(no subject)

A long time ago in a galaxy not-so-far away, John and I decided to get married. Our original plans involved the traditional Big Wedding. Our first-draft of a guest list had 300 people on it (ah, the joys of large extended families.) It was to be a glorious affair. And then our mothers got involved, and started making it More Glorious. Unfortunately, they did not agree on... actually, they didn't agree on much of anything. Thus, More Glorious turned into More Arguing Over What Exactly Constitutes Glorious.

John and I realized quickly that we did not want to be in the middle of it, and hired a wedding consultant. We told her point-blank that we didn't really need help with the budget, the invitations, the location, the dress, or any of the myraid things that she usually helped with. Her job was simply to be the referee. I still have vivid memories of all of us sitting in the wedding consultant's conference room and our mothers nearly coming to blows over whether my bridesmaids should wear pastels or jewel tones. I've always been a bit of a tomboy and always worked in male-dominated industries, so while we had plenty of candidates for groomsmen, I had no idea who my bridesmaids were going to be, but our mothers were already fighting over their dresses.

One of the things that was never argued over was who would perform the ceremony. John had been friends with Doug (who was both a lawyer and a Baptist minister) for 15 years, and he wanted Doug to marry us. My only stipulation was that I didn't want the first time I met Doug to be when he was asking me "Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?". We set up a lunch date so I could meet him. It took me all of about 90 seconds to realize that I absolutely adored Doug (and I still do, even though he went and moved to Mexico to teach children of American executives and now I never get to see him), and we found ourselves telling him about how we were hating the wedding planning and the near-constant arguing it brought. Doug pointed out that a wedding didn't have to be that elaborate and told us that "If you had your license already, I could grab two waitresses as witnesses and marry you right here at this table." The thought was appealing, but we were a year away from our planned wedding date, and license applications are only good for 30 days, so of course we didn't have one.

But after lunch, when we had parted ways with Doug, John and I kept talking about it, and decided it sounded like a really good idea. At the time, Michigan law said that to get a marriage license you had to have a certificate from a doctor saying you had been told that Sexually Transmitted Diseases are, in fact, transmitted sexually (yes, it's stupid. It was stupid then, too. I don't think it's required any more, but I haven't had a need to apply for a marriage license lately, so I really don't know.) We called up his doctor's office to see if they had an appointment for the next week, and they said "Next Friday is Halloween so we're running with a skeleton staff and trying to limit the patients to emergencies only, but we have an opening this afternoon if you'd like." We took the appointment and got our little "We learned about STDs" certificate, as well as hearty congratulations from his doctor. It was about 4:15, and we decided to see if we could make it to the county clerk's office before they closed. We did, just barely.

Then we called Doug up, and asked him if he was free the next weekend. We really wanted to get married on Halloween, but Doug's youngest son was scheduled to go out for his first trick-or-treating, and his wife told him that if he didn't take the kid out, he shouldn't come home. John and I had plans for Saturday, so we called up our family (and two friends who served as potential bouncers and legal witnesses) and said "We're getting married on Sunday. If you expect to see it, be at our house at 2 o'clock."

Technically, we got married at more like 3:15, because my grandparents got lost and we wandered out on the blustery fall day to flag them down at the end of the street. (In a suit and a rather thin white dress, no less. I was planning on getting married in nice comfy jeans, but John convinced me to wear a dress, and since I conveniently had a white one....)

I cleaned our house thoroughly, and we went to Gordon Food Service and bought Stouffer's lasagna and a really yummy raspberry cake. It was pre-cut with wax paper in between each slice, but our mothers decided they HAD to have a picture of us cutting the cake, so there exists a picture of John and I holding a knife and cutting the cake-- but the wax paper is very clearly visible in the picture, so it's really obvious that it's just posing.

I discovered at the last minute that we had bread but the butter tub was empty, so I sent John out to the grocery store. Sweetie that he is, he came back with butter AND a bunch of flowers, so we had flowers at our wedding after all. They were a fall mixed bouquet, mostly yellow with some orange and light red.

Mike neglected to tell us that when we called he had been in California for business (at least, he neglected to tell us until he got back, at which point he told us over and over again for years.) He rushed back to be John's best man.

Brian suffered through being called my maid of honor for years and years, because he signed the marriage license on the bride's side. We didn't really stop poking fun at him until he got married, and his bride's best friend got lost on the way to the ceremony, so John ended up signing their license instead. Thus, John became Julianna's maid of honor, completing the circle.

That was exactly 9 years ago today. If I had it to do over again, I'd do it pretty much the same, except I'd spring for a cleaning service.

