This "Babies Business"

The hardest thing I've attempted to do in my life is figure out what kind of person I want to be.  I've sorted through being married or single and come up with someone else in my bed.  I've pondered to be a person of faith or not; though not someone who proclaims need of admiration in my faithfulness, God and I are tight.  I decided to be the person who sacrificed fun and frolic for a paycheck and graduating with honors for the many years I spent a student.  I even decided I was going to be the kind of person who colors Disney princess coloring pages into my 20's.  But the hardest thing I have yet to sort through is babies.  And I suppose, eventually, children.  And even more so, how being responsible for a little human fits into everything else.

This whole "babies business" started about four years ago while I was volunteering for a at-risk youth program here in Birmingham.  One day I was talking to the head of the program and she made the comment "If your children aren't your whole life, you shouldn't have kids."  At 21, I hadn't really given much thought to kids or being a mom other than I eventually would, but with that statement, I believe my uterus started the paperwork to be cryogenically frozen.  I was appalled.  It was like someone had passed a death sentence for 18+ years of my life, only to be lifted when my yet-born children left the nest.  I had goals; go to grad school, tour Italy, swim a mile nonstop, buy red high heels, things and tasks that didn't necessarily involve my children.

For the next four years, I pondered these things.  I asked people and got every answer from "Well of course" to "That's just absurd."  The only clear message I received was the joy in the people who were that shampoo commercial mom, like it was a badge of honor to not have slept in five years or to have adult friends with whom you spend time, and the same people who gave that message gave just as much disgust for the other mom.  People I loved and respected gave me different viewpoints and conflicting messages, and my response was sheer panic.  I didn't want higher risk for birth defects and other complications from waiting until my 30's, so I deduced I better figure this shit out, and soon.   The clocks were a'tickin' waiting for me to sort out what kind of mom I wanted to be.  I bounced from the fear of being a selfish mother, wrapped up in her degrees and trips to Europe, and being that mom you see on the shampoo commercial who finally got time to wash and fix her hair.  I didn't want to be either of those, but I wasn't seeing anyone who was.  I wasn't seeing anyone who lived somewhere in the middle between Soccer Mom of the Year and Dr. Ellis Grey from Grey's Anatomy.  I can't blame all the confusion on the women I know.  At least some of all this is the media and modern feminism; homemaker wives, successful career women, women dying with their grandchildren at their bedside, running away to Italy to lead an examined life, mom juggling a grocery bag and a briefcase, "finding yourself" with wine and salsa lessons, all melted together and poured into a mold that serves only to send mixed and overwhelming messages to those of us who want both and all.  And all this fried my oxytocin receptors and produce a visceral reaction to any and all babies, baby clothes, baby aisle at Target, baby talk, baby planning, and baby making.  All babies business was an evil reminder that I didn't know anything except all the things I didn't know.

Sometime along the journey in grad school, that time of my life where my budding maturity as a 22 year old, failed relationships, interactions with intelligent people from different backgrounds, and ever-growing friendships were bathed in counseling theory and skills, I learned that it is okay to not know, to not know how you're going to end up wherever you do.  In the last year and some since meeting the man I want to have babies with, I've morphed into a person that isn't completely appalled at this "babies business".  I still don't want them any time soon.  I can't imagine actually having a child at this very moment; for now, all I want are my ski trips and video game afternoons and high heels.  I'm still afraid of my husband loving our child more than me.  I'm afraid I won't like my kid.  I'm still scared that I'll be disappointed in them if they don't lead the kind of life I value.  I still don't like babies or think baby clothes are cute.  I do, however, think I'll be freaking adorable pregnant.  We have picked out a girl's name, and I do talk about how's she going to be fabulous and brilliant and Bobby talks about how she's going to be in a convent.  I can imagine myself with a 13 year old; I have a hard time thinking of ages birth-13, but I'm so much farther than I was.  I don't precisely know how I got here; chalk it up to wanting to make babies with someone as pretty as Bobby, I don't know.  What I do know is this- I will love my children.  I will raise them to be productive, kind, faithful, loving human beings.  I won't sacrifice all of myself for my children.  I will still go on vacations with just my friends.  I will still fuss over my hair.  I will wear high heels.  I will eat sushi and feta cheese and arugula and weird hamburgers that most kids don't like.  What I don't know is how to get there, but I don't know how I got here anyway.  So maybe this "babies business" for me is just this- Have them.  Love them.  Have yourself.  Love yourself.  Figure it out.  And if it all goes to hell in a handbasket, I know some good counselors and Italy will still be there.

Journeys Through Netflix

Some would say I have a super awesome job because I get to watch tv and movies at work.  Admittedly, sometimes this is nice, as I never miss an episode of Project Runway, but there's only so much tv and movies you watch before you reach near the bottom of the barrell.  Enter Instant Queue Netflix, a corroboration of Movies You've Never Heard Of, Movies You Wouldn't Even Watch on a Boring Saturday Afternoon, and, very occasionally, Movies You Love But They Haven't Come on TBS in Far Too Long.  These are some of the movies I have watched most recently, and my thoughts on them.

Goldeneye

Great movie.  I haven't watched it since it came out 15 years ago, and since I was 10 at the time, it appears a little different now.  Pierce Brosnan wasn't as bad as I remember, but he's no Daniel Craig and no one is Sean Connery.  Side note: introduced my 14-year-old sister to Sean Connery Sunday, since she thought I was talking about Shia "ep-i-tome" LeBouf.

Sean Connery.  Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

Anyhow, Minnie Driver singing "Stand By Your Man" in a Russian accent.  Yeah.  Moving on.

The Last Emperor
Story about the last emperor of China, Puyi, set on the throne at age three and four years later made obsolete by the development of the Republic of China.  Peter O'Toole is his tutor, though not nearly in the movie long enough.  Very sad story; I seem to have a hard time finding non-depressing movies on Netflix (yes, I'm talking to you, Mad Men).


Ghosts of Machu Picchu
Documentary on Machu Pichu, the abandoned ancestral home of the Incas.  Kind of interesting, but I had more fun Google Mapping it.

Technology is awesome.

Star Trek
Tyler Perry is the head of the Starfleet Academy?  Eric Bana is the bad guy with funny facial deformities?  Chris Hemsworth is Kirk, Sr.??  And then they're *this*???

Yes, I have seen this movie, but I was too distracted by those two, right there, to notice Troy hero, Thor, and Tyler Perry.  Speaking of-


Tyler Perry's Why Did I Get Married Too?
Okay, I watched the original Why Did I Get Married? several months ago and surprisingly really liked it.  This one didn't start off so badly, but (spoiler alert) ten minutes before the end of the movie, Janet Jackson's husband who she's divorcing and fighting with gets hit by a car.  There's this big scene in the ER where she's all "Love each other, cherish each other" to her friends, everyone hugs and makes up, and then the guy dies.  "One Year Later" and Janet Jackson gets hit on by Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson.  Also, guy who played Bruce in the tv show "Judging Amy" is a perfect replica of Doc Shizzle.  He a ho. He a ho in the first movie, and his now-ex-wife marries this super nice Sheriff. And then in the second movie, he shows back up being all, "I miss you. Didn't we have such good times together? I have cancer. Take me to my chemo appointments."  I won't be recommending this movie.


