When Your Nine Year Old is Wearing Black Lipstick - It's Time to Face Some Facts

This is an update in my ongoing adventure - the imminent wedding for my eldest daughter. If you would like to get read some of the developments so far please see my previous posts "Why I Will Forever Link Portobellos with Pregnancy " , The Hostess with the Mostest and her Litmus Test - or The Power of Swank Appetizers   and Joining the Bottled Promise Bunch - 2 Words (another update that I wrapped into a writing prompt)  .

Last Thursday, I awoke from the most vivid and alarming dream I'd had in recent recollection.

In it, I had arrived alone at a wedding. I walked into the lobby, which descended into a main gathering area designed like an indoor atrium. Guests were scattered around, sobbing and distraught.

A woman in a black dress with a red tulle collar (circa Bram Stoker's Dracula) approached me, an eager expression on her face.

"Have you heard?" she whispered excitedly.

"'I'm sorry, no, heard what?"

"The groom is dead. It's a terrible tragedy. The wedding, of course has been cancelled. They're asking the guests to donate whatever contributions they had planned for the money dance to help pay for the funeral."

I looked around in further confusion. I noticed there were four other similarly clad black and red tulled girls, and realized the woman next to me must have been a member of the bridal party.

"Here, I'll take you to where they're gathering collections," she offered, grabbing my elbow, and steering me toward the front of the room.

"You're the one who's going to school for medical coding, aren't you?" she asked conversationally as we passed the bereft.

"Well, yes..."

"I was wondering, since you've been studying medical diagnoses, what you think the groom might have died of?"

We had arrived at the table, and in front of me was an empty wine-chiller filled with bills of every denomination. Directly behind it, lay the groom - flat as a pancake.

I looked up, and saw that the atrium was surrounded by balconies of the hotel rooms.

"My guess is a fall from about 10 or 15 stories up..."

My escort clapped her hands and exclaimed, "Brilliant ! How did you guess?"

It was then I realized "my escort" was actually my 9 year old daughter - complete with black lipstick.

At that point, I awoke in the classic cold sweat and knew without doubt, I had joined the masses. In spite of my vow to remain upbeat, unshaken and optimistic - I was a stereotypical-over-wrought-mother-of-the-bride. It was time to heed the call of my subconscious, and call a spade a spade.

I'd made admirable progress in planning a shotgun - I mean - hasty wedding, up to that point.

Michaela had asked if there was any way she could have a real wedding when we offered a quick trip to the Las Vegas Venetian (I thought getting married in a gondola under eternal man-made sunny skies romantic, myself..) Motivated by images of all the things I was unable to give her during the lean single-parenting years,  I kicked into high gear and surfed the internet like an OP Master.

Within hours, I'd found three sites that still had dates available in February. (Because people tend to melt during summer outdoor weddings in Cenral Arizona, this is the "high season.")

The first only held 80 people - roughly half of the tentative guest list.

The second, a historic mill that had been relocated to Arizona from the Shenandoah Valley, proved a touch too rustic for their taste. My future son-in-law  summed it up with, "Welcome to Knotts Berry Farm."

The last, and of course most expensive, was the local golf resort. They immediately fell in love with it. I reviewed the pricing, and realized my IRA would have to be sacrificed to the ever-starving wedding gods if we were to make it happen. With a stern lecture to the happy couple advising that "other sacrifices" would have to be made for such a high end location - I signed on the bottom line and then cashed out my retirement.

Our conservative number of 160 quickly morphed into closer to 200 as I worked my fingertips to the bone assembling hand-made invitations.

A wedding dress was selected on eBay for $150. It arrived AND FIT. I was in pig's heaven. Thousand saved, thanks to modern technology and someone in Hong Kong.

We found a dj who quoted $300 under all the others we queried. He was hired.

The parents of an acquaintance owned a flower shop. Michaela picked out her bouquet, arch decorations, corsages and boutiniers in a record 20 minutes. It came in at under $1000,  so again, I counted my blessings.

Bridesmaids dresses were located and purchased on sale at the mall - $25 each. All but one dress - you guessed it - my youngest daughter,  the junior bridesmaid. No matter, I would sew that one. It would be a bit more work, but I could manage it.

So with all this going for us,  why was I dreaming of suicidal grooms and my little one gone gothic?

Perhaps it was a portend of things to come...