A Jewell of the First Water

 Proverbs 31:10-31

The Wife of Noble Character

^10 [a]A wife of noble character who can find?
    She is worth far more than rubies.
¹¹ Her husband has full confidence in her
    and lacks nothing of value.
¹² She brings him good, not harm,
    all the days of her life.
¹³ She selects wool and flax
    and works with eager hands.
¹⁴ She is like the merchant ships,
    bringing her food from afar.
¹⁵ She gets up while it is still night;
    she provides food for her family
    and portions for her female servants.
¹⁶ She considers a field and buys it;
    out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
¹⁷ She sets about her work vigorously;
    her arms are strong for her tasks.
¹⁸ She sees that her trading is profitable,
    and her lamp does not go out at night.
¹⁹ In her hand she holds the distaff
    and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
²⁰ She opens her arms to the poor
    and extends her hands to the needy.
²¹ When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
    for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
²² She makes coverings for her bed;
    she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
²³ Her husband is respected at the city gate,
    where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
²⁴ She makes linen garments and sells them,
    and supplies the merchants with sashes.
²⁵ She is clothed with strength and dignity;
    she can laugh at the days to come.
²⁶ She speaks with wisdom,
    and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
²⁷ She watches over the affairs of her household
    and does not eat the bread of idleness.
²⁸ Her children arise and call her blessed;
    her husband also, and he praises her:
²⁹ “Many women do noble things,
    but you surpass them all.”
³⁰ Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
    but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
³¹ Honor her for all that her hands have done,
    and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

I always called Jewell Faye Glover “Mrs. Glover.” That’s what we did when I was a kid. And it stuck, despite the fact that I found myself affectionately calling the mothers of other friends “Miss Nancy” or “Miss Jeanette.” I loved all the mothers who helped raise me and surely Mrs. Glover was one of those, but there was something about her that I recognized, even in my bedraggled Girl Scout Days, that set her apart. Mrs. Glover was what novels call a “jewel of the first water, meaning she was extraordinarily fine and I knew it from the start.

Mrs. Glover embodied the Wife of Noble Character in Proverbs 31. I can attest to that because, in several periods of my life, I had a chance to be a firsthand witness of her life. A witness of her witness.

The first was when I was a friend of Jill’s, whom I met at school and got to know more as we grew: through Girl Scouts and church activities and trips to the State Fair and Camp Caswell. Jill was a year younger than me and we became fast friends at the end of middle school and the beginning of high school. It was during this time that each of us often visited the home of the other.

Visiting the Glover home was a bit of a thrill for me. My own sister, 9 years older than me, went to nursing school when I was 9, so I often felt like an only child. But in the Glover home, there were five children! It was hard for me to wrap my head around. And two of those were brothers! I longed for brothers!

Someone looking in might imagine a house with five children – TEENAGERS – as chaotic. It was anything but with Mrs. Glover at the helm. She saw that the home was beautiful, inviting, and dare I say – serene. A miracle! I remember once when sitting down to a chicken dinner, I looked around the table at all the siblings and wondered “Hmmm, are they going to fight over who gets the breast?” I was surprised and amused to see the only arguments that ensued were over who got the wings. WINGS! How teenagers could overlook the breast, shortleg – the good parts – and argue over the paltry wings was a miracle in itself! No-one fought over the good parts – instead leaving them for others.

But that was how Mrs. Glover saw the world, she never overlooked anything or anybody and always put others before herself. She saw through my braces, wire rimmed glasses, pimples, extra pounds to see the real me, long before others did. She extended such love and grace to me that I always felt so cherished in her presence. I remember her voice from those long ago days as mellifluous and enveloping as her warm embrace. She always had time for “Miss Jackie.”  She saw her own children that way too, each important, each different, each unique and lovable in their own way. Jill was a bit of a spitfire and yet her mother sought to make her feel loved, nurtured and validated, despite Jill’s wont for teenaged turmoil. And I believe this allowed Jill to fell free to be herself and to express herself, because she knew she was loved. Always. What gift is more precious?

