It is now time, ladies and gents, for Last-Minute Words O' Wisdom. Your opportunity to tell me what I should really, really know days before -- or days of -- or even days after? -- a wedding. My wedding, anyway.
The big favorites, which means they're probably quite sage, are:
I. When you get to that day, Just Relax.
a) Delegate everything to someone else. Don't leave yourself ANYTHING to worry about.
b) If something goes wrong, you
1. Won't care, or
2. It'll just make a better story, down the road.
II. Soak it all in. Do your best to, anyway.
III. Eat something. It'll be hard to find a chance (not sure why this is, but all marrieds say it's true)
IV. Get as much sleep as possible the night before.
That's all I can remember at the moment. Anyone got anything else? Or funny stories about what went wrong for you? (or have I already solicited those? Yeah, I think I did. Well, tell me again.) :)
I heard from a friend the other day who forgot to carry her bouquet down the aisle. The photographer thrust it into her hands in time for the last few photos afterward! It's funny, the things that can go "wrong." But, as I say I've heard, usually not a big deal, in the end.
Experiences like this -- big life experiences, which some have had and others haven't -- remind me of the advice I got for pregnancy/labor/motherhood in advance. It's nice to have friends who have "gone before," who can help. And it's fun, on the flip side, to have another way to relate to them. More common ground.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
that's how we roll
Or, as Matt referred to recent events last night when my mom called, "Two catastrophes." Nothing serious, though, by real measures. Just bad in a Last-Minute, Dear Lord, What Can Go Wrong With Our Wedding A Week Away sense.
We went to church yesterday, which was lovely. We talked about Rosh Hashana (sp?), more specifically, new beginnings and the Jewish New Year. Also, what bugs us in other people, and what of these traits are inside us.
Afterward, we planned to run a couple of last-minute wedding errands. We stopped at the Party Store -- Lizzy scored a pair of Belle slippers for Halloween, and we got a bunch of balloons to hang on signs so folks can easily see where to go, etc. Then we headed back to Hwy. 66 to go to Manassas and do some other things -- and, very shortly after hitting the on-ramp at Centreville, ran out of gas. We RAN OUT OF GAS. Okay, maybe this happens to other people with frequency, but it's never happened to me. We sputtered to a halt, and Matt got out and started haulin' himself down the highway on the shoulder. I mean, what else do you do? Lizzy and I stayed in the car. We weren't far from the rest stop, if that gives anyone better reference as to our location. So, there we sat -- I won't bore you with tales of sitting roadside, apparently pointlessly, with a 3-year-old. Not my chosen activity, but I think Matt still had it worse. He eventually returns, with a 2-liter bottle that once recently held Sprite, but now holds sweet, sweet gasoline. (the gas station he went to, EXXON IN MANASSAS -- so there, Exxon!), didn't sell gas container thingies! How, as a gas station, do you not?!?) Okay. Cool. So we start the car -- oops, not quite. The car wants more. The car is not yet satisfied with its lot. And, so, neither are we -- we jerk down the shoulder to just past the rest area. Matt gets out again. After awhile, Matt returns again, this time in a police car backing up on the shoulder. Two gallons of gas -- roughly $4.40 these days. The opportunity to see your fiance cheesily grinning out of the passenger window of a cop car six days before your wedding -- priceless! This time, the car was satisfied, and we went directly home. No errand was that important, at that point.
Matt told me afterward that he thinks God was speaking to him through that. And, he adds, he got a pre-wedding workout! It would seem that the two people who stopped to help Matt on his way(s) to the gas station(s) were: Bolivian, and Mexican. Anglo-Saxon types are too busy, apparently. Or too cautious? We sometimes (often) aren't too fond of the inexorable direction our neighborhood's profile seems to be heading. But maybe we could use just a wee more tolerance.
I need to go, so the second catastrophe, which, in fact, so profoundly had me freaking that I clean forgot about the first catastrophe by the time my mom called: Or pianist/organist bailed out on us last Thursday. Matt had a guy in mind, but the more we thought about it, the more we thought, uh, maybe he's not the best choice. Also, he had another role in the wedding. So then we thought of another friend of ours, but he's got an even bigger role in the wedding -- see! This is what happens when friends help you. You can't, um, replicate them and get them to help you again! Yeah, that made no sense to me, either -- so we were totally pulling out our hair last night. Desperately casting about online for a solution, six days out.
In short, we found a guy. He used to be the organist for the church where we're getting married. Praise God that he agreed to do it on such insanely short notice! He probably won't be able to learn and use all of the songs we carefully selected for each opening element of things, but right now? I truly could not care less.
A wedding with no music was not going to be.
We went to church yesterday, which was lovely. We talked about Rosh Hashana (sp?), more specifically, new beginnings and the Jewish New Year. Also, what bugs us in other people, and what of these traits are inside us.
