wow
Our living room has been filled with gifts from our friends and family. We are related to and friends with some incredibly crazy and generous people. The kitchen's going to need emptied and rearranged, but when we put the new dishes and "stuff" away, it'll be OUR stuff - not his, not mine, but ours. (squee!)
Though I was very tempted, I did not kill my mother this past weekend. We did lock the door on the room I was hiding in before the ceremony, but since we were letting The Band in, she snuck in anyway. She was mostly on good behavior, but she's still my mom and still batshit loco in her insistence that I strive for her ideals.
Everything went so well yesterday. We looked wonderful, the flowers turned out to be so much nicer than I'd expected, our families all got along, no one fell down or got hurt, and nothing went horribly wrong. My uncle's homily made me cry, as did getting a hug from my stepfather during the sign of peace. I got a little nervous when Downwood seemed to not want to give me the ring, but he snapped out of his reverie quickly enough.
Our photographer utterly rocked. She was wonderful about taking pictures without taking over. Because Downwood and I would be seeing each other before the ceremony, she set up a picture in front of one of the stained glass windows so that we could have a moment together before the insanity. She also suggested that we take the wedding party out for a drink in between the ceremony and reception. Those 15 minutes in the upper room of the Brocach were absolutely wonderful.
The reception was a hell of a party. The food was good, the champagne was good, and the cake was sinful. Our DJ seemed a little flaky, but the band was back together and we broke the dance floor. Both my sister's toast and my stepfather's words made me cry. I got to polka with my aunt, hear stories from my friends, and I'm never going to be able to listen to Jack Johnson's Better Together without smiling and thinking of our first dance.
Today, I cried a couple more times: reading the card that my mom gave us, looking at the Bible that my grandmother gave us, the words in the card that a good friend gave us, watching my father-in-law drive off with my dog (he's keeping her while we go on our trip next week), and now as I try to drag my brain back over the last 36 hours and I'm struck anew by how much emotion's been crammed into such a small span of time.
But my husband is bringing me a tissue and some tea and I know that I'm the luckiest person on the planet.
Though I was very tempted, I did not kill my mother this past weekend. We did lock the door on the room I was hiding in before the ceremony, but since we were letting The Band in, she snuck in anyway. She was mostly on good behavior, but she's still my mom and still batshit loco in her insistence that I strive for her ideals.
Everything went so well yesterday. We looked wonderful, the flowers turned out to be so much nicer than I'd expected, our families all got along, no one fell down or got hurt, and nothing went horribly wrong. My uncle's homily made me cry, as did getting a hug from my stepfather during the sign of peace. I got a little nervous when Downwood seemed to not want to give me the ring, but he snapped out of his reverie quickly enough.
Our photographer utterly rocked. She was wonderful about taking pictures without taking over. Because Downwood and I would be seeing each other before the ceremony, she set up a picture in front of one of the stained glass windows so that we could have a moment together before the insanity. She also suggested that we take the wedding party out for a drink in between the ceremony and reception. Those 15 minutes in the upper room of the Brocach were absolutely wonderful.
The reception was a hell of a party. The food was good, the champagne was good, and the cake was sinful. Our DJ seemed a little flaky, but the band was back together and we broke the dance floor. Both my sister's toast and my stepfather's words made me cry. I got to polka with my aunt, hear stories from my friends, and I'm never going to be able to listen to Jack Johnson's Better Together without smiling and thinking of our first dance.
Today, I cried a couple more times: reading the card that my mom gave us, looking at the Bible that my grandmother gave us, the words in the card that a good friend gave us, watching my father-in-law drive off with my dog (he's keeping her while we go on our trip next week), and now as I try to drag my brain back over the last 36 hours and I'm struck anew by how much emotion's been crammed into such a small span of time.
But my husband is bringing me a tissue and some tea and I know that I'm the luckiest person on the planet.