In addition to modeling how to be an extraordinary mother, she modeled how to be an extraordinary wife. Her love for Mr. Glover was a palpable thing and their relationship was the heart of the family. Their casual affection felt so intimate and true that more than once I blushed and turned away rather than intrude on a private moment.

The second period of my life when I drew close to the Glover family was when Jill was in an automobile accident and spent  much time at UNC hospital. I lived near campus and often visited with Jill and the family.  Mrs. Glover exhibited her usual strength, faith, and love during all of those visits. I believe she never forgot that Jill was God’s child and as well as her own. That regardless of Jill’s physical condition she was on the path to Heaven.

Mary Frances Draper and  Jewell Faye Glover

I also have memories of visiting Jill in the nursing home some months later. I met Mrs. Glover in town and we went in together. The whole place lit up when she walked in the door. She called everyone by name – staff and residents and inquired over each. She was a witness that day and everyday, whether in her faithful presence by Jill’s side, in her support of her church, in her marriage, in her life as a mother, in carrying Bibles to Russia, in visiting my family in the hospital days before my own father’s death. In so many ways! And that is why the mourners at her funeral were so numerous they spilled out the door of the sanctuary and the fellowship hall. Because so many people felt her unconditional love. 

Mrs. Glover surely had the fruits of the spirit: love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness and gentleness. And she brought up her children, and her grandchildren to live and love God as she did. What a blessing for them! What a blessing for us all! 

Rest in blessed peace, Mrs. Glover. And please, give Jill a hug for me. 

Jill and I 

Random Acts of Christmas Kindness

It’s been a tough few weeks for the Draper Girls.

Draper Girl #2 – my sister, Elaine, had what she thought was a cold. Then suddenly things changed rapidly and her husband realized it was something far worse. Within hours she was at WakeMed in ICU, on a ventilator, and awaiting surgery for a severe infection in her lungs. That was 2 and a half weeks ago. She has endured surgery, chest tubes, scores of tests, plates of frightening hospital food, 2 units of blood and is patiently awaiting placement in Rehab so she can get back to being herself.

Draper Girl #1 – my mom has had a chest cold that has gotten worse and worse and worse. So bad in fact that Draper Girl #3 (me, if you are counting) took her to the Duke ER last Saturday to sit drenched in germs next to people with bloody appendages to wait our turn for a chest xray. She was diagnosed with acute bronchitis, given a script for steroids and an inhaler and sent back home to wrestle with a beast of a cough, one that manages to win handily each night when she puts her head on the pillow.

Draper Girl #3? I’ve been running around like Miracle Mike. (Miracle Mike is not a stripper from a movie. If you don’t know who Miracle Mike is, part two of reading this blog is to Google “Miracle Mike.” Really. Beatingest thing I’ve ever heard. )  Anyway – suffice it to say, when I’m visiting my sister in the hospital, I’m worried sick about leaving Momma at home. When I’m home, I’m worried sick about my sister in the hospital. In between, I’ve logged miles, many miles on the  I-40/Beltline racetrack, bought and wrapped gifts, addressed Christmas cards,  gotten my labs done and had my thyroid meds changed again.

So far, it’s been a Christmas to remember, because amidst the chaos, the Christmas light of love and remembrance has shone on my family. And blessed us.

My friend Nancy brought us not one, but two complete dinners – one was a delicious spaghetti feast complete in every detail.  The second, on the very eve of Mom’s “visit” to Duke, was Brunswick Stew, one of her very favorite dishes, one that harkened to home and hearth and warmth and love.  To see Mary Frances eat something she genuinely enjoyed in the midst of being so sick she couldn’t dress herself was a gift I won’t soon forget.

