Birth days to remember, and remember again.

The Sophisticate was born in the wee early hours of February 15. That means that I labored on Valentine's night. Valentine's DAY - no labor. Valentine's night was fast and furious. This week, on Valentines Day I was telling Pretty Pretty Princess that for ME, Valentines Day is always about her sister's birth.

Then PPP's eyes glazed over and she leaned her head on the cool car window. If she could have, she would have put her ear buds in and listened to music....since she knew what was coming...the BIRTH STORY. I had already called The Sophisticate and attempted to have a similar convo with her - but she cut me off on the birth story. "I've heard it, Mom. I know, it was fast and you almost had me in the hall or something."

She thought it was interesting when she was a baby.

Most of the time my retelling of the birth stories need to be heavily edited. Since I worked for years as a Lamaze teacher, and have given birth a few times, I have no shame.

Nevermind all that - this is the Sophisticate's birth story. She was almost 3 weeks late. We went to the hospital in false labor on her due date. What was I thinking? It was the night of the Super Bowl and my mother had to leave a party to come and pick the 2.5 year old soon-to-be-big-brother. I didn't have the baby that night, yet all my mother's friends thought I DID have the baby that night. Thus the next 2++ weeks were filled with awkward encounters with people who thought I had the baby weeks ago ...yet still looked 10 months pregnant. Because I WAS 10 months pregnant.

So, on Valentine's night when I mentioned that I thought I might be in labor, BigD rolled his eyes. We called Mimi ONCE AGAIN, feeling like putting Brother to bed at her house was a better choice than maybe waking him up in the middle of the night. We had done that about 5 times between the Super Bowl and Valentine's Day. So, everyone assumed it was a false alarm, me included.

BigD was watching vintage Miami Vice, on TV every Friday night at 9. He loved that show. He loved it so much he ignored me that whole hour, in which I moved from 'Maybe I'm in labor' to "Whoa, I need some help here." Remember that I am a classically trained Lamaze teacher, so I was all into the breathing and walking and the shower. We did all of that - once Miami Vice was over. About 10:30 I started begging to go to the hospital. BigD kept saying "Let's wait and see what happens" which is his standard response - to everything. Later, we went outside into the very cold weather and took a walk around the block. When we were FAR AWAY FROM HOME I had a definitive contraction. As a Lamaze teacher, I always told people "You'll know...it's a different feeling." That's ridiculous, you don't know. You just think you know. HOPE you know. Mostly, afraid you will miss something important. So we hurried home - as much as one can hurry when you are having contractions 2 minutes apart and are 10 months pregnant.

As soon as we walked in the house I was yelling "We're going now, I don't care what you think" and other stuff like that, only probably more profane. Definitely more profane. I don't remember whether we had a bag packed or anything, we just left. During the drive, I was begging for an epidural. I'm not sure how I thought I was getting an epidural in the car, but it seemed pretty urgent. I was also convinced that I was going to NOT EVER teach Lamaze again . . . because of the epidural I was begging for in the car.

At the hospital, I got dropped off at the door while the car was parked by BigD. We made our way to labor and delivery and the first words out of my mouth were "you better check me."
Lady "Well, m'am, I can't check you. What's your name?" I guess BigD gave them that info, because all I said was "You better check me." When I got to a bed I just laid across it and told them to check me. The nurse took my blood pressure - which by the way was fine. I was quiet and appeared to be listening to her spiel. I signed anything she put in front of me. Except for some reason, I refused to sign permission to circumsize. We had no idea if BigB was going to have a sister or a brother, so for some labor-related reasoning exercise, it made perfect sense that I not sign that permission.

In a moment of clarity I said "Look, all this is great, but you really better check me." And she did. And her eyes got real big, and she hit the call button and said "I need some help." She looked at me and said "Oh, you've got a way to go. Keep breathing." That is what her mouth said. Her face said "Well, hello....we're getting ready to have a baby."
Which of course, I had already told her - many times. Blur, blur, blur....people, people, people....blow, blow, blow. By the way, all that blowing they tell you to do - and I am totally guilty of having told people for many years that blowing counteracts the urge to push - anyway, all that blowing? It does NOTHING regarding the urge to push. When there is a 9 pound baby headed out of close quarters, there aren't a lot of options. (Right now, I could go into the physiology of this...but that part is a part I am editing.)

