Weddingbee Blog

With sushi-filled bellies, my sisters and I waddled our collective way back to the car and headed home from the rehearsal dinner. Toto’s “Africa” was playing much too loudly on the stereo, and we were bopping our heads along much, much too vigorously. Ever since I moved across the country that song has become our adopted ’theme song’ and any time it comes on (even at work), we’ve sworn to pump. it. UP. Huge dorks, I know!

Does anybody else have a song like that in their life?

Over the next couple of days, there were SO many loose ends to tie up (with satin pink ribbon, nach). I think I broke down crying at least three times; I was a ball of overwhelmed stress. Luckily I had my family around to remind me that I had a lot to look forward to, even if the current task (hand cutting two hundred multi-layered gift tags/hand-sewing and stuffing thirty felt birds/generally being Martha on overdrive) was clouding my judgment. Thank goodness for family members with cooler-heads than mine!

My dear mother and aunt definitely were a HUGE help. Besides keeping my mental facilities in working order with their common sense and surplus of crafty-know-how, they worked together on some special touches for my wedding day ensemble.

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Ten days after our cross-country road trip, six days after my father and I took our engagement pictures, five days after I met our photographer, baker, and florist for the first time, we had our rehearsal and rehearsal dinner.

The rehearsal was held, naturally, at our wee itty bitty church. My sisters and I were very late, even after previous admonitions from our minister to not be “that bride”. We couldn’t help it - I had lost so much weight (almost twenty five pounds) in the last two months from stress that I had literally no. clothes. that. fit. My planned outfits hung on me like a stick-insect in drag. It was awful. I managed to not cry as my sister literally safety pinned one of her dresses into looking like I wasn’t a size Richie, but the wardrobe drama still delayed Team Bride.

But, making an entrance was fun. Carrying my hand-made felt-and flower bouquet was fun. Getting told off by the minister for being late, and, later, being warned that she had a gun and a knife in the font, was not so much fun - and, actually, was rather creepy.

We ran through the processional without music the first time (not because I forgot the CD, but because the minister wouldn’t let us touch the “new” circa-1980s stereo system ). I’ll never forget walking down that two-metre aisle with the minister bellowing, “dum, dum da dum,” Longherin-style, and our wedding party awkwardly following suit.

“This is really surreal!” I yelled down the aisle.

“Just keep walking!” The minister yelled back.
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My birthday gift from Mr. Shortcake has arrived - a new lens! I thought I’d take the opportunity to test out all 85mm of its goodness on some wedding paraphernalia. No photos were taken of my getting-ready details, so I’ve decided to take photos of the pieces I have left (some items are back in BC or were destroyed by the wedding-day storm).

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… was, hands-down, the worst part of our wedding. Photography was, is, and continues to be such a huge aspect of that day, that it really kills me to do this.

I’m not going to review him.

So, suffice it to say that he was the most unprofessional photographer that I, my family, or guests had ever met, and I still get emails about his antics to this day. But, I need to move past grieving and focus on healing, so that’s the end of that affair. He sucked, he blew it, and it can’t be fixed.

Or can it?

Enter one six-hour dinner with Anne Ruthmann. I forgot to tell you, but sitting at that table were also the rocktographers; Nhiga Tram, Jake and Jess of Kampphotography. Three very lovely people, and very talented photographers. From that dinner came not only budding friendships but a very special offer:
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{ image source}

Joanna from A Cup of Jo found this first, and I’d thought I’d pass it along. For those of you on a budget, or even for those of you who like to give flowers as a gift, Real Simple has a guide to making rather lovely bouquets from supermarket flowers!

{Continued from PART I: A Journey of Three Thousand Miles }

So, where were we? Ah yes, crammed into the back of the family van, sandwiched between suitcases and suits and boxes and dresses and giant mountain dogs. Good times. We drove across the Prairies and experienced all the wonder of the plains (Hay! Horizon! More hay! Ooh, corn, that’s different…), and when those fifteen minutes had passed, we practiced our somnolence.

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Wow. If I could do our cake topper over again…

{ all sculptures and images by TanjaN1 }

The French girl:

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*and by “teaser” I mean one of the four semi-decent wedding photos we have.

