Project Mama to Mrs.: 'Zilla attacks?

Ok... so I've neglected the poor blog for weeks and weeks... but I'm counting down. Forty one days is NOT a long time to execute the biggest party I've ever thrown. Wait... it was 40 days when I started this post... and that was... a few weeks ago?

I am not a party planner. I don't like parties. I don't like crowds. And now, all the attention is on me (and my groom, of course).

At one point, I used to watch that WE TV show "Bridezilla" and wonder how in the world that groom could say "I do" when his woman was so crazy. Ranting and raving about little details. Fussing about what he should (or shouldn't) do. Whining about every little thing - especially situations which pulled attention off of her.

I get it now. And, my 'ZILLA tee shirt is on order.

I'm not going to just be bridezilla. I picture myself as all encompassing: momzilla, wifezilla, teacherzilla, womanzilla. Yes, I'm every zilla, it's all in me. Anything I want done, baby, I expect to be pleased. Whoa, whoa, whoa-oh-oh. Sing it with me!

Ahem. Ok. I'm back.

So planning a wedding *alone* is no easy task. While Rob is certainly there to give the nod of final approval, the details - - every little element combined into the whole - - are mine. I must've sketched ideas for centerpieces half a dozen times. And until last week, when I finally got the coveted vases I needed, I was still sketching and tweaking and altering. And the final centerpieces? Nothing like the sketches and yet exactly what I wanted.

But I flipped out in Dollar Tree when the vases I wanted weren't in stock. Not-a-single-one. I picked a substitution, drove home with the trunk of glass, and then lost it as I looked at the terrible 16 ill-shaped flower holders. Yuck. They weren't sleek. They weren't modern. They weren't making an appearance at my affair. Zilla had spoken.

MOH to the rescue: she remembered my internet search in preceding weeks. "Why not order the ones you wanted?" She was nice enough not to say "Duh," but I heard it anyway. And once online, the vase catastrophe was solved and a dozen centerpieces were set to arrive in my name to the store with no extra shipping or handling fee. (And when I picked up my box, the shelves were full of them! Ugggh.)

There was a little debacle in the wedding gown store too... but I held my tongue. I seethed in a corner. I stared down the manager and sent subliminal hate messages in her direction. That episode is worthy of an entire post all its own.

There might have been a few terse words thrown at the customer service agent of the photography company. Maybe an e-mail of pure distain. I think it was warranted. I reread the contract. They were behind schedule and totally owed me some actual service. But the poor young woman who answered the phone? Yeah, she probably had no idea that call was coming. And I think she might have made a note in my client "file"... it might say "she's nuts, coddle her," because the next representative was so appeasing it was almost annoying. Except I got exactly what I wanted immediately.

And I might have tossed aside one, maybe two vendors who just didn't react quickly enough to inquiries about the status of my requests. Um, my though here is a business ought to at least provide a time frame of productivity so I'm not stressing about whether I'll be without on "I do" day.

I'm told I've been short with the family. Projecting my frustrations at random targets. But wait... he was late for our engagement photos. We were also late for our taste testing of the reception food. He did forget to take out the trash and only offered to help when I was already lugging bags to the curb. She didn't wash the dishes right - - there was food stuck to plates and silverware. He didn't clean his room again, the stuff's just on the side you can't see from a doorway scan. And they didn't go to bed when they were told to. I did do the laundry - all five loads - myself (but thank you for helping fold one of them). Ok. Perhaps my bickering was a little harsh?

Where the hell is that tee shirt? I feel like I need to wear it now.

Just a few more weeks of this hoopla and I might find my calm center again. Which means, in true leo fashion, I'll be the overzealous control freak over some new project meant to propel me into the spotlight for a few seconds of applause.

Project Mama to Mrs.: Child-free Calamity

When I was 12 years old, my uncle got married. His wedding was one of those really fancy affairs. My mom was a bridesmaid, as was one of my aunts. And the hoopla before the wedding had everyone in the vacinity totally charged for his nuptials. I saw the reception venue - beautifully ornate with crystal place settings, dimmed lighting, and clothed tables and chairs. Or, maybe, that was what I envisioned. I wasn't allowed at that part of the affair. As a "not-quite-teen" and therefore child, I was uninvited. And because I was "old enough" to serve as babysitter to all my younger siblings and cousins, that's exactly what I was relegated to be. I begged an older cousin who made the cut to take photos for me - - to capture the event so I could experience it vicariously through prints. I never saw those photos. And, I think, I am still bitter about the exclusion.

My cousin was married when my daughter was five and I was expecting my second child. She, too, held a "no kids allowed" reception. When I first held the beautiful black and silver invite, I read that tiny clause and fummed. Where would I send my child off to if everyone who had ever watched her was expected at the event? I was saved by a second invitation to have her serve as flower girl. As part of the wedding party, she was welcomed into the adult-only festivities and she had a blast - - until bedtime. Then, the stress of the day's activities caused a meltdown and it put a damper on my enjoyment of the evening.

There've been many weddings in between (and after) these two, and most that I've elected to attend welcomed children. Some even catered to their enjoyment with blow up toys, bubbles, and specially selected kiddie tunes. I admit these were wonderful, family-oriented parties that made for oh-so-precious photographs. I resolved that I'd want to be all-inclusive with my own wedding.

Now, finally, it is my turn. And when I become Mrs., there will be four children officially under my safe keeping. That's right, four, ages from 3-12.

But we, too, elected to eliminate other people's teeny boppers from our reception. Hypocritical?

Well... I feel a little like "Father of the Bride" on this one.

Our reception space holds 75 for a sit down meal, and with that maximum capacity reached, it's a tight fit.

I'm already told I'll have to sacrifice my round tables for rectangles to make room for a dance floor.

If children come (and my family and friends average three per household), then the number of adult guests will dwindle to nothing. We'd already trimmed our guest lists to those we could not bear to have missing and those we absolutely knew would be crushed were they not invited. We eliminated many wonderfully faithful friends who've made us the people we are today. It felt horrible.

When Rob mentioned that his eldest sister recommended a "child-free" soiree (who, herself has three), I reluctantly agreed. In my head I tallied the number of effected parties - my closest friends have six among them, my few invited cousins have at least three in their party, and only a few uncles and aunts with young charges. Ok. Perhaps it was not so bad.

We sent out the invitations.

And then I got a phone call. How could I leave out kids? Who would watch the babies? Why can't they come? Can't you make an exception?

It wasn't a callous decision. It wasn't about economics. It wasn't meant to create the next family controversy that divides us into separate sides of the boxing ring. If I chose the chapel I fell in love with and its associated reception venue, this exclusion was the only one that maximized my beloved guests - - those I'd grown up with, loved forever, confided in, and cherished long before children were even born.