Today I am grateful for full disclosure. I’m a British Royal Family groupie. I know many of you will be surprised and others will say, “of course you are.” I’m okay either way and make no excuses for digesting all things royal family like they were popcorn and I am at the movies gobbling them up by the fistful. And now a wedding!
You see, I raised those two boys. I watched them grow because their mother couldn’t. Wouldn’t she be proud!!! Those kids navigated the foibles of a more-than-a-little crazy family, which they can’t deny because the history books and tabloids have documented every misstep.
There are whacko uncles, questionable aunts and slightly odd cousins. Their own father is eclectic by any standards, which translates to “strange” any way you slice it. Not that he’s a bad person. We become how we are raised. And let’s face it, he was not raised in a way that any of us would consider normal. Nanny’s and nappy’s and prams, oh my!
But who cares about him these days? Right now it’s all about his kids, who turned out fantastic despite their unbelievable trauma. William and Kate have a new baby and it cracked me up seeing the Queen jumping out of a helicopter in her sturdy shoes, quilted vest and babushka, when she went to meet the new arrival. Even a queen has to protect her “do” from helicopter wind, I guess.
Since today I’m doing true confessions, I now admit that Harry is my favorite. Okay, I know I shouldn’t play favorites with these boys, but I am. There is something about the combination of his zest for life as the “wild” one and his compassion for life as he cradles children in Africa. I love his sass and honesty. He is the best of both parents.
Now Harry is getting married. To a bi-racial American. Good for him! For the royal family that’s a stretch from when his own mother had to be “tested” to be sure she was a virgin before marrying Charles. That always seemed stupid. Gimme a break.
And now Harry’s bride has family she may or may not know well, or even care about, coming out of the woodwork, judging, talking smack and dissing her. To them I say, “GO AWAY!” I don’t want to hear you spouting off your mouth, writing books, selling bogus photos, because NOW you’ve decided she’s your “sister”, “daughter”, or whatever. Sometimes when we become estranged from family members there is a reason. Who among us doesn’t have an Uncle Drunkle or an Auntie Potty Mouth who we live in fear will ruin every event? Her distance from them is making it clear to all of us why we’ve not heard from them until now, but not without embarrassment for her. . .and her new family.
Yet if she is feeling guilty for bringing her family mess into the royal family, my advice to her is that she poke through a few history books. They were already whack-a-doodle long before you entered the mix, my dear, so relax. This will blow over. Your wedding will be beautiful because your mom, who is probably painfully reminded why she is no longer married, will see you through.
My DVR is already set and I’m getting my “fascinator” today! Truth is, I’m surprised I don’t already have one because I’m a true British Royal Family groupie and not one bit ashamed. ‘Tis brilliant, tisn’t it? Pip-pip and cheerio and all that! What-what? Cuppa tea, anyone? Let me be mother. (To the non-British groupies, that means I’ll pour.)