Not the Mother of the Bride: Wedding Dress Scoop

At three years of age, Phoebe said: ‘when I get married, I’m going to wear your wedding dress, mummy.

‘You'll look lovely,’ Liz said smiling.

I wasn’t there, of course. I wasn’t even a pup in the belly. But trust me, I am a dog-of-the bride, I know these things.

Now Phoebe is in her twenties and the day of her wedding approaches.

Florists are being been booked, cakes tasted, deposits on reception centres made, and a great deal of discussion about suits, dresses and fabrics is being bandied about. Phoebe’s whimsical childhood promise of wearing her mother’s wedding dress forgotten by all but Andrew. He returned from a recent business trip to Adelaide with the dress in its mouldering packaging.

‘What’s that?’ Phoebe asked as he laid the box at her feet.

‘Mum’s wedding dress,’ he said. ‘You said you wanted to wear it.’

Everyone laughed, except Phoebe. She knew he wasn’t joking.

As I lay on my medium sized fully washable pet pillow, I heard a story in her silence.

Every mother wants to her baby girl to wear her wedding dress, and every mother is determined her adult daughter will have a new dress. I mean, it’s all very well to wear a matching collar when you are a pup. But once you are a mature hound, ready to leave home and manage your own household, you need a collar with some gravitas.

Dogs understand this, even if fathers don’t.

‘Go on,’ Andrew said, ‘try it on.’

‘It won’t fit,’ Phoebe said.

‘Mum was pretty skinny when she got married.’

Everyone turned to look at Liz, trying to imagine her with Phoebe’s waistline.

‘I might still be able to fit into it,’ Liz smiled, nervously.

There was a polite silence.

‘Phoebe’s skinner than I was on my wedding day. But I think the dress was altered for Wendy’s wedding. I'll try it on after you, Phoebe.’

I sat up, my nose twitching. This was the opportunity I'd been waiting for. Like all good investigavtive journalists, I’d been working undercover, sniffing out potential stories, waiting for the time to swoop. The pricking of my paws, told me that moment was now upon me.

As Phoebe clumped down the hallway her arms swathed in yellowing fabric, I made a dash for the camera cupboard, thinking of headlines, such as Wedding Dress Scoop or Heirloom gown for Zone Three Wedding. I drew the camera out of its pouch and took up my position behind the couch. This would be bigger than Wills and Kate, the world in a frenzy. We’d have to hire security, keep the gown under lock and key.


The dress was loose on Phoebe. She turned like a model, the not- quite-white- ruffles swirling prettily. I had quite a lump in my throat as I crouched, low to the ground, the shutter clicking repeatedly.

Next it was Liz’s turn to try on the gown. I saw her smile slip.

But she walked bravely to the bedroom and came out a few minutes later grinning. 'Not bad,' she said, holding out her hands and curtseying.

But she didn’t twirl about as Phoebe had. She stayed front on, the creased skirts hanging stiffly.

At this point, I faced a terrible dilemma. It's one thing to talk about being an award winning journalist, quite another to show a middle-aged woman in her wedding dress to be pudgy and pretending, especially when the woman in question holds the key to the treats cupboard.

My lightly furred underbelly clenched painfully. I thought of the cupboard full of Oinkers, Beef Chews and Dentastix. Perhaps it was wrong to exploit another’s weakness? To climb on anothers back, and win acclaim from it? Then I thought of words like hard hitting and responsibility, duty to society. I remembered how it felt to Fail Alpha Dog Training. Scruples be damned!

I felt every vertebrate in my spine click. Dog like me have to take every opportunity. I slipped around the couch, before Liz had a chance to notice, and took this shot.

Engagement Party and some Pics

We've had the party - and eaten the cake. I have posted some photos and a copy of the speech I made on behalf of all the parents.

Andrew McCann – the name first hit my radar about a year ago.

My husband, Andrew and I had noticed Phoebe was happy, very happy. She had good friends and good fellowship. She was a Hype leader, a regular attendee of fam. dinner and was enjoying uni. She had finally settled down after her overseas exchange. There was no evidence of a boy friend but, I have to admit, I had begun to suspect there was more to her mood than simply good Christian fellowship.

Last June, Phoebe spent a week house sitting with Courtney. We missed her, terribly but had begun to brace ourselves for the inevitable – one day Phoebe would leave home.

But I must say things have happened quicker than even we could have imagined.

Phoebe and I were enjoying our morning coffee, chatting over our plans for the day, when I first heard the name Andrew McCann. Phoebe had some small errands to perform, she said. Then she was going to have lunch with Andrew.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Andrew who?’

Phoebe had this little smile playing about her mouth, seeing straight into my trying-not-to- appear-too-curious mind, knowing she was about to deliver a bombshell.

‘Andrew McCann, she said. ‘You know his parents. They go to Crossway.’

Well, I knew exactly who she was talking about. Peter and Cathy always sat on the left hand side, just in front of us when we went to Crossway. Cathy always helped at the Vermont Secondary College text book sales. Peter was on school council. Bec was Amy Comben’s friend. Dave used to be Seth’s Kids Church leader. Oh yes, I knew exactly who she was talking about. But unfortunately, I didn’t knew anything about Andrew McCann.'

