After running a custom bridal business for thirty years, you’d think I’d be sick to death of wedding gowns and bridal intrigue, but I’m not—and I have company.  Millions of females are wedding-obsessed, and the media panders to our lust by producing shows like: “Say Yes to the Dress”, “Four Weddings”, and “My Fair Wedding” to name just a few. They also cover celebrity weddings and incorporate this celebration into the plot of every soap opera.

When I closed my business about five years ago, there was a brief period when I was happy to lead a bridal-free existence. Since horses are my other passion, I threw myself into the sport/hobby/lifestyle with renewed vigor. Unfortunately, two of my horses threw me into the dirt, reminding me that although the bridal business had been stressful mentally, horses were even more stressful physically.

I’m not sure how long I would have enjoyed this respite from the wedding industry if my daughter hadn’t announced her engagement last year. What mother doesn’t get excited at the prospect of planning a daughter’s wedding? Only a rare few. What’s the key element of any wedding? The gown, of course. So, having made gowns for hundreds of strangers, a few friends, and an occasional family member, can you even grasp my exhilaration at knowing I’d be creating one for my only daughter?

I’d witnessed plenty of Momsters of the Bride in action, and I’d always vowed that I would never foist my wishes on my daughter when she got engaged. Thank goodness her bridal vision and mine were nearly identical, because as we started looking at flowers and invitations, I found it difficult to remember my oath. My daughter and I have similar personalities—although I’ve told her she’s me on steroids; we’re goal-oriented, practical, determined, and responsible. These are generally accepted as positive qualities, but sometimes it’s difficult for this type of personality to accept “no” for an answer.

I’m not a big “flower” person; I don’t garden or know much about the thousands of available blooms. My vision of a bridal bouquet is basically roses, with a touch of stephanotis or lilies of the valley. I don’t like orchids; they seem too stiff and for whatever reason, they remind me of spiders. So, at our first florist appointment, what does she say she wants in her bouquet? Roses. Yay!! Mixed with dendrobium orchids. Ugh! I had the temerity to say, “Yuck, I hate those,” to which she replied, “Mom! It’s my bouquet!” Gulp. True, true. Shut my mouth; didn’t say any more at the time, but eventually I did drop the comparison to a spider and comment on how green they looked against the pale pink roses. (She nixed the orchids. Yay!)

Soon, we started designing The Dress. Being the girliest of all girlie girls, Sara wanted a grand ball gown reminiscent of the fabulous designs of Frederick Worth (1826-1895). If you haven’t ever seen his creations, it’s worth searching the Internet. We combed through costume books for inspiration and I’d whip up a rough facsimile for her viewing pleasure before cutting into the costly silk satin we’d chosen.

I fell in love with an element that was popular in many dresses between the 1870s and 1880s. The overskirts ended in a series of points about 5-10 inches above the floor, while the underskirt was bordered with pleats. Looking at the sample I’d made, I was pretty sure that although she’d admire the pleated hem, she probably wouldn’t be a fan of the points. However, I was sure they were a majorly awesome design element and I wanted them. Sure enough, as she perused the skirt on the mannequin, she okayed certain parts, vetoed others—which I promptly, although sadly—removed. She loved the pleats, but I could tell that no, she wasn’t a fan of the points. She never came right out and said, “Are you kidding? Those are horrible. No way!” But, as her mother, I knew she didn’t love them. What did I do? Pretend I didn’t know.

As her dress progressed, she’d continue to make comments like, “I don’t know Mom. Not so sure about having triangles on my dress.” I refused to abandon my dream or acknowledge I was being a bit tyrannical, and blithely assured her that she’d love them when they were finished.

As luck would have it, she did, and so did the guests. Too bad, I didn’t remember the maxim: “Be careful what you wish for.” Do you have any idea how hard it is to plot out evenly-spaced, identically-sized triangles around the hem of a large circular skirt with a train? In case you don’t; it’s a nightmarishly difficult task. To make this design element even more complex, we decided to border them with silver bugle bead-trimmed strips of satin that extended upwards from the hem to create a lattice-work pattern. I guess that was my punishment for being pushy, but when it was finished it was as fabulous as I hoped—and as unique.

Three months before the wedding, she was actually getting sick of the whole wedding and dress planning stuff and slowly left some of the design elements up to me. When it came time to position the lace on her bodice and design the beading, she said, “I’ll leave it up to you. Basically, I want to sparkle like a rock star.”  ’Nough said. I had a blast sewing on Swarovski crystals and rhinestones in every shape and size imaginable and she was blown away when I unveiled it in all its rock star splendor.

We sailed through the rest of the wedding planning with surprisingly few disagreements; I kept my mouth shut about the centerpieces, the fabric and style of the girls dresses—which I was forced to make, the invitations, the cake, and even a special “runway show” she planned for the reception. I was pretty amazed that I’d managed to curtail my controlling tendencies, but gratified that I had. After all, it was her wedding, not mine.

One of the moments that will stay nestled in my mother’s heart forever happened at her third hair trial. (Now I know why they call it a “trial”; it was.)  Sara sat in the chair with me by her side as the stylist discussed the proposed hairdo. I guess the salon director took one look at me and thought: “Danger! Danger! Momster of the Bride!” She gently took me by the arm—surprised she didn’t get her hand chopped off because I have a well-defined need for my personal space—and led me to a seat, saying, “Let me show you some of —–’s work. I recognized the ploy, but managed to bite back the “who needs a photo, when I’ll be seeing it in person” remark fighting its way out of my mouth.

I sat there politely flipping through the album until my daughter said, “Mom! I need you here!” Yes, it sounded a bit more like a command than a plea, but it warmed my heart nonetheless. I smiled sweetly at the director and rejoined my daughter, telling her that I’d been evicted from her side; I hadn’t abandoned her.

I hope this will inspire potential Momsters of the Bride to remember that it is their daughter’s wedding day. Wouldn’t you rather hear, “Mom! I need you!” than “Mom! Leave me alone!” If you can be supportive of her, you might be surprised just how many of your own wishes will be fulfilled. After all, I got to keep the points on her dress and didn’t have to stare at any spider flowers!