The following day, a Sunday, my son, Nat, and my daughter-in-law, Lilly came to help decorate our tree. That was a gift in itself, but when Lilly asked for a handcart, I couldn’t image why. Those two wrested a giant box of books from be back of their car and somehow trundled it in the house to lay at the feet of my mother. They had gone to the Wake County Library  Book Sale and spent an hour and a half selecting large print mysteries that they thought she would like. Mama was ecstatic and a week later is still oohing and ahhhing over her hoard. She’s read 3 so far of the 39 titles and I’ve never seen her happier over ANY GIFT, EVER. The price tag – 3 dollars.

 My sister has also been the recipient of  an unexpected gift. One of her church friends put out a call to her friends and they gathered a gift basket of home baked goodies, fruit, candies and cards and got it to my brother-in-law for transport to the hospital. So in medical terms, she received a bolus of love from her church family back home.

My next unexpected gift  was one I had secretly wished for. One I had not mentioned to anyone. My artist friend and former roommate, Jeannette, created a coloring book earlier this year in time for her studio tour. I had hoped to go, but time was not my friend. She posted a few shots of her work in progress on Facebook and I was simply smitten. I hardly ever see Jeannette in person and our relationship exists these days as kindred FB spirits so I couldn’t imagine getting a chance to purchase one of her limited editions before they were gone.

After a visit to the hospital, I came home and collected the mail. Inside was a package – addressed in – why it was Jeannette’s handwriting. It…felt…like….and…it…WAS… a copy of the coloring book! I stopped in the middle of my 1001 Things To Do Before Christmas earworm and sat down and simply drank in the charming, delightful, calming images. It’s a promise  to myself that when the furor dies down, or possibly even sooner, I will sit down and simply color. I can’t wait! Jeanette said she was thinking of me and thought I’d like copy. She is kindness itself.

And finally, on Friday – I returned home and found a half gallon of Bojangles Iced Tea on my doorstep – something I heard once described as Housewife’s Crack for its potent blend of sugar and caffeine. So this gift, from my friend Jo, who had no idea what I’m soaking in, has powered me through the busy weekend.

Because that’s what Christmas is all about, sustaining one another with love.  It's what all three of the Draper girls have felt in spades. It’s not about the trappings – the decorations, the parties, not even the paper and bows. It’s to know that someone who cares about you has held you in their heart. It’s to hold someone you care about in your heart. It’s to celebrate the Birthday of the Christ child who came to remind us to love one another. It’s all about Love. Actually. 

Merry Christmas and love to you all! 

Scooter vs. Old Scratch

The Devil came down to Dixie two weeks ago and he was looking for a pug to steal. He was in a bind cause he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal.

I coulda spared him the trip ‘cause my boy Scooter won’t ready for no deal.

‘Cause Scooter  has had more dances round that Devil than any dog has a right. When he was a tiny handful of glossy black pug puppy, four, count’em FOUR vets in Virginia said “Put him down.” But somehow a kindly couple saw past his malformed legs, they saw his immense spirit and ran Old Scratch off. And delivered the tiny guy they crowned Scooter into the hands of Midatlantic Pug Rescue.

Scooter on the day he arrived at the MacHardy house.

But no-one remembered to tell Scooter he was different. His front legs had no “elbows” and they couldn’t support the front end. His back legs, were in better shape and held up his little rump and curly tail up at an awkward angle. But boy could he get around. He looked like a bit like a grasshopper and his powerful back legs pushed him around - so he scooted here and there.

Yep, Scooter arrived with legs out of whack but with so much personality that dear husband said within two days of his arrival “If (Dr.) Monce can’t fix him, I’ll carry him around on a pillow the rest of his life.”

At Scooter’s first assessment Dr.  Kevin Monce and I stood looking at the xrays of Scooter’s malformed limbs. “Is there hope?” I asked worriedly. Kevin replied “There’s always hope.”

And so Scooter, the wonder pug, began his quest to have four functioning legs. Dr. Monce put pins through the top and bottom of each leg (external fixators), banded them together and over time pulled the bones together. Scooter’s body did the rest - making bone out of what had been cartilage and creating function where before there had been none.