So, this week we've gone through "Stand By Your Man", sad Chinese baby, Chris Freaking Pine, and someone who owes my ex rights to make a character based on him.  Stay tuned.

This "Adult" Thing

As a child, I always thought that becoming an adult would be a specific point and time, or what they refer to in psychology as quantitative change.  One day you're a child, the next day you're an adult.  One day you don't understand velocity, one day you do.  (I had that day.  Sort of.)  As I grow up, however, it's become apparent that this is not the case.  Over the years, I've come up with a list of things that classify one as an Adult:

Buying your own cleaning supplies
Being responsible to someone other than yourself
Taking out your trash
Having a retirement plan
Commuting
Saving money
Paying taxes
Picking out tennis shoes for fit and not look
Drinking coffee
Working full-time

You know, normal "adult stuff," none of which really looks that appealing.  As I've moved away from home, gotten my own apartment, got into serious relationships, moved farther from home, signed onto a full-time job, and been married, these little adult-life pieces have fallen into place.  It's easy to say a 17-year-old isn't an adult and a 34-year-old is, but what about the 25-year-old?  I think I'm an adult.  I do all those things above, and I'm even married and everything.  There's also good parts to being an adult, or psuedo-adult, or what have you.  I can come home as late as I want, I can eat whatever I want for dinner, I can order a drink at a restaurant, I can pay for that drink at that restaurant, and I could get a puppy.

What didn't occur to me until last weekend were the little, somewhat non-specific parts to being an adult that are great.  There's this show on National Geographic called "Rocket City Rednecks", and I'm pretty sure someone was hanging around my husband and the Best Friend's husband and got an idea for a show.  These men, literally rocket scientists at NASA in Huntsville, go to work during the week, and on the weekend, build stuff.  Like moonshine-powered rockets.  Shopping carts with motors.  A bomb-proof truck.  While watching this I realized that these guys have what is commonly known as a "hobby".  

My hobby?  Or surgery?

I've had hobbies in the past and I have hobbies now- knitting, playing video games, baking- but they've always been things that were a reward for finishing a semester or having spring break.  Ah, that 10 page paper that you spent the last three weeks on is finished?  How about an hour of video games before the next paper, go on, you deserve it.  Completed 750 hours of unpaid labor- I mean, counseling internship at a psych hospital?  How about two straight nights of sleeping for 13 hours and a half gallon of Eddy's Rocky Road?  Until now, there's never been a point when I've had so much free time.  I was in school for six years, spending every free moment cramming information into my brain, and when I wasn't, I was working one/two/three jobs.  Last summer I was job hunting and falling in love.  And last winter, I got engaged and spent the next eight months completely absorbed in wedding planning.  (See previous eight months of blogs.)  But now... what?

There are still "adult" things I have to do when I get home after work, you know, after working full-time and commuting; I go grocery shopping, fix dinner, wash dishes, do laundry.  The thing I'm learning to become accustomed to now is what to do with the other hours in the week.  It's a very odd feeling to come to the end of a day and think "What do I want to do?" and not just "What do I have to do tonight?"  I'm slowing walking through this path, checking things out, figuring out what I *want*.  Spend more time with friends?  Spend time with husband?  Bake poppy seed almond cakes?  Knit Christmas presents?  Work out?  Watch reality television?  It's especially difficult with Bobby away from home more often than not; without him there, I wander around the house like a lost puppy and wonder if it's too early to go to bed.

Is he home yet?  How about now?  Now? ... Now?

It's a good thing to get used to, this free time concept, but it's an adjustment, just like spending money on Windex and laundry detergent instead of shoes.  So tonight, I'm going to Sips-n-Strokes and get my paint on with a swirly tree, a nice Chardonnay, and my two best girls.  And tomorrow night, cooking dinner for the hubby, perhaps a movie or another two hour marathon of DVR'ed Storage Wars.  Might as well give this free time thing a shot, eh?

Adventures in Married Life: Part 2

The main reason I want to keep a blog is not really about having other people read it.  For my whole life, I've kept journals and little notebooks with thoughts and lists, and it was always because I felt that I could better clarify the things in my head if I got them out of my head.  My blog is mostly about being an electronic version of those journals in that box upstairs, but it's also nice to be able to look back on and read all that stuff that was in my head those months or years before.

Standing here, thirty-seven days a newlywed, I want to keep up with the things I'm learning as we're making our way through this; it's the counselor part of me that wants to know when and how something changed.  At the end of past relationships, I grew by these evolutionary leaps that catapulted me into a healthier understanding of what it means to be in a relationship.  At the end of my last relationship before the Bobster, I realized that my search should be about both the chemistry and the checklist.  Years ago, I learned not to forsake all the people in my life for a new person, and sometime I realized that maybe there is a thing as a wrong time-right person, but if it's always the wrong time, it's the wrong person.  And somewhere I figured out that just because you care about someone doesn't mean you have to put up with their crap all the time.

These days, I'd like to learn things without such a dramatic prologue, and I'm doing pretty good so far.  As I mentioned before, Bobby and I have different sleep patterns- I consider 8am sleeping late, he prefers 11.  Yesterday morning I woke up, poked Bobby for a while before realizing he wasn't going to get up on my schedule and we were going to miss church.  (To be fair, he is home sick today and wasn't feeling good Saturday night, so he wasn't just being sleepy.)  Hopefully when our situation is different, I'll feel better about the difference in our sleep schedule; for now, though, I only see him a few days out of the week, so I consider all time available as precious time to be spent together.  Including 8am on a Sunday morning.  So at 9am, I'm sitting on the couch alone and whiny because I feel like I'm missing out on time with him.  It then occurred to me that since he wasn't going to get up for at least another two hours, why did I have to endure a self-pitying camp-out on the couch waiting for him to stir.  I call the Bestie, we drank coffee and played at Home Depot until noon.