I then entered the bargaining phase. I looked at those nurses - and there were MANY of them in there (by now, I'm thinking it was about 1:15 am. For reference, we were eating dinner at 6ish, with not a sign of labor, we left our driveway at 12:30.) anyway - regardless of the time, I looked at those nurses and said - perhaps yelled - "I KNOW you can deliver this baby." RN: "No, honey, we can't." ME: No, I KNOW you can - you cannot trick me. I know it." That went on for a while. Then I started begging some more ME: Get someone in here to deliver the baby. Is there a resident here?" RN: The resident is in a C-section. Keep blowing." Me: Find somebody, the baby is coming now. RN: Keep blowing, bleh, bleh, bleh. Me: "Husband of mine, get down there, no one around here is going to deliver the baby, so you will have to do it. Get down there." He looked a bit startled, so I said "I can talk you through it, let's go." I have never had a clearer moment in my life - I was going to deliver the baby - no questions asked. You have never seen people move as fast in your life as those nurses did when DAD-delivering-the-baby became an option. Next voice I hear is unknown male: " I'm Dr. D. and even though I'm not your doctor, it looks like I am going to deliver your baby. There are a few things I'd like to talk to you about before..." Me: "No talking, I'm pushing." Dr D: "Have we called anesthesia? (Seriously....I mean really? Anesthesia? What, more people to watch?) Well, I just need to let you know...." Me: "I honestly don't care who you are, I'm pushing this baby out right now, and we're not waiting for anybody." The room was full of people yelling the word BLOW BLOW BLOW - it sounded awful, and all that yelling did not make me blow. Then, beautiful music...."Let her push, I'm here." and MY doctor - or the doctor on call from my practice, I had actually never seen him either - walked in, got himself a gown and gloves,

....hello... baby .... GIRL!

It was awesome. I felt like superwoman. OK, I WAS Superwoman. Flooded with hormones, I felt like Champion of the Universe. If we could bottle that...we'd have a big problem, because we'd have a whole bunch of women trying to run the world at the same time. The Sophisticate herself looked like she had been scrubbed with a Brillo pad. And she had here eyes squished closed and kept them that way for about 3 weeks.

The next day we bought brother up to see the baby. He thought she was fine, and was relatively willing to have his picture made with her - but mostly he was fascinated with the way the hospital bed moved. He had a great afternoon pushing buttons on the bed.

And we went home on the day her induction was scheduled. And the daffodils were blooming. And this year, though not in FULL bloom, I see yellow in the daffodils. And The Sophisticate remains my most special Valentine.

Beautiful, Beautiful Boy

WEDDING RAIN PLAN

Rule #1 for a wedding planner: ALWAYS have a rain plan. A TENT is a rain plan. An inside option is a rain plan. Umbrellas are NOT enough for a rain plan.

The ONLY time people are forced to stand en masse in a drenching downpour is a funeral. Not a wedding.

Since I am a wedding PLANNER, my excuse to watch the latest Bachelor TV wedding affair - Jason and Molly's downpour - is RESEARCH. Research in what NOT to do.

The last time I watched the Bachelor was when Trista and Ryan had their pink wedding extravaganza, which I think was about 10 years ago.

I mean, other than the Jake and Vienna train-wreck, which I pretended NOT to watch, but accidentally got sucked into that vortex of weekly jaw-dropping cliche.

I maintained blog- silence about Vienna and her antics and conniving, and her bad hair, and shameless manipulation, and overt pushiness... But this wedding-in-a-hurricane? It's caused me to break my Bachelor-Silence.

The LUCKY and HAPPY COUPLE "Jason and Molly, Everyone!" Is Jason saying "Awesome, we are married!" or more likely "Awesome, we can go inside now."? Molly appears to be apologizing to her guests who have bravely sat in a storm. Soaked - his sad little sideways boutenierre, her high dollar coiffure and make-up job, the upholstered benches, and every guest who did not get up and leave the storm site. Just guessing here, but most brides and grooms would have been happier getting married in a stairwell.

The glass vases, lining the aisle, contain a LOT of water from the downpour. (No flowers or candles in there, because...it's raining.) Quarts of water. Take that local weather reporters - instead of inches of rain, it rained in quarts and gallons. And a Monique Lhuillier couture wedding gown mopping it up.

Some of the lush upholstered benches had to be covered in the blue tarps you get from Home Depot or Wal-Mart. Thus, the guests who DID sit in the storm were sitting on plastic in puddles of water.

Chris Harrison said cheerfully (at first, cheerfully, later ruefully), "This wedding is going on rain or shine." There was never any shine. A Photoshopped rainbow did NOT create the illusion that the sun did shine. Cliche. Accented with the song. More cliche.

Also, no WIND plan. They poor officiant could barely control his script, much less make himself heard over the wind and the rain. Poor pitiful Molly trying to say her heartfelt 'self-composed' vows with her hairsprayed hair whipping around all over her face. Really? Was that necessary?

Long ago I had a bride who discovered about 10 minutes before her wedding was to start that she had forgotten to bring the veil to the church. The veil was still at her apartment, which was 45 minutes away in great traffic. One way. So, delay wedding start by roughly an hour +++. I gently suggested that she just get married without the veil, since the chapel was already full of her guests. Not to be, my friends. She said, "I paid $27 to rent that veil, and I'll be damned if I walk down the aisle without it." So, the organist took a break, her guests got up and went outside and chatted, she went outside on the balcony overlooking the courtyard where her guests were enjoying the warm spring day, and waved to them while she took a smoke break, and her cousin retrieved the rented veil. An hour later we convened the wedding, which took about 12 minutes, rented veil and all. And then everyone went back outside for more chatting and smoking.

