As a practice, I try to craft my Community Perspectives columns focusing on the CVC’s work. After all, we are the Center for a Vital COMMUNITY, and this is our (my) perspective. Often, my personal stories, insights, and experiences enhance this focus. Once in a while, I go completely off community topic, and the Press’ patient readers are treated (my word, not always yours) to purely Amy Albrecht-centric articles having little or nothing to do with our community. I justify this in my head by insisting that readers may identify with my struggles/successes/epiphanies and feel less alone (or stupid, as the case may be). This is one of those pieces. Buckle up, dear reader. We’re going to a wedding.

If you read my column enough, you know that I am the mother of two men (I suppose when they’re 18 and 21, I must transition from the term boys). According to tradition, I will have no influence or input on their weddings if they ever get married. That’s the purview of the bride and her family. The groom’s parents’ jobs are to pay for the rehearsal dinner and wear something attractive and tasteful to the wedding. Any involvement beyond this is up to the bride’s discretion. I resigned myself to this fate.

Imagine my absolute delight when my niece, Regan, called me from Las Vegas in December, announcing her engagement. I’ve probably referenced Regs in a past column or two. Let me summarize – she’s 25, crazy smart, my brother’s daughter, a graduate of Sheridan College and UW, and she and her brother spent time here nearly every summer since she was little. She lived with us in the summers during college. Ultimately, she’s the daughter I never had. Her mom has been out of the picture, and I’ve been profoundly blessed to be included in their tight-knit family.

Not long after she returned from Vegas, Regan called and paid me the highest compliment I can imagine. She asked if I would be her Aunt of Honor. She and Michael were having a small bridal party, and I would be her only attendant. I am tearing up typing this. After giving it a couple of week’s consideration…KIDDING! Are you joking with me? Of course, I said yes! I would wear a seven-layer, tulle-covered, Barbie pink, floor-length with a train dress if that was her vision! (Fortunately, I don’t have to, but I would have.) And so began the better part of nine months of preparation for the September 23rd nuptials.

I will begin by saying that, unsurprisingly, a lot has changed in the wedding world since I hoofed down the aisle lo those 23 years ago. From destination bachelorette parties to the invasion of Pinterest, decisions are no longer limited to bridesmaids’ dresses, chicken or beef, band or DJ, tux or suit. Oh, no. Now, there are decorative signs in festive fonts on every surface, gift bags for attendees, doughnut walls, dinner napkins folded like brides’ dresses or grooms’ jackets (complete with flower boutonniere), QR codes on invitations, balloon arches (which in no way resemble the Homecoming dance photo backgrounds from high school), elaborate choreographed dances by the bride and her dad (or any other wedding party combination), and multiple themed showers. The term ‘production’ is not an exaggeration.

As Aunt of Honor (I also like “Best Aunt”), I decided from the onset that my primary jobs were these: help shop for the wedding dress, plan the bachelorette party trip, host a bridal shower, and be Regan’s sounding board and cheerleader for the millions of bumps (sometimes bus-sized potholes) that would inevitably be on the road to the wedding. We are now two weeks away, and I can confidently say that the wedding dress is absolutely gorgeous; Regan, her mother-in-law-to-be, and I had an outstanding time in LA for the bachelorette party; the bridal shower was intimate, unique, and featured Highland cow cupcakes (that’s bridal-y, right?); and there have been hundreds of calls and texts wherein I alternately soothed the bride-to-be or yanked her back from the Cliffs of Insanity.

We’re at the point where all that’s left are tiny, excruciatingly annoying details and decisions, and the bride’s level of caring is almost nonexistent. Decision fatigue is real. My special mission for the remainder of the wedding lead-up is this – be the support staff that allows Regan to finally relax and fully enjoy the fruits of her nine months of labor. Instead of a baby, she can welcome the next exciting chapter of her life with her chosen sidekick, ally, and best friend. All the decisions, the frustrations, more decisions, the planning, and even more decisions lead to this one day, and I want to ensure the bride takes pleasure in every second. Regan and Michael will be the stars of this show; what’s the point if they aren’t fully present and immersing themselves in all the love surrounding them?

To say that I am blessed beyond measure to be involved and included in my niece’s wedding doesn’t begin to cover my gratitude for the experience. Other than naming her firstborn after me (an aunt can dream), I can’t imagine a more profound honor. Now, I need to deliver her to the finishing line intact and excited. Challenge accepted! Let me grab my bouquet.