The lesson to be learned was one that I should have remembered from the countless long-distance relationships I've endured in times past.  Just because we don't see each other as much as we like doesn't mean we have to be THISCLOSETHEWHOLETIME when we can.  Yes, it's nice, and I really wanted Bobby and I to eat breakfast and go to church and eat lunch together on the couch; but if we don't, it's not necessarily the end of the world.  It was better for both of us that I went and did my thing while he was asleep; I was happily attentive for the rest of the day instead of clingy and grumpy (two dwarves that camp out in my closet a lot).  The best part about being married is not having to worry about who's going to be my date to that wedding or hold my hand before a medical procedure or eat that pumpkin cheesecake I'm going to learn how to make.  Bobby's going to be there, even if it doesn't necessarily feel like that right now because when I get home most days, he's not.  But I have the next 60 years to spend with him, so it's not the end of our honeymoon if I miss out on two hours.  A very wise woman who makes the best cornbread and fried green tomatoes you'll ever eat once told me that the key to life is balance, and that means balancing our quality time when we're together, too.  Just not balancing how much cornbread I eat.  Because that stuff is delicious.

Adventures in Married Life

Three days until to twenty days in.  So here we are.  We survived wedding-ing, and I am extremely pleased to say that, with the exception of very minor issues, the whole thing went off without a hitch.  By the time we got to the end of the rehearsal dinner, my only hopes were that Bobby and I both arrived and the church didn't burn down; as both wishes were executed, I was a happy bride.

Twenty days in, we are organizing ourselves into married life.  One could even call them adventures.  My favorite adventure thus far has been the things Bobby and I have discovered about each other.  You see, before our honeymoon, the most consecutive days Bobby and I had spent together was six; with the days leading up to the wedding and the honeymoon, Bobby and I have now upped that count to thirteen.  It's (just) one of the terrible things about a long-distance relationship, but I did enjoy our honeymoon all the better for it.

This view helped as well.

Bobby has discovered that I have to be fed and watered every three hours or so; he, on the other hand, can eat three square meals a day and be content.  I discovered that Bobby has an incredibly strange sleeping schedule.  He prefers going to sleep at midnight or later, waking up around 9 or 10, and napping for an hour to two around 2 or 3.  I, on the other hand, go to sleep around 10 and wake up at 7 or 7:30.  I have also learned that Bobby does actually require sunscreen despite his lovely golden skin, lest that lovely golden skin turn bright pink.  We also learned that we have different methods of approaching free time.  I prefer to plan, to list, to schedule, to arrive on time, and to control.  Bobby prefers to do.  We're still learning how to happily balance each other out.


Other small things that have been interesting:

"Husband" and "wife" are still strange terms.  We're practicing, but we seem to perpetually be uncomfortable with our labels.

I have completely and utterly enjoyed my time at home post-wedding.  Because Bobby lives in a Troy, I am alone most or all of the evening.  This week I have gone grocery shopping, learned to broil a steak, found a recipe for my favorite Taziki Friday Pasta, read my book, moved most of my closet downstairs, and taken a bubble bath.

Bobby and I are much less stressed and therefore happier; we now get to enjoy each other's company without discussing one looming topic.

Thank-you notes are a very odd thing.  I can't come up with 75 original sayings for each one, but I'm worried about people feeling unappreciated if their card says the same as someone else's; I do genuinely mean the repeated part though.  I also don't like the "little house wife" feeling I get in describing my plans for these gifts.  For example: "Bobby's favorite food is soup, and I can't wait to serve my favorite Toscana soup in this new bowl."  It's not so bad writing it once, but since most everything I received was kitchen-y, writing cooking and baking excitement 50 times makes me feel so one-dimensional.  Eh.

I love our wedding rings.

That's all the adventures in married life I have for now.  Seeing as how we'll be doing this for 60 years, expect more to come.

Three... Two... One...

I will not throw up.

I will not throw up.

I will not throw up.

Three days.

I will not throw up....

The Little Touches

It occurred to me last night that while there are a lot of things I'm doing for my wedding that have very special meaning to me/us, most people probably don't know about them.  So here they are, just in case anyone was curious. :)

1.  We took our save-the-date photos in Five Points South, a small, historic, kind of hipster area of Birmingham where we had our first date.  Behind the tree to the right of my shoulder is the restaurant, Highlands Bar and Grill, where we met.

This picture really can't be on my blog enough.

2.  On the front page of our wedding programs is a quote by Eric Dillard: "Then we sat on the edge of the world, with our feet dangling, and marveled that we had found each other."  I found this quote in a book at Starbucks while getting coffee to warm us up after our *freezing* save-the-date photoshoot.  (We were taking pictures on Saturday; on the following Sunday night, Alabama was covered in an ice storm that trapped us in the house for two days.  And I was in a knee-length dress.)  I absolutely had to have the book, titled 2: How Will You Create Something Beautiful Together?, because of that quote, and it is currently at home amongst the wedding planning.

3.  Our wedding favors are mini chocolate-chip cookies (Famous Amos cookies, to be exact).  One of the first things Bobby noticed about my Match.com profile was my reference to "finding the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe", and his first email stated that he knew that recipe, and that his mother had it.

4.  My 17-year-old sister is doing a reading during the ceremony of selected verses from Psalm 30.  This particular chapter of Psalm is incredibly meaningful to me because of the last couple verses:

You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent.
Lord my God, I will praise you forever.

These verses are so important to me because of the month or so directly preceding Bobby's entrance into my life.  A long journey shortly told, I gave my decisions and path for my life over to God after floundering in the dark for quite a while, and He answered that prayer with a tall, dark, and handsome.  The first word of the verse 12 is "that", implying that God answered my prayer so that I can sing to Him.  I am often overwhelmed with gratitude for not only answered prayers, but also the love that the Creator of the universe has for me, to shower me with such blessings simply because He loves me.

5.  For the small superstitious part of me, I do have all my "something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue."  My something new is a dress (duh); my something blue is the light blue beads on my shoes.

My something old is an almost-100-year-old cameo ring from my great-grandmother.  After she died, someone broke into her house and stole the majority of the vast jewelry collection she had acquired; most of it was not monetarily valuable, like precious stones or metals, but was obviously valuable to us.  What we ended up with was a sandwich baggie full of jewelry, and my grandmother gave me the cameo ring.  My something borrowed is handkerchief from the same grandmother that she carried to each of her sons' weddings.

6.  I hand-made the invitations and addressed them in my scrolling, calligraphy-esque handwriting.  Every single one of them.  Just so you all know.

7.  Our cakes are from Edgar's Bakery, *the* bakery in Birmingham in my humble opinion.  The wedding cake will be strawberry, much to the shock of most.  On one of Bobby and my first dates, we went to Edgar's, my first time, and got strawberry cupcakes that we ate and I took the rest home to my family.  I always associate Edgar's with Bobby now.

8.  The night of our wedding rehearsal will be August 12th.  On August 11th, 2010, Bobby met my parents for the first time, and that night I told him I loved him; on August 12th, 2010, I met Bobby's parents for the first time, a few days after he had told his brother and sister to be nice to their "future sister-in-law".

9.  The father-daughter dance song, "You've Got a Friend" by James Taylor, is my dad and my song that he has sung to me for as long as I can remember.