This Molly-and-Jason- tropical-storm-theme wedding felt like that. "We (we being ABC) sold all this advertising and got all this product placement, and we'll be damned if we aren't going ahead with our outdoor garden-of-eden wedding, wind, rain, cold temperatures and all." There must have been some huge cancellation clause in those contracts. HUGE.

Certainly all those wedding vendors and planners and suppliers who had their wedding services featured in this $$$ wedding-dream-chance of a lifetime to wallow in excess, were especially thrilled to see their products highlighted. . . in a MONSOON.

I had to cheer for the wedding planner, who clearly demanded the right to say - thus salvage her career - "I would have had a rain plan, and we would be warm and dry inside right now." I guess she threatened to sue, since who in the world would hire a planner who did not have a RAIN PLAN?

For clarity - umbrellas are not a rain plan. Cheap, clear umbrellas are a last-minute faux rain plan. Who got the job of running out and purchasing a case of cheap and not sturdy, clear (not black) umbrellas? The wind had no problem destroying them. Cartoonishly upside down umbrellas, drenching pouring rain, epic wind, and clearly cold temps - as most of the guys were coatless, and most of the women were wearing men's suit jackets. The new pashmina - your husband's coat. Or maybe it's the old pashmina.

QUESTION - how long between Molly and Jason's monsoon-wedding and the reception? Since EVERYONE had to go home and get into dry clothes. Also dry hair and new make-up. Also new and dry everything. Did they have a back-up wedding dress? A dry one?

So - to assure anyone who wonders - I always have a rain plan.

Also a HOT plan . . .

A MUD plan, for sure! Also wind.

A COLD plan , ice, snow, no power, caterer gets sick, florist miscounts but finds missing bouquet plan . . .

Parking plans, for sure.

Band locks equipment in a garage and the power goes out but comes back on in time plan.

Don't mess up the make-up plan, for sure! (It's also called a STRAW.)

We have plan A, plan B, and plan C for every single item.

Also 'PLAN Z' which is obviously the one we use.

Does your baby sleep all night?

The BIG question for parents is "when is the baby going to sleep all night?" If you are a blog-reader, there are lots of headlines in the blogosphere: "Baby sleeps all night" - until you read on a little bit to find that sleeping all night meant that the baby slept from 1 a.m til 5 a.m. I have heard that there are babies who go drift into blissful sleep at 7pm, and greet mom cooing and grinning at 7am. The MYTHICAL babies.

In another life of mine, I was even the EXPERT on when babies slept all night. The title of one article was "Putting the baby on snooze control," which makes it sound like "sleeping all night" is something that the PARENTS have control over, some magic button to push, an intricate plan, magic diet, specific blanket, baby sleeps IN a crib in her own room, baby sleeps in the room with parents, in the bed with parents, at grandmother's house, in a hammock in the jungle, lulled to sleep by a song and dance routine or voodoo chant. I am personally acquainted with all of those. They are the basis of fallacy number two - that parents can somehow make a child sleep all night.

Fallacy number ONE is that the child is going to sleep all night. EVER.

The question of course is not so much about when the BABY is going to sleep all night as when are the PARENTS going to sleep . . . at all? I am still asking that question.

Like most parents of very young children, I got all into the "sleeping all night" question. All of our children had their own issues. The Sophisticate had recurrent ear infections, which pretty much meant we never slept all night. Our Young Son, being last in a line of demanding children went to bed with ease with the rest of the gang about 7-7:30. He took a nap until 10, then got up to play with his devoted parents for an hour. He figured out that if he wanted ANY one-on-one time he'd have to snatch it - so he woke up from a night nap at 10 pm, had a solid hour of riotous fun from 10 until 11, while the rest of them were asleep. It worked well for us - he got his need for attention met, and I didn't have to try to go back to sleep. Don't even ASK if I adhered to a formula laid out by some published expert. They all slept in the bed with us, nursing at will, until they were too old to do that. Then they began just roaming in and out through the night. It was a rare morning that I didn't wake up to find a child in the bed, and sometimes another child on the floor beside us. That kept on until maybe last year.

When I was an authoritative mother of very young children , it never occurred to me that when my youngest child was 17 I would still be asking the question "When will the baby sleep all night?" aka "When will I ever sleep all night again?"

Notice there are no babies there. For reference: adjoining our room is another room with a bed. We use it for overflow, for sick people who need to be closeby, and for pets. The following exemplary incidents all happened in 2010 - thus the past 6 weeks - the nights all run together so these are in no particular order, but they all happened in 2010.

Sleeping all night - woodland creatures in the house edition:

Pretty Pretty Princess dashes into our room well after midnight, clutching her pillow "There is a chipmunk in my room and I am sleeping up here." We put the cat into her room, closed the door, and hoped for the best. No one else ever saw the chipmunk and the cat did not enjoy her night alone in PPP's room. She left us a 'note' to let us know.

