|The bride at age ten.|
This global pandemic brought lots of "firsts" into our lives. Anyone on board for planning a wedding?
From the masked gown-shopping last fall ...
|From the moment she put it on, she |
knew this was the dress.
... to the wedding day, it's been another experience of being "a new mom." No, no, it's not about me, of course, but a mother can't remove herself from these equations entirely, nor should she. I did not, as Janice Mirikitani's perfect poem mentions, weave my daughter's wedding slippers, but my girl is woven into my life and I into hers.
My daughter's wedding slippers (along with her bridesmaids) were pink Converse:
No weaving required. But I did pack an emergency sewing kit, just in case, and I helped with all those tiny, silky buttons:
|I was indebted to the seamstress for suggesting |
I bring a tiny crochet hook with us. Also? I
was really glad I didn't change into my heels
My sister-in-law caught this moment at the reception:
|I did a lot of gazing, marveling, enjoying, talking, and living the day, |
but pictures? Not so much. I mostly forgot to take any, but I know
the photographer had it all in hand.
The same sister-in-law caught this moment for me:
|Atticus and our Betsy Ray (whose real |
name is Lizzy) dancing to "My Girl."
And here's the beaming couple later, watching a fireworks show (a fringe benefit of getting married over the 4th of July weekend):
It's time for Atticus and me to let go of the little girl we raised, but we will never stop embracing the wonderful woman she's become.
Zech, welcome to the family. You joined us too late for me to assign you a blog name. Can I just call you son?
For a Daughter Who Leaves
"More than gems in my comb box shaped by the
God of the Sea, I prize you, my daughter. . ."
~ Lady Otomo, 8th century, Japan
A woman weaves
her daughter's wedding
slippers that will carry
her steps into a new life.
[I'm skipping to the end of the poem, but you absolutely must read it in its entirety, especially if you are a mother, a daughter, or just a human being with a heart and soul and tear ducts. The next line will wreck you, in a good way.]
Now she captures all eyes
with her hair combed smooth
and her hips gently
swaying like bamboo.
spins her thread
from the spool of her heart,
knotted to her daughter's
(Read the whole poem here, at Poets.org.)
The Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted by Margaret at Reflections on the Teche.