10.  The quote on the back of the wedding program is a favorite of the Best Friend Since Preschool.  Here's lookin' and you, kid. :)

And in the end

The love you take

Is equal to

The love you make

-The Beatles

I believe that's all the nit-picky somethings for now.  If I remember more, expect updates.

To Happen or Not to Happen

I have been very good about not being a bridezilla.  However.  This is the random-thought list of things I'd like to happen or not happen on my wedding day:

No one trips while walking down the aisle.  My 12 year old sister is very concerned over this, and now I am too.

I look as pretty as every. single. stinkin'. bride. on Arden, our photographer's, blog.  I haven't discerned yet whether every bride looks ravishing on their wedding day, if it's just Arden's crazy photography skills, or excellent hair and makeup people, but as long as it's mostly the first or second reason, I'm solid.

Bobby does not smush cake in my face.

The ceremony music goes off without a hitch.

The pre-ceremony guest seating music is as impressive as I think it will be.  I'm using eight tracks from the Royal Wedding album, and they are particularly... royal.  Combine that with the tall ceiling and stain-glass windows, and I'm thinking it's a homerun.

The cake shows up perfect, the food tastes lovely, the chairs and tables are all set up, and the eating part of the reception goes as smoothly as planned.

Minus the blue, with square tiers, and you get the idea.

 I somehow lose all my self-consciousness about my smile or at least do not think about it too much while taking pictures.  The closer we get to the wedding, the more I think about it and the more I hope that I'll be happy with my pictures despite my life-long self-esteem issues with such.

Bobby and I get through our vows without bursting into tears or laughter.

I do not pass out from nerves in the foyer.

Everyone likes my reception music as much as I do.  I've spent more time on that than almost anything except my attire, and I really hope people dance and love it.

I actually get sleep the night before.

Bobby is not stressed and is the happy, Joe Cool I remember before we started this madness and get to see every once in a while.

My dad makes it through the day without needing an IV to replace fluids lost by tears.

Someone besides my 17-year-old sister catches the bouquet.

There is photographic evidence of my 12-year-old sister sticking her tongue out like Gene Simmons.  Seriously, her school principal sticks his tongue out at her to get her to do the same.

There are bridal shower pictures, and then there are bridal shower pictures.

Everyone loves my scrapbook. (Which, they should.)

My family... behaves themselves, and remembers that it is my wedding.

My cousin and step-sister, who will both be eight months pregnant, do not go into labor.  Lord, if I may have one medically-related prayer on this day, let it be this one.

No one spikes the punch.

My soon-to-be sister-in-law isn't frightened away by all the crazy women that will swarm her.

Last but not least, if any bad thing happens, I am unaware of it until after returning safely from the honeymoon.

Save-the-Date Postcards

I'm mainly doing this for a lovely friend of mine, but I also think it'd be handy for anyone else who finds my do-it-yourself-ing worthy.

Save-the-Date Postcard Instructions

You will need:

-Printed 4X6 pictures, however many save-the-dates you plan on sending out plus 3 or 4 extra (for mistakes).  Usually about 10-20 cents per picture, depending on where you have them printed or if you print them at home.

-White or light colored card stock- Estimate three save-the-dates per page, but usually cardstock can be purchased in packages of 250 pages.  Usually about $10.

-Glue dots, at least one box, maybe two.  I can't emphasize these enough for all types of art projects.  I get mine at Hobby Lobby, but you can probably get them at Michael's as well. $4-8.

-Postcard stamp.  Also found at Hobby Lobby. $12.

-Stamp ink pad.  Of course, also at Hobby Lobby; just make sure you get one as big as the postcard stamp. $10.

-Paper trimmer.  Hobby Lobby, again. $7.  You can use scissors for this process, but it'll take literally three times the amount of time versus using paper trimmer.  This little baby is also invaluable if you have any other paper projects you're doing yourself (invitations, reply-cards, scrapbook, matting pictures, etc.)

-Postage.   Postcard stamp postage is much cheaper than regular postage at $.29.  Oh, but that's just $.15 difference you say; call me back when you've bought $.44 postage for all your save-the-dates, invitations, and reply cards.  If you only invited 50 households, that is only saving $7.50 in postage with use of postcards, but don't forget about envelope cost as well.

Step One: Dot the picture.

You'll want to put one glue dot at each corner and the middle of the picture.  Press the appropriate spot of the picture onto the glue dot on the strip, not vice versa.  If you haven't used glue dots before, this may take some getting used to before you can pull the glue dot off the strip without it bunching up or folding over.  Repeat until all corner and center is dotted.

Step Two: Attach dotted picture to cardstock

Lay a piece of card stock down landscape orientation (long side on top and bottom).  Carefully place dotted picture on upper left-hand corner, lining up with both top and side of card stock.  The better you are about lining the picture up with the edge of the paper, the less cutting you will have to do and the less time it will take.  Repeat Step One for another picture; attach the next picture lined up against the left side of the card stock and under the already stuck picture.  Turn the card stock to portrait orientation (short side top and bottom) and place dotted picture on upper left-hand corner, lining up with both top and side of card stock again.  Your card stock page should now look like this:

Side note:  I suggest attaching the pictures to the card stock because it makes them sturdier; since they'll be used as postcards and will be traveling through the postal system without the aid of an envelope, this ensures your precious time and money won't be bent or eaten by some machine.

Step Three: Cut out save-the-date.

Line up the right side of the two joined photos in the paper trimmer and slice.   Then line up and slice the bottom of the solitary photo.  Then the side of the solitary photo, then the final bottom of the two joined photos.  (This was the most efficient way I found to cut them.)

Step Four: Stamp postcard print onto card stock.

Press postcard stamp onto ink pad.  Then press stamp onto card stock side of save-the-date.  Make sure you press firmly and evenly; you may want to practice this on spare card stock to make sure you get the feel down properly.  Also, make sure you're stamping right-side up with the right-side up of the picture; aka, don't turn the picture side over to find the "Postcard" label at the bottom and upside down.

Step Five: Address, attach postage, send into the world!

I just wrote "Hope to see you there!" or "Save the date!" and signed our names in the message section.  Address, stamp, and wait for the phone calls.

Hooray!  Now you have great save-the-dates, everyone sticks them on their fridge and calls you because of how cute and creative they are.  For 50 households, the whole kit and kaboodle is $60.  Light comparison shopping lists save-the-date magnets as $2 each, cards at $1.29 each, and postcards at $1.39 each, and that's not including postage.  Besides, I also got to use *this* picture, taken by the maid of honor, at no cost to me.

Happy Crafting!

