Just about every bridal magazine at the newsstand right now will tell you that your wedding is all about you. It's "your special day." And they would be wrong. It's not just your day. It's also your mama's. She has been waiting for this moment ever since they wheeled her into Labor and Delivery. For years, she has been studying color schemes and floral arrangements, collecting addresses for the invitations, and mapping out the traffic flow for the reception so everybody gets a piece of cake and a cup of punch in a timely fashion. She has debated whether the soloist should sing "O Promise Me" or "Whither Thou Goest." Don't even think about "something small and nontraditional." Mama ain't havin' none o' that.
On Christmas Eve morning, 2004—the morning after my soon-to-be husband gave me my ring—I drove out to my parents' house to tell them I was engaged. It went something like this:
Daddy: "You're kidding me!" (Understandable, as I was 43 at the time.)
Mama: "What are your colors?"
Me: "But I just got my ring."
Mama: "I'm calling Terry." [Our dear friend and floral designer, at left.]
Me: "I don't think he's open on Christmas Eve."
Mama: "I've got his home number. Who are your bridesmaids? You can't get married without bridesmaids." 
Me: "Well I thought Kathy and Machelle—"
Mama: "Long dresses or short?"
Me: "Well . . .
Mama: "Now, you can't go putting this off till the last minute, or it'll be a tackied-up mess. Who's singing? Oh dear Lord—you don't even have a dress. Are you thinking white lace, with a train and a veil? Because that's what I'm thinking. Do you have a punch recipe picked out?"
Me: "Where's the Advil?"
When I look back on it, my wedding day really was (cliched as it sounds) the happiest day of my life. The happiest DAY. The months leading up to it were, well, insane. Should the mothers and my grandmother wear knee length, tea length, or floor length? Do the bridesmaids need identical shoes? How are they wearing their hair? Ushers? We need ushers? Are we doing candles? The details will drive you jeepers. So it's important to keep an eye on the big picture. Or as my friend Kenner advised me, "It takes on a life of its own, so just enjoy every minute of it." (Kenner's from the Mississippi Delta, and those Delta folks have a way of keeping things in perspective.) Here are a few things I learned along the way:
1) You cannot control, contain, stop, subdue, or silence your mama. Also, she cannot control, contain, stop, subdue, or silence herself. So surrender now. It's easier that way.
2) Know that your closest confidantes could be double agents. It took me months to figure out that my matron of honor—my cousin Kathy, the closest thing I have to a sister, my trusted friend, my shelter in a storm since childhood—was quite possibly in league with my mother.
3) While we're talking espionage, enlist a spy within your fiancee's family. My husband's baby sister was mine. I would call her periodically and ask how her side was taking this or that and who was stressing about what.
4) On a more serious note, remember that how you and 
your fiancee treat each other's families during this whole process says a lot about how you plan on treating them down the road. My sweet in-laws were accustomed to big-city Midwestern weddings, but bless their souls, they went right along with my small-town Southern Baptist one. I'll never forget that and tried my best to let them know how grateful I was. [That's both our families, pictured above, most of whom met for the first time at the wedding.]
5) While you're dealing with the details and debating the guest list with Mama, don't forget to occasionally offer a wave to the man you're about to marry. After all—he got you into this. [Wedding photography by Blake Sims.]
A favorite memory of mine. Loved sharing this day with you!
Posted by: Amanda Storey | March 28, 2011 at 07:18 PM
Hey, you can sing "O Happy Day" for me anytime!
Posted by: valerieluesse | March 29, 2011 at 01:57 AM