Category Archives: Raise Your hand if You Can’t Hear Me

It’s Impossible to Hide In Your House When You’ve Got Friends

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You Gotta Have Friends LIGHTERFriends manage to talk you into doing things, going places, and tasting life outside your comfort zone.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  Friends can help your agoraphobia get better.  Not the ones who shake their head and tell you you’re being dramatic, just get out of the house.  Not the ones who laugh and say, “You’re a agor…ah…a WTF?”  Not the ones who try to talk you out of the house, or guilt you into stepping outside.  Those people you will eventually learn are not your friends; they’re simply people that you know.

The friends that I’m talking about are those that love you for who you are.  And if that means you don’t get out much (for whatever reason) well, that’s okay, and they’ll sit in the house with you and be perfectly fine with it.  At my most phobic, when I was terrified of so many things, a rather large space station called “Skylab” (yes, a whole space station!) was poised to re-enter our atmosphere and come crashing back to earth.

I was certain it would fall on my head.

Actually, fall directly on my head.  Nobody else would be injured, I was sure, except for me.  And boy, that did nothing to get me to budge from my couch.  The logic escaped me that perhaps if I left the house and moved around a lot, that maybe I could avoid this 169,000 pound massive missile from the skies.  No, my idea of saving myself was to become a sitting duck on my sofa in West Hollywood.

The truth was I was just too terrified to move.

So what did my friends do?  We had a party to celebrate Skylab’s return.  Well, actually, I threw the party because I was the only one with a blender at the time and we were having frozen daiquiris.  But the point is:  my friends came to keep me company.  There I was sitting on my couch, so terrified that Skylab had my name on it, and my friends came over to join me on that couch.  In my mind, they were risking their lives just to be there with me.

And that’s not all.

They showed up – all of my friends – wearing construction hard hats, an Army helmet, and my dear friend John even put a large bullseye and a magnet on top of his baseball hat just to defy fate.  Or maybe to save me from a direct hit.  I was so busy laughing and enjoying our “impromptu” party that I completely forgot about Skylab.  All that dread and terror my imagination had been feasting on simply was forgotten that evening.

My friends got me through the night.

Thanks to my friends (and 9 other things that helped me go from agoraphobic to recovering agoraphobic) I now get out of my house.  I still need help with driving – I don’t do freeways.  So if there are freeways involved, my hubbie is the one behind the wheel.  And that’s how I will be getting to Ventura this Saturday for a book signing and personal appearance at Bank of Books at 748 E. Main Street. It’s an hour away from my house so I’m calling it a road trip.  Yes I’m a little bit nervous – it’s definitely out of my comfort zone.  But I’m certain I can do it.

My friend Wayne talked me into it and he’ll be there.

And thankfully, no space stations are scheduled to fall this weekend.

(If you live in or around Ventura, please come by and keep me company.  It always helps to be around friends.  Not sure I can bring any frozen daiquiris…Will cookies do?)

NEW AAGTH Cover_ebook

A Few Words About Being A Mom

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I don’t want to say I have a one track mind, but I definitely do.

Always known as someone who mixes her metaphors, I’ve said for years, “Simple minds run on a track like a choo choo.”  It made perfect sense to me, so I never understood why my husband always laughed when I said it.   What I mean, of course, is that when I’m focused on something important I can’t concentrate on anything else.

Which brings us back to my daughter’s wedding.

If it can’t be bought, ordered, or color-coordinated it doesn’t have a place in my life at the moment.  We are t-minus nine weeks and counting and my imagination has gone on vacation, taking my concentration along with it.  I was determined to write a blog post this week, but all I can think about is what color gels should be in the up-lighting, and if the seating for the ceremony should be three-quarters, or traditional. How did I ever survive without knowing what a sweetheart neckline was, or that  Wedgwood blue is not periwinkle?  I’m in a foreign land without a parachute. I haven’t felt so out of my league since I first became a mom.