AWP: Lessons #16-19

Lesson #16: I have a life outside of wedding planning

Seems logical enough, but I would do well to remember it.  Work right now (and by right now, I mean for the last two months) is incredibly slow, so I spend a good portion of my days on the computer playing around with wedding such.  I go home in the evening and think "Okay, what wedding task can I work on right now?"  It makes me incredibly anxious to always feel like I should be doing something, and it's a familiar feeling I used to get at the end of a semester.  I could never give myself a break from studying until after the last final was turned in- surely, there was something more I could cram into my head, more editing to do on that paper, more practice in counseling skills to do.  At the same time right now, though, I am remodeling the walls of the bathroom and, well, living.  You know, crazy stuff, like grocery shopping, cleaning the bathroom, working out, sleeping, all of which has fallen by the wayside due to WEDDING PLANNING.  I'm having to talk myself out of this feeling of constant pressure in order to manage my life and my house, and it's incredibly difficult at times.

Lesson #17: RSVP cards are fantastic

I love getting mail that's not bills, credit card offers, or addressed to people who aren't me.  Typically ALL the mail at our house is for Bobby, and boy does he get a lot of mail.  For the last two weeks though, little RSVP cards are waiting for me almost every afternoon, and I just plain love them.  It's so exciting to see that tiny off-white envelope and run inside to open and see who it's from.  They are a good reminder that, yes, I have actually accomplished things so far and I did actually finish some big thing in wedding planning.  Which brings me to my next lesson...

Lesson #18: "Will you forget the head-slicing thing?!"

If you grew up a child of the 1990's, you probably remember this:

If you weren't a child of the 1990's but had more Greek literature than I did, you probably still remember the monster Hydra, the beast who grew three heads for every one that was cut off.  That's how I feel about wedding planning this week.  I mentioned this in a previous blog about how things that should theoretically be simple are not, but now we've taken it a step further into "Why is this continuing to get more complicated as we go along?"

Let's use ordering flowers as an example.  My thought was, "Okay, walk into Whole Foods, I need this many this and that many that, here's a check, we'll pick them up on said date."  This is an excerpt from the email I received from the lovely Ally, head of floral in the Mountain Brook Whole Foods:

My deep blue single stem hydrangea comes in an assortment box with blue, lavender and purple.  The cost each box of 13 count hydrangea stems would be $81.78.  The price is price per case minus a case discount of 10% (90.87-9.09) for buying the whole case.  The problem is these hydrangeas would be an assortment of blue/lavender/purple.

I have not heard back from my wholesaler of flowers in Atlanta as of yet.  They offer the blue hydrangea “masja purple” retail is $8.69 a stem,  minimum of 40 stems, no case discount.. total of $343.60.  I will not know for certain on the hydrangeas until next Monday as my sales person at our wholesaler is unavailable right now but it is on their availability listings they send me.

I am well aware that the majority of this problem is my inexperience in anything to do with flower ordering.  But holy cow, how unaware of the world around me I feel as I try to knock things out only to make them more complicated.   Every so often there will be a break in the clouds and I will accomplish something (insert fanfare) but it is the planning equivalent of driving from Birmingham to Atlanta with a stop at Starbucks, stop for gas, stop for potty break at the state line, hit traffic on I-285, take a phone call from my mom, arrive at location, and turn around and go pick up food and then back to place of sleeping.  However, I will continue to attempt to stab this thing through the heart.

Lesson #19: I will never appreciate four walls and a bed the way I'll appreciate the one in Beach Cottage #4

I always knew I'd be excited about the honeymoon- the first week with my new husband, enjoying each other's company, being on vacation.  The reasons that I'm now excited, however, have taken me completely by surprise:

1.  We. will. be. alone.  Bobby lives in Troy; I live in Birmingham with a roommate.  We are never alone unless I visit him in Troy, which is usually once a month or less, and when I'm there, we only get about 4-5 hours a night together because he's working during the day.  I cannot wait to sleep, eat, watch movies in the cottage, and sit on the beach alone with Bobby.

2.  I can haz the sleep.  That pretty much sums it up.

3.  We will be in a private cottage and will be alone and isolated in order to, well, "be married."  That's detailed enough.

4.  We have one thing planned for the week, and that is to play with the baby tigers at the Gulf Shores Zoo.  It was completely intentional that we have no obligations other than arriving at the cottage, for reasons listed above.

I mean, come on, would *you* want to leave?

Seaside, Florida

Twenty-nine days.  Twenty-nine days.

The End of an Era

I stole this idea from a friend who passed it along to me, but the joy of this story is that it's never too big for just one more fan.

I discovered Harry Potter when someone's daughter who worked with my mom said I had to read it.  I was in eighth grade at the time, thirteen years old, and a pretty constant book nerd.  My mom bought me a paperback copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, and I set about the process of reading it.  I only made it a few pages into the first chapter before I got bored, set it down, and wrote it off as another book I'd never finish.  My friend, Judith, found out I had started it and told me I just had to get through the first chapter and then it'd get good.  I skipped "The Boy Who Lived" and settled into chapter two.  Three days later, I came back to Judith and demanded her copy of the next one.  She gladly handed it over, minus the book jacket (she's kinda famous for that "no book jacket" thing).  Two days later, I came back and exchanged Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets for Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askaban.  Needless to say, I was hooked.

I can't remember precisely what I loved about the story so much as I just loved the story.  The joy of books has always been and will always be the ability to lose myself, to jump from whatever reality I live in to whatever reality I choose.  At this time in my life, my father had just gotten a divorce and was dating someone new, my little brother had just been born to my mom and stepdad, I was living between two parents houses and never comfortable at either home, and I was on a mission to find new friends.  Simply put, they made me happy.

When I returned the third book to Judith, I demanded the fourth.  I was abashed when she told me it hadn't been released yet and wouldn't be for another several months.  Begging my parents for money, I ordered the fourth book to come in with Judith's.  Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire made it into my hands July 10, 2000, unfortunately around ten minutes before my high school freshman orientation started.  I don't remember my high school freshman orientation, because by the end of it, I was on the fourth chapter.  For the next three days, the only thing I did without reading was sleep, shower, and attend band camp.  I blowdried my hair while sitting on the floor and my feet holding the book open.  I ate while reading; there are still pizza stains somewhere around chapter 12.  I read the book on the way to band camp, left it in the car, and picked it up and read on the way home.  The last night, I stayed up until 1am to finish the book, unable to set it down after Harry entered the maze.

The next three books followed the same path.  People would lose contact with me over the days after a book release.  When necessary, I took days off work when a book was released.  Three days before I turned 16, I started the fifth book at 7am in my car before doing charity yard work with my youth group.  I read Sirius's death while sitting in my band director's living room at midnight while babysitting his two children.  At age 19, I laid in my bed at my parents' house and sobbed when Dumbledore died.  That same summer, I bonded with several girls from England who loved it all as much as we did.  At 20, my coworker and I would talk for hours, making lists of the Horcruxes, debating why "love" was so important.  At 21, I have pictures while standing in line at midnight for the seventh book, drinking coffee, enjoying my newly blue-dyed hair, wiggling with anticipation to receive the 7th book.  I once told a boyfriend I'd rather he cheat on me than lose my first-edition, midnight release seventh book (and meant it).  I screamed obscenities at the book and physically beat the page when Dobby died.  I walked down 16th street in downtown Birmingham on my way to work while reading the last chapter of the last book, finishing it while sitting in the lifeguard office of the Campus Rec Center.