Afterward, we planned to run a couple of last-minute wedding errands. We stopped at the Party Store -- Lizzy scored a pair of Belle slippers for Halloween, and we got a bunch of balloons to hang on signs so folks can easily see where to go, etc. Then we headed back to Hwy. 66 to go to Manassas and do some other things -- and, very shortly after hitting the on-ramp at Centreville, ran out of gas. We RAN OUT OF GAS. Okay, maybe this happens to other people with frequency, but it's never happened to me. We sputtered to a halt, and Matt got out and started haulin' himself down the highway on the shoulder. I mean, what else do you do? Lizzy and I stayed in the car. We weren't far from the rest stop, if that gives anyone better reference as to our location. So, there we sat -- I won't bore you with tales of sitting roadside, apparently pointlessly, with a 3-year-old. Not my chosen activity, but I think Matt still had it worse. He eventually returns, with a 2-liter bottle that once recently held Sprite, but now holds sweet, sweet gasoline. (the gas station he went to, EXXON IN MANASSAS -- so there, Exxon!), didn't sell gas container thingies! How, as a gas station, do you not?!?) Okay. Cool. So we start the car -- oops, not quite. The car wants more. The car is not yet satisfied with its lot. And, so, neither are we -- we jerk down the shoulder to just past the rest area. Matt gets out again. After awhile, Matt returns again, this time in a police car backing up on the shoulder. Two gallons of gas -- roughly $4.40 these days. The opportunity to see your fiance cheesily grinning out of the passenger window of a cop car six days before your wedding -- priceless! This time, the car was satisfied, and we went directly home. No errand was that important, at that point.
Matt told me afterward that he thinks God was speaking to him through that. And, he adds, he got a pre-wedding workout! It would seem that the two people who stopped to help Matt on his way(s) to the gas station(s) were: Bolivian, and Mexican. Anglo-Saxon types are too busy, apparently. Or too cautious? We sometimes (often) aren't too fond of the inexorable direction our neighborhood's profile seems to be heading. But maybe we could use just a wee more tolerance.
I need to go, so the second catastrophe, which, in fact, so profoundly had me freaking that I clean forgot about the first catastrophe by the time my mom called: Or pianist/organist bailed out on us last Thursday. Matt had a guy in mind, but the more we thought about it, the more we thought, uh, maybe he's not the best choice. Also, he had another role in the wedding. So then we thought of another friend of ours, but he's got an even bigger role in the wedding -- see! This is what happens when friends help you. You can't, um, replicate them and get them to help you again! Yeah, that made no sense to me, either -- so we were totally pulling out our hair last night. Desperately casting about online for a solution, six days out.
In short, we found a guy. He used to be the organist for the church where we're getting married. Praise God that he agreed to do it on such insanely short notice! He probably won't be able to learn and use all of the songs we carefully selected for each opening element of things, but right now? I truly could not care less.
A wedding with no music was not going to be.
illin'
Please pray for us. I know this is frivolous, but please pray that we're all healthy and well for the wedding.
I have a sore throat this morning, and I knew -- I KNEW -- when Lizzy awoke with that telltale seal-bark cough (you parents know what I mean, I bet) that she would have a nasty cold for about a week, then pass it on to me for the next week, then Matt would get it the following week. (just in time for our plane trip to Washington state for a second reception there.) That's how the little buggies circulate in our family. That day care is such a germfest... I just DON'T WANT TO BE SICK RIGHT NOW. (unlike all the times I DO want to be sick??)
Lizzy's cold was so bad that she had a fever on Thursday, and I had to pick her up from school and keep her home Friday. Please, Lord, no. And please keep sickness, even minor forms of it, from the doors of everyone who has anything to do with this wedding, as well. Those who will be coming to it, etc.
The good news is -- it's supposed to be a lovely day. A little cloudy, which is perfect for photos. Thanks, God, for that.
I have a sore throat this morning, and I knew -- I KNEW -- when Lizzy awoke with that telltale seal-bark cough (you parents know what I mean, I bet) that she would have a nasty cold for about a week, then pass it on to me for the next week, then Matt would get it the following week. (just in time for our plane trip to Washington state for a second reception there.) That's how the little buggies circulate in our family. That day care is such a germfest... I just DON'T WANT TO BE SICK RIGHT NOW. (unlike all the times I DO want to be sick??)
Lizzy's cold was so bad that she had a fever on Thursday, and I had to pick her up from school and keep her home Friday. Please, Lord, no. And please keep sickness, even minor forms of it, from the doors of everyone who has anything to do with this wedding, as well. Those who will be coming to it, etc.
The good news is -- it's supposed to be a lovely day. A little cloudy, which is perfect for photos. Thanks, God, for that.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
regularly scheduled programming
These days, I feel almost like I can do all my expressing by merely linking to friends' blogs. Case in point, Dottie's latest post. About the ridiculous and the sublime, all rolled into one's day. And one's blog. Because, you know, that's life. I guess.
