The month leading up to the wedding was not a particularly enjoyable time for me. Sure, I was excited -- enormously so -- but I was also anxious. Really, really anxious. I felt extremely pressed for time, trying to juggle working full time, meeting with vendors pretty much every evening (often at or near the wedding site, which was enough to make me regret choosing a venue an hour away from our house), trying to relay information to the wedding party and our families and everyone traveling in from out of town in a clear, concise manner without coming off as a dictator-zilla ("you need to be at X-location at Y-time wearing Z-outfit!")... it was just a lot. I had this massive list of things that needed to be done -- I'd prefer to see a massive list with every last single thing delineated than worry that I'm forgetting something, so the list was a good thing -- but no matter how I looked at it, there just was not enough time. Original, I know, right? A bride feeling like there isn't enough time to get everything done?
I had what I can only describe as an epiphany on the Wednesday before the wedding. I went to work for a half day in the morning, which provided just enough time for me to throw my hands in the air, apologize to my coworker for all the unfinished tasks I was heaping on her and run out the door with just enough time to make it to my eyebrow waxing appointment.
The whole time I was in the salon, I was watching the clock furiously tick and calculating exactly how much stuff we had left to go, trying to determine if I would have time to stop at Petco and Party City before my physical therapy appointment or if I'd have to go after, but then I'd risk not being home before my mom arrived at 6pm to help me power clean the house before Joel's family and the rest of our guests started trickling in on Friday and shit, I never made a revised list of all the things that needed to be organized and shined and dusted and washed. In the midst of this stream of consciousness, the waxing lady casually asked what had made me decide to get a professional eyebrow wax (usually I do them myself). When I replied that it was for my wedding on Saturday, she remarked that I was a very relaxed bride. I stared at her for a second, trying to figure out whether she was joking or not.
When I got out to my car, even after a 10-minute search for my keys, I discovered that I was running an hour ahead of schedule. My physical therapist happily moved my appointment up, and I now had plenty of time to get my errands done AND be home in plenty of time to meet my mom and start plotting our cleaning strategy. Huh, I realized. Everything's going to get done. It sounds like such a silly realization, but it changed my entire point of view at that moment. From that point on, I was OK. Maybe not zen, but close enough. As close as a person prone to anxiety attacks can get two days before their own wedding.
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Oh, the wedding. There's so much to say, and so little. It was fabulous. It was exactly what I expected and more. It was surreal.
I didn't sleep at all, really, the night before the wedding. I was nervous, excited, and basically ready to do anything but sleep -- although I did try my level best to knock myself out by chasing two Tylenol PMs with half a bottle of wine. That bounced right off my bridal forcefield, and I spent the night reading A Tree Grows In Brooklyn by flashlight on couch in our suite at the Marriott, listening to my two best friends snore away in the bedroom and alternating between losing myself in the book and thinking about how holy shit,the day was here. Literally, once the hotel alarm clock hit 12:01.
We met in the hotel lobby the next morning at 8:30 to mobilize and deploy. We loaded up the cars with all the stuff we'd been accumulating for nearly a year and drove out to the wedding site, on time for arrival at 9am. Along the way, my mom and I stopped to hang signs at difficult-to-see turnoffs and to poach all the wildflowers we could carry from the roadside.
We arrived about half an hour after the rest of the caravan because of our stops, and I got out of the car, spreadsheets of setup assignments and backup plans and timelines in hand, only to find that progress was well under way. Everything was unloaded and set out in the correct places. My friends were setting out hurricane globes and candles. My dad stood at the front of a battalion of helpers, ready for their next assignments. The venue required that all setup be completed and cleaned up by 3pm, and I'd been worried that we'd be strained to meet that deadline. Instead, we were nearly finished by 10:30am, when it was time to leave for the salon. We walked off to our car, leaving behind our crack team of wedding setter-uppers to finish the remaining tasks. I was sad to leave, but beauty waits for no bride!
When we returned to the venue, it finally hit me that this was MY wedding we were doing! Mine! And Joel's! Because we were getting married! TODAY! I've been a bridesmaid four times, and I KNOW the wedding drill. The whole morning was like an out of body experience -- I knew what we were doing, I knew why we were doing it, but it just didn't seem REAL. It was as if I were starring in the movie version of my own life, watching the actor version of myself tie ribbons and hang cards and get their hair and nails done. All of a sudden, back at the site, I looked out the window and saw all these people. People I recognized. Bustling around, doing all this stuff. Stuff I'd been seeing in my head for months. It hit me suddenly that this was MY wedding. I panicked, a little. My matron of honor, who just got married in October, recognized the look on my face immediately and handed me a cocktail and the baggie of lavender the florist had sent with the bouquets. "It's weird, isn't it?", she said. That's exactly what it was. So, so weird.
