Weddingbee Blog

This cool thing happened with our getting ready photos. Since they’re time stamped, when I put them into my computer in chronological order I was able to see exactly what Mr. Seashell was doing while I was getting ready too. Not surprisingly, he was done and ready to go before me—but he had to be at the chapel first—so, whatever.
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After wrapping up at the salon it was time to head back to my parents’ house and officially become a bride. Our photographer and my bridesmaids left the salon first so detail shots were taken before I arrived! It worked out wonderfully because I was starting to feel the time crunch when I made it home. My girls were already dressed so the only thing that stood between me and the wedding was putting on my dress and jewelry!

After stripping down it was time to get me corseted and zipped.

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Hive, it’s finally here. The actual Seashell Wedding Day. This is where the real fun begins: pro pics, pretty details, “I do’s” and all that good stuff.

I woke up the morning of our wedding feeling great. The sun was shining and the day looked beautiful. I slept well all night and didn’t have the same overwhelming feelings of anticipation that plagued me the day before. When I got out of bed to brush my teeth I was struck by how ordinary I felt. Like, shouldn’t there be birds singing on my window sill from some Disney movie? I looked in the mirror. Nope, just me, getting ready for one of the biggest days of my life.

First order of business: hair and make up with my girls.

When our photographer arrived I was in the midst of getting my hair done. After struggling to choose the right look, I finally found something I was excited about.
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While we were busy rehearsing, Mr. Seashell and I organized a “Welcome Party” for our out of town guests to attend. Since they were arriving at different times throughout the weekend, we planned an event for later in the evening on Friday. We offered dessert, drinks and coffee in the penthouse of the hotel with the intent of letting our guests grab dinner as they pleased, but also with enough time to see everyone after we were done rehearsing.

It worked out perfectly—we were able to have the smaller, more intimate rehearsal we desired and also the warm, large, invite-everyone party as part of the evening, too.

Speaking of those arriving guests, when they were greeted at the hotel they found…

Out of town boxes!
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So, when we last left off I was in a state of panicked anxiety and Mama Seashell mentioned “she might have something for me.”  Exact details aside, let’s just say by the time I was rehearsing for our wedding I was slightly sedated. Praise pharmacology.

After seeing each other for the first time since arriving to Providence, I ran to Mr. Seashell and the words fall out of my mouth: “I’ve been so spazzed out that I had to drug myself.” I hugged him so tight it was unreal. Normal Mr. Seashell would have made some comment about how reassured he was about my mental state prior to our nuptials. However, he admits it’s taken him four drinks to feel sober. What? The beauty of nerves. So glad we’re both doing so well at this point.

Our blissful reunion aside, our wedding party had gathered in the chapel. (What? There were other people there too?)
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(Alternative Post Title: I Totally Have an Anxiety Attack)

It was the day before the wedding. At this point, things were starting to get pretty unbelievable to me. Bridesmaid Ashley arrived that morning (so all my girls were there! yay!), Mr. Seashell kept texting that the hotel was filling up with our guests, and there was just this general buzz in the air that the show was on the road!

We were off for manis, pedis and a Bridesmaids’ Luncheon. Since we practically filled the salon (Angel Nails on Wayland Square for you locals) I let my girls go first. I ran back and fourth to Starbucks a few times to keep everyone fed and caffeinated. Frankly, I was also trying to jog off my nerves on my laps around the corner. This was it! This was the wedding weekend!

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It’s Time! I’m officially kicking off the Seashell Wedding Recaps! I hope you enjoy reading the story of our wedding as much as I am excited to share it with you—it truly was One Shell of a Wedding. No day in my life thus far rivals the depth, beauty, excitement, and pure joy of our wedding day.

Hang in there through a few posts while I share some of the adventures that lead us to the altar. The days before the wedding were filled with activity!

For those of you that might be new around here, or in case we haven’t gotten fully acquainted, here are the basics: Mr. Seashell and I live in Chicago, IL and met at Northwestern University. Our wedding ceremony was in Providence, RI and the reception took place in Portsmouth, RI. We got married on the campus of Brown University, where my parents met and were married. Early in our engagement we reset my engagement ring (which the hive had some strong feelings about), I honed in on my vision for our wedding, told you why my maid of honor choice was so special, I tried my hand at DIY projects, worked to incorporate meaningful touches, got showered twice, shared some of my insights as a marriage and family therapist, and faced the sudden loss of Mr. Seashell’s Mom just two months before our wedding, was humbled as friends and family pitched in to complete projects, and reflected on finally moving from “yes” to “I do.”

{Blink of an Eye Photography}

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I was never a rebellious kid. I never had that angsty teen phase where I hated everything and everyone, nor have I ever gotten myself into trouble. I’m not, and never was, the type to fight with my parents or cause a disagreement. In fact, I’m the happiest when everyone else is happy. Though, admittedly, sometimes this means backing down from asserting myself. Mr. Seashell is very similar to me in this way, except he is far better at defending his beliefs. That’s the preface.