(no subject)

A long time ago in a galaxy not-so-far away, John and I decided to get married. Our original plans involved the traditional Big Wedding. Our first-draft of a guest list had 300 people on it (ah, the joys of large extended families.) It was to be a glorious affair. And then our mothers got involved, and started making it More Glorious. Unfortunately, they did not agree on... actually, they didn't agree on much of anything. Thus, More Glorious turned into More Arguing Over What Exactly Constitutes Glorious.

John and I realized quickly that we did not want to be in the middle of it, and hired a wedding consultant. We told her point-blank that we didn't really need help with the budget, the invitations, the location, the dress, or any of the myraid things that she usually helped with. Her job was simply to be the referee. I still have vivid memories of all of us sitting in the wedding consultant's conference room and our mothers nearly coming to blows over whether my bridesmaids should wear pastels or jewel tones. I've always been a bit of a tomboy and always worked in male-dominated industries, so while we had plenty of candidates for groomsmen, I had no idea who my bridesmaids were going to be, but our mothers were already fighting over their dresses.

One of the things that was never argued over was who would perform the ceremony. John had been friends with Doug (who was both a lawyer and a Baptist minister) for 15 years, and he wanted Doug to marry us. My only stipulation was that I didn't want the first time I met Doug to be when he was asking me "Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?". We set up a lunch date so I could meet him. It took me all of about 90 seconds to realize that I absolutely adored Doug (and I still do, even though he went and moved to Mexico to teach children of American executives and now I never get to see him), and we found ourselves telling him about how we were hating the wedding planning and the near-constant arguing it brought. Doug pointed out that a wedding didn't have to be that elaborate and told us that "If you had your license already, I could grab two waitresses as witnesses and marry you right here at this table." The thought was appealing, but we were a year away from our planned wedding date, and license applications are only good for 30 days, so of course we didn't have one.

But after lunch, when we had parted ways with Doug, John and I kept talking about it, and decided it sounded like a really good idea. At the time, Michigan law said that to get a marriage license you had to have a certificate from a doctor saying you had been told that Sexually Transmitted Diseases are, in fact, transmitted sexually (yes, it's stupid. It was stupid then, too. I don't think it's required any more, but I haven't had a need to apply for a marriage license lately, so I really don't know.) We called up his doctor's office to see if they had an appointment for the next week, and they said "Next Friday is Halloween so we're running with a skeleton staff and trying to limit the patients to emergencies only, but we have an opening this afternoon if you'd like." We took the appointment and got our little "We learned about STDs" certificate, as well as hearty congratulations from his doctor. It was about 4:15, and we decided to see if we could make it to the county clerk's office before they closed. We did, just barely.

Then we called Doug up, and asked him if he was free the next weekend. We really wanted to get married on Halloween, but Doug's youngest son was scheduled to go out for his first trick-or-treating, and his wife told him that if he didn't take the kid out, he shouldn't come home. John and I had plans for Saturday, so we called up our family (and two friends who served as potential bouncers and legal witnesses) and said "We're getting married on Sunday. If you expect to see it, be at our house at 2 o'clock."

Technically, we got married at more like 3:15, because my grandparents got lost and we wandered out on the blustery fall day to flag them down at the end of the street. (In a suit and a rather thin white dress, no less. I was planning on getting married in nice comfy jeans, but John convinced me to wear a dress, and since I conveniently had a white one....)

I cleaned our house thoroughly, and we went to Gordon Food Service and bought Stouffer's lasagna and a really yummy raspberry cake. It was pre-cut with wax paper in between each slice, but our mothers decided they HAD to have a picture of us cutting the cake, so there exists a picture of John and I holding a knife and cutting the cake-- but the wax paper is very clearly visible in the picture, so it's really obvious that it's just posing.

I discovered at the last minute that we had bread but the butter tub was empty, so I sent John out to the grocery store. Sweetie that he is, he came back with butter AND a bunch of flowers, so we had flowers at our wedding after all. They were a fall mixed bouquet, mostly yellow with some orange and light red.

Mike neglected to tell us that when we called he had been in California for business (at least, he neglected to tell us until he got back, at which point he told us over and over again for years.) He rushed back to be John's best man.

Brian suffered through being called my maid of honor for years and years, because he signed the marriage license on the bride's side. We didn't really stop poking fun at him until he got married, and his bride's best friend got lost on the way to the ceremony, so John ended up signing their license instead. Thus, John became Julianna's maid of honor, completing the circle.

That was exactly 9 years ago today. If I had it to do over again, I'd do it pretty much the same, except I'd spring for a cleaning service.