For my mother

Many people call my mother friend. They flock to her at social gatherings and laugh as she regales them with anecdote after anecdote, most of them involving one or more of her eight children (Sewing Jeffrey's leg up with dental floss, anyone?) There is just something about that woman that screams "safe place, all are welcome here." She will love you, even when she emphatically, absolutely, positively disagrees with you... or what you just said... Or what you just did... or who you're dating... or who you're voting for... or what religion you belong to.  She will still love you. It's just one of her many qualities that I wish to better emulate.

So many times, (even now as a grown woman in my thirties) the first thing I want to do when things get tough is run home to my mother. I guess, somehow, the world doesn't seem as scary when she's next to me. And that's who she is: a pillar of strength for everyone. Sadly, this beautiful and inspiring woman (like many others) doesn't believe she was a great mother to us growing up and she relives her mistakes often. If only she could see how the rest of us view her.

When I look at my mother, I see a woman who gave birth to eight healthy children (five of them without any epidurals or drugs!) I see a woman who spent 25 years of her life homeschooling those eight kids. I see a woman who single-handedly packed up our camper and kids several times a year so we could go to the desert, even though she spent the whole time working like a dog and was pretty much hot, tired, and miserable the whole time. I see a woman who gives everything she has to help someone, and when she has nothing left to give, she gives her time. I see a woman who loves pretty things and tried so hard to make a beautiful home, despite her children foiling her plans at every turn. She has great decorating sense and always has such great ideas.

Let's face it, the woman is a creative genius. I've often watched in amazement the collaboration that takes place between her and my dad. Usually she would come up with an idea and he would make it happen. They really were a great team in that way.

If I had to pick just one thing above the countless others that my mother has taught me, it would be this:

Don't listen to the negative input from outsiders, they don't have all the information, so they don't know what works for us and what doesn't. They aren't raising your kids and it's not their right to put their two cents in, you don't owe them an explanation. Listen instead to your instincts, your kids, your husband and God, they will give you a more honest appraisal of your progress than the world ever could.

This lesson is one that was never vocalized, but instead, I saw it frequently executed in her daily life. When she wanted to homeschool her kids, the world told her how stupid that was... she did it anyway.  When she had eight kids, the world told her how stupid she was... she did it anyway. When she decided to join my dad in learning to fly, the world didn't think it was a good idea... she did it anyway. When she decided to move her family to Idaho, the world said it was bad juju... she did it anyway.  She did these things (and many more)  because she knew that these things would be best for HER family. It was hard on her to face so much vocal opposition at every turn, but she bore it with a silent strength I wish I had.

I could go on and on and on for days about my mother and how magnificent she is, but I'm going to stop here with a simple:

"Thank you, Mommis, I don't know what we would have done or who we would be without you. I love you and Happy Mother's Day."

10 years later: Remembering my wedding

I think it was about this time 10 years ago that my sister's boyfriend was driving me home from a last minute dash to Will's apartment to drop off bedding. Instead of going directly home though, he was adamant he must stop to get Bethany some bananas from Henry's market. He moseyed around the store and then called my sister because they were out of organic bananas and he wanted to know if regular were ok. She promptly yelled into the phone that I was supposed to be getting married in an hour and she didn't care about bananas, just get Rachelle to her wedding!

We made it with a few minutes to spare and my mother hustled to get my hair in some kind order, throw some mascara on my lashes and stuff my into my dress and then it was time to walk out with my dad.

I started shaking so bad that I was worried my bouquet of white gladiolas and pink roses would fall apart! (My neighbor, Cindy, did all the flowers and they were gorgeous.) My dad distracted me with casual conversation until we finally arrived at our destination. My aunts were bustling around, here and there, making sure everything was running smoothly behind the scenes. Friends and family beamed at us from where they stood at either side of the grassy aisle that was strewn with pink rose petals. My Uncle Bruce and his buddy, Larry, played the song "Heart of the Heartland " as we proceeded. My cousin Tina and both of my sisters stood on one side of the pedestal with my soon to be brother-in-law, Kyle, my brother Brad, and Will's best friend, Selden standing on the other. 

Will was at the end of the aisle, looking handsome in his rented tux and sporting the pale pink rose boutonnière. He had insisted that men don't wear pink, but he did it for me. He grinned when he saw me and I knew he approved of my dress; it was a gorgeous strapless, a-line creation with pastel flowers embroidered around the waist and hemline. It was the third dress I'd tried on and even after trying on countless others at several stores over the next few weeks, I kept coming back to that one. It was perfect. I've never felt more beautiful than I did on that day.

Unfortunately, that was the end of the perfection as the man officiating our wedding proceeded to completely bungle his way through the ceremony. We had waited too long to find an officiant and were stuck with my parent's tax guy who happened to be a "lay pastor" on the side. He was doing our wedding strictly as a favor to my parents and he barely knew me. We had met with him only once before to discuss what we wanted and he didn't come to the rehearsal because he had a "previous engagement." At our brief meeting the week before, he'd asked if we were going to write our own vows and we emphatically told him no, but somehow, he thought that meant we wanted no vows at all... so during our ceremony, he talked about marriage for a moment and then we exchanged rings and that was it. No vows. No promises. I was so confused. I almost wish our photographer had captured the irritation on my face when I realized we'd been gypped out of our vows, which was the whole reason for having this ceremony.

That's not all though. We were supposed to do a butterfly release because that was the unofficial theme of the wedding. They came in a box that was refrigerated to keep them from flapping around and hurting themselves and supposedly, they should have been well defrosted by the time they made their big debut... but they weren't. So we opened the lid and waited... And waited. Nothing happened. We both stared into the box. Our audience laughed. Will pulled out the cardboard the poor butterflies were all slinging to and gave it a gentle shake, they sluggishly fluttered around, many if them falling to the ground. We all had a good laugh over it later.

After the butterfly disaster, our officiant then proceeded to announce us as Mr. and Mrs. Will CHAMBERLAIN. I was fed up at that point and bellowed out "It's CHANDLER." The poor guy was so embarrassed that he snuck away immediately after the ceremony, completely forgetting to sign our marriage certificate!

Once the sham of a ceremony was over, things went better. Toasts were made, we danced our first dance to Edwin McCain's "I'll Be." My father/daughter dance was to Sunrise/Sunset from Fiddler on the Roof and Will and my mom danced to "Because You Loved Me" by Celine Dion. In the middle of everything, our DJ announced that Will had a surprise and he directed me to a chair in the front of the room. I sat, embarrassed at being the center of attention and apprehensive at just what kind of surprise my new husband had in store for me. He walked up to the front with a guitar and sat on a stool, smiling sheepishly. He then proceeded to haltingly sing Adam Sandler's song "Grow old with you." It was an incredibly sweet moment and he'd been working in learning it for months, going once a week with Brad to have lessons from Uncle Bruce.

The rest of the wedding was a whirl of bouquet and garter throwing, conga lines, and swing dancing and then, it was over. The last song was supposed to be "Stay" by Maurice Williams but the DJ played some horribly unrecognizable punk rock version, I was so tired at that point though that I didn't care. We passed through a tunnel of bubbles and rose petals on our way out and went back to my parent's house to unwind.

Since we didn't have vows, my dad looked up the traditional ones at home and performed another ceremony for us, which was very sweet and special. Then we opened presents since we were going on our honeymoon to Hawaii the next morning and finally we drove home. I remember crying a little as we left, because I was really leaving home this time.

It was a beautiful day and so many amazing memories were made. Sure, the ceremony was a disaster, but you know what? EVERYONE remembers my wedding because of it and I think that's great.

So happy 10th anniversary to my best friend and life companion. You're still the one.