Everything was new back then too:  DPT shots, with the P or not? Swaddling a newborn and which position – on tummy, back or side? Colic, croup, diaper rash, cloth diapers or Huggies?  Breastfeeding or bottle?  To Pump or Not To Pump?  And what about toilet training?!  How the hell does a mother ever survive toilet training?!  I used to follow my daughter around the house holding a plastic potty while she ran naked after her bath, and when she stopped, her eyes crossing in concentration, I planted her on the plastic seat and applauded her success.  And bingo! she was trained!  Nobody taught me that – I learned on the job.  That’s how mothers do it – learning on the job, correcting our mistakes as we make them.  Somehow I survived, and so did my kids.  And that’s what motherhood is all about.  No giant eagle swept down and grabbed one of my litter.  Hell, human moms have it easy.

Now, that baby who was so new and foreign to me is all grown up, a bride-to-be, and getting married.  Somehow I’ll make my way through this rite of passage too. I’ll shed a few tears (all right, a lot) remembering those endless days when being a new mom seemed unsurmountable, overwhelming, and totally exhausting.

It’s funny how you miss those days when you look back.

Somehow moms get through it – we adjust.  We change as the job demands us to change.  We hold close when we have to, and we let go when it’s time to let go. Even though every fiber inside of us wants to hold on forever.  We learn “to hold close with open arms” and love from a distance. Those hugs from little arms, that tiny hand holding ours, those kisses and “I love you, Mommy” we give up because we have to.  Not because we want to.

That’s what it means to be a mother.

If you’re a mom, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  If you’re not, just think of your own mom, and if you’re lucky to still have her around, hug her a little tighter this year on Mother’s Day.  She may not admit it, but she misses you.

Every difficult moment you ever gave her.

Every perfect second of your childhood.  Motherhood Mary Cassatt

Happy Mother’s Day!

It’s Hard Work Being Mother Of The Bride

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I had no idea!

As we’re getting closer to the Big Day my nerves are fraying as fast as the days are passing.  It’s taken us months to decide on the venue, find the wedding dress, book the music, flowers, lighting, drapery (don’t ask!) etc., etc, and more ETC.  It’s bigger than a Broadway production, but hopefully, with not as big of a budget (fingers crossed).  But in addition to all the hard work a Mother of the Bride has to do for planning the event, she also has to look good at the wedding. That not only means buying a special M.O.B dress (done!), but also (gulp) accessorizing it (not done).

I’ve already written about the dilemma I faced finding the perfect dress (Should I Say Yes To The Dress?,  Saying Yes To The Dress (UPDATE), Sometimes Yes To The Dress Is A No), and thanks to the help of many readers of this blog, I finally made my choice.  All I can say is “Thank God for the Internet! ” I’ve never been one for clothes shopping, but it can be especially challenging when you’re a recovering agoraphobic.  My usual mode of buying new clothes is to just not buy them – My husband loves me for this.  But as M.O.B the pressure was on and I was really feeling it.

I tried one day of shopping for a dress with my friend Marie.  But let’s face it, the M.O.B isn’t exactly the B.R.I.D.E, so no one is really paying attention to us at all.  We’re just the breed mare that brought the bride into the world, so no one gives a hoot what the hell we’re wearing.  I learned that at the first wedding boutique Marie and I checked out.  The store was filled with hundreds of bridal gowns (all priced in four figures) but the salesgirl (who after fifteen minutes finally approached us) pointed to one pathetic rack of faded M.O.B dresses off in the corner.

“Those are all we’ve got,” she explained.  “If you can fit into one of those, you can buy it. Good luck!”

Those were the last words we ever heard from her as she moved on to help a blushing (and much more lucrative) bride-to-be and we sorted through size 4′s of the ugliest colors you’ve ever seen.  I don’t even think these were colors. These were what finger paint looks like when your four-year-old mixes all the colors together and  spills them on your rug.

One day in wedding boutique-hell was all I needed.

I went online and tried Nordstrom.  Unlike a wedding boutique, an online site can care less if you’re a M.O.B, a B.R.I.D.E, or the C.A.T.E.R.E.R.  There were hundreds of dresses, and the good news  was that every time I liked one of these dresses, I just clicked on it and in a few days that dress showed up magically at my doorstep.  In any size or sizes I wanted!