A few weeks later, at about 5 am, BigB blasted in to our room "There's a full on rat's nest in my closet. I can hear them in there." Me: When was the last time you looked in your closet? Rats don't build huge closet nests in an hour or two." BigB: "I don't know, but what should I do?" Me: "Close the doors, put rubber band on the doorknobs, and we will deal with it in the morning." Someone mumbled "I think it IS morning." BigB: I can't sleep with rats in my closet. We have to deal with this NOW." Me: "Sleep in that bed right there - the sick bed. Put a towel under your door." He actually brought the cat in his room, put his earbuds in to mask the terrible noise of rat-scratching, and drifted off to sleep. He woke up to find the cat tossing a tiny mouse around. So much for the full on rats' nest. I did however spend at least an hour worrying about how bad our house was that there were rats nests in the closet. It's bad.

Something small and scratchy lives in the wall behind my head. Don't ask, I'm not asking and I try not to think about it. Let's just say that there was at least one night this week that a mother of teeny tiny woodland animals was having a bad night herself, because they were squeaking and scratching in my walls ALL NIGHT LONG.

Sick edition:

Our Young Son had a gastro-intestinal viral infection. He threw up, wretchedly for about 6 hours straight, quickly becoming faint and dehydrated. He slept in the sick room, and thrashed around all night in delirium and bad dreams, and made a lot of trips to the bathroom. We all slept well that night. Not.

Next night, when the sick bedroom door opened at 2:45 a.m., my question was "Who's throwing up?" It was PPP. An hour later, after I had drifted back to sleep, she crept in to ask for Zofran or something to make her STOP, because she had to go to class in 5 hours. Right. So, I got up and got the medicine. She did NOT sleep in the sick bedroom, but she did open the door every single time she threw up - which was a lot. So much for sleep.

Next night, Our Young Son - again. For him a 24 hour virus lasts for a lot of days.

We have been playing a lot of Scrabble, also Words with Friends.

Semi-grown children go 'out' at night.

I sleep easier when I know that all who are supposed to be here are under my roof. Call me crazy, but it's just the way it is. When people arrive home, they check in with me. Even if I am sound asleep in my bed. In the way middle of the night. Pretty much that takes care of Thursday, Friday and Saturday night every week. From 11:30 until the last stray reveler rolls in...."Mom, I'm home." Sweetest words to this mom's ears.

BigB is a night owl. The Sophisticate has recently landed here for a brief stay in between apartments. When she was getting up and getting ready for work one morning this week, BigB was rolling in from his big night out. Who slept THAT night?

PPP and the hiccups. That was funny. It was also at 2am. PPP standing and chatting, sort of giggly, then hiccups. More giggling, more hiccups. And she thought I was surprised.

Study-related issues:

For the last few years, PPP had a habit of studying until she simply could not study any more. Then she just gets up - leaving the books, notes, notebooks, computers in place on the bed, and coming to climb in bed with me when her daddy was traveling. So, study til 2 am, and then come climb in bed with mom. This year, BigD isn't traveling, so she just flies through to brush her teeth and tell me she's going to bed.

We do love to watch Sex and the City - preferably in my bed. It's a good thing that BigD likes to watch basketball. We study SATC, I guess. Oh - SJP - I couldn't help but wonder if your baby daughters are sleeping through the night yet.

It's not unusual for me to be reading/snoozing when someone comes in to ask a question like "How do you say 'Feel asleep in class... in Spanish'" or "how do you translate the subjunctive.....?" or "How do I say "stayed up all night translating the Aeneid in Latin?"

Miscellaneous:

SOMEBODY has a habit of nudging the thermostat. Downstairs is a solid 15 degrees cooler than upstairs. Translation, if they are cool, I am sweating. I wake up sweating a LOT. Also with leg cramps. And I am not even pregnant. When are those going away?

Me and my cat - she likes to join me for a snuggle. BigD doesn't like it so much, so she hides until there is a moment of quiet, then creeps in. If she get's thirsty, she likes to help herself to a drink from my water glass. Sometimes - as in EVERY NIGHT - she knocks the whole glass of water over - on me. Whatever. I feel her pain. There's nothing like being thirsty in the middle of the night.

BigB came creeping quietly in about 4:30am to tell us "someone just opened our back gate?" When there was no response, he asked again - louder. Me: " Did you look out the window? That's a starting place. " We heard nothing more about that -but I stayed awake for a while to make sure that no one was going to break in the back door, since someone had opened the gate into the backyard. Wonder what that was about. Other than waking me up.

Bonus Boy - we never know when he's coming and we never know when he's leaving. He knows where the sheets are though - my closet - and if he gets here and needs some he just rolls right in and gets some sheets, pillows, blankets - whatever. He's not silent.