(Post processing done by me, full review of our “photographer” to come later)

My mother was always (and still is) afraid of candles. Whether that fear was because of the possibility of a fire, or because of an unfounded belief that the ceilings might get mussy, I still don’t know. She has passed on that fear to only one of us, the middle Sister Shortcake. Youngest Sister Shortcake has always been one match short of being a pyromaniac, and I seem to be following in her sooty footsteps. I love candles. Love, love, love, love them. At any given time, there seems to be at least a dozen lit in the haus, and for special events I bring them all out, so much so that Mr. Shortcake’s grandpa declared me a ’candle freak’ at a family dinner. Guilty as charged! Lately, I’ve been coveting tapers. I would have placed five or six tapers at every table at our wedding reception, but our floral event designer kindly pointed out that they would promptly extinguish in the drafty Marquis tent! Wedding now past, I’m lusting over candlestick holders such as:

This gorgeous “rue st. honore” white set from Rosanna, Inc:

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Mr. Shortcake and I got married on October 4th because it was one of the only two dates available for our reception. The other date was October 31st, and I struggled to decide between the two. Loving Halloween as much as I do, I was pumped at the thought of having such a unique un-wedding-y wedding. In the end, we chose the 4th because our anniversaries would most likely revolve around our children’s activities in the future and we were set on having a special day all to ourselves. Sister Shortcake, on the other hand, is quite keen on tying the hangman’s knot and jumping the witch’s broom on October 31st (not that she’s engaged, but a girl can plan ahead, can’t she? ). To her then, and to any other boo-tiful brides out there, I dedicate this post.

{INSPIRATION BOARDS}

{ IMAGE SOURCE }

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I L-O-V-E photography. It’s not even funny. If I didn’t have such an understanding husband, I’m sure I would be receiving my share of funny looks when I stroke my camera, caressing its body, whispering sweet nothings into the lens hood. Now that The Party has passed, I finally feel free to concentrate on the little flickers (flickrs?) of hobbies that have burst into flame inside of me. Seriously. Here are some of my favourite floral photos from our Hawaiian honeymoon:

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One bad thing about being on vacation for 2+ weeks (What? There’s a CON?!), is that you have to be away from loved ones for 2+ weeks. I don’t know about you, but I am SUCH a family person that everything I see, or do, or eat on vacation makes me think, “oh, so-and-so would LOVE this!” This has happened more times than we can count on our honeymoon—but mostly about our dog, Harvey, who is staying behind in BC with our parents (grand-dog, anyone?).
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{PHOTO TAKEN ON WAIKIKI BEACH}

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Hey - hey, you!

Pssst, I love Mr. Shortcake! Pass it on!

Wow. I never, ever expected such an outpouring of love and support. 100+ comments? Thank you.

I really shouldn’t be writing anymore (Mr. Shortcake is all suited up, board in hand, waiting to go down to Waikiki beach), but after so many expressions of concern, I thought it might be cruel not to fill you all in on the second part of The Shortcake Saga.

Yes, the beginning of my day sucked. SUCKED. I thought I was all ready for anything the Universe had to throw my way. Even my mother was surprised at how Zen-Bride I was being. I could deal with all the minor things: all the wardrobe mishaps, the wonky church music and timing (hello bridesmaids, didn’t expect to see you still in the aisle!), the cake colour variations, the last-minute reception improvisations. It was the big things—my “big things” (photography, flowers, etc) that got to me. You might have noticed.

So where did we leave off? Ah, yes, with me sobbing, high-school-prom-style in the girls’ bathroom. There I was, bawling my eyes out, face buried in the automatic paper towel dispenser (more absorbency! more!), wailing like a banshee, and wishing so desperately for a do-over. This wasn’t our wedding—it couldn’t be. Our wedding was supposed to be sunny and gorgeous, and everyone would be waltzing, and my flowers would be alive and fluffy, and everything would match, and we would be deliciously in love—well, we were still in love, but I had bits of paper towel stuck to my face, and boogers dribbling from my nose. I continued crying, now because I was ashamed of crying in the first place!

And then my mother came in.
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