Mothers and Daughters and Weddings.

Last week I had the privilege of helping a friend of mine do some wedding related errands for her wedding this next summer. We ran to a few places looking at ideas for invitations, bouncing ideas off designers and each other and getting a mock-up made to show her fiance.

We chatted about the wedding, the weather, my cute kids! and the toll planning a wedding tends to take on a mother-daughter relationship.

Her mom has ideas.
She has ideas.

I told her, "Your mom just wants to be included. She just wants to be a part of the planning and things. She wants to feel useful and valued and just be your mom.

But most of all remember; There is nothing like a wedding that literally shakes that mother-daughter relationship like this. You'll see."

I remember all too well the conversations, the disagreements, the nods and the smiles between my mom and I while planning my wedding.

My mom had ideas.
I had ideas.

I admit now five years later that I was at times a bratty bride. With my mother at least.

I was the spoiled tantrum throwing bride who said it is my party and it will be my way.

If you don't believe me, ask my dad. And my husband.

I do look back thankfully that we (J and I) did include my mom in just about all the decisions. She went with me to florist after florist. Reception site visit after site visit. Even humoring me by visiting one site that was far beyond our budget. We tasted dinners and talked wine options. We took a creative class together looking at invites and programs and placecards. Looked at photographer packages and she read every single piece of fine print for every contract we signed.

I, of course, went between being annoyed and being incredibly grateful that she didn't mind my slow indecisiveness at times.

I like to think that we had a lot of fun together. Because oh we did. We sat laughing in the car after one meeting with a florist who was way overpriced for the floral arrangements I had in mind.

While some girls take their bridesmaids wedding dress shopping with them, I took my mom. And once I had decided, we brought my dad. And afterwards we sat at the nearby Eddingtons laughing and talking and soaking up the bond we were sharing.

While we had fun and laughed a lot, there were also a few moments of tension. Where my brattiness flew into high gear. Different expectations. Different ideas.

My mother, if you knew her even for a second, you knew she was a classy woman. And I admit that sometimes my ideas were not so classy and traditional.

She was patient. And gracious. But yet we did have a few heart-to-hearts discussions over how things were going to go down.

Especially on her dime.

And then there was me.

Me, wanting to prove that I could do it all.

And of course, my mom came to the rescue when I really couldn't. When just nights before the wedding the 300-some placecards were still blank, she handwrote them all. For me. Even though it was something I said I would do, because it was after all, my wedding, but ran out of time.

Has there ever been another time where the relationship between us was so tested?

Not that I recall.

But do you know what moment between her and I that I remember most. After all the wedding preparations. The laughing and those weak moments of frustration. After all the festivities and celebrating. The joyous hugs. The clinking of glasses and dancing of dances.

I remember returning from our honeymoon, walking in her door and seeing her standing in her kitchen. Tears in her eyes. Hugging me hello. But yet goodbye all at the same time.

Welcoming me back from our trip but letting me go be a wife all in the same instant. Seeing the results, the fruits of years and years of hard work and dedication; an adult she'd raised and now given away.

I can only imagine that's one of the harder, bittersweet parts of being a mother with a daughter and a wedding.