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Jacque Hillman is a mother of two daughters, a wife, and along the way, an award-winning editor and writer for newspapers and magazines, winning multiple national awards during her career.

She is a West Tennessee native who is a senior partner in The HillHelen Group LLC, where her role is editing, ghostwriting and designing for print, broadcast and online, as well as social media and marketing strategies.

Jacque is also an award-winning owner and designer of Reconfigured Art Jewelry and has been featured on PBS's "Tennessee Crossroads."

"Jacque's words are a treasure trove of a mother's love. You will laugh, cry, gasp and smile as she chronicles wedding planning with her daughter. Chances are the sentiment of the bluebird that she passed along is one you will remember the rest of your life. This book is delightful."

- Libby Murphy, the Queen of Twirl,
www.twirlandtaste.com

When I remarried years ago, a dear friend gave me a crystal bluebird to signify all the joys coming into my life and bluebirds singing their song for me.

Wherever we've moved, the first night, I take that bluebird out and place it on my bedroom window sill where the sunshine makes it gleam.

And on my daughter's wedding day, she'll have a package somewhere in her bags - a tiny crystal bluebird and a note from me.

Thank you's will line a path to heaven for my sweet spouse, Jesse Hillman, and my senior partner in The HillHelen Group LLC, who put up with my writing late at night and asking him to read for me.

He has the patience of Job and knows when to laugh and when to say, "Whatever you think."

Thank goodness he's a former editor and publisher himself because he keeps me out of trouble most of the time!

Thank you especially to my lovely daughters Sara Waide-Bowers and Lea Waide, who read my columns and reined me in when I got carried away with the telling of tales.

Thanks also to members of the Hatchie Bottom Diva Society, led by the Queen of Twirl, Libby Murphy, of Jackson, Tenn. for supporting me in my efforts to publish this book. Your laughter and wise counsel over brunch enervated my creative processes!

To each of my Tennessee readers and friends throughout the South, you inspired me every time you've walked up to me and said, "I just loved your columns and laughed every time."

And yes, to my friend Stella Parton, Adventures of Mother of the Bride Vol. II, is in the works. I'm ready to write your story!

We have survived. Our oldest daughter flew in Monday with our potential son-in-law (PSIL).

It was an interesting experience, really. I dropped off one daughter at the Memphis airport on Monday while my spouse picked up the couple in Nashville and delivered them home.

I was watching out the window, working on my computer, and still didn’t see the car pull up because of the rain. I wanted to have that instant to size him up as he walked across the yard to get that first “aha” moment.

Then the dogs went nuts barking. The Prospect came in pulling a massive gray suitcase that belonged to my daughter and a tiny one for himself.

My daughter’s first comment was, “I don’t think we’ll be able to go to Miss Tennessee. I took up all the room in my big suitcase, and he couldn’t bring dress clothes.”

Frankly, he looked exhausted. He owns a restaurant, Hoosier Café in Chandler (Indiana-themed), and he was worried about leaving it. You’re thinking that it must offer steamed rice, veggies and only healthy food because it’s the Southwest? Wrong.

It’s a family restaurant ranked No. 3 in the area and receives high marks for homemade biscuits, sausage and gravy!

“It was Hoosier when I bought it,” he said. “We have a great customer base, and I wasn’t about to mess with what works.”

Hmmmm. Good business sense. Chalk one up for the PSIL. He’s also at work by 6 a.m. every day.

On Monday night, we had friends out at the Coyote Blues restaurant, who wanted us to bring our company and come out to party, but honestly, they looked so tired, I suggested rest.

My daughter does really well working for Coldwell Banker/Chandler in real estate. She was already on her phone when she walked in the door, and she had an offer to write.

We settled into a sort of schedule with them working out, us talking, watching a little TV, driving through Jackson for the short tour. We went to Coyote Blues on Tuesday night and they met Trey Teague. The ceviche was really great.

On Wednesday morning, she was still on the phone working deals, and he said his version of “enough already.” My daughter is lovely, compassionate, intelligent, with a high energy level and is a steamroller when she’s focused on a project. But he’d flown them home to visit so he wanted ... to visit. Nothing wrong with that. Point No. 2 for him.

That was OK. I came to work. And then my spouse and I went to the Miss Tennessee Scholarship Pageant.

On Thursday, I cooked homemade biscuits, quiche Lorraine, steak, fresh blueberries and strawberries to go with sour cream angel food cake. He had serious doubts about quiche:

He loves dogs and has a Weimaraner as well as a boxer he just adopted. More good points.

We planned to leave at 3 p.m. but ended up leaving at 4:20 p.m. driving to the airport to catch a flight that departed at 7:05 p.m. You guessed it. I-40 was gridlocked in downtown Nashville. I see the I-65 exit and begin edging out of my lane for it.

I nearly lost my PSIL. “Hurry up!” he yells. “There’s a car coming! You can’t slow down! OMG!”

We made it. “You can’t take your time in interstate traffic!” he said. “I was about to get killed over here!”

We got to I-440. Stopped. He’s on the phone with Southwest. They’re going to miss the flight. He’s saying this over and over. It’s going to cost them another $500 to fly out. He is NOT happy.

“I don’t know if you’re going to be OK driving in Phoenix or not,” he said gloomily.

He wants to marry my daughter, have two kids, and he wants us to retire to Phoenix because he doesn’t want his babies going to daycare with people he doesn’t know. And I may have just blown the deal.

And then the traffic parted, and I drove HBFL for the airport exit. They arrived with 15 minutes to spare.

I hugged Sara, waved at him as he jerked the giant gray suitcase to the ticket counter.

I’m on I-40 headed home. I get the text: “WE MADE IT. WE LOVE YOU. YOU’RE A GREAT DRIVER!”

On the road again.... I'm flying the friendly skies this weekend, basking in sunshine in Phoenix.

Actually, I'm riding around in my daughter's car from place to place, checking on flowers that will be in bloom on May 7 and checking on prices on dresses for the mother of the bride.

The text messages fly back and forth day in and day out. That's less expensive than mom flying back and forth, day in and day out.

When the discussion arose about what color the bridesmaids' dresses would be — turquoise, peacock, teal, or some flavor in-between — I asked my spouse what he thought.

Just because I pitched one teensy weensy fit when he painted the back door kelly green instead of hunter green, he will not ever discuss colors.