Saturday, January 24, 2009

Happy Birthday, Brother of Mine!

My dear little brother turns 30 today! Unbelievable. To celebrate, he's getting married. (You might remember when he proposed, back in September)

Obviously, the wedding is at the forefront of my family's collective world at the moment. Every nightmare I have involves something keeping me from attending, every conversation with a family member or friend makes some reference to the upcoming festivities. I had intended to be there already, but that's not the way my world worked out, so we're traveling overnight on Wednesday. With our toddler. Wish us luck!

My brother is under a little bit of pressure right now, obviously- he referred to himself as "Groomzilla" the other day... (prompting his best man to ask if he could instead be the "Best Mothra"). I tried to be very zen on the phone with yesterday, all calm and big sisterly. I said "You know, the thing about weddings is, they never turn out exactly how you expect, but it's all ok. Really, if your caterer didn't show up and we had to order pizza, it'd all be ok."

Did I expect him to buy that? I mean, it's true, but that doesn't mean he believes it. He pointed out that it might all be ok, once his bride stopped hysterically weeping. He does have a point there.

I must say, though, in the thick of things, on the actual wedding day, you reach a certain level of supernatural calm- at least that's how I felt. You know that by the end of the day, you'll be married, and isn't that really the point?

Our wedding was catered by my husband's godmother, at my house. (Which was about to become our house!) The food was unbelievably good, good enough that people stopped by the next day to eat more of it, but the story that features most prominently in the wedding tale has to do with what happened right before the ceremony.

I was in the bedroom, with my cousin and sister, who were frantically trying to help me comb out the super-tall country star hairdo I'd been given by a professional, when the caterer's daughter (our dear friend) came in. "Don't freak out," she said in a pretty laid back and cheerful tone, with a concerned smile, "but mom just dropped your cake on the floor."

I walked into the living room, where our sweet friend and caterer was staring at the wedding cake on the floor. "SHIT!" she was saying, "Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit." Then she saw me, smiled, and said "It's going to be FINE!"

I said "I know." and smiled back. Because I did know. And it was fine. We artfully positioned pansies all down the smooshed side of the cake. And because I'd scrubbed that floor on my hands and knees mere hours earlier, I didn't even feel bad about not telling the other guests. And at the end of the day, we were married.

And isn't that the whole point?

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