One night our Young Son brought me a milkshake -late - I spilled it all over the bed. BigD was already asleep. I did not wake him up to change the sheets. I slept with the cloying smell of chocolate. Sort of slept. I kept waking up all night wondering what was sticky and sweet- smelling.

BigD snores. LOUD. That is the end of the discussion about sleeping all night.

Dog LOST Dog Found

When we went to bed Friday night, Emma was missing. We have two dogs, Emma, a standard poodle, and a yellow labrador retriever... Buckshot. Poodle - female: lab - male = she should be birthing highly lucrative Labradoodles, right? INCORRECT. Emma the poodle and Buckshot the Lab, have NEVER done the deed. Believe me, we have done everything to enhance the experience. The one who cannot figure it out is Buckshot, the lab. Emma is a freakin' genius.

Early on, Emma figured out how to open a door handle that was a lever. THEN she figured out - painstakingly - how to open a door knob. I have watched her do it. I could literally leave her here to open the door for a repairman, but she can't write a check. She can use her nose to flip up a gate latch, she can smush herself flat and get under any fence. Electric fence? not so terribly shocking to her. She can hurdle over a three foot barrier and wiggle through a six inch gap. In short, she does whatever she feels like.

She's nothing if not stylish. She hates collars, but is willing to wear a hot pink bandana and sunglasses. And when BigD rubs her on her little skinny tummy, she pees. Friday night, she was nowhere to be found.

Now...this is the part where I am supposed to talk about how our precious dog is like one of our children, and I don't know how I am going to break the news to the children, and how it's all going to be about life lessons, and ....

OK, not so much. Emma IS most definitely a part of our family, but the story didn't go down as scripted a la Lifetime. The home-dwelling big children spent hours IN THE CAR driving around looking for the dog - in the gutter - hoping to make sure she wasn't - you know - lying in the street. They were way more worried about telling ME that she was lying in the gutter than they were about finding her there.

Our Young Son put Buckshot on a leash and took him for a walk to see if he could beckon Emma from someone's backyard.

YS: OK, Buck, let's find Emma.

Buck: Great idea, another walk tonight!

YS: Find Emma, Buck. Where's Emma?

Buck: OH, look, garbage bags full of leaves. I like to lift my leg and innocculate every single bag of leaves I see. This could be a loooooonng walk, bud.

YS: Buck, come on, we're looking for Emma. Call her. Tell her to come home.

Buck: I am busy peeing on every single object in sight.

At 1 AM I got a direct report from Pretty Pretty Princess and BigB that there was no sight of Emma, living or dead, healthy or injured. They'd been driving around in the car for at least and half an hour. Probably drinking beer. ROOT BEER, I meant to say.

Buckshot is Emma's COMPANION, her LIFE PARTNER. She is his DOMINATRIX. Buck went calmly to bed in his kitchen crate - until we all went to bed. Then we heard this lonesome 'woof'...pause 30 seconds .... 'woof' -Translation from dog language "Hey, in here, in the dark kitchen! Emma is not in here, and if she doesn't have to go to bed now, then I don't have to, so come open the damn door." Point taken.

This morning, this is where the children take markers and poster board and put signs up all over the neighborhood, right? Not so much. PPP sleeping. BigB also sleeping. Early on, our Young Son had taken another drive, no Emma. We called the Emergency Vet - no black poodle. Casually, I said - "What about Craig's list?" Within about 45 seconds our Young Son says...."Yep, here it is..."

Craig's list: Found - very mellow black dog. Respond to identify. Cannot keep"

No kidding, if only you knew the depths of meaning in the phrase 'cannot keep'. When she wants out, she gets out. Also - right here - very mellow - not words I have ever used to identify Emma, but BLACK works.

So, I emailed back "We have lost our black poodle, messy cut, female, tall but not heavy."

Their response - "Not sure this is your dog - attached are pictures."

Indeed, it was our dog. Looking pretty raggedy after her night on the town. Our Young Son took over, got the address and went over to pick her up. They brought her out on a leash - and our Young Son describes it "She kind of pranced up to me...bye y'all, thanks for having me over to spend the night, see you another time. She spent the night with Huskies."

She came dashing into the house, excited to see what had happened while she was gone! NOW we are supposed to be all about the sweet reunion scene in which the children are fulfilled and delighted and we are all remorseful about how we ever let her get out in the first place and without a collar. Sorry - most still sleeping.

We didn't LET her get out - she does whatever she feels like. If she wants out, she finds a way out. She HATES collars and will soon wriggle out of the one that PPP and our Young Son bought for her today, in their wave of responsible pet ownership. Along with the little blue tag.

Someday a valiant soul will call us and tell us sadly that they found a collar with tag, but no dog. The DOG will be on the couch, snoozing, having shed her collar during another wild outing. Bless our sweet neighbors who tolerate her waywardness and just bring her home when she tries to join them on a walk.