When it came time to seriously consider our wedding ceremony, Mr. Seashell and I were on the exact same page: we did not want a Catholic Mass. However, we were both raised Catholic.
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I wasn’t a crazy person two years ago. I was a sane and rational mid-twentysomething with a boyfriend I loved, wrapping up grad school, job searching, setting up a new apartment, and in my spare time booking a wedding venue, photographer, trying on dresses, and oops—buying a wedding dress—WITHOUT A RING ON MY FINGER.

Shit. I was straight-up crazy pants. I was that girl. How did this all happen?

Now that I’m on the other side of all this I want to get real with you. Some of my actions were cute and “I’msoexcitedIwanttomarryyou!” and some where relationship suicide. This is not advice. This is just my story.

Of course, when this was all going on, I swore I had my reasons.
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In the wee hours on Christmas morning, a not-your-everyday sort of email hit my inbox. But the email sat there, undiscovered for hours and hours. Poor thing.

When I finally checked my phone at some point on Christmas afternoon, I walked into the living room where my family was gathered and announced, “WE HAVE THE WEDDING PHOTOS!”

It was like Christmas came all over again. We rounded up the crew, found a VGA cable, wired a laptop to the TV, brewed some coffee and browsed thousands of photos for over two hours. It was awesome. We dubbed Mr. Seashell’s uncle the “Where’s Waldo” of our wedding, popping up in a ridiculous number of photos. We laughed so hard we cried at certain series of shots. We reminisced. We recalled pieces of the day we’d forgotten. We pored over the photos for so long we had to take bathroom breaks.

You want to see too? OK, fine. But I’m not blowing the top on my recaps. Those are coming soon!

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As Mr. Seashell and I settle into married life, I’ve started to realize there’s something I need to get better at: letting go. I’m learning to let go of me and embrace we.

My independence is of paramount importance. That’s partially a tribute to how I was raised, and partially speaks to how I operate in the world. If I decided I want to do something, up until recently, I was just going to go ahead and do it. The idea of asking someone for their feedback didn’t feel romantic, it felt childish. I struggled greatly with moving from me to we.
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This post stands out in my mind for many reasons. For the most part, when I blog it’s day-to-day, post-to-post, and I just write them as they come. But this post was one I had intended to write from the day I started blogging about our wedding. Then, as the wedding drew close, I was tempted to write it after the wedding as a part of a recap.

I’m so, so wonderfully glad I didn’t wait. I published it two days before our wedding, and it meant the world to my dad. Our father-daughter dance was already going to be a special moment at our wedding, but putting to words why “Time After Time” had such meaning for us made it all the more meaningful. In fact, there is an additional story that came of the post, but you’ll have to read about it in our wedding recaps!

~~~

I have a lot of amazingly vivid memories from my childhood. One especially distinct time that stands out were Saturday and Sunday mornings I spent with my Dad. He would take me out in his red convertible (he still has it) with the top down, and we’d drive down Blackstone Boulevard in Providence. Before leaving the house Mama Seashell would wrap me in a scarf and stick a hat on my head. I was prone to ear infections, and she didn’t want to take any chances. As we’d pull out of the driveway I’d ask Papa Seashell if I could take the hat and scarf off—he’d roll his eyes and mutter something about “your mother” and then throw my hat and scarf in the back seat. I’d giggle. I thought we were so rebellious.
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Who doesn’t love a blast from the past?

Then:

In many ways I was high school.
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After six ridiculously lazy days at the Aventura Spa Palace, we kicked it up a notch and spent the remaining 4 days of our honeymoon at the PlayaCar Palace in Playa Del Carmen.

Mr. Seashell and I gave the property a quick once-over and were immediately pumped. Aventura Spa Palace was more of a “resort property” and PlayaCar Palace felt more like an urban, trendy, hotel. It was the perfect way to wrap up our trip.

{source}

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The thing I swore I wouldn’t do…

I know, you’ve totally been dying to know what I swore I wouldn’t do. It’s really not that exciting, but I really, really, swore I wouldn’t.

I’m anti-post wedding chop. I honestly don’t get it. It’s like you grow out all this long, gorgeous hair (which takes foreverrrrrrrrr) to create a certain look for your wedding day, and then you chop it all off the first chance you get. Now, I’m all for change. One part that bothers me is that you immediately outdate your wedding photos. Or similarly, why grow out your hair in the first place if you’re someone who genuinely doesn’t ever wear their hair long? The caveat being, of course, the up-do. Sure, sure, I’ll go with that one. I guess I fell into that category—I figured I’d let my hair grow like crazy so I’d have the most options available for my wedding day ’do. I guess the part I get hung up on is creating a wedding look that isn’t really “you” in everyday life. Plus, if you’ve worked toward creating something, why destroy it so quickly?
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