Try corralling six often willful flower girls, three groomsmen who didn’t always listen, three bridesmaids already in tears and one somewhat dazed father of the bride, and you have an idea what the rehearsal for the most important day of my sister’s life was like.

The night before my sister and her new husband Greg took their vows was an exercise in organized chaos.

The wedding itself was the culmination of a whirlwind after-Christmas week.

You see, weddings are work, hard work.

Every morning, every member of the family had a list, and we had to coordinate cars and directions.

Wendy herself was organized, calm, cool and collected. The week before Christmas she emailed wedding itineraries on spreadsheet, complete with a key identifying the various players in her perfect day &045; B=bride, G=groom, MB=mother of the bride.

My brother Chris delighted in coming up with new initials for everyone, noting that I was not only MH (maid of honor) but SOB (sister of the bride). (Greg’s sisters were just a step down, as sisters-in-law of the bride, or SLOBs.)

Sunday afternoon found all five of us &045; my parents, brother, sister and me &045; filling little red favor boxes with Hershey kisses and tying them with white bows for the centerpieces.

Chris was sent out on icy streets twice to the fabric store &045; we needed the 7 millimeter white ribbon, not 4 &045; while the rest of us counted out kisses and tried to avoid eating too many caramel ones.

The following two days were a rush of last-minute errands &045; printing programs, getting manicures, decorating the rehearsal hall.

And after a week of icy, slushy streets, Wednesday morning was warm, a perfect day for a wedding.

I’m sure a few things went wrong during the day, but I don’t know what they were and would never remember.

But I’ll never forget Wendy, standing in a little room off the narthex of the church, surrounded by six twirling little flower girls and saying in her best teacher voice, &8220;Don’t step on the white!&8221; when the girls got too close to the snowy satin train.

I knew my sister was a beautiful bride not only when she stepped into the dress but when Chris &045; the same older brother who spent a lifetime teasing Wendy &045; saw her for the first time, and I watched the breath literally catch in his throat.

Teary almost the whole week, I cried from the moment Wendy began the walk down the aisle to the first kiss, and then I cried all over again at the first dance to &8220;Love Me Tender.&8221;

After blowing bubbles to send the happy couple out the door, we dragged ourselves home, ate a last bite of wedding cake and went to sleep.

Weddings are work, but it is joyous work, filled with love and family &045; the same kind of work that goes into building a marriage itself.

Our parents have given their children a 40-years-and-counting example of how to make such a union successful.

And now Wendy’s given me the recipe for the perfect wedding &045; equal parts of love and labor, with a dash of chaos for fun.

Kerry Whipple

is editor of The Natchez Democrat. She can be reached at 601-445-3541 or by e-mail at

kerry.whipple@natchezdemocrat.com

.