Wedding Weekend -- Part Four

So, you know, believe it or not after all this frivolity, there was actually a *wedding* to attend last weekend.

Guess what we woke up to Sunday morning? Rain! Yes, gray skies, chilly temps, and rain. And the wedding was taking place on the Wellesley College campus, noted for its beautiful natural vistas and photographic backdrops. Not so much rain in our plan.

But we forged ahead with our painstaking preparations, and had you been there, you MIGHT have thought that someone in the house was actually the bride. You might say we (meaning my two sisters and SIL and I) were having delusions of bride-hood. Once the kids were all scrubbed and tubbed, and Caroline futilely put down for a nap that never happened, all the hairdryers, curling irons, flatirons, bobby pins, makeup brushes, etc., came out. I think we groomed for a good two hours -- possibly a record for me. And at the end of it all, I think I should have stuck with the look I achieved in the first twenty minutes. Less is more, you know? I ended up going to the wedding with hair that, after being curled, sprayed, straightened, brushed, pulled back, let down, blah blah, felt, and somewhat looked, like a bed of straw on my head. Yay me.

My sisters, on the other hand, both looked gorgeous, and it goes without saying that so did the bride. The rain did dry up in time for pre-wedding photos, although the skies remained overcast and we all shivered away in our filmy summer finery.

(I'm not exactly sure WHY I thought it would be a good idea to pose next to someone that photogenic, but anyway, a sweet moment of lunacy captured on camera)

(Ian with graciously goofy Aunt Louisa)


(Groom with proud parents)

Then the wedding. What can I say? The bride and groom were both glowing with happiness. My two year old remained silent and still in the front row for approximately thirty two seconds. Tim had to carry her, squawking, out of the room just as the vows were launched. (Peter: "Phoebe, I love you." Caroline: "BWAHHH! No! I don't WANT to be quiet!" which being interpreted is, I missed my nap on the worst day possible to do so.)

It's interesting how among the four of us siblings who have married, every wedding has been quite different, all reflective of our own style and where we are in our lives. Every time, there are aspects that I like about the wedding and others that I'm not as comfortable with, but it's such a good opportunity to internalize the mantra: "It's THEIR wedding, and what matters is that THEY'RE happy!" And in this case, not only was the happy couple, well, happy, but also they had someone (Phoebe's sister Renee) who'd attended to all sorts of little lovely details that must have involved hours of lost sleep. She's quite amazing.

There was an open mike during the reception, and many warm and heartfelt thoughts were expressed to the bride and groom, celebrating their best qualities and blessing their marriage. Um, I spoke. Um ... I think I have a strategy for next time. WRITE IT DOWN BEFOREHAND! Quite simply, I stink at public speaking. I go around in circles as if waiting for a trapdoor to just open up beneath my feet and whisk me away at the appropriate moment, and I throw in too many random anecdotes. I did because I really do love my brother, but how I wish I could give the Beta version, the well-thought-out and articulate and pithy final draft, instead of the bumbling rough draft.

But anyway. You know what was really fun? And doesn't need a re-do because it was great the first time? We had NOTHING on us for decorating the car, but among a few of us intrepid and determinedly mischief-seeking souls, we managed to rustle up some soda cans, pour out the contents, steal some ribbons from a decoration, raid the bathroom for toilet paper, and basically make their getaway car all but un-enterable. Phoebe literally had to weave her way through the Charmin web to get into the car. They took off into the night with rattling cans scads of white TP and trailing behind them like the train on a runaway bride. Perfect.

P.S. Inquiring minds wanted to know the answer to the Question of Questions: What do you do when you stink up the bathroom on your honeymoon? Well, the consensus was to pack either a book of matches or a scented candle. And of course, to resign yourself to the fact that this is just part of married life -- you can't fool 'em forever. :-)