As I ranted to my bff about the trauma (more on this later) in the wedding chapter of my life, I caught a glimpse of a truck pulling slowly up to the For Sale sign in my yard. As I paused by the window watching and ranting away, my subconscious took over. The door of the truck opened and for a splint second I thought it was the ex who stepped out gingerly maneuvering around the puddle of water left by the morning’s deluge of rain.

As one part of my brain focused on telling bff just how very angry I was another part of my brain thought, "Oh, I guess it’s ex bringing Bud home to me because he is so sick." It took several seconds for me to realize that this was not the case. Bud is 18 as he so very often reminds me, and would drive himself home. Bud is old enough to vote and to fight for our country.

Isn't it interesting that a mother never outgrows that compulsion to keep one portion of her overloaded brain devoted to the well being of her children?
Often during those late night feedings I would wonder what it would feel like when they were older and able to communicate their hurts, fears and desires. As I stared down at those sweet, milky faces I tried to imagine a time, somewhere in the future, when my children were no longer completely dependent of me for their very life. Life then, I thought would be free from worry. I could relax in the knowledge that all grown up, they could take care of themselves.

I didn’t know that you never, ever stop worrying about your children. That there will never, ever be a moment in your life when some part of you isn’t listening for their cry.

I didn’t know that I would secretly wish that my huge 18 year old, feverish and achy from a virus, were here with me, under my watchful mommy’s eye instead of at his father’s house. Rational thought would be that he is being well taken care of but this mommy and probably others, takes a certain pride in the irrationality of our thought processes.

And what was I ranting about you wonder? It was just the mommy bear in me rising up to defend another little cub. Let’s not focus on the fact that she is 22 and does an outstanding job of standing up for herself.

Shortie went to the ATL to pick up her wedding dress. Original plans for the day had fallen through and the store had called a few days ago letting us know that the dress was in. As it was going to be a quick trip with no trying on of the dress, she asked if I minded if she a 2 of her friends made the trip today instead of on Sunday afternoon as we had planned.

Of course I don’t mind I told her. Have fun with your friends. What could go wrong?

When she called to tell me that it was the wrong dress I first thought that they had called the wrong bride. No such luck…the wrong dress had been ordered.
As the volume of her voice rose, the protective, angry, mommy of the bride beast rose up in me with a power and a fury that surprised even me.

I demanded that she return to the store and put me on the phone with the owner.
When that didn’t work, I demanded that she hand the phone to her friend Emily, whom I so admire for her spunky take no prisoners attitude in the face of adversity.
When that didn’t work, I sputtered the same demands over and over.
When that didn’t work I demanded that she give me the cell phone number that the owner had given her.

I think that hearing the anger in my voice and the fact that I was becoming totally incoherent caused the teary giggles I heard.

My children have seen me lose my temper far, far too many times but they have very rarely seen me become confrontational and aggressive. I just don’t have it in me.


Well, that’s what we used to think.


I dialed-no poked-no stabbed-the number in and introduced myself as the mother of the hysterical child in the parking lot. The voice that came from my mouth sounded suspiciously like a demon possessed, head spinning, green vomit spewing Linda Blair.

Well, maybe it was the voice I used with the little critter at school who rules everyone’s day with shrieks and screams when I ever so politely informed that I.was.not.going.to.listen.to.one.more.noise.from.his.mouth.

Whatever the origin of the voice…it’s very effective.

At any rate, the rude, incompetent, unapologetic, beautiful young bride hater has until Monday at 4:00 to call me with the date of arrival of the correct dress AND with her suggestions as to how she plans to compensate the most easy to get along with bride to be in the world.

Nobody, but nobody does my babies wrong!


Once the mommy, always the mommy….just saying.