Shopping for Wedding Dresses, Part 1

A friend at work recently told me that her childrens’ personalities revealed themselves to her from the very day they were born.  When I think about Lindsay, this statement rings true.  First of all, she came three weeks early; I had barely gotten through my Lamaze classes and never learned techniques for pushing the baby out.  I didn’t really need them though; Lindsay was so tiny, the doctor just reached in and pulled her right out- all 5 pounds.  She was ready to be born and get to the business of life immediately.  The first thing I remember about her was how alert she was and how she seemed to be taking it all in.  The other babies in the nursery would be in a drunken slumber or simply wailing, eyes shut tight, mouths contorted open; but Lindsay would be wide-awake, looking all around.  The nurses in the nursery nicknamed her “Bright Eyes”.   Even then she was the center of attention, as big as a minute but larger than life. 

I knew she would want a very special wedding dress.  I, on the other hand, never went wedding dress shopping.  I disappointed my mother by settling on a free, brand new dress that someone offered me.  Trying on dozens of white, lacy frilly dresses that all looked the same, basically, did not appeal to me.  Not so, my daughter.  She couldn’t wait to begin looking for her dress.  Remember, this is the former Miss Spinning Skirt.  She knows exactly what kind of white dress she wants: sweetheart neckline and/or strapless, A-line, lace is good and naturally, with plenty of ”bling”.  We began in Manhasset- the Miracle Mile; certainly not because I can afford the Miracle Mile; but I guess she figured we’d start at the top and work our way down. I coined a phrase for what we would live by…”She has to wear the dress; rather than the dress wearing her.”  This is not so easy to accomplish when one is a size zero and 4 foot 10.  The first place we went, we found three beautiful dresses, each more expensive than the next.  Tack on another 350, at least, for the tiara and 250 for the veil- what??- a see-through piece of material that weighs less than one-ounce is hundreds of dollars- are you KIDDING me???  Then we went to lunch- at Hildebrandt’s and then back to the Miracle Mile to a store that sells Vera Wang dresses- are you KIDDING ME???  Lindsay assured me that it was just next to the Vera Wang store, not the Vera Wang store, itself.  I wasn’t totally convinced when I saw a gown priced at $12,200.  We managed to find some dresses priced under $3,000.  (Weren’t we lucky?).  I sat next to another mother of the bride and sister of the bride and I tried to make small talk, but they totally ignored me.  I decided Manhasset is not for me.  This was only day one of bridal dress shopping. 

Day two of bridal dress shopping, we were far from the “top”.  I don’t know where Lindsay found this place, but it was quite an experience.  First, it was one of those bridal shops where you would drive by and say, “Who would buy their wedding dress there?”  Second, when you’re the only car in the parking lot, you should just leave.  As we drove into the spot, I looked at the window display.  The mannequins looked as if they were missing limbs and their heads were glued back on crooked; not to mention that the dresses on them were hideous.  I said to Lindsay, “Are you sure you want to go in here?”  She just shrugged and got out of the car.  As we opened the door to the store, I noticed a little sign that said they’ve been in business for 39 years.  “And they haven’t changed their window display in 39 years, too”, I murmured.  The saleswoman, whom Lindsay named “Felice the Wheezer” (which will be explained later), took us to the back room to start looking at the lower priced dresses.  You practically needed a machete to walk through the aisle.  We had to push through the dresses, which were all in plastic; luckily, we didn’t suffocate.  We left that room and went to the front room.  Every dress looked almost exactly the same.  We picked three to try on.  Felice did not stop talking and mentioning how tiny Lindsay was.  The problem with this store was they wouldn’t let you use the clips to hold the dress in place so you get to see what it would look like if it fit.  Most sample wedding dresses are a size 10.  Lindsay is a size 0- yes, she’s actually so tiny, she doesn’t get a number.  This also means every dress is ten times too big on her.  So Felice, the Wheezer, had to alternate holding the dress to show how it would look and then bending down to show us the bottom and the train.  Every time she got up from flaring out the bottoms of the dresses, she held onto her head and shouted, “Oh no, Oh no!  I’m so dizzy now.  I think I might pass out!  You’re giving me such a workout!”  She told me she just went to the doctor and was diagnosed with a condition.  When I asked her what it was, she said, “Emphysema.”  Thus, the name, Felice, the Wheezer.  We left and won’t be returning.