Back to the homecoming. Emma had spent the night in a home with other dogs. Thus, she did not smell right to her LIFE PARTNER Buckshot. He tried to restore her proper smell. She didn't like it. Joyful reunion? Snarling and growling actually.

Young Son: I hope he doesn't pee on her to make her smell right.

We think Buckshot did not pee on Emma (though that IS his technique for proper odor restoration when she goes to her hair stylist), however she DID turn on her Dominatrix mode with her own unique "I love you and you are mine" misconception of dog-mating that she uses to subdue the lab who weighs twice as much as she does. She has a woefully misplaced concept of dog-mating. Thus, no labra-doodle$.

Emma is absolutely the dog of our Young Son's childhood. I got her - from what I now realize was a PUPPY MILL - naivete at its best - in the spring of a particularly difficult second grade year for our YS. Not difficult because he struggled with the work, but difficult because he finished the whole week's worth of work by lunch on Monday. So he was bored. Harry Potter I and II in alternating weeks while the rest of his class was 'doing work.'

I brought Emma home on impulse - how one ends up impulsively in a trailer at a puppy-mill farm in Mississippi is probably another story. I picked her up and she sat on my hip like a 2 year old. I was hooked, since my baby was no longer a two-year old. Emma and YS love each other. She has a tendency to NIP when challenged - and her favorite food is a whole loaf of bread. Thus, the day The Sophisticate tried to retrieve a whole loaf of bread from the floor, Emma NIPPED - OK, she might have sort of bitten, and it left a bruise. SMALL bruise. In short, she's hard headed. Emma is.

But she's our hard headed nutsy dog. I'm not ready for the dog of our Young Son's childhood to be just a bunch of stories. I want her in the crate at night with our dumb-as-a-brick Lab.

Because SHE'S the only one who can manage him.

Bird of paradise

The question is...when you are the mother of the groom, do you REALLY have to be quiet, wear beige and do as you're told? Answer....Let's ask my buddy Molly, who has done it with fire and style.

Molly is like a Bird of Paradise - that remarkable unfolding flower. The more she opens up, the more color and passion you see. And she doesn't hesitate to share that fire.

Molly is ALL about the PEOPLE. That right there makes a good hostess. Also a good mother, sister, wife...and for me, friend.

A few years ago I met Molly and her daughter -remarkably named Molly - when young Molly got married. I helped them plan her late spring wedding. It was a fine affair, and fun was had by all. Molly remembers that there was an air conditioning problem that day - and a vivid memory we share is that my husband worked so hard that his dress shirt was soaked with sweat. Also, our Young Son was about 10, and worked as hard as his Dad. I pray that's not the most vivid memory of that wedding day....just the most vivid memory she shares with me. Not only was it a beautiful day, and a lovely gathering, but the planning was fun. I really love both Mollies.

Molly has one daughter and two sons.( And someone else in that picture. I can still count.) And what was the likelihood of TWO of her children, neither natives of my hometown, marrying here? Slim.

Young Molly did what brides do... babies, then she moved out of town, so.... our paths not to cross again, perhaps? Probable by statistics.

Not so, my friend. Her son found himself a local bride, and Molly called in the early stages of planning HER party. Some call it a Rehearsal Dinner - but in Molly's case, we will call it wedding-eve love-bash. Plus. Plus + plus.

Molly knows exactly what she wants when she sees it. So, we investigated a lot of places...but she didn't see 'it'. Then we found it, but it didn't look right. She wanted fall colors, lamb chops, no visible beer bottles, and no gourds or pumpkins. She repeatedly told me "You know what I want." Yes, indeed I did.

When I asked her if she wanted some music, she said "There'll be so many people talking . . . We don't need music. We have each other."

How then can one plan a party when someone is in one town and the party is in another? Good question. E-mail. Telephone. Text. Starbucks. Trust.

Sample monthly exchange, June through October:
Molly: I haven't heard from you. Are we OK?
Me: We're good! How do you feel?
Molly: I'm fine if you're fine.
Me: We're in great shape.
Molly:No gourds, no pumpkins.
Me: Right, no gourds, no pumpkins.

So we had a party. I did my part which was the rich fall colors, no pumpkins, no gourds, lambchops and no visible beer bottles. She did her part which was PEOPLE. Everytime I looked up, I saw her at a table leaned over and talking to someone. I looked up later, and saw her at another table, then another, and another. The music of conversation and laughter carried the evening.

These things make her a genuine southern hostess (I guess it could be a non-southern hostess, but with a south-Mississippi home, and a deep allegiance to Ole Miss, let the 'southern' stand):

She greeted each guest at each table and had a conversation. Not a passing hello, a conversation.

She did NOT make strangers sit together. Tables were friends and family.

Molly made sure that her guests had fun, but had fun left for the next day - the wedding.

She went back to the kitchen to meet the caterers and servers and thanked each of them.