I felt like Goldilocks: “No, this one is too big.” “This one is too small!”  “This one is the wrong color and makes me look hippy!”  I finally found the perfect dress, but in a green and my daughter’s wedding color is blue.

green Alex dress

I persevered, kept checking the online wedding site, and finally found the same dress in “Wedgwood Blue.” Thank you, Nordstrom’s Purchasing Agent, whoever you are!  The dress was a petite, but I was willing to squeeze myself into it for my daughter’s sake.  I waited anxiously every day for that UPS truck to bring it, and a few weeks ago it arrived.  And Voila!!! – It fits!!!!  More importantly, the bride (my daughter) likes it. So here it is – the winner:

Alex Wedgewood Gown

I packed up the last of the Nordstrom rejects a few days ago, mailed them back, and I am now on a first name basis with the UPS guy.

Now, it’s time for accessories.

Do I go with silver (to highlight my hair) or gold (always a favorite)?  What kind of necklace, earrings, bracelet, and evening bag?  I’m hyperventilating from all the choices I have to make.  In the meantime, there are still catering tastings to go to, invitations that have to be sent out, wines to choose, flowers to order, etc., etc., and more ETC.

I haven’t worked this hard since I was in labor.

(Here’s a collage with some of my choices.  Since all of you did such a great job helping me pick out my dress, any suggestions to build the rest of my M.O.B outfit is much appreciated.)

(If you enjoyed these posts, you might enjoy: A Few Words About Being A Mom)

Decisions, decisions

Skinned Knees, Freckled Faces, And The Hearts of Champions

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(For those of you who are new to this blog and who missed this when I first posted it in the summer, I share it with you now as one of my favorites.  It’s that time of the year – Springtime – when the metal ping of bats at a local high school practice reminds me of freckled-faced little girls (my own sweet daughter among them) with skinned knees, the biggest of smiles, and the hearts of champions)

It’s Spring and ‘Tis the Season. Softball season, that is. True, there’s that other sport the boys play– the one that pays big salaries when boys grow into men.  But Spring is also when the girls play their own sport – the one that doesn’t pay, the one you play simply because you love it.

Girls Fastpitch Softball.

The Girls Of SummerCLOSE UP I watched my daughter play softball from the age of 5 until she hung up her glove after freshman year playing at UCSD. She’d accomplished what she wanted to accomplish with the sport: She’d been drafted by a great school (a difficult college to get into, but softball got her into it), played in her freshman year (not as much as she was used to playing, but she played nonetheless), got her home run in a college  game (along with 5 RBIs), and she was named athlete of the week at UCSD. After freshman year, it was time to figure out what she wanted to really do with her life. So in her sophomore year she quit the sport. I took it harder than she did, I think. I missed watching her play, and the enjoyment I had at observing the spectacle of a team hard at work.

It’s different when boys play ball.

I’m lucky to also be blessed with a son who played sports.  But every time I watched him in the field, or on a court, I couldn’t help but think his manhood was being tested.  The boys looked so serious with their game faces on for the coaches.  There weren’t a lot of laughs, not unless they wanted to be called “girls” or “ladies.”  And absolutely no tears!  There’s no crying in baseball, as Tom Hanks told us in A League of Their Own.  Not that girls in softball cry.  It’s just that nobody ever expects them to be so tough.

But girls are tough.

