Weddingbee Blog

Warning: sappiness to follow.

I didn’t always have very many (or very good) female friends. Women were scary, frankly, with their cattiness and pettiness and rules I didn’t understand. I tended to be friends with one girl at a time, until one of us overreacted or under-appreciated and that was that.

I’m so thankful to be so far removed from those days. These days, I rely on a network of women to keep me sane. My best friend Jennifer started it all by being so honest and funny and herself that I couldn’t help but be myself back. From one friendship to a group of women who met for girls’ night, I was surprised to find how comforting the network could be.

Then I got engaged—and I can honestly say that without the fabulous women I met online (and my ever-supportive BFF), I’d not have gotten through. You told me I wasn’t crazy and you related, even to my most uncomfortable revelations, and knowing how not-alone I was made everything a little better. Not once—not one single time—did I regret doing the uncomfortable and posting about something that wasn’t rainbows and butterflies.
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I’ve been married twenty months now. Let’s all take a moment to recognize the fantastic-ness of having to stop to count the number of months. Once upon a time, I could have told you in days. Hours. “It’s been five months, three weeks, six days and fifteen hours since I chose this misery. Oh! One more minute down.” I regularly practiced the art of Getting Through.

Do you know the Getting Through strategy? You know, as in, “Today, I just have to get through.”

But no more. Today, I had to count.

I used to write, pre-wedding, about the messiness of my relationships. (G’head, check my archives. Even the ones with the pretty pictures allude to the challenges we survived in getting there.) I then spent the next year writing about the messiness of learning to live up to someone’s expectations and with their quirks and through their relationship-hampering coping mechanisms: my own.

Today I realized we’re pretty much past the growing pains.
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Hi, all! It’s been a while since I’ve posted, yes, but on a nice and relaxing (ahem, slow) Friday afternoon, I thought I’d take a few minutes to brainstorm some last minute gift ideas. You know, for procrastinators like me! (And then, because you all are so awesome, perhaps you can share some ideas too?)

1. Magazines: my favorite gift to give (and get!) is a magazine subscription—the gift that keeps on giving. Really! Every month you get a shiny new magazine that (let’s be honest) you’d never have gotten around to ordering for yourself. Love! So I order the magazine, buy the current issue, and enclose a note that this is the first of many monthly gifts coming their way.
2. Movie night: Almost every movie theater company allows you to buy gift certificates—and who doesn’t like movies? Our local theater corporation has a great package: two tickets and a combo. I print out little ticket stubs (fake, of course), the details of the gift certificate, and a reminder that smooching during movies is highly recommended (um, for couples, that is).

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I wasn’t sure I’d participate because I wasn’t sure what I’d choose, but I think it’s this post.

There are more emotional posts, I think, and more direct posts, but this one seems like a good choice because it might give some newbees a chance to read it, and know they’re not alone if they’re doubting.

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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.
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Today is your big day, though not for the reasons people might first believe. It’s not your big day because you get to wear a beautiful dress, or because you’ll feel like a bride, or even because your nearest and dearest have come from all over to be with you. It’s not your big day because you’re probably throwing the biggest event you’ll ever throw. It’s not your big day because your vision will come to life, because your details will be perfect, or because the whole shebang will unfold just as you planned.

Today you’re making the kind of choice only adults make, the choice to tie the well-being of yourself as a single person to the success of yourself as part of a couple. This is a big day!

From this day forward, you’ll have someone with whom to share the tiny moments that form a life. You’ll be building a joint history with someone who is as much a main character as you are. You’ll be frustrated beyond comprehension at the tiny things you have to give up, then grateful beyond words to have this person — this person who made the same choice you did — right next to you.
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First, thank goodness for those of you who are already married and still read Weddingbee. Bless you, love you, can’t wait to be just like you. I need your help.

For those of you who wrote your own vows, how long did it take you? Did you wait until just before your wedding day to write them or did you tweak your drafts over time?

I think that mine are written. *GASP* I know, me, Ms. Procrastinator has something done ahead of time, and (get this) with very little drama. I’m finding it difficult to believe too.