You might think “Oh, poor little puppy!” Save your breath. Again Scooter wasn’t interested in the details of his deformation. The day after his first surgery he was up and walking on his casts - “sticks” my son, Zack, called them. At his frequent day visits with Dr. Monce he was “too good” for a kennel and settled down in his own dog bed positioned behind the receptionist's desk.

Scooter walking on his "sticks." 

He grew and so did his personality. He quickly became the alpha of our household pack, an imp who delighted in annoying the older dogs and a vocal opponent of delayed meals. He insisted on the best lap and being the first one out the door for walks.

And so after many, many trips to the vet, many orthopedic exercises, we became foster failures. He and we were so bonded the very idea of placing him in another home was unthinkable. We made it official. We adopted him. Or maybe it was the other way around.

So nine years later, which was two and a half weeks ago. Scooter got sick. He started throwing up at 11pm and didn’t stop. By 4 am I was at the emergency vet to see if he was dehydrated. And this guy, this sick, sick, sick boy - perked up at our arrival like we were visiting a steak house. No, they said, but get him into your regular vet pronto. By 8:00 am we were at our local Durham vet, New Hope Animal Hospital, where he was soon sent back to the Veterinary Speciality Hospital with an IV already in place. I had imagined a simple GI upset, but somewhere along the way his immune system went into overdrive and destroyed his platelets - within a few days he had 0. Dogs can’t live with zero platelets. Old Scratch was coming.

But somehow, with the dedication of round the clock nursing and round the clock vet care and round the clock credit card charges,  little Scooter said “Get Thee Gone Satan!” And, somehow,  with the administration of one, then two steroids and finally an immunoglobulin infusion, Old Scratch started to doubt his chances. Oh, it was dicey for a while and it was close.

Our family decided together not to go to visiting hours because we didn’t want to upset him. We needn’t have worried, because while Old Scratch was knocking at the door, Scooter was playing the field, he was jumping into the arms of the vets and vet techs. He was being hand fed. He was wagging his tail. He was Hugh Hefner at the Playboy Mansion.

Finally, Old Sctatch just plum gave up and went back to whatever Hell hole he climbed out of.

Scooter returned home after five days and nights in the hospital with five different medications and the need for close supervision and much followup. But we give it willingly. It’s why I’m up at 4:12am writing- to give him a tummy protectant an hour before he eats breakfast.

Because he’s family. Because he believes himself whole. Because he is the love of our lives and we see courage and strength and humor in him everyday. Because he is truly a life-affirming gift from a divine Creator.

So, we’ve got a message for Old Scratch: when Scooter’s time comes, don’t come sniffing around here again. Because, this one, this little black pug with the hobbled-together legs and the oversized ego?

He’ll be going to Heaven.

Scooter recuperating in prime real estate. 

Cute Nails

In the chaos surrounding the week prior to our annual beach vacation, I wanted one thing for myself prior to departure. I wanted cute toenails.

It was a crazy week, my sister visited for a doctor’s  appointment, my son returned after completing his master’s from Berkeley, and I was coughing my head off. I had at least 100 items on my PRIOR TO THE BEACH LIST and was near to bawling all week.

This is nothing new from me and in fact my annual pre-beach meltdown is a prerequisite for vacation. As one spate of tears appeared, two of my menfolk laughed together at the predictability of the event.

Despite all this,  for once, I wanted a nice pedicure for the beach. Forget lumpy legs or droopy middle aged….parts, wouldn’t it be nice to have  lovely toes luxuriating in my new sandals?

I made and kept my appointment at the Nail Spa. RK, “my guy”, soaked my feet and started work. I fell into a casual conversation with the lady in the chair next to me and a bit later, realized that RK had fallen into a quiet, thoughtful repose. I looked at my toenail, and I knew why.

Many years ago, preparing for Vacation Bible School, some friends and I were carrying heavy foldable tables. I lost the grip on one and it slammed into my right big toe, filling the classroom with a haze of profanity and necessitating a trip to the ER. My toes wasn’t broken, but my toenail sure was. It never really grew in properly, instead in came in thick, crooked and discolored.