Monday was one seriously weird day. Matt and I took the day off, and dropped off Lizzy -- who knew, somehow, that something was afoot, and wanted to come with us, but we didn't really want to deal with all that. So, we left her screaming for us at the day care. At least Matt garnered a greater appreciation for some of my mornings. Then we grabbed a quick coffee, and an almost quicker marriage license. (ya know, we figured -- hey! Why not. Might as well take care of the very most vital part of the wedding prep.) We had been told that it would be the easiest part of getting married. And, lo! So it was. We walked up to the window, filled out our paper, forked over 30 bucks, and that was that. As the lady's typing the info. into her computer, she says, "When are you getting married? Today?" Our jaws dropped a little. "Uh..." we said. "Can you DO that?" Matt asked. "Sure!" the lady said. "Just go down to the next building, pay them 80 dollars, and it's done." Don't think we weren't tempted, a little. I was doing a bit of mental calculation regarding how many dresses had been purchased, deposits had been put down, and ... naaaah. We'll just push through, as planned.
in case you can't tell, I'm joking. we did know about the elopement option, and were, in fact, tempted, but we decided to do it the long, painful, expensive way instead. Good times!
We then tackled the prenup. I had taken two copies to a notary public and had them signed, but we needed FOUR, so we might just as well start from scratch, with a copy that spells my name correctly, and has my (really, our) house listed as being worth a few hundred thousand, instead of a few hundred. Details!
So that's done. And when I say done? I mean, as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't exist, and never did. Matt and I did have a great (meaning, somewhat heated and emotional, but very honest and productive) conversation about why he's not high on counseling. Feel free to ask me another time, if you're curious. It's not really blog fodder, though.
THEN we went to the funeral. I actually told Matt in the car beforehand: I grieve in weird ways. Usually, by not reacting until bits come out much later. Just rolling things around in my head. Don't be surprised if I don't cry. Then I cried buckets. So did he. How could you not? Besides the obviously painful subject matter, and the incredibly dear friends involved, our church does an excruciatingly (in this case) good job at planning these sorts of things. Wedding, funeral, whatever. Our church planners will knock it out of the ballpark. The committee should hire itself out.
It was lovely, and awful, and so, so sad. But, as Matt said in a word -- cathartic.
Rest in peace, Will. You were well and truly loved. I look forward to meeting you one day. On a better occasion, in a much better place.
My eyes hurt for the entire next day. I have not cried like that, maybe ever.
Over the past few days, we've gotten almost everything done in preparation for the wedding. Hooray! Met with DJ, check (I tell you now, you Rod Stewart, AC/DC and Billy Idol fans are out of luck. I've blacklisted them for my own personal reasons, unless they're requested. but you motown and funk fans will be in heaven); I talked to the pastor on the phone; I tell you, it's just about all done. Lizzy's dress hasn't arrived yet, but I'm assured it will, "by Monday, at the latest." Then the lady proceeded to tell me a ripping tale about a customer of hers whose flower girl's dress didn't get to her until THE DAY OF THE WEDDING. Just to boost my confidence in her, maybe.
Oh! Saturday last, we had a tasting at the reception joint. Mmm MMMMM, their food is good. Matt and Lizzy wandered over to the church next door and introduced themselves as part of the wedding party for the Sept. 30 wedding. The lady running the jumble sale or whatever they had going on over there said, "We don't have a wedding scheduled that day!" (insert sound of Kate hitting floor when this story was being relayed to me.) At least they hadn't scheduled someone else. So we've now sent our deposit check in. Money seems to talk to the keepers of schedules. It's all figured out now. I hope.
Monday was one seriously weird day. Matt and I took the day off, and dropped off Lizzy -- who knew, somehow, that something was afoot, and wanted to come with us, but we didn't really want to deal with all that. So, we left her screaming for us at the day care. At least Matt garnered a greater appreciation for some of my mornings. Then we grabbed a quick coffee, and an almost quicker marriage license. (ya know, we figured -- hey! Why not. Might as well take care of the very most vital part of the wedding prep.) We had been told that it would be the easiest part of getting married. And, lo! So it was. We walked up to the window, filled out our paper, forked over 30 bucks, and that was that. As the lady's typing the info. into her computer, she says, "When are you getting married? Today?" Our jaws dropped a little. "Uh..." we said. "Can you DO that?" Matt asked. "Sure!" the lady said. "Just go down to the next building, pay them 80 dollars, and it's done." Don't think we weren't tempted, a little. I was doing a bit of mental calculation regarding how many dresses had been purchased, deposits had been put down, and ... naaaah. We'll just push through, as planned.
in case you can't tell, I'm joking. we did know about the elopement option, and were, in fact, tempted, but we decided to do it the long, painful, expensive way instead. Good times!