But I was perusing my blog and I found a post written last August:

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I’ll admit, I have little patience for pretense or fuss, and I don’t think that my wedding day should be “the best day of my life”. What a sad thought to spend decades in marriage looking back at the day it all began.

On the other hand, I do want it to matter.
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source

I’m grumpy, and I blame it all on invitations. Well, that and ginormous vet bills for emergency ICU admissions of poisoned dogs, but since I’m more relieved to have alive dogs, I’m blaming this on the invites.

Way back when, I declared that I didn’t care to spend any money on invitations. I love, love, love paper (it’s the nerdy teacher’s pet in me who always loved stacking up her new notebooks and writing utensils at the beginning of the school year) and have drooled over invitations online just like any other bride, but in the big scheme of things they didn’t matter enough to me to warrant more than the minimum outlay. I’d rather buy furniture.

So, on one of my many wallet-sucking trips to Wal-Mart, I grabbed a couple of packages of cheapo invitations (on clearance, no less). My intention was to show everyone that it didn’t matter if you spent $26 or $260, you could still have good-enough invites while saving a bundle. In fact, I joked that I could hand-write every invite on a different type and color of paper because nobody would ever know; only the “insiders” ever see the invites all together in happy stacks. But now I’m stuck.
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I know, I know, y’all think I’m a horrible slacker for not updating you on my trip to Brazil. Have faith! I was waiting until I’d eased back into normal life so that I could give you the low down on whether it was worth it.

{Stop reading now if you’re related to me… or to the mister. Really.}

Let’s start with the appointment: it was no walk in the park. I’m not gonna lie. It hurt. Sometimes badly. And I never guessed that the most painful regions of the country would be the ones up north, not the less public ones farther south. {Boy, this analogy is getting murky.} Yowza. My aesthetician was fabulous, keeping the chitchat going but still making appropriate grimaces when they were warranted. Evidently many (most) women cuss up a storm, so she was surprised by my rather-low-key intake of breath. I was totally cussing inside my head. I left feeling… tender.

Some friendly hints: Do take the painkiller ahead of time. I took mine too late, but when it kicked in everything got better. Do consider moisturizing for a few days prior to minimize the impact to your skin. Do buy the recommended exfoliating glove before your appointment; you won’t want to make an extra trip afterward, I promise. Do wear comfy clothes.

Okay, so that’s the bad stuff. The good stuff:
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I’m a girl who’s gotta have a backup plan under the best of circumstances, and leaving the details of my bouquet to the whims of our rose garden (I say “our” with a bit of irony, since our only contribution is likely to be that we manage to kill them weeks before our wedding) makes that doubly true.

Plan B was always to beg our neighbors to let us have our way with their flower bushes, but I think I’ve found a better backup plan, and they deliver.

source

Yea, baby, I’m sending myself flowers!

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… came into my life (recognize the song?)

Dear Mr. Cheese -

I can’t count the number of times that you’ve said to me, “I just want to make you happy,” or asked me, “Does it make you happy?” You’re a very sweet man.

And me, I’m often hard to understand and I know this. So, while this list may seem rather arrogant at first blush, it’s intended to be helpful and give you some insight into how I work. Think of it as insider information.

I love you,
Your Cheesy chick

Twenty things you can do that make me happy:

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So after the last makeup trial, I decided to go back to MAC again, this time requesting eyeshadows with not a chance of red pigment in them. According to the woman at Aveda, many women have reactions to red pigments, so staying away from purple or reddish browns might help my itchy lids situation.

Again, no before pictures. Trust me, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to gasp and point and laugh when you see these. Note: when you go in for a makeup trial, WEAR WHITE! I know, duh, right? First I wore hot pink, then I wore blue… as Meatball would say, “No bueno.”

Meh. Not bad, not great. Cheeks are a little, “Hi, how are ya?” Eyes are slightly, “Helloooo there.” Oh, yea, and that pimple on my chin says, “AREN’T YOU OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW NOT TO PICK AT YOUR FACE?” (The answer is obvious, no?)
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We have a puppy.

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