When we got married, we had a church blessing. The rector was happy for us to have it on our chosen day, but in the afternoon as there was another wedding in the morning.
The mother of the other bride had different ideas though. When she found out that we were having a service on the same day she threw a massive hissy fit, and had a really nasty go at the poor rector, ostensibly about the flowers. Her daughter, who was strangely silent through all this Motherofthebridezilla nonsense, was having yellow and brown (each to their own!) flowers. We couldn't use them, she said, and it was unfair that her daughter's big day was being ruined.
The rector, somewhat unprofessionally but amusingly, dubbed her "Mrs Battleaxe" and refused to back down.
In the end, I spoke to her on the phone. She was a charmer: her daughter's wedding was more important than ours because ours was just a blessing; she didn't want their flowers ruined by me introducing my own colours; her family had lived in the village for years (sounded inbred to me) and we were beastly yuppie incomers; we were older than her daughter and too posh; and the rector was on our side (he'd come up with the doomed idea of agreeing a colour scheme). I had to put the phone down on her, Battleaxe didn't cover it.
In the end, they were so exercised by all of this that they removed their brown and yellow flowers after the wedding, meaning we put ours in (I was going to compromise but they beat me to it) and the congregation would have been able to enjoy our flowers which of course we left.
Realise all of this is a bit outing although it was a long time ago, so Mrs Battleaxe's daughter, I'm sure you're lovely - and I hope your mum has calmed down.