They play just as hard, whether college, high school, or league games. And when summer comes, they take the field under a blistering sun, 100-degree heat, four games a day, sometimes until midnight in nationwide tournament play.  Crushing the ball with their bats, sliding fearlessly, striking out batters on a full count with bases loaded, and all at the age of 10.  Making the outs, stealing those bases, coming through with a hit or a bunt when they’re losing by three runs, and winning seems out of the question.  They never give up.  They work hard, they play hard, and most importantly, they learn how to depend on each other, and to cheer each team member on to do her best. After my daughter’s 10 and under team lost a squeaker of a game at the Nationals in Oakdale, California, the parents took the girls to MacDonald’s.  It was almost midnight, and the team had skipped dinner to play back-to-back games and the last game of the night was to determine which team would go to the finals the following day. We had lost, but every one of the girls was wearing a huge smile, and they were filled with excitement. After placing our order (chicken nuggets, of course), I took a seat next to our shortstop/second string pitcher named Melissa. With a bridge of freckles across a freshly sunburned nose, and still wearing her cleats, she quietly licked at a well-earned chocolate-dipped ice cream cone. “How are you doing?” I asked her, concerned by her silence. She thought a moment, and then said with great pride: “We played good together.” I will always remember her answer.  Every time I hear someone say, “Women don’t get along,” or “Women don’t trust each other,” I think of Melissa.  I think of softball and watching the girls on a softball team:  playing their hardest for each other; sharing sunflower seeds in a dugout; doing cheers together;  hugs at a home plate; high fives in the field; sleepovers in tournament motel rooms; braiding their hair with colorful ribbons; sneaking a swim together when the coaches weren’t looking; pushing each other to go further, try harder, dig deeper, to laugh, giggle, and maybe even shed a tear when the game is over, and it’s time to move on.

And then they grow up

There comes a time when the girls of summer do move on – when those 10 and unders with the scabby knees, wearing the scent of sunblock, grow up and become women. Women who are beautiful, strong, and confident; women who know that hard work always pays off.  You may not always win but you play your hardest anyway, and you’re not afraid to try, even if it means that sometimes you lose. So the next time you hear a male coach yelling at his boys, trying to motivate his team by calling them girls –  Don’t think of it as an insult.  Think of softball, and those grueling weekend tournaments. Remember how hard girls play.

And how “good they play together.”

Katie DP JR Varsity

(Photo courtesy of Lynne Pariseau)

Update On My Mom

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She’s back at home after that nasty fall, and a couple of days at the hospital.  There were no broken bones (which is amazing), but she’s bruised and on the mend.  Still filled with piss and vinegar,  she’s sick of all the fuss over her (all the extra help and extra people cluttering up her house), and she’s slowly getting back into the swing (and schedule) of her life.

Thanks to all of you for your prayers, well wishes, and good thoughts sent our way.  I found your support especially comforting, and there aren’t enough words to explain how much your kindness means to me.

I’ll be back next week with a new blog post.

 

When Life Gets In The Way Of Blogging

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My mom fell last Friday and life has been crazy ever since.

She’s going to be fine (Thank God). Two days in the hospital, a C-Scan, one MRI, and numerous blood tests later, she’s back at home and eager to be living independently again. I won’t tell you her age; let’s just say she’s definitely a card carrying member of the Greatest (and toughest)Generation. She’s still sore, cranky as hell, and stiff (damn arthritis!), and so she’s still healing, meaning 24 hour surveillance for awhile. Not that she’s happy about it, but she’s agreeing to it for her kids peace of mind, and we appreciate her motherly sacrifice.

Needless to say, my days aren’t my own at the moment, and this blog will have to sit here quietly while I focus on my mom. I figured I should let all of you know since I’ve already had a couple of emails from people telling me they miss this blog and wondered if everything was fine. Well, things are getting fine. But there’s not much time for writing anything except grocery lists, caregiver schedules, and to-do lists. So please bear with me until life quiets down enough for me to find my way back to the keyboard again.

This week made me realize, by the way, that sometimes you can take for granted that which you love the most. I’m not talking about my mom, although there are times when maybe I might take her a wee bit for granted. She’s one strong lady and I’ve gotten used to that vitality and tenacity of hers, always assuming she’ll bounce back from whatever troubles come her way. She’s proving me right in this latest challenge that’s been thrown in her direction, and it doesn’t surprise me at all. But the one thing I never realized before was how much I’ve taken for granted my writing.

Every day I wake up and writing is always there for me. When I get an idea I reach for a pen or click on my computer and the words flow – sometimes effortlessly and sometimes after a little prodding. But this week there’s been no time to write and no way of predicting when I’d find the time to even think about writing.

That was a first for me.