‘Is this just a friendship,’ I asked. ‘Or something more?’

‘A bit more,’ Phoebe said, a little smile skipping across her face.

Well this was news! I was having trouble balancing my coffee. For some reason my hand was shaking.

‘What’s he studying?’ I asked, aiming for nonchalance.

‘He’s not studying, he’s working.’

‘Oh,’ I put the cup down. How old is he, then?

‘Twenty seven,’ Phoebe said, he smile breaking into a grin.

I kept my composure (until Phoebe left for lunch) then I raced out to the studio where my husband Andrew was working. ‘Phoebe’s got a boy friend,’ I said. ‘His name’s Andrew McCann, you know Peter and Cathy McCann’s son, he’s twenty seven, working, place in St Kilda – he’s got his own dog and everything.

Now I must say up front, neither Andrew nor I were worried about Andrews’s age. But its implication was not lost on us either. This was a young man from a loving family whose faith and values would match Phoebe’s, someone who would believe in marriage, someone whose younger brother and sister were, in fact, already married.

This could get serious pretty quickly.

We weren't at all worried about a small age difference. But I did wonder how I would relate to Andrew. I mean, I work with people who are twenty seven, they are my peers, my colleagues – this wasn’t a boyfriend, Phoebe had got herself – it was a man.

She might be old enough – but I wasn’t sure if I was.

Of course, I needn’t have worried. My first thought, on meeting Andrew, was: Oh, it's fine, he's just like one of my sons.

From the first, Andrew felt like a good fit in our family.

This is a sentiment Peter and Cathy have both echoed. When Cathy and I were talking on the phone last week, in preparation for tonight’s party Cathy said, she felt like Phoebe had completed their family. When I chatted to Peter about the speeches, I asked if there was anything in particular he wanted me to say on their behalf, he said, only that we’re delighted – absolutely thrilled.

I think that is the main thing we want to say tonight.

We are thrilled.

In Andrew, Phoebe has found a man who is honest, sensitive and kind, someone who will walk beside her on life’s journey. In Phoebe, Andrew has a young woman who is caring, compassionate and true. They will seek God together. Take their place as a couple in the life of the church and in the wider community.

Andrew, Peter and Cathy and I, are immensely proud of them. Of the choice they have made in each other, their belief that marriage is the framework in which they want to make that commitment, and that their relationship is part of their wider faith journey.

It is everything we would have wished for them.

I would therefore like to conclude this speech, by inviting Peter McCann, Andrew’s father to lead us in prayer. On our behalf, Peter will thank God for bringing Andrew and Phoebe together, and seek God’s continued blessing for their engagement and their marriage.

Love actually ...

Hi, it's Biskit. I haven't blogged for a while.

But I have something to tell you. Something exciting. It is about my new friend: Mia McCann.

She is a Yorkshire terrier.

And she is very pretty!

Mia is Andy’s dog and Andy visits Phoebe quite often … and, the rest of the time, Phoebe visits Andy and, sometimes, when Andy comes to our house, he brings Mia.

I like it when Mia comes to visit. We run up and down, around, the house sniffing. We gambol in the garden, with our tongues hanging out, panting. We drink out of the same water bowl and stare through the glass doors waiting.

We are like peas and carrots, Mia and I, jelly and ice cream.

Yesterday, Liz told me some very good news – she said Mia is going to become part of the family. I wasn’t sure what she meant at first. Was she moving in? Was I moving out? Was it going to be one of those weekend access kind-of-things?

But now, I have it all sorted.

You see, I love Mia, and Mia loves Andy, and Andy loves Phoebe and he … has asked her to marry him.

Yes, that’s right.

Phoebe has a ring on her finger and a smile on her face. She is like a rose in spring, a wattle in winter, the soft red tipped new growth on a gum tree.

She is engaged.

This means Liz will be Andy’s mother-in-law and Andrew will be Andy’s father-in-law. It means Jack, Seth and Priya will get a new brother-in-law and, of course, Ness will still be the best daughter-in-law. But, most of all, it means Mia and I will be related.

It is, of course, a little sad because when Phoebe gets married she won’t live here anymore. She will live with Andy. When she gets up in the morning she will have coffee with Andy. When she goes for a walk it will be with Andy. When she goes home … it will be with Andy.

Liz says it’s ok, that she will visit … sometimes, that when she comes to visit, she will bring Mia. Sometimes they will stay for lunch. Then Mia and I will race up and down the house with our paws skidding on the wooden floorboards. We will go in and out in and out of the back door, not sure whether to run in the garden or to stay with the family. We will tussle over toys and stand by the laundry cupboard begging for treats.

We are like peaches and cream, Mia and I, brandy and pudding.

She is the soft centre in my Cadbury Roses, and the liquorice in my all-sorts. She is my meat, dry biscuits and my marrow-bone-jelly. She is eyes and ears and a furry tummy. I think about her all day, every and throughout the day. I couldn’t stop, even if I tried.

I think it’s love actually.