CAKE BALLS

It’s been a year in the making. There have been numerous emails, phone conversations, and spreadsheets. My daughter has become an expert in event planning. My husband now resembles Spencer Tracy and Steve Martin in the “Father of the Bride” movies, and our bank account is similarly depleted. But through it all, I have remained calm, detached, and blissfully ignorant, because it is a “destination” wedding, and I am not anywhere near the “destination.” 

But now the event draws very close. There are suitcases in the hall. I have made a detailed list of chores for the dog sitter. I bought enough cat litter to ballast a whaler. I have the Spanx and the new mascara. So now it’s anticipation time. 

I have lived through the shopping expedition for the “mother of the bride” outfit, during which I cursed the fitting room mirrors that seemed to add ten pounds. I got some beautiful high heeled shoes, which I have been practicing wearing. The trash men complemented me on my ensemble: cut off sweats, a Nike T shirt, and strappy espadrilles. 

So now I am waiting to leave. I have decided that even though it will make a lump in the pocket of my suit, I need to have some Kleenex in there. I have a few conversational opening gambits memorized for the inevitable cocktail chatter. I have removed the unsightly hair from my upper lip, and scheduled a last minute hair appointment for removal of the gray. 

Since all is in readiness, I have time to think. I remember the bride as a toothless T ball player, who picked daisies in the outfield. I remember the call from her teacher, requesting that I include underpants beneath her tights, since the boys were lining up under the monkey bars at recess. I recall the first time, at age three, when her leg fell asleep, and she exclaimed, “Mommy, there is something spicy in my leg!” 

There have been broken bones, throat cultures, heartbreaks, tattoos, and soccer games. We sent her away to college, and I cried all the way home. She moved to California as soon as she graduated, and created a life, a career, and a home for herself. She found a wonderful, artistic, funny, and handsome man to love. She seems to have it all.

She planned the whole thing. There will be delicious things, wonderful wine, and especially for her Mom with a sweet tooth: cake balls in three flavors. I am having trouble sleeping these final few days. I have vowed to fight the tears during the ceremony. But I may not be able to contain my emotion. 

I mean, who doesn’t tear up at the idea of cake balls?

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