the flowers or the chairs or the music. What will consume her going forward is learning to live with another human raised by a different mother, accepting foibles she didn’t see or refused to acknowledge, that some of the things she deems adorable now will drive her to distraction later, that there will be things from the outer world that threaten to tear apart her union. And, that at the end of the day, it is the sweetest thing she’ll ever know.
Lawyer Boy tells me he can’t wait to be a husband. His ability to protect her, care for her, provide for her while treating her career, her opinion, her needs and wants as equal to his paints a picture of how relationships have changed over the years. And he thinks she’s pretty. That’ll get her through some rough days.
Yes, the dress is beautiful. But not as beautiful as she. The hotel is historic, but nothing compared to the history they will create together. The chapel fills their college memories but it’s nothing compared to the memories they will weave into the fabric of their lives. The rings are shiny and bright and perfectly designed but they don’t shine nearly as bright as the twinkle when they look at each other. These are the things I want her to remember.
Remember the way he looks at you, the way he takes your hand, the way he smiles from across the room, the way he sings like a fool, dances every dance and does his best to dream your dreams alongside you. Take it all in and count your blessings. Love is not bestowed on all.
But on this day, your day, it is all about you. Get dressed Little One, it’s fairytale time.