At my last (and actually my first) pedicure, RK had masterfully painted this ugly toe and it shone proudly with pink polish - right in line with the others. This pedicure, he was trying to dremel it down a bit and it just sheared off.  He was horrified and did his best to patch it up - certainly not his fault and I left satisfied and a little amused.

That night I went swimming with two of my girlfriends and donned my swim fins per usual. by the end of our session that right big toe was feeling a little iffy and when I finally had the nerve to look, another piece of toenail had sheared away. I was left with a truly uglyhalf- toenail! So much for cute toenails. I was disappointed.

With no time for a toenail touchup, I searched for matching polish at the local CVS. Found some that would do and painted what was left of my toenail.

Then I continued to prepare for the beach - a whirlwind of washing clothes, packing, checking items off the list.  The morning before we left,  I found myself so sick that I arrived at Duke Urgent Care before it opened! I was quickly diagnosed with, as the PA said, a “rip-roaring sinus infection” and loaded up with prescriptions.

Back home we packed the car and hit the road and at last, on Sunday, I felt the relief, the relaxation, the soothing AHHHHHH that is vacation. I parked myself under the beach cabana with a book and a diet Coke. My idea of heaven.

Being Sunday there was a usual crowd of beachgoers and between chapters of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell I enjoyed a bit of people watching.  The beach is like the state fair - all sorts and sizes of folks to see. I soon noticed two women walking up from the ocean. They were in wet swimsuits and had  enjoyed a  brisk dip. They were laughing together and soon I realized one was holding on the other. Next I could make out that they were from two generations, with the younger woman being lead by the older. And finally, as they neared our cabana, I saw the unmistakable facial features of Down Syndrome.  More importantly, I saw acceptance, pride, grace, love and JOY! Life had turned out a little different than expected, but this mother and daughter drank it in - with no worries about perfection.

I admit that I looked at my toes then as I dug them in the sand. They worked just fine and so what if one toenail looked a bit pathetic. It is in the chaos and imperfection that we learn to reach for God and in doing  reach for grace and joy!

I can’t say I won’t have a meltdown come beach time next year, but I can say I will I will embrace it when it comes. After all, after every storm comes the blissful morning after.

I Gotta Guy...

I’m not girly. I’m still a tomboy. Hair has got to be easy.

So getting my hair “done” for the first part of my life was a squirm-inducing proposition. It is so INTIMATE. It has to be someone with whom you be up close and VERY personal.

And then, the year Zack was born, there was the grey hair – lots of it – and it came fast. By 35, I was almost completely grey.

And the comments started…

In an elevator with a four year Zack, someone said “Isn’t it wonderful you can spend so much time with your GRANDSON!”

And TWICE– Earle was mistaken for my son: “I see your son is home from college, I saw him out riding his bike”. My sons were in ELEMENTARY SCHOOL.

So finally I found a chick I liked to do my hair. She had this glorious mane of riotously curly black hair and a New York accent. And finally – over many months – she gently persuaded me to color my hair.

And I loved it!

(Aside: I met Zack at the bus stop that day – he was in Kindergarten – he saw my “new hair” – hated it – ran home – threw himself on his bed – and sobbed for the rest of the afternoon that he wanted his “old” mother back! But I digress…)

And I liked the chick – Janice saw me regularly – tried different shades of color – was steady and patient and kind. And finally I had someone for the long-term who could deal with my hair AND with me. And my boys.

Until life got in the way. Marriage – kids – and somehow she thought HER FAMILY needed her more than MY FAMILY. I don’t get that, but luckily she had a husband who could do my hair.

So her husband took over. And Earl, a man’s man, Air Force veteran, started doing my hair. And soon he was doing mine, Earle’s, Nat’s and Zack’s. (And yes, that’s right – the two most important men in my life are named Earl(e).)

And he’s good too – really good – precise, creative and patient. And really kind.

