Is everyone having enough fun?

I have been having such a full and busy life here, and yet I woke up this morning worrying about who is getting left out.

I worry about my son, who is undoubtedly getting overlooked (again!) by the older sister's dramas.  As I am focusing on the excitement of wedding plans and details, bonding with my sometimes prickly, always intriguing, but somewhat mystifying daughter, the "easy child" just continues plugging away with his life, unheralded and unnoticed. I miss him too, my child of similar temperament, the one who hears me as I mean, without misunderstandings or imagined criticism. His busy life has little room for a mother now, but I wonder if he misses me and my undivided attention anyway.

My mother, stalwart and strong through all the crises and joys of my life, is on my mind too. Here is a woman whose organizational skills could (and should) be tapped by the military, so formidable are her talents.  She will arrive in two weeks, and we talk everyday by phone, but I can't help but think that she wishes she were physically here in the thick of the details, the lists, and the brainstorming sessions.

Bill, the archetypal Father-of-the-Bride, is also AWOL from the process.  I know that he is thinking about "The Amazing Baby," (as we called infant Juli), all grown up now and getting married. Is he nostalgic or feeling sappy, choking back a few tears at the end of the movie? I know for a fact that he's worrying about something, somewhere, and I'm not there to josh him out of it.

And then there's Juli herself.  I have consciously tried to be respectful and deferential, curbing my usual desire to go overboard in everything I do. Being a "helper" is different than just taking over, kicking ass and taking names, which is my natural inclination.  But I know that I tend to overwhelm her, whatever the situation.  It's just the way we are together. I'm wondering if she's regretting having me come so soon and resenting me telling her what needs to be done. She'd never say anything to me if she did feel suffocated, she'd just stew in private. It's probably good that I'm hanging out in Olympia instead of being constantly underfoot in Seattle, making her crazy. 

This transitional mother stage is such a delicate balance--and I've never been delicate about anything.