Throughout the rest of the afternoon, I sniffed that lavender like some kind of addict every time I felt my heart start to pound. Maybe it was all in my head, but all I can tell you is that that shit worked.
I was a tiny bit sad to not be able to help with all the final setup, but the one truly traditional thing I cared about was that I didn't want Joel to see me that day, not until I walked down the aisle. So I sat, sequestered in my tower (which was actually a magnificent second floor suite), being fed drinks and snacks by my entourage, watching the activities out the window.
No, she says six inches to the left! FASTER!
We got dressed at a leisurely pace, took some photos, ate some more snacks, and then all of a sudden I looked out the window and saw that there were actual PEOPLE. OUT THERE. SITTING IN THE CHAIRS. And I didn't even have my dress on yet! WE HAVE TO GET THE DRESS ON!
That took exactly three minutes (including the two hits of lavender).
Watching the bridesmaids file out the door of our getting-ready suite and then appear on the grass below the window, slowly walking towards the pergola was surreal, but I was doing OK... until I went down the stairs myself and my dad started to cry. I’ve never, ever seen my dad cry before, and that was almost the end of my composure.
I shoved that bag of lavender up his nose and we both pulled it together and walked out, arm in arm.
Let’s see, what happened then? Well, the minister said a few words…
Joel’s dad and my mom both gave readings…
We said some vows and each put a ring on the other’s finger…
And then we were married! (ZOMGZOMGZOMG)
We kissed, danced the night away, and kissed some more. (Seriously, if you look through the entire set of professional photos, there is A LOT of kissing. Uh, sorry about that… but not really, because you’re allowed to make out all you want on your wedding day. )
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A Few of My Favorite Things, In No Particular Order:
Instead of traditional seating cards, we made postcards out of our favorite photos from trips and places we’ve been together and hung them from a clothesline outside the reception tent.
The whole idea, from the postcards to the clothesline, was Joel’s. But to be fair, I did make the postcards (thanks, flickr!) and write people’s names on them in my very best handwriting.
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We opted for the “market bride” option that our florist offered, meaning we gave them a few photos in February and they promised to create something in a similar color scheme and style using whatever was available at the flower market the week of our wedding. Some people seemed to think it was crazy to surrender control like that, but I was ecstatic to unload that whole category of decision-making to people who knew something about flowers (whereas I just found out that a chrysanthemum and a mum are actually the same plant last week). Plus, the bouquets were half price this way.
I think they came out OK, and by “OK”, I mean that they’re exactly what I would have asked for, if I’d known what to ask for. Only better.
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This is where we got married. It was pretty.
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Not only was this gorgeous creation the most delicious cake ever, but it was made by our fantastically talented friend. For free.
We were going to save the top tier, but then we accidentally ate it when we got back from our honeymoon. Thanks, Ruthie!
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I am really sad that it rained on our cocktail hour, but I have to admit that I love this picture. So I guess we’re even, rain. For now.
(I warned you about the kissing).
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My antique mason jars, let me show you them: 
I bought them from a farm dude in Wisconsin on Ebay and I love them very, very much. Just so you know.
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The recurring themes of our wedding were: the color blue, hydrangeas, and antique farm-y stuff, in case you couldn’t tell.
Picnic-basket-turned-card-receptacle
Watering-can-with-no-actual-purpose
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More kissing!
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I love this picture for about ten thousand reasons.
The only thing that could make it better is if my brother were giving his signature thumbs-up. Oh, wait:
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I think that this might have been the point in the toast where Bethy said Joel was pretty cool, for a muggle.
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When we weren't too busy kissing, we did some dancing.
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And eventually, as tends to happen with all good, great, wonderful things… the night came to an end.
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The entire set of professional wedding photos is up on flickr, if you are inclined to look through those sorts of things. And if those 400-odd photos aren’t quite enough, I have another set of all the photos our friends and family have sent us. I’m still working through the 1000+ photos I took on our honeymoon, so that’ll have to be a post all its own. You might want to clear your calendar for next week.
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So, it’s back to life-as-normal now, I suppose. I only feel a teensy bit of that deflated, post-wedding depression. Mostly, it just feels really, really good to be back to regular old life, with no meetings or deadlines or anything, really, that needs to be done. Well, I do need to vacuum. But you know what I mean: it’s just back to normal. Three cats, narrow brick house, the two of us. Except it’s better, now. We’re married.