He listens so well that once teenaged Nat went for a haircut at an appointment before mine. Earl trimmed Nat’s hair a wee bit, just as Nat asked. And I then I arrived and Earl had to cut it all over again to suit me…

And so time has passed and our family has had the care of this wonderful couple from 1994 to present – they've been in our lives 20 years – during this time we've  all worked hard on our families and shared the same dreams, goals, and faith.   Our family has been just been so blessed to know theirs. “My” Earle and I were recently invited to the B’nai Mitzvah for their children – what a mountaintop experience! What a privilege! 

The Glass Family  (photo courtesy of me stealing from Janice's FB page.)

And now, Earl even does Mary Frances’ hair. She was hesitant at first to have a male stylist, but now she’s head over heels.

And so – yeah – I gotta hair guy….and I couldn't be happier…

Recently I had my nails done for my son’s wedding – for the first time in my life. I tried out a local nail place just this week to have them redone. By chance, a man did my nails – he’s an ex-trucker and electrician. He is a reader – and can recount by title, character, setting and plot of all the novels of LaVyrle Spencer. I liked him – he was patient and kind. And I was at ease with him.

So maybe, just maybe,

 I gotta nail guy….

10 things I learned from being the Mother-of-the-Groom

My older son got married a few weeks ago. It was a small, beautiful wedding. The bride was lovely, the groom couldn't stop smiling, the late October day was sunny and unseasonably warm and the vows were heartfelt. But I learned some very important lessons.

1.       This is not my wedding.

 As a Southern woman with a traditional wedding, I thought I knew best how it was done.  In fact, I recently helped with a girlfriend’s daughter’s wedding. And the Mother-of-the-Bride was also organized and eager. We were ready to rumble.

Except, after I generated a spreadsheet of questions, the groom, kindly, gently, told me “It’s not your wedding. We got this.”

What? After all those dirty diapers, PTA nights, reading “How Things Work” for the 1,100^th time and it’s not my wedding!

The MOTB had been gently told the same thing.

We gnashed our teeth a bit and held on tight.  Would they remember this? Would they remember that? How about….

But  gradually we came to accept that it really wasn’t our wedding.

And that it really was their wedding.

And that it was perfectly done.

And that was, in fact, a gift to the both of us.

2.       You will forget someone.

When I realized I accidentally left a cherished couple off my list of potential invitees after the invitations were mailed, I sat down and cried. The wedding was small, and I thought they were on the list and when I double checked, I found I left them off.  I was devastated.

I told my son, with great remorse. 

He said “It’s okay, Mom. I probably would have included them, but it’s no big deal.”

And it wasn’t. 

They loved him before his wedding.

They still love him after.

3.       That kid that always waits until the last minute is always going to wait until the last minute.

When he was in elementary school, you told yourself he would grow out of it. When he was in middle school, you told yourself he would grow out of it. When he was in high school, you told yourself he would grow out of it.  With every 9:05 pm request for poster paper, every midnight science project, every “I left my book at school and the book report is due tomorrow and I haven’t read it, will you drive me back to school and maybe the custodian will still be there…”, I comforted myself with the conviction that my kid would grow out of it.

My younger son was tapped to serve as best man. He flew from California to stand by his brother’s side. His brother and future sister-in-law purchased a jacket, pants, and an orange bow-tie for him. So he gets off the plane with only his backpack, white shirt inside, and smiles and asks if I will take him to buy shoes.

Of course I’ll take you to buy shoes. Do you need any poster paper?

4.        Good shoes are important.

The MOTB and I got the incredible opportunity to dress shop together for our dresses. It was a blast and I found my dress quickly. But the shoes…..

I can’t wear heels. I sprained my ankle decisively as a teenager playing volleyball at a youth retreat. (I literally stepped in a little hole – can you hear the crunch?)

On Saturday before the wedding, I set out to find the perfect shoes. I warned the Father-of-the-Groom that it was going to be all out warfare until I found THE SHOES.

But then a little voice whispered in the back of my memory: try COMFORTABLE SOLES.

