Weddingbee Blog

Love… waking up to a poured and mixed cup of coffee.

Don’t like… waking up.

Love… the man who brought the coffee.

Don’t like… waking up.

Love… puppy kisses and wagging tails.

Don’t like… muddy paws.

{Oh, yea, I called this the “wedding planning edition”, didn’t I? Oops.}

Love… that in a month, this will all be over.

Don’t like… the list of stuff to do in less than 20 days.

Love… that soon I’ll see my family and get to show them my home, my dogs, my ‘hood.

Don’t like… that I’m worried and nervous and full of fluttering freaking butterflies.
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{Yea, yea, my post titles suck lately. Oh, well.}

I’ve had a post brewing in my brain for a while, a post about how the best advice I could have given my newly-engaged self would have been to sit down and take an inventory of myself. Who am I? What do I know about myself? What do I love? What can’t I help but being?

I put off writing the post because I wanted to find the right words, and the particular brand of eloquence for which I’d hoped only comes along every so often. With all of our wedding details swimming in my brain, though, I’ve decided to accept good enough words for now. Perhaps eloquence will hit me some other time and I’ll rewrite this.

Sitting at dinner the other night, I looked down at my engagement ring and realized how much I loved it, a rather delayed revelation nine months after the morning he handed it to me. For heavens sake, I picked it out, but I wasn’t ever really sure that I loved it, and the pressure of choosing Something I’d Wear and Love Forever and Ever made me indecisive. I thought about all of the other loves I’ve ever had, and not one was an immediate reaction. Not one. No, not even him.

See, that’s how I am.
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With less than 30 days to go, I could no longer ignore the “what time?” questions: “What time should I be there?” “What time will they be there?” “What time will it end?” “How long will it take?” Nothing makes me feel less in control than not knowing where the pieces fit into the big picture, so during an interminable conference call, I half-*ssed a wedding day overview slide in PowerPoint. Yes, PowerPoint. Yes, a Wedding Day Slide. Shut up, it made me feel better.

I started with Mrs. Daffodil’s wedding work plan file, then customized away. Now I can see who will be where and for how long all day long… and then maybe I won’t have to answer questions on our wedding day.
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Mr. Cheese and I took a break from the heavy stuff to peruse the web for program ideas. Turns out he has champagne tastes in paper (I had to say, “No custom laser cutting for us, honey”) but we did come across a fun idea - a “get to know us better” crossword puzzle!

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Ladies, I need help. Once again I’m confronted by the need to make decisions on something for which I have no opinions (my friends would be STUNNED to hear this, I’m sure): the whole bridal party-ceremony-processional-seating-etc situation. Please share your brilliant, creative, and fabulous plans to save a poor Cheese. Mr. Cheese will even make the pouty face for you.

We have three bridesmaids and groomsmen and a MOH/ BM… so 8 people, plus a flower girl and junior bridesmaid. My brother and sister — one of the groomsmen and bridesmaids — will likely be our musical team. Mr. Cheese thinks he wants the groomsmen to stand with him rather than be a part of the processional. I want it all to be simple and easy, which doesn’t seem to be an option.
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… I do it for you.

You’re welcome for getting a cheesy Bryan Adams song stuck in your head for the rest of the day. Now we’re in the same boat. The Cheese Boat!

So, it’s 1AM and I’m sitting in a hot, musty, fluorescent-lighted man-building (you know, the kind where only men work and the smells of metal and yucky hand soap mix with sweat and grease?) on the world’s worst office chair.

Why?

Because Mr. C’s been working all night on a side gig — with proceeds going to our honeymoon — and I’m the support crew. I’ve made two caffeine runs, picked up crappy (yummy) fast food, and smiled each time he walked by for the sake of morale.

If that’s not love…
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As you approach your wedding day, everyone asks you if you’re getting nervous. I wonder how they’d react if I said, “Yes, frankly, I’m scared shitless of the huge commitment I’m about to make. Not because of him — I love him and admire him — but because it’s me, and to be the kind of partner I want to be is something I’m not sure I can achieve. And sometimes I just don’t want to be a good partner. I want to stomp my feet and throw a tantrum and have someone save me.”

What if I don’t succeed this time? What if I can’t? What if I don’t want to? Bending myself to accommodate him/ us is tiring. Watching my words so that he doesn’t get hurt is tiring. Can I really do this? Do I really want to?

I often feel like I’m in this all alone… and by “this” I guess I mean life. I know that I don’t often feel relaxed or at peace or any of those other things that people seem to feel with their beloveds. I’m not at my most comfortable with him since I’m working so hard on improving behaviors that don’t work for us. I long to see him, to be with him, but I don’t always feel a big rush of relief when I do. Nothing seems to come naturally.

Will I ever get “the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe/ having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words”, or have I traded that for the proud stability of personal growth? I’m succeeding in becoming a better partner, but will I ever get there? Is there even a “there” where I can stop having to think and just be? I don’t really get to be 100% me, but 100% me includes selfish and stubborn and confrontational. I guess I can be 100% me, but I don’t want to. I want to be a better me.

I’ve been working on our ceremony, and this comes to mind:
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Miss Crab Cake’s post got me thinking (as it did many of you) about how I want to deal with being escorted down the aisle (or in our case, “the trail”). This is where sentimentality meets reality and I’m conflicted.

I very much wanted to walk alone, a la Mrs. Lovebug (on whom I will admit I have a huge crush). The symbolism of my presenting myself to my beloved is clearest to me and I know he’d like to see me for the first time “on the aisle”.