I’ve always found the time. As a professional screenwriter with a paycheck waiting for my words to fill the paper, it was my job to make the time to write. Even when my two babies came along while I was in the middle of of screenwriting assignments, I’d write the scenes in my head while breast feeding. And after putting the little darlings back into the crib, I’d scribble down those scenes in the middle of the night and write them up the next morning.

Somehow I always found time to write.

But this last week was way beyond hectic, and juggling my own needs (my husband, my kids, my house, my dog) with what my mom needed was more hours and energy than this writer could barely manage. Through all of these busy days and nights I realized just how full my life feels when I’m writing. And how empty and lonely it can be when I’m not.

It might be a little quiet around here for awhile. So please, leave a comment just to let me know you’re still out there. It’ll give me a chance to write you back, and it’ll probably be the only writing I’ll be able to do for awhile.

Weigh In: Another Fashion Controversy for H&M?

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Weigh In: Another Fashion Controversy for H&M? (Reblogged from Mieux & Mieux website)

hmmannequins

Leave it to Sweden to lead the way in fashion mannequins.  Could I see a show of hands, please: Do you want your mannequins looking thin and anorexic?  Or do you prefer your plastic models to look more like real women?  Take a look at the link above, and tell me what you think!

Sometimes Yes To The Dress Is A No

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Love at first sight doesn’t always end happily.

That guy in high school?  In truth, he probably never asked us out. But that didn’t stop our heart from skipping a beat every time he was near us.  Brad Pitt.  Ryan Gosling.  Bradley Cooper. Oh yeah.  None of those guys even know we exist.  But it doesn’t mean we don’t smile in a darkened theater the moment our eyes catch sight of them.  My friend Adrienne always says, “The heart wants what the heart wants.”  But it’s Mick Jagger who keeps us grounded by reminding us, “You can’t always get what you want.”

I’ve given up trying to find that damn dress.

You know the one:

Mother of the Bride Dress at Marys

Yeah, it’s beautiful.  But it’s taken over my life trying to find it.  And it’s time to put a stop to this unrequited love affair.

There was a moment of hope last week when my dear cousin Nancy, and my good friend Lynne both text messaged and emailed me (ten minutes apart) a website address with the dress featured on it.  I held my breath as I checked the price – half off!  But when I tried to order it there was no place to enter my size.  Hmmmm.  I sensed a problem.

The next day I called the store (yes, an actual store and not located in China) and I got a guy (yes, a guy) who gruffly told me the website wasn’t working.  When I asked him when he thought it might be working, he annoyingly said, “I don’t know!”

I didn’t let this throw me.  I was on a mission.

“I want to buy one of your dresses,” I explained.  He sighed, and transferred me.

It wasn’t long before a salesgirl picked up the line.  I asked her if I could place an order, and after she checked with the manager, I was told yes, that’s fine.  Finally!  Things were looking up – I could just imagine the feel of the fabric, and how wonderful the dress would look.

Until she told me the price.

It was double what was quoted online.  And then to make matters worse, suddenly the salesgirl grew dumber by the minute.  She had no idea why the dress was that price.  She didn’t know anything about the online site, or the price quoted.  As a matter of fact, she didn’t know anything about anything. Oh except for one thing: no returns.

You buy it.  It’s yours.

I.don’t.think.so.  I didn’t just come into the big city from pumpkinville.  As much as I wanted to get my hands on that dress, I wasn’t about to be taken to the cleaners.  I could hear all of your voices (sort of like an online Greek chorus) telling me to walk away.  “Walk away from the dress!” “Put you hands in the air, free of credit cards!  And walk away from the dress!”

And that’s what I did.

So now I’m still looking for a Mother of the Bride dress.

I’m not worried though.  Last night the Mother of the Groom called me out of the blue to ask what I was wearing for the wedding.

“I have no idea,” I told her, in all honesty.

“Oh thank goodness!” she admitted. “I don’t have a dress yet either!”