So I did. First. In fact I threw myself on the saleswoman and explained my plight. She asked for a description of my dress. Once I did, she smiled, winked and reached down to pull up the legs of her longish jeans. Behold. The perfect shoes – ones she could stand in all day – ones they had in my size and in black – Danskos with a perky ankle strap.  Sold.

In fact, I loved them so much, I went back this week to tell her how much I enjoyed wearing them at the wedding. She was so overjoyed she embraced me.

Never underestimate the value of good shoes.

5.       Good friends will always be there for you.

The wedding was small and everyone on the bride’s side was from out of town. I wanted to do something for them, but let’s face it, my house with three pugs just wasn’t the right venue.

So my friend Fran stepped in. She opened her house and her heart up to a group of folks she didn't even know! Not only that, she enlisted many of my bookclub friends and more to decorate, cook, serve and clean up. Friends that WEREN’T EVEN INVITED.

The night of the dinner her home and the menu oozed Southern charm. The atmosphere was warm and friendly and the food was delicious. And so much more intimate (and tasty!)  than a meal in the backroom of a restaurant.

Another gift given to me: the care and effort that Fran and my friends put into this event. The pugs are pissed to have missed out, but I’ll be forever grateful.

Me, my shoes, Fran, Zack and his shoes

6.       You can’t please all of the people all of the time.

Nat and Lilly’s wedding was held at the Walnut Creek Wetlands Center in Raleigh. I was delighted when I visited the venue for the first time. This contemporary center has versatile meeting (wedding) space, a covered porch perfect for vows or conversation and is nestled in among a lovely stand of trees. In late October this provided a natural, colorful backdrop for an intimate wedding. It was charming.

This is a conversation I actually had immediately before the wedding.

Friend: Boy, you will be glad when this wedding is over, I’m sure it cost you a lot of money.

Me: No, actually, Lilly and Nat paid for everything themselves!

Friend: Oh. Guess that is why they held it here.  

7.       How not to be a mother-in-law.

I do believe my mother-in-law loves me, but she is not always a gracious woman. I remember one trip to the beach in which she said to me: “Jackie, I don’t know why you are so self-conscious about being out here in your bathing suit. There are plenty of women fatter than you are.” 

The post wedding comment after the slide show which displayed pics of me as a young mom went something along these lines: “Boy, Jackie sure packed on the weight after she had those children.”  Yes, I guess I did, TWENTY FOUR YEARS AGO…..

I promise not to judge my daughter-in-law on looks. In fact, if my perfectly sized daughter-in-law grows to be the size of a freak show fat lady, I will never comment on it. Because I love her. And because I know what’s important. She loves my son. And what could be more important than that?

The Bride

8.       You will bond with the Mother-of-the-Bride

Frankly, and with no offense to the dads, no-one loves the Groom like the Mother-of-the-Groom and no-one loves the Bride like the Mother-of-the Bride.

And then someone does.

And it’s magic.

And the Mother-of-the-Groom and the Mother-of-the-Bride both know it. And their hearts are warmed. And no-one, no-one can really appreciate that as much as they will.

The MOTB and the MOTG

9.       Take tissues

I have the reputation of being the crybaby in the family. Hallmark commercials, puppies, old couples. They all get to me. Don’t even get me started about BIG HERO 6.

So when the Mother-of-the-Bride handed me a gift the night they arrived for the wedding week I was grateful to find it was a UNC tissue holder, perfect to have Earle tuck in his pocket for me.

And I did need them. And Nat took a few and tucked in his coat sleeve, just in case.

Lilly can attest (she was facing me during the vows ) that I had big old salty droplets just rolling down my face. There was some audible crying coming from across the aisle, so I did the adroit, let-me-rub-these-tears-in-my-face-and-no-one-will-be-the-wiser-cause-like-I’ve-just-been-peeling-some-onions-in-this-fancy-purple-dress move and I’m sure no-one was the wiser.

