Gotta Start Somewhere...

Sorry guys. I have been ignoring this blog, haven't I? Life got heavy there for awhile, but I'm here to restart this thing! My mantra lately has been "gotta start somewhere". Blogging, eating right, exercising...etc have taken a back burner to life events lately. Thanks to my blogger friends for encouraging me to get on the ball!

I know, I know... you want to see wedding pictures. Perhaps that's the easiest way to restart! Magek Photography were STUPENDOUS and took most of the wedding pictures you see below.

We went from this:

To this:

The day was surreal. The venue, Butler's Courtyard, allowed us to have the site all day including a quaint little cottage for the bride and attendants to get ready. The cottage was decorated with antiques and antique wedding items. Danicka and I were the only ones there for an hour or two and we had fun exploring and setting up. You'd think that 8 hours would allow plenty of lounging time before the wedding, but not with updos, nails, makeup, checking flowers, cake, setup...etc. The time flew by.

Finally, the time had come. But wait! I didn't have enough pre-wedding, pre-go-live-with-a-boy fun! Even though the wedding was at 7pm, it still didn't seem like enough time. I did truly live in the moment and enjoyed every minute, but I just wish there were MORE! Someone else had other thoughts.

Before the wedding, they even had a photo op holding hands around a corner. They couldn't see each other before the wedding and there were plenty of people there to make sure the lovebirds were in check.

The wedding planner arrived and we were summoned to the hall. This was it. That tiny baby I once kept in a cradle the size of a dresser drawer was walking to the hall in a white, poufy, marshmallow gown. Everything was going too fast. We were walking too fast, the music seemed like it was playing too fast, and people were taking their places too fast. Although I had a smile on my face, somebody juiced up the tilt-a-whirl that suddenly took residence in my gut.


Here I was, walking my only child down the aisle. I wanted to do this so badly. She was mine to give away, but I now know why fathers usually perform this task. Despite jelly-legs, tilt-a-whirl gut and a racing brain, I wouldn't change it for the world. I remember standing behind the curtain waiting for our cue: she was looking like a horse wanting to race to the barn and I was wanting to reign her in. I wish I could remember exactly what I told her, standing there at the precipice to the rest of her life. I know I told her that I loved her and that she was beautiful. I know I told her to take a deep breath. I also know that I told her my car was waiting just outside in case she changed her mind.

Suddenly the curtain opened and Pachebel's Canon in D began playing. I walked her to the front of the crowd to a handsome man in Marine dress blues (where was the "boy"?).


When the pastor asked "who gives this woman?" I was supposed to say "I do" give her a kiss, give the groom a kiss and step back to be seated. Simple instructions, right? They may as well have been given in Swahili. I said the "I do" and just stood there frozen. The pastor patiently waited and gave a little tight lipped grin to me to break me out of my stupor. Realizing my error, I quickly complied and sat down. My part was done and the rest of the ceremony wafted along from there.


The reception was wonderful. The wonderful folks at Butler's Courtyard took care of everything. I didn't have to worry about the punch bowl status, microphones that didn't work, flowers, food or anything else. Butler's was truly worth the money for everything they do. For all I knew everything went without a hitch they made it seem so effortless and magical. Cake, dancing, bouquet and garter throwing and the toast - all a part of a balanced wedding. I enjoyed it all.
 




















It was time to let the newlyweds run away into the night. I jokingly tried to stow away in the back seat of the getaway car, we blew bubbles and the newlyweds were whisked away in what can only be described as a grand Lawrence Welk sendoff (and a one, and a two..)


Turning the corner, I sighed a big sigh and watched until I could no longer see their taillights.

The crowd seemed to disperse almost immediately and I was left with the staff people. The magic was gone. My daughter was the keeper of that magic and I was turning back into a pumpkin. My feet were also waking up from the magical spell and screamed in protest. We loaded up the car, I checked for forgotten items and made the lonely trek back home. It was in the car ride home that I realized I didn't get any wedding cake. My eyes filled with the first big tears of the day and I pulled into a parking lot and sobbed - big racking sobs and likely a very ugly cry. It wasn't the cake. It was the finality.


I took a deep breath, wiped my face and continued home. While unpacking the car I found the leftover cake and had a piece while sitting on the floor in my sweaty blue dress.


What happened next was the epitome of being alone. I.couldn't.get.out.of.my.dress. My zipper was out of reach. Someone had zipped me in and I now remember the last part of the zipper was particularly difficult. I struggled like Houdini trying to get out of a straight jacket, sat and contemplated the scissors on the counter. It was midnight and I couldn't knock on someone's door to get them to unzip my dress, or if I did would be very creepy. I even contemplated going to McDonalds and paying an employee five bucks to unzip my dress. I cried again and said a few choice words to punctuate the situation. I finally got a pair of vice-grips, clamped them on and with a little struggle was able to free myself. I laughed. I fell exhausted into bed. Vice grips are useful things.