We spent the rest of the phone call commiserating with each other about colors, dress styles, online shopping, and department stores.  I actually felt pretty good speaking with this lovely woman, who by the way is an hourglass figure and not just an old Bartlett pear like me.  This woman would look great in any dress but she was having the same fashionista doubts that I was having.  That’s when I realized that for a lot of women fashion doesn’t come easily.  I thought it was just me, this over-aged tomboy, who was intimidated by chiffon and taffeta, sweetheart necklines and tea-length hemlines.

But I was wrong.

Most of us don’t dress like the women we see in style magazines, television shows, or in the movies.  But guess what?  Those women – those characters – have wardrobe departments buying them clothes, altering them to their unique figures (not all hourglass and not all perfect).  All we end up seeing are the results, and all we know is that we don’t look like them.  We don’t measure up.  But in my book, I think we all just measure up fine.

I’m still looking for my Mother of the Bride dress.  But now I’m doing it with much more confidence, and a sense of fun and adventure.  Everyone who commented on these blog posts helped me find my way in this crazy world of dress up elegance. I appreciate all of your kind words and suggestions.  I wish we could all go shopping together; I know we’d have fun.  But instead, I’m taking my good friend Marie with me, who is Ethel to my Lucy, and Lucy to my Ethel, and I will keep all of your fashion advice in mind as we go shopping on Saturday.  We may not find the right dress this weekend, but I know we’ll have a lot of fun and good laughs while we’re looking.  Eventually, I’ll find my dress.  The correct color. The right length.  The perfect style.  A dress that’s beautiful, and makes me feel beautiful wearing it.

And I won’t think twice about the one that got away.

(Want to see the dress I finally found?  Read the next installment: It’s Hard Work Being Mother Of The Bride)

Jasmine MOB DressAlex Dress

                                   Don’t get your hopes up – They’re the wrong color!

Saying Yes To The Dress (UPDATE)

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(One woman’s quest for a simple but elusive Mother of the Bride Dress…)

Your responses to last week’s blog post (Should I Say Yes To The Dress?) were so enthusiastic and helpful I wanted to let you know how the search for my special Mother of the Bride dress is going.

Not too good.

First, to recap:  Here is the dress I’m looking for:

Mother of the Bride Dress at Marys

All of you who commented last week agreed that the dress was beautiful and it would make a wonderful Mother of the Bride dress.  But the problem was that the closest store that “might” have this dress was listed as being in Yucaipa.  Besides not knowing where the hell Yucaipa was, that word “might” was making me mighty nervous.  Mary’s Bridal (the designer) was not willing to commit one way or the other if the dress was actually in Yucaipa or not.  Only that it had been delivered there in the last year.

Yeah. Not much help.

Encouraged by those of you who suggested a road trip, I reached for my phone and called the Yucaipa store that Mary’s Bridals had listed on its website as a possible location for this Dress Style #S13-M2172.  With today’s gas prices, I wasn’t about to take a second mortgage out on my house to  finance a Yucaipa road trip if the dress wasn’t there.

So I decided to call the store in Yucaipa.

On Friday no one answered the phone. On Saturday when I called I got a Sprint mailbox and a strange beep.  I tried again on Monday and still got the answering machine with no one’s name attached to it, and no name of the store.  On Tuesday night, I decided to google the store just to make sure it actually existed.  And voila, I found it!

Yucaipa’s “European Famous Tailor” was listed online – right there in Google. There was an address listed (a good sign!) and I could see by the listing that it actually existed.  Now, we all know you can’t judge a store just by its name,  so I decided to use the store’s address and Google Street View just to get a look at European Famous Tailor’s store front.  Here’s what Google showed me:

Famous Tailor

That’s right, a strip mall.

Call me silly, but when people ask me where I got my Mother Of The Bride dress, I don’t want to say a strip mall in Yucaipa.  “Around the corner from Rob’s Gun shop and Terry’s Bail Bonds.”

I took a day to think about it.  There were four other stores listed at Mary’s Bridal website that also “might” have the dress.  The next closest was in Tucson.  Okay, why not?  I called.  They answered.  They’d never heard of Dress Style #S13-M2172.

“But we can order it!” the cheerful saleslady told me.