We then tackled the prenup. I had taken two copies to a notary public and had them signed, but we needed FOUR, so we might just as well start from scratch, with a copy that spells my name correctly, and has my (really, our) house listed as being worth a few hundred thousand, instead of a few hundred. Details!
So that's done. And when I say done? I mean, as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't exist, and never did. Matt and I did have a great (meaning, somewhat heated and emotional, but very honest and productive) conversation about why he's not high on counseling. Feel free to ask me another time, if you're curious. It's not really blog fodder, though.
THEN we went to the funeral. I actually told Matt in the car beforehand: I grieve in weird ways. Usually, by not reacting until bits come out much later. Just rolling things around in my head. Don't be surprised if I don't cry. Then I cried buckets. So did he. How could you not? Besides the obviously painful subject matter, and the incredibly dear friends involved, our church does an excruciatingly (in this case) good job at planning these sorts of things. Wedding, funeral, whatever. Our church planners will knock it out of the ballpark. The committee should hire itself out.
It was lovely, and awful, and so, so sad. But, as Matt said in a word -- cathartic.
Rest in peace, Will. You were well and truly loved. I look forward to meeting you one day. On a better occasion, in a much better place.
My eyes hurt for the entire next day. I have not cried like that, maybe ever.
Over the past few days, we've gotten almost everything done in preparation for the wedding. Hooray! Met with DJ, check (I tell you now, you Rod Stewart, AC/DC and Billy Idol fans are out of luck. I've blacklisted them for my own personal reasons, unless they're requested. but you motown and funk fans will be in heaven); I talked to the pastor on the phone; I tell you, it's just about all done. Lizzy's dress hasn't arrived yet, but I'm assured it will, "by Monday, at the latest." Then the lady proceeded to tell me a ripping tale about a customer of hers whose flower girl's dress didn't get to her until THE DAY OF THE WEDDING. Just to boost my confidence in her, maybe.
Oh! Saturday last, we had a tasting at the reception joint. Mmm MMMMM, their food is good. Matt and Lizzy wandered over to the church next door and introduced themselves as part of the wedding party for the Sept. 30 wedding. The lady running the jumble sale or whatever they had going on over there said, "We don't have a wedding scheduled that day!" (insert sound of Kate hitting floor when this story was being relayed to me.) At least they hadn't scheduled someone else. So we've now sent our deposit check in. Money seems to talk to the keepers of schedules. It's all figured out now. I hope.
Friday, September 15, 2006
the problems with having a blog
Sometimes, something's troubling me, and it's just not something that would be good to write about. If it involves another person, for instance, who might not appreciate it.
And sometimes, I just don't know what to say. How can I blog about silly wedding planning junk -- something that, at the "best" of times, never seemed that important -- or my child's latest precious little statement or something equally, in the long term, unimportant, when my friends are in agony? Besides, in this case, others are saying it already.
God bless you, Mike and Stacy and Ella, and your family and friends. We love you so, so much.
And sometimes, I just don't know what to say. How can I blog about silly wedding planning junk -- something that, at the "best" of times, never seemed that important -- or my child's latest precious little statement or something equally, in the long term, unimportant, when my friends are in agony? Besides, in this case, others are saying it already.
God bless you, Mike and Stacy and Ella, and your family and friends. We love you so, so much.
Monday, September 11, 2006
a retrospective observation, on the occasion of 9/11
What strikes me most about how the world 'changed,' or at least acted differently for a few days, was how kind people were to each other. For a week or so, I don't know that I observed one single rude or blatantly self-important act. Even on the metro! It truly stood out as a singular week.
I seem to recall stories -- I wish I had saved them, they seem so hysterical to me now -- wondering if 9/11 marked "the death of cynicism." My friends, cynicism is not dead. If anything, it's more rampant and callous. I blame the Internet somewhat. I saw a super funny story today, written by a humor columnist, about her paranoia of ever having anyone over to her home again. What if someone takes a photo of her messy kitchen and posts it on the Internet? What if someone catches her on tape, yelling at her kids, (which apparently she did to her own mother years ago, on audiotape) and posts it on YouTube? Or blogs about her shortcomings of hospitality? I loved it. I wonder the same -- to what lengths will our greater ability to spread negativity extend?
Perhaps where negativity can more easily go, so can posivitity. It's just harder to make it funny, most of the time. Maybe that's our problem. Or maybe we're all just incredibly spoiled, in general.
(and, of course, I'm not talking about the people I know of who read this blog. I am utterly blessed with very positive, generous, gracious friends. Please know that I know that!)
