Dandelion Bouquets

My Mary made me a CD with some of her favorite songs.  I listen to it over and over and over, especially Chuck Wick's "Stealing Cinderella".  Don't know why I love that song - it makes me cry, every time. 

Why are all those sappy "little girl grows up and gets married" songs from the Dad's perspective?  Moms feel the same way about their little girls!!  But that's not the subject of this post.

I want someone to write a song about how Moms feel when their sons get married.  I still have mine at home but from time to time I contemplate what it will be like when some gal wins his heart.  (Not sure there are any perfect girls out there, but I am speaking hypothetically)

Wow. It's gonna be a strange feeling to watch him confer his allegiance to another female.  I hope I will feel like I have gained an ally in loving him.  But I am bound to question if she will strive to nurture and protect the vulnerability he will hand her....his heart.  I don't want to forever be his main confidante and champion but I am sure I will wonder if she will understand how to interpret that grin - the one that he tries unsuccessfully to hide when he has achieved something he's dying to share...but doesn't want to boast.  And is she going to know what that grimace means?  The one that clouds his face when he is trying to hide some pain?  Is she going to know how to tell if the pain is from his throwing shoulder....or his heart?  And can she cook oatmeal scones and cinnamon rolls and medium rare eye of round roast sliced really thin?

When she looks at him, she won't be able to see the 4 year old that clasped his arms around my neck and vowed to "always love you bestest, Mom".  She won't know about the scores of dandelion bouquets that graced my kitchen table. Or the time he decked his sister because she told him he couldn't marry me.   Or all the sweaty socks I washed...and cried over when they became the same size as his dad's. She will not have logged untold hours in the stands watching ball games and praying for things like double-doubles or a first win.  She can't have the perspective of a view that changed from looking down into his eyes, to one that now looks way up.  She won't realize that the strong, lean hand that she now grasps used to be a chubby grip on my finger.

One day some really lucky gal will get to stand beside my son and vow to arrange her life around him forever.  And I'll step aside and cheer her on. And I will honestly want him to prefer her to me.  But those memories and insights and position  are uniquely mine to treasure.

I hope she'll ask me for my recipe for oatmeal scones.  He always gets those for breakfast on his birthday.