It was a family party, and everyone had a responsibility, everyone. It was NOT "The Molly Show." That takes some planning, and most of all, confidence in those people you know the best. Grace in action. Molly in action.

She thanked the bartender for the 'no-visible-beer-bottle' thing.

She did not make her young granddaughter come to the wedding eve party, or for that matter walk down the aisle the next day.

More important that baby-girl's memories of the night were the hazy, fond memories of a little girl at a really crazy party, than that she was shown-off in her total adorableness, which speaks for itself.

Molly made sure our Young Son ate. She let her son take home some left-overs.

She told every single guest good-bye as they left. Hugged most. Even if she didn't know them.

She served fried oysters, because you know...they're south Mississippi oyster-types. Case closed.

If you want to have a party - take some pointers from Molly. It's all about the people. A wedding eve love-bash it was. With fried oysters and a bird of paradise.

Home-style Wedding Love

The love story that continues to inspire is the love story of families. Family love stories yield tales told and retold, at the next family wedding, around the Thanksgiving table, as the Christmas decorations are hung, and even sometimes, out of the blue, when you just walk into the kitchen and remember THAT NIGHT.

As I went through the invitations for the luscious winter wedding that's just around the corner, I was wondering who in the WORLD are . . . Well, what do you know, it's my lovely JUNE bride, only now...Mr. and Mrs.

This time last year we were deep in the process of ordering her wedding dress - which turned out to be a marathon road trip for MOB and me. It was awesome - 15 hours in the car talking, and shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue. What's not to like? Does anybody want to take a trip to buy a wedding dress? With me as your guide? Because I am FIERCE at that. Not kidding.

My June bride honored her parents by wanting nothing more than a wedding reception at her home. The first question her father asked me when we commenced planning 10 months out was "Are you seriously thinking we can put 300 people in my backyard?" Actually, 350ish, but who's counting?

So this gracious family opened their HOME to their guests - every single guest. THAT's a love story worth talking about.

This Mom is a meticulous homemaker and planner. She is a gracious hostess who loves to have her friends in her home. She is organized and thorough in ways I could only dream about. She thinks about things from so many angles that it could make me dizzy. COULD make me dizzy. Did not ACTUALLY make me dizzy. But she let me help her. What an honor! No pressure, either.

DAD is also incredibly meticulous and cautious and generous. He made sure we had plans A, B and C - and then a backup plan for each. (Note that he is WEARING a shirt, yet has another shirt in his hand... always a backup) He made me stretch my thinking in novel and often alarming ways. He also made fresh pesto from home-grown basil in the fall, froze and pulled it out to serve at the wedding. Seriously - a menu item was Dad's pesto on bruschetta.

I've done a lot of weddings, so FIRSTS are hard to come by - but that was a first. I dream about that pesto. I crave that pesto. I want that pesto....

SO....August, September...December -
buy the dress.....plan, plan, ...just so you know, by this point in the planning, I already knew where the Diet Cokes are kept, AND even more critical, this gracious family ALWAYS has limes cut for me, since - you know - what's a Diet Coke without a real lime?

January....host a party for another wedding. NO. BIG. DEAL.

April and May - - the invitation-frenzy in which the list is revisited as if it were a new and different document... JUNE wedding.

Plan, plan, replan, unplan, de-plan, overplan. Mother was concerned that I had the plans and the contacts and I might possibly get hit by a bus, and the wedding would somehow not come together. I actually have my own plans B and C, just for the bus-type contingency , but also, luckily did NOT get killed by a bus.

AND the week is here, when one must essentially turn a home into a country club/dormitory/gift shop/commercial kitchen/parking lot. Also, continue to live there. Not much to ask.

Since we were into CONTINGENCY plans, we had a tent wedged into the backyard. Not actually wedged, just fit into every available square inch. In case it rained that day.

Rehearsal night brings a drastic thunderstorm, along with a loss of power. All over town. Thunderstorm with high winds. NOT. A. PROB. LEM. We have a contingency plan, called a TENT. Often after a thunderstorm we will get a little cool down. Outside wedding reception + cool down = a good thing in my mind.

THIS night, the thunderstorm was not just a little summer affair, it was huge, long, loud, windy and damaging. Strong enough to possibly blow a tent into a pool, and then pile the tables and chairs all over it. The power out all over the city. When the power is out in the summer, it's not JUST the lights, it's the air conditioning. Also the fans.

Oh, yeah. Tent in the pool. Trees in the street. We would need a plan for that. Our Young Son had one.

BUT the tent was NOT in the pool! Morning dawned bright and clear and clean and this mom and dad had been up since REALLY early out in the yard picking up the trash from the storm, and neighbors stopped by to help! Neighbor love.

It got a little muddy - does anyone but me remember the mud? And the plywood we used to cover the walkway. Also, that Dad obsessively watched out the kitchen window to insure that no tire ruts were etched into the mud along the street in the front yard? Anybody? I remember that part, because we had to move a lot of cars. Problem solved by a line of luminaria and valet parking.

