“Are you ready for some serious shopping?” I asked PB as we got in the car to make a trip to the big city.  His eyebrows went up, his shoulders went down and sweat started beading on his forehead.  “Aw, it’ll be fun,” I said.  And it was.

This was the I-don’t-have-a-dress-to-wear-to-the-wedding-yet shopping trip.  Oh,yeah, and PB probably needs something, too.  So we spent yesterday going into every dress shop in Madison and I must say, PB was a real trooper.  Nary a complaint, not even a sigh.  I let him stop for ice-cream mid afternoon and he was good for another two malls. 

The MOB dress is a tricky thing.  She can’t look better than the bride and bridesmaids, but she should look a little better than everybody else.  She doesn’t want to look too old, but she can’t look like she’s trying to be too hip.  Long or short?  Bright colored or subtle?  $368 or $40? 

I saw it in the second store I looked, and nothing measured up the rest of the day.  PB thought that meant an early exit, but he was game when I mentioned that shoes, necklace, earrings were next on the list.  Good thing he was eating ice-cream at the time, getting his strength up for round 2.  What a patient man.

Buying PB a suit was a breeze.  Instead of traipsing around the city to every dress shop, if you’re a man, you go to the only men’s suit store in town.  A very professional, well dressed young man directed us to the perfect suit with the perfect fit with the perfect shirt and tie.  Perfect.  So easy.  But I wasn’t jealous.  I like traipsing around with my husband.

So, we are going to look good, but not too good;  not too young and not too old;  classic, yet with a little flair.  I only forgot one thing: Spanx.

Last night I made 84 cake balls.  In lieu of the traditional wedding cake, we have decided to make cake pops, Lord have mercy.  They are so darn cute, though, and will make for a festive display.  Last night was strawberry night.  I already have 120 chocolate cake balls in the freezer.  And we haven’t even started with the vanilla yet.   Here’s the scoop on cake balls:

The night before I made 3 cakes. 

I started by cutting the cake into 8 chunks.

Then I took a knife and scraped off the brown outer covering.  You can’t have brown crumbs in pink cake balls.  That would just be wrong.

Next, I rubbed the chunk of cake in my hands over a bowl and let the crumbs fall where they may.

How do the crumbs hold together, you ask?  Frosting, of course!  I dropped a dollop in the crumbs and worked it in.  Oh, and see that cake pan with all those delicious, moist, brown bits of goodness?  I didn’t eat all of it…

The last step was to roll the delectable concoction into balls and put them into the freezer.  When they are frozen, I will put them into a sealed plastic container where they will wait for their crowning glory: a dip into more candy coating sweetness.  The day before the wedding.  Gulp.  This better work or I’ll be in big trouble. 

One month from today our daughter is getting married!  So I thought it would be fun to do a wedding countdown.  I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be one of those prolific bloggers who write every day.  Here’s my chance to try it, with built-in subject matter.  It’s not like I really need more to do right now, but I think I’ll give it a go.  So, thirty-one days and counting…

I’m aware that the month before a wedding is very busy and stressful…and filled with emotion….and chuck full of details, details, details.  But I figured, “Why not try to capture some of the craziness?”  Warning: if you happen to stumble upon this blog and find a picture of a car engulfed in flames, just know I crashed and burned and the wedding countdown wasn’t such a good idea after all.

I don’t know quite what to expect but what I’m aiming for are short daily entries from me, the MOB (Mother of the Bride).  Hopefully, there will be some deep insights and nostalgia, but probably there will be more lists of things yet to be done and cries out to God for strength.  *deep breath*  So, hold my hand and jump on the wedding countdown circus train, if you dare.