By the time you read this, I will be married. At that time, I will no longer care about the frustrations of a second wedding because it’ll be the proverbial moot point. For now, though …
I am taking a break from the incessant work to write this. My feet are black (and, I fear, stained permanently) from landscaping the yard. My back hurts from moving furniture (and landscaping the yard). I am strung out about everything from getting my dress hemmed to whether we have planned enough hors d’oeuvres. There are pansies soaking in my bathtub, and the guy at the dump knows me by name.
There were stars in my eyes for my first wedding, and as a result we went all out. While there was no wedding planner or anything like that, we had personalized napkins. Our invitations were gorgeous. My dress cost over $2,000, and we agonized over the perfect bridesmaid dresses and what the groomsmen would wear. The cake was pretty darn fancy.
I barely remember that day.
The wedding that is transpiring on July 20, 2013 is about as different as it’s possible to be.
We sent out Evites (I don’t think my mother will ever forgive me for the tackiness of that). It’s going to be in my mother’s backyard. My dress is not white, and it cost under $60. My shoes are flip flops from Old Navy. My older daughter is making cupcakes (which is not as terrible as it sounds … cooking is her favorite hobby, and cupcakes are her specialty). The “theme”, if you will is Backyard Barbeque in July.
I am tremendously excited.
Because my fiance and I have spent most of the time since school got out landscaping my mother’s backyard (which is both big and beautiful). We also rebricked a walkway, which I never thought I’d be able to do … it’s gorgeous, though. My father is performing the ceremony (he’s a lawyer), and my kids have been involved with all aspects of planning and implementation.
The irony is, it’s not like we’re doing it this way to necessarily save money. Backyard barbeques in July aren’t cheap, particularly when you consider that my fiance’s coterie is a conglomeration of beer snobs (I’m hoping there’s going to be Sam Adams Utopia, which is the best man’s specialty). We have both a DJ and an acoustic guitarist. It’s going to be a hell of a party.
And, really, isn’t that what it’s all about?
I am doing what makes me happy this time around. Screw tradition. Forget about people saying, “This doesn’t sound like much of a wedding to me.” Never mind not having a fancy-schmancy dress from David’s Bridal.
I have chosen a wonderful man to marry, and we have–together–chosen a wedding that suits us both.
That the stress is not any less than the more traditional debacle that was my first wedding surprises me a bit. However, it’s stress that I have, at least pretty much, chosen myself, and that makes it better somehow.