At 24 years old with my future husband, I stood at the entrance to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and cried.  I have loved this story as if it were my love story and loved these people as friends.  I cheered as the Weasley twins soared into the glorious night, I held my breath as Harry grasped the dusty globe.  I read and re-read the long fall from the astronomy tower, sure that I had misread.  I hated Cho, I pitied Neville in St. Mungo's.  I suffered a broken heart as Sirius slipped through the veil.  I sat up all night as Harry, Ron, and Hermoine wandered through the forest for 200 pages.  I skipped forward to make sure Hermoine and Ron's names were at the end of every book and they were alive and well.  I lamented how wrong we were about Snape, and I wished we had known.  I cheered when McGonagall rose the suits of armor, I cried when Kreacher lead the charge with the locket bouncing on his chest, I pitied Neville no longer as he leaped across the lawn into glory, I screamed in delight when "NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH" roared across the page.  I lived every moment of the last battle, sure that I, too, had seen the boy that lived survive and save us all.

I can't explain why words on many, many, many pages made me feel as they did.  Chalk it up to good writing skills.  Or maybe it was because the first several books I read at the same age Harry was in them.  Maybe it was because I always associated Harry Potter with my friends; after all, they were always there to talk and theorize, but more than that they were just there, just like those books were.  And maybe, at the end of the day, I just love them.  While sometimes I try to explain to people exactly why I love them the way I do, maybe I just... do.  That's okay too.  Because those who do too... know, too.

Engagement Photos

Well, because I wanted to post something and I feel like I should post more pictures.  Hopefully this will outweigh the really long text posts I have a tendency to write.  (Remember those high school days of "500 word essays"?  Never a problem for me.  Not once.)  So I have cut and paste the photo from Arden's Blog.

Oh, the happiness.  We have it.

Click for a larger version.  I can't wait to marry this man. :)

Wedding Vows: Mean what you say, Say what you mean

My "Month le Weddings" is coming to a close, and I have now attended three of them.  It's been very interesting going to all three weddings; all three of the brides I had grown up with in church, all of us in our small town Baptist raisin's, and yet our wedding are so very different.  One good thing about being the final wedding of the year for my Hillabee Baptist people is that I get to steal ideas from the other brides; so far, namely my cousin, Mary Katherine.  Her wedding was the closest to what I want mine to be.  She's definitely helped me out in the unity candle decision-crunch (I'm stealing her idea of doing communion); I'm also much more comfortable with my wedding reception time-frame I had in mind (both our weddings will be four hours from start of ceremony to leaving reception, and I didn't get bored at hers).  The biggest thing I've decided to play copy-cat on though is that she and her fiancee used the traditional vows and added onto them with personal vows.  Of course, I cried like a fool and thought it was the sweetest thing I'd ever seen.  I called Bobby on the way to the reception and asked him if we, too, could write our own vows on top of the traditional vows; he made some comment about them including a clause involving a 25-pound bass, but nevertheless he agreed.

Why I thought it would be a good idea to add on another item on the to-do list and one that's emotional to boot, I'm not entirely sure.  So, here I am.  My first concern was that I didn't want to make it overly English-essay-esque.  I have a tendency to write and speak with a flourish whether that flourish is needed or not; I feel that I can convey myself better when I think about and choose my words to do just that.  On the other hand, I don't want to write woodenly or plainly because that's not me.  My concern is more that I'll get too caught up in writing to sound pretty rather than writing to tell my husband and God what I intend to do in this marriage.

Which leads us to my second problem- what exactly do I want to say?  We decided to keep the traditional vows because they do cover all the bases- richer or poorer, sickness and health, as long as you both shall live.  All these things are very important, and when I started thinking about what I wanted to add onto, I became concerned that I wouldn't have anything valid to add onto that.  That was a fleeting thought, though, and I know that I do have some things I'd like to tell Bobby in front of everyone, things like how much of an answered prayer he is to me, how he's my adventurer, my life partner.  These are well and good, but then I arrived back at what I want to promise?  At first I thought nice and sweet things, like "I promise to tell you I love you every day" (which I do), but it doesn't feel like enough.  At some point the sweet thoughts turned into meaningful thoughts that led to thoughts that "Ah, yes, now we're getting somewhere" (metacognition's a wily sucker).  Things occurred to me like "I promise to work for our marriage, to communicate and compromise and build trust", which are all things I think are important for a marriage.  It's nice to say you'll go visit Italy, but you have to make arrangements to get there.

The more I thought about all these nice things I want to promise him that I'll do for him, the more it began to occur to me that these aren't just words that I'm saying to make my wedding extra squishy and happy.  It has already occurred to me that the traditional vows are just that, "vows."  The word "vow" means to "earnestly promise or pledge something" or to "promise to a god or saint".  I'm not just saying these things to Bobby; I'm saying them to God.  It's one thing to haphazardly pledge to a behavior with a person- "Sure, let's do lunch" or "I'll let you pick out the dog" or "You can come stay with me when you're in town".  We make flippant comments about doing things for people, and these aren't "solemn promises made to a god or deity" but those wedding vows are.  So when I started thinking about the things I was going to stand in front of people and God and Bobby and say, I realized that I better not say anything I wasn't committed to doing.  I was already committed to not leaving him because he loses his job, or desert him because he gets cancer, or give myself to another man.  Those are the big choices that you make many, many little choices that lead up to such.  The vows I'm thinking of are harder, because there the ones that call me to roll over and hug him and apologize before I fall asleep because I'm wrong.  These are the ones that cause me to question myself when I think I'm entitled to fuss at him for driving badly.  They're the vows that make me get and stay right with God so that I can be a better wife to him.  These are the vows that make me shut up and quick trying to sort out who's right and who's wrong and treat him with love and respect.  And really that's all I'm wanting to say.  I want to define more clearly for myself and for Bobby how I'm going to make that journey to Italy.  "I promise to love you" is an astronomically broad statement.  What are the specific things I'm going to do to act out that love for him?  What things will I do late at night and when I'm ill and when my pride's in the way?  What am I willing to promise and pledge to him that'll make the kind of wife I want to be to him?  That's what I want to say.