I love the moments where so much lies ahead. It's a midsummer evening ripe with possibilities, antcipation of family and friends, heavy with memories for the taking.

Everybody ready? Sun shining, photos taken....and, at last ....time to go to the church

Is it just me, but is that sort of like the very first time you put your baby in the carseat? When it takes a LOT of hands, and a lot of thought, and it's such a CAREFUL process.

And suddenly, it's a party! Candles, music, laughing, hugging, dancing, chatter.

I imagine there were a few people who were taking pointers for their OWN upcoming wedding. There is almost ALWAYS someone who falls in love at a wedding. Someone who meets someone REALLY cute, who sees someone and a conversation starts....

I love the part where the parents - the hosts - do their hosting thing. This family greeted and hugged and danced and talked and hugged more.

Father of the bride? took the microphone from the band and said a blessing for the marriage and the food. In the tent in his backyard.

Mother of the bride? Danced with her brother like nobody's business. They were gracious and cordial and gave their guests the run of the house, the yard, the driveway,the shower, the patio, anywhere and everywhere. They LITERALLY opened their home to their guests - that's a LOT of LOVE.

High school friends - yep, gathered together in the living room for a picture, just like this group of girls has done on so many occasions. If nothing else, when you graduate from THIS girls school, you know how to line up as a group and get a photo. They know who is tall and stands in the back and how to huddle in so everyone is in the picture. This pose looks a lot like their Kindergarten class photo. Not so much. Nobody was wearing a silk dress and heels in Kindergarten.

Then, it's over as fast as a thunderstorm and with as much energy expended. It took 9 months to plan, we were about 3 deep on back-up plans and contingency plans on EVERY. SINGLE. FACET. It took about 16 hours to set up, and it takes about 30 minutes to break down on the night of the party - with another 3 hours to follow the next day or two. Does anybody know that math on that equation?

I do - the answer is INFINITY. Always. Forever. As well-worn as phrase is, this wedding journey was about 'making memories' in the grandest way.

No matter what happens at that kitchen island, it will ALWAYS be the place where the beautiful antipasto bar was.

No matter how much WORK is done on the desk in the study, the definitive picture of the study is a wedding day picture, and the definitive use of the desk is the day it was turned into a bar.

There was the whole episode of the groomsmen who left his phone on the bus....he thought...the bus company was called, located the phone on the floor of the bus, and we had a cab bring it to the reception. Our Young Son was the point person on that, waiting in the side yard with the valet parking guys to pay the cabdriver, retrieve the phone and find the guy it belonged to. And yes, that worked out perfectly, as if it had been choreographed since March. (Don't tell, but actually I have had to do just that thing before-only we were looking for a person, so it was choreographed 4 years ago, but the illusion of spontaneous, on-the-fly improvisation works well for me.

Those very cool greenish-bluish bottles are vintage bottles, from Mom's own collection. Mom's bottles - they are on the kitchen table now, but remember that we used them at the wedding? Where did we get THAT MANY bottles? That, my friends, is HOME-STYLE wedding.

As many times as you look at a single picture, it calls up a story. June bride's cousin was married a few weeks later, thus memories to cherish and build on. Forever, cousins married that hot summer, just weeks apart.

Hey, Brother, who by the way is a champ at tying the elusive perfect bow tie ...."do you remember the night after the wedding when the back of your truck was filled with wedding trash bags, and the boys drove around til they found a dumpster behind some grocery store? Two trips! And you didn't even have to haul the trash away.....who did? Oh, yeah, those two guys."

Remember the BAND!!!! It was awesome, because the people from the band were long time church friends, so they not only entertained, but sat at the kitchen table, had their own dinner and wedding visits. Church family love.

Stories around the Thanksgiving table? Tablecloths?"Remember that we had plans for a sheer white overlay over the burlap cloths at the wedding, to make it more wedding-ish? Remember that we pulled every single white overlay, because the plain burlap was just so...RIGHT? Did we PLAN that?"

Christmas lights? "Remember all the twinkly lights that night? It looked like the Magic Kingdom. It WAS the Magic Kingdom" Love stories every one.

Family dinner in the dining room? Remember the wedding cake? The orchids in the chandelier? And feeding each other the cake? Carrot cake, cream cheese icing.

SO....back to the contingency plans. We DID have a plan B and a plan C. It was a hot summer night after a big storm. All over the city the power was out. At each of the other locations we considered for this wedding - country clubs and public venues were our PLAN B - the power was out. The weddings that took place at those locations - our plans B and C - took place in the dark. Also the HEAT. Club food was prepared in the dark, without the benefit of refrigeration or stoves. If we had gone with Plan B, the country club plan, we would have been in a mess. As with most things, there's no place like home.

Home is where the love is.

P.S. The pictures. Yes, the really, really clear and awesome pictures - courtesy of Mr. Zanone. The others - Facebook snags, my little P+S, etc.