Weddingbee Blog

This is all so surreal.

I am writing this from the bedroom that hasn’t changed since I was four years old. The walls are still baby pink, the Laura Ashley curtains still in place, and a giant wicker sofa filled with stuffed animals sits to the side. I’m curled up in the poster bed that my father made for me when I was six, and I proudly helped sand and stain. I look like a frazzled mess—skin a little too red from face-products, hair in a messy bun thanks to running around in the heat in humidity, giant hipster glasses, burned fingertips from a glue gun, various cuts and bruises adorn my hands, arms, and legs, an old sorority t-shirt, and covered from head to toe in paint. Nothing out of the ordinary, right?

Oh wait, yes, that’s right. In the next room my wedding dress is hanging in the bathroom. My wedding dress. My wedding dress. We are getting married, and it is all so surreal. Today, men in blue t-shirts came and set up the tent, put down the dance floor, hauled out the tables and chivari chairs, and rolled out the dishes, linens, and other rented items. The planted flowers are all fluffed, the house is spotless, save for any areas that I have roped off for my crazy projects, and it looks like there’s about to be a wedding here.

Hoooooh-leeeee craaaap. Right? Right. Holy crap. After doing this whole wedding thing for I-don’t-know-how-many-months, it’s here. On Saturday, I will put on my something old, the pearl studs given to my mother by my father as a wedding-day present and worn during their wedding, my something new, some wedding undies, my something borrowed, a strand of my mother’s pearls given to her by my father as an anniversary present, and my something blue, one of Wednesday’s shaky mice. I’ll begrudgingly put a sixpence in my shoe for the sake of tradition, even though I go bonkers when things other than my feet or (perfectly straight) socks or tights are in my shoes. (We’ll see how long that sixpence lasts…)

As I lie here, overwhelmed, overworked, and overextended, there are still projects that need to be finished. (I told you all I like to work down to the wire, right?) At this point, whatever gets done gets done—we’re still getting married. It will come without ribbons, it will come without tags. It will come without packages, boxes or bags. Marriage, you see, doesn’t come from a store. Marriage means a whole great deal more. (Now I’m quasi-quoting Dr. Seuss… You see how my mind is gone.)

Back to the marriage part. Come Saturday evening, I will marry my best friend. I have no doubts about that. I will be so unbelievably excited and proud to be able to call myself his wife, and just thinking about it makes me want to cry buckets of happy tears. The wedding day, the stuff that I’m terrified of—the finishing of projects, the not looking fat, the hair looking in place, the makeup being decent, the living up to expectations—doesn’t really matter. (Or so I’ve been told, so I’m sticking to that.) It will all be magical because I am marrying Mr. Scissors, and he is marrying me.

I thank you all so much for your unbridled support. I thank you for reading along as I have, and continue to, ramble along and over-use commas. This wedding community is a wonderful place, and I am so happy to be a part of it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

So there you have it. My last pre-wedding post. I can’t wait to relay all of the recent disasters, hilarious moments, and gory details of our pre-wedding, wedding, and post-wedding adventures. I think it will all be a blast. So, to quote Liz Lemon…