When a fiance mentions confetti cannon, a girl needs her mother.
It was an urgent call to arms for my daughter who is planning her wedding in Berlin next year.
She had been begging me for a while to visit her there, but I was reluctant to go, knowing that an April trip (for the wedding) was imminent. We had even received a confidential Skype call from her intended, earnestly entreating us to pop over and placate his wife-to-be who was sorely missing her family. When he organised the call, I imagined all sorts of confidences and questions from the man who would soon become our family’s newest addition, but felt touched nevertheless that her welfare was high on his list and he would brave the parent den to make the plea.
It was all a part of the dripping tap, a tap that would eventually gush and cause us to call the proverbial plumber, paying for the privilege with two tickets to Berlin for Christmas.
The final clanger was when she mentioned those words – ‘confetti cannon’ and I knew I would have to go. She whispered the words, quietly conveying her terror that he may not have forgotten his urgent interest in spraying pieces of coloured paper about. She had been keeping the cannon on the low down, and dreaded that it may bubble up, heated by her fevered whisperings, and resurface to remain firmly embedded in his conscious mind.
With this our fourth child and my husband’s sixth child’s wedding, we had become used to forking out the cash at the end of the event and not having a great deal to say about the plans themselves. So I must admit to feeling pretty chuffed about her desire for our input.
But before sticking my nose too far into their marital plans, I asked him what he thought was needed when it comes to planning a wedding. He looked puzzled. So I prompted he of the confetti cannon, mentioning things like dresses and reception venues and invitations. He shrugged and reminded me that my daughter already has a white dress in the wardrobe. That would mean it would be one of the 23kg of clothing she took to Germany when she moved there and therefore well worn, possibly less than white and not quite what any bride would have in mind. With every word, I realised that this situation was indeed an urgent one.
I then asked my daughter if her future mother in law could help her. She told me, given that she can’t speak English, confetti cannon may well be purchased.
And so, to Berlin.