Don't you love people who complain about people who complain? :)
I seem to recall stories -- I wish I had saved them, they seem so hysterical to me now -- wondering if 9/11 marked "the death of cynicism." My friends, cynicism is not dead. If anything, it's more rampant and callous. I blame the Internet somewhat. I saw a super funny story today, written by a humor columnist, about her paranoia of ever having anyone over to her home again. What if someone takes a photo of her messy kitchen and posts it on the Internet? What if someone catches her on tape, yelling at her kids, (which apparently she did to her own mother years ago, on audiotape) and posts it on YouTube? Or blogs about her shortcomings of hospitality? I loved it. I wonder the same -- to what lengths will our greater ability to spread negativity extend?
Perhaps where negativity can more easily go, so can posivitity. It's just harder to make it funny, most of the time. Maybe that's our problem. Or maybe we're all just incredibly spoiled, in general.
(and, of course, I'm not talking about the people I know of who read this blog. I am utterly blessed with very positive, generous, gracious friends. Please know that I know that!)
Don't you love people who complain about people who complain? :)
stress
In retrospect, last week was a hard week for Matt and me. We just tried to cram a lot of prep stuff into the few hours we've got when we get home at night. Matt seems to have finished his report thingy for work, thank goodness. For now. And then those invitations.
Turns out, Matt finds out Saturday after going to the doctor, he's got shingles. Shingles. He's 29.
Shingles.
I'm told another friend of ours who recently got married had shingles shortly before his wedding as well. AND -- what was it -- Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever? Such colorful names. (I was going to link to him, then I realized that maybe he didn't want this news broadcast all over the place. Whoops.)
Here's to more sleep this week. Lizzy did her part by falling asleep at 7:30 last night! Utterly unprecedented. About three hours earlier than she usually does. Unfortunately, she needed a bath. She REALLY needed a bath. When this sort of thing happens, I have visions of the day care tipping off some child neglect investigative group. Eh, she couldn't have been THAT dirty, right?
Not that Matt and I took advantage of this fact (Lizzy sleeping) to get to bed ourselves. Noooo. There were complicated wedding favors to construct.
Sheesh. We bring this on ourselves. I know. I know.
Turns out, Matt finds out Saturday after going to the doctor, he's got shingles. Shingles. He's 29.
Shingles.
I'm told another friend of ours who recently got married had shingles shortly before his wedding as well. AND -- what was it -- Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever? Such colorful names. (I was going to link to him, then I realized that maybe he didn't want this news broadcast all over the place. Whoops.)
Here's to more sleep this week. Lizzy did her part by falling asleep at 7:30 last night! Utterly unprecedented. About three hours earlier than she usually does. Unfortunately, she needed a bath. She REALLY needed a bath. When this sort of thing happens, I have visions of the day care tipping off some child neglect investigative group. Eh, she couldn't have been THAT dirty, right?
Not that Matt and I took advantage of this fact (Lizzy sleeping) to get to bed ourselves. Noooo. There were complicated wedding favors to construct.
Sheesh. We bring this on ourselves. I know. I know.
Friday, September 08, 2006
second
Last night, Matt and I stayed up 'til nearly 2 a.m. addressing and stuffing envelopes for our second reception. The one at my aunt's house in Chehalis, Washington, the weekend after the wedding/reception here. The one I really couldn't give a flip about, in all honesty. (Sorry, Aunt Donna! Sorry, Aunt Ronni! Don't take it personally.) I just don't have the capacity to care about more than a certain amount of stuff at any given time, y'know? At least, a certain amount of the same category of stuff. I can still be horrified by the situation in Darfur, and saddened for the panda that crushed her baby, and that sort of thing. But as far as wedding-related crap goes, my angst is all used up just now.
And I am more tired than I have been in some time today. Getting "only" five hours of sleep is not that big a deal, I know! Some of you might be dreaming of the day when "only" five hours' sleep is an anomaly in your sleep schedule. I hear ya. But for some reason, it's really throwing me today. My brain is a dense fog. Basic functions are mostly okay, but any kind of reasoning or calculation is totally blown. (hey! Built-in excuse for boring, non-linear blog post! Sweet.)
We labored and labored on those darned things. Lizzy came downstairs, wanting attention, at 11:15. That didn't help. And embossing the seals at 1:30 a.m. was a bit beyond ridiculous, but I've already put them off for too long. When else are these things going to get done? Poor Matt had been up that late, or later, the two nights prior for a huge report he's compiling for work. I don't know how he does it. I have no idea.
I carried the first round of invitations with me to the post office that first morning in a fancy little bag. I handed them carefully to a postal employee to hand-stamp, and so they wouldn't get 'bruised' any more than they had to. This morning, I hauled them in a grocery bag-type thingie, and heaved them all through the letters slot. 'So long!' I thought. 'Good riddance! I should've sent you weeks ago. Get outta here.'
One bit of good news at the post office -- they finally had Superhero stamps! I have been checking for those for a month and a half now. Always sold out. Who knew there were all those geeks out there. And, when will they think to issue Star Trek stamps, darnit? C'mon, now!