But reality rears its messy, woody, and unevenly graded self: the trail leading to our ceremony site, plus my somewhat snug dress, plus heels (stability meets fashion) make this a slightly risky plan. I could trip, I could fall, or I could spend the whole time watching my feet instead of my loveys. And if I have to lean on someone, I’d like to lean on my guy. So, I thought we could do a “first look”.

Then we started “Wedding Wednesdays” (love them) and one of the items on the agenda was for him to give me his opinion on “first looks”. Of course, Mr. Traditionalist (except, evidently, for living in sin) wanted to see me for the first time on the aisle. Who am I to keep a guy from his romantic wedding wish?

So crap. Back to the beginning.
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This week I had my long-awaited alterations appointment. Okay, I made it two weeks ago so it’s not really long-awaited, but it felt like it while I was waiting on the mailman to deliver my correctly-sized bra (I’m the friendliest customer he has, I’d bet, given how excited I am when he drives up).

Because my dress originally came from David’s Bridal, I figured I’d get it altered there… but I had a sneaking suspicion they’d be weird about my buying it second-hand, and I was right. See my happy face in the photo below? Totally not related to this paragraph, but a good opportunity to use an unflattering picture. Oh, yea, and I’m wearing too much makeup.

{Honey Sweetie Pie? Don’t read this one. It’s not about you at all, just about my dress drama. Yes, you’re off the hook.}
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We (okay, let’s be honest, I) babysat our neighbors’ six-month-old son this Saturday while they attended a wedding and it got me thinking about us and our future. The conversation went something like this:

Me: “Honey, let’s wait like a decade until we have kids. I need a nap.”

Him: “Okay. Whatever. Wait, but you’re really good with kids. I had no idea. You don’t even need me. It’s like you know magic to get him to stop crying.”

Me: “Thanks. It’s called bouncing around. WAIT. This is babysitting. Don’t get your hopes up. Come hang out with him.”
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We won’t have a ring bearer, lacking boys of the appropriate age in our circle of friends and family. We will, however, have the world’s best Junior Bridesmaid in my 12 year old niece, L. She’s too grown up to be a flower girl, and too young to be a bridesmaid, so we decided that Junior Bridesmaid was the perfect role.

But what responsibilities to give her? My stepsister, as flower girl, will be charged with scattering rose petals along the path, but since L isn’t a flower girl (an important distinction when you’re 12), what will she be doing? Why, carrying the rings! Yes, the real rings… but not on a pillow, no sirree. She’ll be sporting a finger posy. Behold.

(Again, excuse the quality of the cell phone picture… we’re working on a deadline here.}
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I gotta tell you, I am getting really excited about our wedding, and the big reason behind that is our playlist. It’s pretty freaking cool. And by cool I mean totally cheesy and goofy - you know, just like us. Our hope is that the night will be filled with, “Oh, my gawd I LOVE this song!”

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Really, how can you NOT have a great time at a wedding when Wham and Toto are on the playlist? Most of the credit goes to the mister, who was born about a decade too late. Ready? Here goes…

{They’re not organized in any way, just listed in the order they occurred to us.}
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Remember when I said that I wasn’t going to spend one. more. minute thinking about invites? I lied. What can I say?

The most frustrating part of my whole invitation experience was that, had I planned a little better, I would have been much, much happier — all while spending about the same amount of money.

Learn from my mistakes, ye who follow.

I spent $52 for 60 invitations. Not bad, right? But I wasn’t happy at all with the quality of the paper. I even debated buying new stationery, or at the very least envelopes, because I was so unhappy with them.

Paper Source

• Stardream Quartz Pointed Flap Enclosure Flat Card: on sale at $3.25 for 25 = $9.75
• Stardream Opal Half-Moon / Pocket Folder Enclosure Flat Card: on sale at $2.88 for 25 = $8.64
• Sage A2 Rounded Card: on sale at $3.25 for 25 = $9.75
• Pointed Flap - Butter Envelopes: on sale at $4.13 for 10 = $24.78

Total: $52.92. With the same cost for stamps - $12 - the total would have been about $64… just $12 more than what I went with. The trick with Paper Source, by the way, is to go straight to the Sale link and pick your options.

This wedding-planning thing sure makes you face who you are and what matters to you.
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… because he delivered this to me a few days ago:

And what did it contain?
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I blogged about my role as our family’s CFO, so I thought it only fair to tell you about my guy’s role: CEO (that’s Chief Executive Officer). I’ll admit, I paused for a second before declaring him CEO; I like to think that I run things around here, ya know? But after full consideration of his talents and duties, I’m fully confident that he will successfully carry out his roles and responsibilities.

The CEO — according to me, anyway — is responsible for balancing long-term goals and short-term execution. He or she keeps an eye on the big picture, never allowing themselves to freak out or lose sight of the goal. (S)he is also responsible for drumming up new business and ideas while meeting current commitments.

I pretty much lost that gig on “never allowing themselves to freak out or lose sight of the goal.” Oh, yea, and “short-term execution”.

Unlike my bi-monthly financial summaries, he doesn’t need a scheduled time to do his CEO job. Every time he asks me for my thoughts before tearing something apart, he’s doing it. When he reminds me to call the cable company, he’s doing it. Every minute spent quietly stroking our scaredy cat to improve feline-human relations, he’s doing it. He may not have a full grasp of the financial impact of his ideas — hello, unplanned rental of a Ditch Witch, fifth trip to Home Depot, emergency hiring of a professional siding guy — but that’s okay, that’s why we have me. And if it’s common knowledge that 90% of our projects would never get started because one of us is too busy blogging (*cough*), that’s okay too… that’s why we have him.

The idea of two people balancing each other is one I have learned with difficulty.
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