“…Can I return it if it doesn’t fit?” I asked.

“Not really.”

Goodbye, $458 (that’s not including alterations).

Tucson was a helluva lot further than Yucaipa, and I still wouldn’t get a chance to see the dress before buying it.  I wouldn’t even be able to try it on.  But I’m the kind of person who gets an idea in my head and I don’t give up easily.  As a matter of fact, I like challenges so much, I’ve been known to persevere in spite of the fact it’s a stupid idea.  And this is where all of your comments helped me: I could just hear in my imagination Adrienne, catnipoflife, June Collins, Lynne, jubileewriter,  and so many others of you who commented telling me to take a deep breath, and not commit to buying a dress without trying it on, or at least seeing it up close.  I could hear those words of wisdom from JeriWB, quirkybooks, Raani, Wayne, Yaseen, Jen, and the rest of you.  It made me look before leaping: I thanked the saleslady, hung up, and called Yucaipa again.  This time I dialed a second number listed on the Google website.  And someone finally answered the phone.

“Hola!”

Oh, no.

“Do you speak English?”

“Un poquito,” the woman admitted, sounding not the most confident.

“I’m looking for a dress,” I told her, speaking as loudly as possible, as though volume alone would help her understand English.  Rambling on, nervously (even I would have trouble understanding me) I told her I was looking for a Mother of the Bride dress, the name of the designer, and I gave her the style number.

“Call back, ten minutes” she told me, with great certainty.

I hung up.  I waited fifteen minutes (giving her an extra five so she’d be prepared).  I dialed her again, the phone rang and rang and rang and is probably still ringing.

Nobody answered.

You know what I’m thinking?  I’m willing to bet that Yucaipa’s European Famous Tailor has never even seen Mary’s #S13-2172 dress.  Or if they have seen it, maybe it sold right away.  Just to make sure, I called one more dress store – this time in Glendale, a store that lists Mary’s Bridal as one of its designers.

“We haven’t had that dress for months,” the woman with a thick accent explained to me.  “It sold right away!” she said.  And rubbing the wound even harder, “It’s such a beautiful dress!  One of the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever seen.”

There are two more stores on Mary’s Bridal list that I could call: Chrsitina’s Bridal in Caspar, Wyoming or Debi’s Bridal Shop in San Antonio, Texas.

Frankly, I think it’s time to look for another dress.

What do you all think?

(Read the next installment of the hunt for a Mother of the Bride dress:  Sometimes Yes To The Dress Is No)

Should I Say Yes To The Dress?

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(I apologize to my guy readers in advance, but when a woman needs help she usually turns to her girlfriends.  Although a man’s opinion is always welcome, so please feel free to speak up, if you’re brave enough to do so.)

I need fashion help.

I wasn’t going to write about this but after a third night of not sleeping I decided to turn to the best drug I know: writing.  Have you ever noticed how writing about a problem sometimes helps you find an answer?  Well, I’m taking it a step further – I’m writing this post to reach out to my readers.

Here’s why I need your help:  This summer I will be a Mother of the Bride for the first time in my life.  I haven’t wanted to write about this because I made myself a promise that I wouldn’t write about my kids now that they’re old enough to read what I write and yell at me for writing it.  It’s an exciting, busy, emotional time and it’s been difficult not to write an entire blog series about the event.  I’ve been a good mother, however, and avoided the topic completely here at my blog.  But now my back is up against the wall and there’s no way around this without writing about it.  Here’s my dilemma: The Dress.

Not the bride’s, but mine.

Somewhere between the time it’s taken to find the venue, choose the menu, book the band, and help my daughter find her perfect wedding dress, I overlooked the painful fact that I need to buy myself a dress.  And not just any kind of dress, but a MOTHER OF THE BRIDE DRESS.

Oy, the pressure!

You have to understand one thing about me: I grew up a tomboy.  I was comfortable wearing jeans (for climbing trees) and my Dad’s Army fatigue jacket (cause it was cool).  To me, the perfect outfit is sweatpants and tennis shoes.  My daughter would ban me from her wedding if I showed up in a running outfit.  And unlike her lucky dad or brother who barely have to show up at all (fashionwise), and just have to wear the de rigueur tuxedo, I have to wade through the world of women’s couture to find the ultimate MOTHER OF THE BRIDE DRESS.

