Mother of the Groom

I could hardly type that. Mother of the GR...oo...m. Groom. Groom. There. I said it. What the heck happened?! I got married. I had some babies. I showed them how to read. I fed them. I drove them places. I did their laundry. They ate and grew beards. Now, one of the wolves/men in this house has up and decided to get married. There were inklings.

"Mom, you ever heard of DeBeers?" And, "Which jeweler do you recommend, Mom?" Then, "Do you wear Grandma's diamond earrings much?" Next, "Which ring do you like better?" Until this, "What do you think of this ring, Mom?"- upon which he whipped out a crumpled bag shoved into his front jeans pocket and pulled out a diamond ring.
"You just keep that stuffed in your pocket?"
Shrug, "I'm asking her tomorrow."Now I have to find a Mother of the Gr...R RooM. Groom. Dress. Dreadful stuff. Have you taken a look at the offerings for women in this category? I like the Queen, but I don't want to dress like her. And then there is that little saying, "Mutton, Dressed like Lamb." Despairing over the options, the past while I've been distracting myself by nosing around engaged wolf asking little questions like, "What colour are the dresses?"
"I dunno."
"Does the Mother of the Br...Ri, Bri...de, (there I got it out...almost), have hers?"
"I dunno."
"Would it matter if I wear something long?"
"I dunno."
"Look, I have a permanent record of yours, and each of your brother's gestations right here, on my leg. Does it matter if I wear long?"
"I dunno."
This couldn't have come at a better time in Decadent's life. You see that picture of Decadent to the right? That was just a few years, one mid-life crisis and a pan or two of cinnamon raisin sticky buns ago. So. While everyone else diets, forgoes, lives a life of meal deprivation for reasons of keeping some nebulous New Year's resolution, I, Moi, Decadent Housewife, will slowly turn into a growling, snapping she-wolf attempting to retrieve her youthful form, so posterity does not think Gra...an..ny, was fat! There, said it.

Last night, while enjoying a cup of steaming black coffee and sliced apple, whilst wrapped in fleecy pajamas in a vain attempt to add comfort factor, I managed to get out of engaged wolf that the girls' dresses will be short, tea-length. "OH my GOODNESS!" I shouted at him, showing my teeth and then flinging out a leg. "I will have to buy BUCKETS, do you hear me?! BUCKETS, of concealer to hide these veins!"
"Relax, Mother of the Bride refuses to go short, too."
Smart woman. Settled. It's long and it's going to be a longer winter.

(Photos cropped from Decadent's own wedding, long ago and far away. Thanks to Max Moran, photographer.)