In better news, we have a 'first wedding reception' tasting next Saturday (a week from tomorrow). Nothing like the last minute! I hear it'll be the only time I get to taste reception food, because no bride and groom have time to eat their own reception food, or something? So next Saturday, I'll endeavor to savor every bite.
And I am more tired than I have been in some time today. Getting "only" five hours of sleep is not that big a deal, I know! Some of you might be dreaming of the day when "only" five hours' sleep is an anomaly in your sleep schedule. I hear ya. But for some reason, it's really throwing me today. My brain is a dense fog. Basic functions are mostly okay, but any kind of reasoning or calculation is totally blown. (hey! Built-in excuse for boring, non-linear blog post! Sweet.)
We labored and labored on those darned things. Lizzy came downstairs, wanting attention, at 11:15. That didn't help. And embossing the seals at 1:30 a.m. was a bit beyond ridiculous, but I've already put them off for too long. When else are these things going to get done? Poor Matt had been up that late, or later, the two nights prior for a huge report he's compiling for work. I don't know how he does it. I have no idea.
I carried the first round of invitations with me to the post office that first morning in a fancy little bag. I handed them carefully to a postal employee to hand-stamp, and so they wouldn't get 'bruised' any more than they had to. This morning, I hauled them in a grocery bag-type thingie, and heaved them all through the letters slot. 'So long!' I thought. 'Good riddance! I should've sent you weeks ago. Get outta here.'
One bit of good news at the post office -- they finally had Superhero stamps! I have been checking for those for a month and a half now. Always sold out. Who knew there were all those geeks out there. And, when will they think to issue Star Trek stamps, darnit? C'mon, now!
In better news, we have a 'first wedding reception' tasting next Saturday (a week from tomorrow). Nothing like the last minute! I hear it'll be the only time I get to taste reception food, because no bride and groom have time to eat their own reception food, or something? So next Saturday, I'll endeavor to savor every bite.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
prenup
Matt actually did arrange to go to a lawyer, and took an hour or two off work, to secure the insisted-upon prenup a couple of weeks ago. He has been insisting on one, which I think is a) ridiculous, and b) insulting, though I agreed to sign it if it meant the world to him. (for the record, there were two things that I very, very much wanted HIM to do pre-wedding, one of which was go to premarital counseling with me, but he flatly refused. So there you go.)
It just makes my blood boil whenever it comes up. I feel like the language itself is a slap in the face of what marriage is. Yes, I know sometimes they don't work out for one reason or another. Obviously, things happen. (have I said all this before? Sorry. I feel like I'm repeating myself.) But to PLAN for things not to happen? When he asks me the necessary questions about it, and I hear myself saying, "Well, XY and Z if things don't work out," I just want to cut out my tongue. I DON'T WANT to be thinking about things not working out a month before we're going to get married! This is not a trial period, people! This is a permanent state! A holy and sacred covenant! (or whatever.) With our right hand, we're asking all the people we love best to be there, to be witnesses to it, to support us, etc.! And with our left hand, we're drafting a document that spells out what happens if we decide to break these vows! It disgusts me.
An unexpected bit of amusement has arisen from it. To backpedal a bit, Matt wants one in the first place because he has this (excessive, one perspective might say) desire to take care of everyone. He wants to make sure the townhouse he owns (the bank owns), where his mom lives, won't be cut in half by my divorcing, scheming self. Likewise, his dad has some land in southern Virginia tat he doesn't want his soon-to-be-ex-wife getting her greedy hands on, because his fiscally irresponsible brother will need somewhere to live once he's too old or bored to work his minimum-wage jobs any more. And I assure you, as I have assured him countless times, that, were things not to work out (AI! There it is again!), land in Virginia would be my last interest. My very last interest. "But you might want to sell it for the money," he counters. Um, yeah. Because I'm like that.
But then I have to remember that, yes, three years ago, I had planned to marry someone else and take "Matt's baby" (his mom's phrase) to Germany. Away from him. Times, and mentalities, were different then. But I have to remember, and respect, that it must've taken quite a leap of faith from Matt to try again with me. To give me a second chance. So, the least I could do, I suppose, is to sign a piece of paper that is worthless if things go the way they should. That says that I won't get things that I don't want, anyway.
Matt's had to ask me for some minimal information -- stuff that, as my fiance, he pretty much knows, anyway. What are my assets? How much is in my retirement account? Stuff like that. I don't understand all the ins and outs of prenuptial agreements, but it makes no sense to me to have to put down these amounts, anyway. They change. I get mine, he gets his. So what?
Back to the amusing part. According to Matt, each time he talks to the lawyer about this, at some point in the conversation, she says: "WHY are you doing this again? You guys don't own anything. You don't have anything (much) collectively. What's the point?"