My friend Vicki is facing a similar problem but she’s only the mother of the groom, and somehow (we both agreed) nobody really cares what the groom’s mother is wearing.

“I’m going with a pantsuit,” she finally announced to me the other day as we commiserated on the phone.  “Who the hell cares?  The wedding’s out-of-town anyways, and we don’t know a damn person in Detroit.”

I envy the Mother of the Groom.

“I can’t get away with that,” I tell her. “…Can I?” I ask hopefully, like maybe there’s some kind of loophole I don’t know about in the wedding guidebook.

“Nope.  First they look at the bride, and then they’ll be checking out the mother of the bride. You better look good,” she warned me.

Could she be any less reassuring?

“Plus, in your case, you’re really going to need help.”

Yep, I guess she can.

I asked her what she meant.

“You’re not normal!” she tells me, a little too easily.

I’m wondering now: Why is it we’re friends?!

“I just mean you’re creative, and artistic, and well, I don’t think you should wear what everyone else is wearing,” she explains to me with words that make me understand just how much she knows me, and how much I really love her as a friend. “You’re your own person – unique and talented, and you may not see many dresses you really want to wear.”

Vicki was right:  I’d been looking on the internet and all the dresses listed under MOTHER OF THE BRIDE were, in fact, beautiful.

For other women, not for me.

They were vampy or too low cut and my best look is a turtleneck.  They were covered with sequins, beaded, and jeweled and I’m a 100% plain cotton girl.  They were clingy and hip hugging and well, I’m a writer, and my work’s muscles are what I sit on.  Nordstrom would call me a “pear” so no way do I want anything clinging on my Bartlett rear.

Is there any wonder why I’m not sleeping?

I was starting to reconsider my decision about the sweat pants (velour?) and sneakers (brand new Air Jordans?), when I decided to take one more journey into The Wedding Knot website and click on MOTHER OF THE BRIDE.

And there is was:  my dress!

It jumped out at me from my computer screen: perfect color (blue), perfect shape (for a pear) elegant yet simple, and not like any other dress I’d seen.  I clicked my way over to the designer’s website and there was my dress again on the front webpage.  I even loved the name of the dress style:  Beautiful Mothers.

I was close to crying.

True, it was a little pricey, but I figured with more than one kid I could always wear it again when the next one of our progeny took the matrimonial leap. And besides, I’d pay the price gladly just to be able to stop looking.  So, I quickly did a search to find out where I could buy my beautiful dress. I figured they wouldn’t have it here in our little California suburb; I’d probably have to go to L.A. or maybe San Diego.  But I could get my husband to drive, and we’d make it a weekend out of it.  It would be fun!  I quickly entered my zip code and the website gave me the closest store where I could buy it.

Yucaipa.

Okay, now I was crying.

I’m not even sure I know where Yucaipa is located, but it just sounds FAR.  Not as far, however, as Tucson, Arizona; San Antonio, Texas; or Caspar Wyoming, where the only other stores that carry my dress are located.

Do I do a road trip?!  Seriously, this is what I’m asking: Is it worth all the trouble (and expense) to go on a scavenger hunt for this dress?  I’ll let you, my dear readers, help me make this decision.  Here’s a photo of the dress, and you tell me what you think:

Mother of the Bride Dress at Marys

Do I call the designer (Mary’s), order my size, pay for it, and pray it fits or at least looks somewhat good on me?  It looks wonderful on the model in the photo (probably a size 2), but it’s liable to look like yesterday’s garbage when I’m wearing it (never in my dreams a size 2).  And if I’ve already paid for it and hate it, then what do I do?

Do you think I should say yes to this dress?

Or do I just take my dad’s Army fatigue jacket out of mothballs?

What do you think I should do?!

(The quest for the elusive dress continues at Saying Yes To The Dress (UPDATE)…)