Accidents

Five years ago, I was in a car accident.  My friend, Brandon, was visiting from Kentucky and he and I were going to head down to my hometown to go to church and spend time with my family.  It was a hot Sunday morning in June, very dry, no genuine rain in weeks.  Fun fact I've learned from growing up in Alabama is that when roads are continuously heated, oil from the asphalt rises up and sits on the road.  (In other words, Alabama is so hot it makes the roads bleed.)  As we were leaving my apartment, it started to rain a bit.  As anyone who has taken basic physical science knows, water and oil don't mix, so when the roads are hot enough to bleed and it rains, the rain sits on top of the water.  Less than a couple miles from my apartment, traveling on the interstate in three lanes of traffic, this was indeed the case.  A powder-blue van hit a patch of oil and water and spun across all three lanes.  I stomped the breaks, hands clutched to the steering wheel, the whole nine yards.  A maroon older model Honda Civic was apparently following me too closely, as when I stopped, he slammed into my back bumper causing Brandon's Ale-8 drink spewing all over the car.  Fortunately no one was hurt; my car bumper absorbed a vast majority of the impact, but the maroon Civic was completely totaled.

Months later, I was driving to class, on the same interstate, and a car stopped short behind me, as cars often do in morning traffic.  I borderline panicked.  It took me a few moments of breathing hard, shaking, crying, to realize that it felt so familiar from the Civic back in June.  While I wasn't physically hurt in the accident, I hadn't realized at the time exactly how much it fried my nerves.  Looking back now, I don't even remember if I saw the Civic rear-end me or just felt it; either way, I felt the same way- all the panic and fear when I was actually hit, back to haunt me in a completely safe situation.

In a seemingly unrelated tangent, I love the show Gene Simmons Family Jewels, a reality program about the famous rocker and his not-wife and two children.  The newest season started this past week, and, apparently, things are at a boiling point for Gene and Shannon.  In the first few minutes of the episode, Gene's at a business dinner with a few men and scantily-clad ladies, and Shannon and the children at home waiting for Gene to arrive.  Later on, while getting ready for bed, Shannon receives a text message and then starts searching for something on the computer.  It's not necessary to point out that I don't know these people; my life will not change and nothing will be different if their un-marriage doesn't work out.  But sitting in front of my computer, safe and sound watching this tv clip, my stomach goes in knots, my heart races, the fear and dread well up inside me when Shannon pulls up a picture of Gene leaving the restaurant with the scantily-clad women on each arm.

Years ago, I was in a different kind of wreck.  Just like knowing the oil and water on the road was trepidous, I knew that the boyfriend was up to something at least inappropriate.  I don't know how I knew, other than I just did.  I was rear-ended at 50 mph, however, by the instant messenger log (and subsequent pictures, facebook messages, texts, etc.) I found that confirmed that it was, officially, an Accident.  The difference between that Sunday morning in June and that Thursday afternoon in February is that I was actually hurt the latter time.  I was in an emotional full-body cast, with no cute little Sharpie signatures on my healing heart.  Two years later, just watching someone on the screen makes me remember what it was like to have that car stop short behind me in traffic that morning.  It wasn't my fiancee in that picture; that car didn't hit me.  But it sure felt like it that first time someone came too close to my car again.  Months after the wreck, I would get physically sick while trying to log on to his facebook account or looking through his phone while he slept.  It still makes my heart race thinking about it, but it's not nearly as bad.  I sit in my office now, safe, and loved, and nowhere near a car, much less an accident.

My little sisters were in a car accident a few months back, and my younger sister, whose car side was hit by another, told me a few weeks ago that she still jumps and panics when someone stops short on her side now.  I told her I understood, and I did; I also told her that those feelings go away.  It'll be a while; it was over a year before I wouldn't jump when someone came to close to my bumper.  Now I barely notice.  I don't panic looking at Bobby's phone; I don't worry when he doesn't answer the phone; I know the password to his facebook account.  Every once in a while, I'm reminded of what it's like to be in that car accident again, but those once in a while's are fewer and far between.  Some day they won't happen at all.  I blame this on a fiancee who hides nothing, who never stops short behind me.  I drive with my eyes closed, knowing that someday, seeing other people's car accidents won't take notice.  I'm safe now- my own accidents be damned.

AWP: Lessons #12, 13, 14, *and* 15

I am beginning to understand why people elope.

Lesson #12:  Simplicity is fallacy

When I set upon adventures in wedding planning, I had intentions of doing it well and simply so that when I arrived on August 13th, I would be happy and as stress-free as possible.  As life, nothing appears to be as simple as it actually is.  For example, the menfolk need tuxes.  My thoughts were, "Okay, I'll look at a few places online, I'll decide where we should go, and Bobby will come help me pick it out."  First off, see the first entry in Lesson #13; that set us back 20 minutes or so, but no big deal.  Then the sales associate tells me the groomsmen will have to pick up their suit the Wednesday before the wedding.  My groomsmen won't be in town by then.  Hell, my groom won't be in town by then.  Two of my menfolk are in Birmingham; two are in Alexander City (hour and a half away); one is in Bowling Green, Kentucky; and one is in New Mexico until the week before the wedding when he'll drive back to Auburn.  I have now had to get on the Jim's Formal Wear website; find retailers in Alexander City, Auburn, and Bowling Green; call the groom to find out how far before the wedding his brother in Bowling Green will be arriving; call the retailers in Alexander City and Auburn to make sure they have the suit jacket style number I need, how much it will cost, and how long before the wedding they need to reserve it.  Still on the to-do list is communicating to the groomsman in New Mexico that he'll need to get his measurements done at a suit/tuxedo rental place, call those into the Auburn store, and pick that up before the wedding and communicating the other information with the two menfolk in Alexander City.  See?  All I needed was to get tuxes rented.  The things about the wedding that have been the most difficult have been the least expected.  Picking out a dress?  That was easy.  Took about 6 hours of leisurely shopping, trying on about 10 dresses, and eventually bought the third dress I tried on.  Buying a bra to go under the dress?  NIGHTMARE.  Picking out the cakes?  Took 10 minutes of looking online.  Wedding showers?  Copious communication between me and six other people to figure out what day, where, what I'm going to wear, whether the gifts should be wrapped or not, guest list, etc.  It is baffling to me.

Lesson #13:  I need a wedding dictionary

So, apparently:

"Tux" and "suit" are different.  A tuxedo has a vest or cummerbund; a suit has neither.  (Whatever.)

When I say "strapless, low-back bra", apparently what I mean is "strapless, low-back bustier".  I assumed if I walked into a lingerie store and said, "Hi; I need a strapless, low-back bra" the sales associate would respond with, "Well, we don't carry that, but how about a strapless, low-back bustier."  We would skip merrily to the dressing room and I would leave with something to wear under my dress.

There is also a difference between "lingerie" and "sleepwear".  Theoretically I understand this, as I have never thought lingerie was something a woman sleeps in.  (Maybe takes off to sleep with someone, but I digress.)  But when "Lingerie" is listed on the Victoria's Secret website under "Sleepwear", I got nothing.  (Seriously, go see for yourself.)