Exactly. But if it puts his mind at peace to waste his time and money in this manner, I guess the least I can do is play along.
It just makes my blood boil whenever it comes up. I feel like the language itself is a slap in the face of what marriage is. Yes, I know sometimes they don't work out for one reason or another. Obviously, things happen. (have I said all this before? Sorry. I feel like I'm repeating myself.) But to PLAN for things not to happen? When he asks me the necessary questions about it, and I hear myself saying, "Well, XY and Z if things don't work out," I just want to cut out my tongue. I DON'T WANT to be thinking about things not working out a month before we're going to get married! This is not a trial period, people! This is a permanent state! A holy and sacred covenant! (or whatever.) With our right hand, we're asking all the people we love best to be there, to be witnesses to it, to support us, etc.! And with our left hand, we're drafting a document that spells out what happens if we decide to break these vows! It disgusts me.
An unexpected bit of amusement has arisen from it. To backpedal a bit, Matt wants one in the first place because he has this (excessive, one perspective might say) desire to take care of everyone. He wants to make sure the townhouse he owns (the bank owns), where his mom lives, won't be cut in half by my divorcing, scheming self. Likewise, his dad has some land in southern Virginia tat he doesn't want his soon-to-be-ex-wife getting her greedy hands on, because his fiscally irresponsible brother will need somewhere to live once he's too old or bored to work his minimum-wage jobs any more. And I assure you, as I have assured him countless times, that, were things not to work out (AI! There it is again!), land in Virginia would be my last interest. My very last interest. "But you might want to sell it for the money," he counters. Um, yeah. Because I'm like that.
But then I have to remember that, yes, three years ago, I had planned to marry someone else and take "Matt's baby" (his mom's phrase) to Germany. Away from him. Times, and mentalities, were different then. But I have to remember, and respect, that it must've taken quite a leap of faith from Matt to try again with me. To give me a second chance. So, the least I could do, I suppose, is to sign a piece of paper that is worthless if things go the way they should. That says that I won't get things that I don't want, anyway.
Matt's had to ask me for some minimal information -- stuff that, as my fiance, he pretty much knows, anyway. What are my assets? How much is in my retirement account? Stuff like that. I don't understand all the ins and outs of prenuptial agreements, but it makes no sense to me to have to put down these amounts, anyway. They change. I get mine, he gets his. So what?
Back to the amusing part. According to Matt, each time he talks to the lawyer about this, at some point in the conversation, she says: "WHY are you doing this again? You guys don't own anything. You don't have anything (much) collectively. What's the point?"
Exactly. But if it puts his mind at peace to waste his time and money in this manner, I guess the least I can do is play along.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
gutsy
Yesterday, Matt worked up the courage to tell me that he doesn't like a pair of my pants. In fact, upon further questioning, there are a number of items in my closet that he doesn't care for. Apparently, I am sporting the grandma look upon occasion, and that look doesn't seem to do it for him.
So. Farewell, striped orange pants that make me look like a clown (no offense, I'm assured). I hardly knew ye.
If I get a chance, I'll post a photo of them. The many of you who saw me on Sunday know exactly which ones Matt's talking about.
So. Farewell, striped orange pants that make me look like a clown (no offense, I'm assured). I hardly knew ye.
If I get a chance, I'll post a photo of them. The many of you who saw me on Sunday know exactly which ones Matt's talking about.
Monday, September 04, 2006
cuties
Courtesy of the Sniper(tm):
If you want to see what came next (and I assure you, you do), e-mail me and I'll send it to you. I'm not eager to post it to Blogdom at large, though. You'll see what I mean.
If you want to see what came next (and I assure you, you do), e-mail me and I'll send it to you. I'm not eager to post it to Blogdom at large, though. You'll see what I mean.
The Dream
Over the weekend, a friend commented that I hadn't done any pre-wedding blogging in awhile. Well -- let's remedy that right NOW, shall we!
We knocked out two items yesterday. It took Matt about 15 minutes (maybe less) to select a wedding band. He was a little horrified that it cost more than, and I quote, "Forty-five bucks," but considering that it cost about 1/30th of what my engagement/wedding rings cost (my math might be off there -- I'm a journalist, after all), I myself was not put off.
Then, last night, we dined at this lovely restaurant, which shall serve as our rehearsal dinner spot. Good thing we liked it -- I'd already reserved it sight unseen -- because there was no other option. That's the down side to having your wedding in the middle of nowhere.
I've been having a recurring dream for a few months now. I've had it at least a half-dozen times. It's about the only wedding-related dream that I've had. Some other weird things about dating someone else, then realizing that I'm actually engaged to someone I love (always a good thing, eh?), so what the heck am I doing, and that sort of pleasantness. But those are just rubbish, I figure. Sweeping out the old. This recurring dream business, though, is just silly. I'm not sure if it means that I'm hopelessly shallow -- I hope not, but entirely possible! -- or that I'm way closer to the dreaded Princess for a Day mentality than I'd intended. You be the judge. Feel free to psychoanalyze.