But I knew those tissues were there. Ready. Even if maybe I was going to have a post vow meltdown.  

Tissues=good planning.

10.   It’s all just frosting.

Two people meet. They fall in love. They decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together. That’s the cake – whipped up with love, commitment, joy and hope.

Everything else is just frosting.

Good cake doesn't really need frosting. If it’s there – that’s great. But it’s not essential.

So to future MOTGs and MOTBs everywhere: RELAX and ENJOY.  They got this.

The Bride and Groom

To Men Everywhere: CALL YOUR MOTHER!

Let me say, first off, I apologize to all my friends who have daughters. Yes, I was smug. I did say raising boys was easier than raising girls. I did call all boys wysiwygs (what you see is what you get), devoid of female teenage manipulations and periodic whirlwinds of inexplicable emotions. Instead, I crowed, boys are solid, steady, honest and forthcoming.  They don’t worry about what their friends are wearing, they don’t spend hours fixing their hair. They don’t run up the phone bill. They talk to their mother.

The implication I missed was this: they don’t run up the phone bill BECAUSE THEY DON’T USE THE PHONE.

Yep, when they left home (and they continue to do this in varying stages: home to college, college to grad school, apartment to girlfriend’s condo, North Carolina to California, California to Japan…) they somehow became almost completely incapable of using their phones.

Oh, yes, their phones are technological marvels and when held in their hands, my sons have the options of calling, texting, emailing, Facebooking or Skyping AT NO COST TO THEM WHATSOEVER.

When I left home for the faraway burg of Chapel Hill, I loved my new college life: the hustle and bustle of thousands of students, the classes, the independence, all of it! But a part of me inside missed my parents. When the dorm phone rang for me – I was so happy to talk to my parents. In fact, so happy that during freshman year, I would invariably tear up with emotion and, well…, cry a bit. This wasn't to say that I was sad, not at all, just nostalgic and filled with love and a touch of longing for my parents. This, in fact, this broke my Dad’s heart. And he finally said to me “Boots, it’s not so bad. You could have cancer or be in a concentration camp.”  He nailed it. The tears stopped but not the calls to my parents.

In fact, as the years progressed and I married, had kids, and paid my own phone bills, those calls became daily. We talked every morning – with my mom and dad each on an extension – they caught me up on Seaboard doings, I told them about the boys or asked for advice. Those calls were gifts – and each one buoyed me up to meet the day that would then rush in with the breathless force of a tidal wave.

By contrast, when my older son left for college, I pretty much didn't hear from him for SIX weeks, despite the number of times I checked my phone for messages.  I got a line of email here or there but not much else. And when the younger son left for college he embarked on a new relationship at the same time so, shall we say, his thoughts were elsewhere. Not with home and hearth.

A friend of mine told me this is how we raised them, to see the back of their heads and I know in my heart that is true. The apron strings are cut. But STILL I hold out hope that my sons will use those handheld wonders and think of their mother.

And so it was that my older son and his fiancé’ headed to California a couple of weeks ago; Lilly had a conference in San Francisco which is quite close to my younger son at Berkeley. (Which let me pause here briefly, and say thank God for Lilly. If I can’t get Nat to respond to a text, I add her to the thread and magically he responds.) Anyway, as I was saying, I envisioned both my boys and Lilly together, romping in sunny California. Before I dropped the couple at the airport, I asked for photos. (Those phones have built in cameras, don’tyaknow?)

Then I waited. And waited.

At last, a picture came. My phone chirped happily at midnight EST. I excitedly opened up my message and got this:

Those are Nat’s feet because I recognize the orange NERD socks. And I THINK that is Zack’s arm because of the freckles. But how did they get in that position? Later, I showed the picture to one of my girlfriends who said that with the apparently detached arm and legs, I should  probably call CSI San Francisco.

So, to the mothers of daughters out there: enjoy the texts, enjoy the calls, enjoy the Facebook posts.  Simply enjoy.

To the mothers of sons: keep the faith. They do love you. Enjoy simply.