Not to beat the point to death, there is also a difference between 1) bras, 2) corsets, 3) bustiers, 4) undergarments, 5) lingerie, 6) babydolls, 7) teddies, 8) nighties, and 9) garters.  I don't speak French.

Adding "bridal" or "wedding" onto the label for an item immediately adds 10-15% to that item.  Difference between the Bridal bustier at Victoria's Secret and the non-bridal bustier is $10.  The only difference is one is mesh instead of satin, but it's not the cheaper one.

Lesson #14: Be gone with your tiny questions

As with any wedding, there are tons of people involved.  There are those in the trenches, such as myself, my matron of honor, and Bobby.  There are those close to the trenches, like my other bridesmaids, the photographer, caterer, baker, candlestick maker, etc.  Then there are those whose job is important but damn near negligible at this point.  They have precisely one assigned task, and while that task may very important, their one task is a 200-word essay to my dissertation.  I am receiving calls, texts, facebook messages, and questions from others about the most ridiculous things.  For instance, Bobby's dad wants to go ahead and book a block of hotel rooms (this was in May); he asks Bobby how many hotel rooms we need to book.  Bobby asks me.  My part at this point would be to call up the entire wedding party and my family and find out who is staying where.  I have too many other things to be done than to be the Hermes or Paul Revere of this wedding.  Call or facebook them yourself.  Every woman not assigned a dress (read: bridesmaids) has asked me to "approve" their wardrobe choice or to help them pick out their dress or help pick out their color for their dress.  Fine- no white, no black, no gratuitous cleavage, no Satanic symbols.  I cannot answer every. single. little. question. every. person. has. about. the. wedding.  There are some questions that should be fielded to me: what color do you want your bouquet to be?  Can you give me a list of shower invitees?  Legit.  What color is your mother wearing to the wedding?  Not one of those.  Ask her.  I know more about this wedding than anyone else, but you would not call the tri-state manager of Starbucks to find out what time the Starbucks at Inverness Corners closes.  Work it out yourself, people.

On a happy note:

I picked bridesmaids dresses:

I picked out and ordered my hairpiece-thingy:

 

And my garter:

Bobby and I had our engagement photos taken, which turned out even better than expected: http://ardenphoto.squarespace.com/journal/2011/5/20/we-love-engagement-sessions-arden-photography.html .

Lesson #15:  Insert appropriate Queen song here

All in all, I am getting there.  I am stressed, I am tired, I am frazzled, I am sick of calligraphy pens, I want nothing more to do with Victoria's Secret for the time being.  But, by God, come August 13th, I will be there, I will be pretty, I will be happy dammit, and we will have a good time!  Or else!

AWP: Lessons #10 and 11

Lesson #10: Wedding Planning has absconded with my living room floor

It's equal parts amusing and annoying what wedding planning has wreaked on my living room.  Every once in a while, I'll take my wedding planning objects and stack them up neatly and move them back onto the loveseat they've taken over in our library.  That's where the wedding magazines and scrapbooking supplies are for the time being, and when I'm trying to make the living room look presentable again, the invitations and cardstock will make their way there also.  We've made this journey two or three times now, and someone they keep ending up back in the living room.  Right now there's a stack of invitations waiting to be painted, a stack of invitations already painted, a lapdesk with the paint stencil taped to it, a bag of $90 worth of envelopes (eek!), a paper cutter, and two shoe boxes of paint supplies, cardstock, sticky dots, and scissors.  I think I've given up on moving them until they get mailed.  At least their presence in the living room reminds me that they do need attention.

Lesson #11: Wedding Planning is like taking a class
When the initial joyful bliss of getting engaged subsided, the enormity of wedding planning loomed before me.  I've never been married.  I'm the oldest daughter, the oldest cousin, the oldest daughter of the oldest son and daughter.  My best friend is married, but all my other friends are unmarried.  I've been a bridesmaid only twice; once for my best friend and once for my dad's wedding.   I was a bridesmaid for my da when I was 15, and, being 15, I was completely self-absorbed and unaware of any wedding planning being done around me.  My best friend was married when I was 21, and surprisingly enough, I was still rather self-absorbed and didn't help as much as I feel I should have.  (We'll consider this my virtual apology, and I'll spend the next 60 years with her doing a better job.)  All in all, I didn't know how to plan a wedding, so I did what I knew I could- I studied.  I may not can fix a leaky toilet, I may not can tell you how to buy a house, and I may not know how to program a computer, but what I *can* do is study.  Oh, boy, can I study.  Between high school and six years of college, I can find information and figure out a way to organize in my head so that it stays there.  To study for wedding planning, I bought and read wedding magazines; I have perused almost every section of theknot.com; I listened to what other people had to say, including  my best friend and ladies from church; I made a notebook and wrote lists of things I had learned and things I still had to learn.  I have never utilized google quite to this extent; I might get flagged on the watch list if "songs to play at wedding reception" and "purple bridesmaid dresses" end up as terrorist language.  I have learned a lot, and while I'll end up being rushed to do some things I still don't know, I am confident that my wedding won't be a total disaster.

The Last Movie Star: Long Live Elizabeth Taylor

I can't help it.  I have to.

Leslie: Please, don't mind me. Do go on.  I'll listen, quiet as a little old mouse.

Bick: You'd be bored, honey.  This is dull.

Leslie: Why, l'd be fascinated.

Bick: We're talking about politics.

Leslie: You married me in Washington, remember, darling?  l lived next door to politics. Brought up with it.  Please go on talking. l'd love it.

Bick: This is men's stuff.

Judge: Leslie, how about a cup of coffee or a drink?

Leslie: Men's stuff!  Lord have mercy!  Set up my spinning wheel, girls.  I'll join the harem section in a minute.

Judge: Don't you go worrying your pretty little head about politics.

Bick: You mean my pretty, empty head, don't you, Judge?

Another man: Could l get the coffee for you?

Leslie: You, too, Uncle Brutus?

Bick: You don't feel well, Leslie.

Leslie: I feel just great!  My adrenaline glands are pumping beautifully.  If l may say so before retiring...

You gentlemen date back 1000 years.  You ought to be wearing leopard skins and carrying clubs.  Politics!  Business!

-Giant

“I swear to GOD George, if you even EXISTED, I’d divorce you.”

-Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolfe?

"My mother says I didn't open my eyes for eight days after I was born, but when I did, the first thing I saw was an engagement ring. I was hooked."

"I've been through it all, baby, I'm mother courage."

To a woman who graced us with violet eyes, stood up for those who couldn't, remained loyal to friends, gave us movies worth cheering over, battled addiction, raised children, gave generously, married all the men she slept with, lived to squeeze out every bit of passion she could muster, and, in general, just made this world a more interesting, scandalous, and humanitarian place, we'll miss you.