I'm getting ready for the wedding. Sometimes in a room tucked away somewhere; sometimes in an upper room of the reception inn that affords me an excellent view of the proceedings. There is some preparation-related disaster -- dress not ready, hairdresser not there, makeup taking hours to apply, a long line for the shower (???) -- that prevents me from completing the toiletries. (something I haven't spent more than five minutes on, usually less, since I had Lizzy, by the way.) I simply cannot get ready in time. Sometimes, that's it. Other times, everyone decides to have the wedding, and then the reception, go on without me. On the assumption that I'll be there soon, of course. In one agonizing version of this dream, I could see dear, longtime friends -- some of whom had traveled great distances to attend -- from the window, chatting with each other, laughing, having a great time, when I wasn't able to join in. All our preparations and dreams for the day, wasted. (now, in waking analysis, I'm glad they were having a good time. Really! That's most of what we want for the day.) And eventually, people have to start leaving. And ALL I CAN DO IS WATCH. Argghh!
I'm grateful, at least, that I'm not having dreams that lead me to believe I have doubts about what's really important here. And that's, our marriage. I have no doubt that I am doing the right thing. Or that we will be happily married. Or that -- and this is important to me -- our friends and family are supportive of us being together. And this is good. I know my dream tendencies enough to know that if I did have doubts about this, my subconscious wouldn't hesitate to offer it up to me in no uncertain terms.
So ... Why the fluffy stuff? Is it my frustration that it has to be a part of things? That I'm afraid it will take over entirely?
Another friend (a married woman), standing by as I related this silliness to the first friend, commented, "Believe me -- you're THE BRIDE. NOTHING will be taking place without you there. The day will revolve entirely around you."
Hm. I guess that's comforting? Sounds a little scary, itself.
We knocked out two items yesterday. It took Matt about 15 minutes (maybe less) to select a wedding band. He was a little horrified that it cost more than, and I quote, "Forty-five bucks," but considering that it cost about 1/30th of what my engagement/wedding rings cost (my math might be off there -- I'm a journalist, after all), I myself was not put off.
Then, last night, we dined at this lovely restaurant, which shall serve as our rehearsal dinner spot. Good thing we liked it -- I'd already reserved it sight unseen -- because there was no other option. That's the down side to having your wedding in the middle of nowhere.
I've been having a recurring dream for a few months now. I've had it at least a half-dozen times. It's about the only wedding-related dream that I've had. Some other weird things about dating someone else, then realizing that I'm actually engaged to someone I love (always a good thing, eh?), so what the heck am I doing, and that sort of pleasantness. But those are just rubbish, I figure. Sweeping out the old. This recurring dream business, though, is just silly. I'm not sure if it means that I'm hopelessly shallow -- I hope not, but entirely possible! -- or that I'm way closer to the dreaded Princess for a Day mentality than I'd intended. You be the judge. Feel free to psychoanalyze.
I'm getting ready for the wedding. Sometimes in a room tucked away somewhere; sometimes in an upper room of the reception inn that affords me an excellent view of the proceedings. There is some preparation-related disaster -- dress not ready, hairdresser not there, makeup taking hours to apply, a long line for the shower (???) -- that prevents me from completing the toiletries. (something I haven't spent more than five minutes on, usually less, since I had Lizzy, by the way.) I simply cannot get ready in time. Sometimes, that's it. Other times, everyone decides to have the wedding, and then the reception, go on without me. On the assumption that I'll be there soon, of course. In one agonizing version of this dream, I could see dear, longtime friends -- some of whom had traveled great distances to attend -- from the window, chatting with each other, laughing, having a great time, when I wasn't able to join in. All our preparations and dreams for the day, wasted. (now, in waking analysis, I'm glad they were having a good time. Really! That's most of what we want for the day.) And eventually, people have to start leaving. And ALL I CAN DO IS WATCH. Argghh!
I'm grateful, at least, that I'm not having dreams that lead me to believe I have doubts about what's really important here. And that's, our marriage. I have no doubt that I am doing the right thing. Or that we will be happily married. Or that -- and this is important to me -- our friends and family are supportive of us being together. And this is good. I know my dream tendencies enough to know that if I did have doubts about this, my subconscious wouldn't hesitate to offer it up to me in no uncertain terms.
So ... Why the fluffy stuff? Is it my frustration that it has to be a part of things? That I'm afraid it will take over entirely?
Another friend (a married woman), standing by as I related this silliness to the first friend, commented, "Believe me -- you're THE BRIDE. NOTHING will be taking place without you there. The day will revolve entirely around you."
Hm. I guess that's comforting? Sounds a little scary, itself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