Our next appointment is scheduled back at the “top” to a place where they serve champagne to the mothers as the daughters are trying on dresses.  This is a good thing, because I will need a drink as we continue this process. 

 

Keeping Secrets and Bittersweet Happiness

The red and silver heart balloons still sit on the table, almost deflated, from a week ago today.  Beside that is the placard congratulating my daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law.  A week has gone by and it feels like much longer.  It’s been a rainy, miserable summer so far.  The weather has won in the struggle many times to control our plans, luckily, though, not the night of my daughter’s engagement.  The proposal was planned on a boat and it threatened rain all day; however, with a great stroke of luck for a young man who had no “Plan B”, the weather cooperated.  It was definitely nice enough for a sunset cruise on his boat.  As both families sat waiting, excitedly, in my backyard; back on the South Bay/Freeport Nautical Mile Inlet, he went below deck and brought out three roses- one representing the past, one the present and the third, the future- with a sparkling diamond engagement ring dangling from it on a string.  Of course, there was the traditional down on one knee proposal, as well.  And so it began.  Champagne was popped after they returned to my house and my daughter cried tears of joy as they were greeted and congratulated by all.  It was great to have my mom there, the only grandparent left.  She had been asking for only about six months when this is going to happen.  Bittersweet was the fact that the other grandpas and grandmas were not there and 1500 miles away in Florida, one of my daughter’s favorite aunts lay in a hospital bed about to die.  My daughter was due to visit her in 6 days; she wanted more than anything to show her the ring.  I knew about the surprise and sent a letter to my aunt, which was read to her by my sister-in-law a week before.  It told about the secret surprise engagement.   Strangely enough, Aunt Laura lasted all day and when her daughter, my cousin, told her Lindsay was engaged, she opened her eyes and said, “He must really love her.”  Those were her last words.  She died 9:00 the next morning.   I was not done keeping secrets from my daughter; we all decided not to tell her until Monday- let her joy last the whole weekend before she finds out.  Luckily, she was so busy and elated all weekend, she didn’t find out, even though, it was posted all over facebook. 

Finally, on Monday, when I told her, the consolation was Aunt Laura’s last words.  I told her that was Aunt Laura’s gift to her.

What is really odd was before the engagement; we decided to look at a hall for the wedding.  As we drove up to the first place, we noticed a cemetery directly across the street.  Needless to say, that hall was crossed off the list.  Was this a gentle nudge, though, to tell us how precious life is and that we should always remember the people who aren’t here with us to celebrate?  Rest in peace, Aunt Laura; you will forever be in our hearts along with the other grandpas and grandmas who aren't here with us.  

Once Upon a Time....

Once upon a time, almost 27 years ago, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl...somehow, pink glowed all around her.  She grew and grew into a typical girly-girl who had definitive taste from the time she could speak. Hot pink was her first favorite color.  At three years old, a must-have was a wardrobe of skirts that spin. When we went clothes shopping, the spinning capacity was crucial to choosing every skirt she picked.  She would spin left, then right, in front of the mirror in the dressing room.  The higher and faster the skirt spun, the better it was.  This was extremely important.  Pants were not an option. Long, straight, swinging hair was also desirable; however, my girl had Shirley-Temple curls that grew out instead of down. So, she would improvise.  A long tee-shirt, that had a small neck opening would be worn just at the beginning of her hairline, inside out, so the sleeves would not show, and the body of the shirt would serve as her swinging hair.  She could have any color hair she wanted-hot pink (her favorite), yellow, blue, black- it didn't even have to match the spinning skirt.  Her socks didn't have to match at all; as a matter of fact, she enjoyed wearing mismatched socks. It was a very unusual style, but it was hers, nonetheless.  

My girly-girl grew into an even girlier girl and dreamed of all the girly things girls dream of. 

At four, she was planning her Sweet Sixteen.  At eight, she was planning what she would wear to her High School Prom.  At ten, she was planning her wedding.  That plan went sour when she kept meeting and dating the wrong guy, one after the other.  And then, finally at 26 years old, her dream came true and she met Mr. Right, her handsome prince.  Now, the girly girl has a shiny, shiny ring on her tiny manicured ring-finger, tons of girly bridal magazines and is planning her wedding, for real.  This blog is a year in the life of her mother, me, as we embark on a wedding journey.