Because I am a blogger…

… and because I’m getting married, I’ve joined the masses and started a wedding blog.

Keeping it kind of separate means I can stress out there and then come back here and post something completely unrelated and remind myself I have a life outside of wedding planning. Also, keeping it separate means that if you don’t want to, you don’t have to know anything at all about my descent into the insanity of a wedding.

This blog will also not stream to Facebook. That means you only get to read about my wedding if you want to read about my wedding.

Enjoy!

Bridal pressures

I went wedding dress shopping on Tuesday.

I am fortunate to have a body type that looks good in the majority of wedding dress styles. (I like to think the running I did a while back plays some role in this.) I tried on and liked enough wedding dresses that I almost started to hate wedding dresses by the end of it all.

I tried on dresses like this:

And like this:

And like this:

(Obviously, I didn’t try on any of these dresses, or any dresses that are TOO similar to this.)

Dresses was probably the very first wedding topic M and I talked about after we got engaged. We flipped through picture after picture on the Internet. I don’t think most girls do this with their fiances. I’m glad I did though. I discovered there are some styles I like that he doesn’t. Like this one:

He says dresses like this remind him of nightgowns.

Anyway. The point is, he has opinions. He says he’s only been to one wedding where he really liked the wedding dress, in fact, like a very typical man, can’t even remember most of the others.

But the problem is not that he has opinions. It’s not even that he isn’t supposed to see the dress before the day (doesn’t want to see the dress before the day, in fact) and therefore can’t give his opinion.

I think the problem is SOCIETY. It’s very easy to blame society for things isn’t it? I can’t remember how old I was when I first heard the ideology that no one can be more beautiful than a bride on her wedding day. Even an ugly bride is more beautiful than any one of her guests.

I didn’t realize how much pressure this puts on a bride until I became a bride-to-be myself. How can you guarantee that the dress you pick will draw the reaction you want from those watching you? And even more importantly, from your groom? More than anything, I want him to think I’m beautiful.

(Yes, I know he already does. And he’s told me he doesn’t REALLY care that much, that there aren’t very many dresses out there that really blow him away, mostly because he doesn’t care that much about the dress. But still, what if he thinks my dress is ridiculous, or boring and his favourite wedding dress is still his cousin’s from two years ago?)

Anyway, I found a dress. I found a couple dresses, really. The Internet says you’re supposed to burst into tears of joy when you put on YOUR wedding dress. I didn’t do that. Seriously, does anyone? There might have been a little more of a grin than with other dresses. An affirmation of favouritism when I tried it on a second time at the end of the day. But now, I’m second guessing myself. What if it actually makes me look dumpy and the pedestal at the store is just making me look taller? What if it’s too over-the-top, too modern, too odd, too much or too little crinoline, not enough coverage, too much fabric, too little bling, too much bling?

(The dress does not have all of those things. But, M reads this blog on occasion. I don’t want him knowing too much!)

And the biggest fear with almost all of the dresses I tried on on Tuesday… what if there’s too much skirt on whatever dress I pick and I end up standing at arms length to the man I’m marrying our whole wedding day?

The dBs meet the Vs

My parents drove 4.5 hours to meet M’s parents this weekend. We had a delicious meal of M’s mom’s lasagne, and the wine my parents brought.

Aside: Why is 20 Bees going out of business?

The weekend went pretty smoothly. I was worried about awkward pauses and long, dragged out silences. There were none. Perhaps the wine had something to do with that?

I have a feeling though that I’m not a very good bride-to-be. There gets to be a point at which I just don’t want to talk about wedding stuff anymore. We hashed out guest numbers, money numbers, engagement party details, and far too many small details that felt rather premature. Sunday afternoon we were still having hour long conversations about gift registries and guests and I didn’t know how to make it stop.

I’m glad that M and I are taking a day to ourselves today, even though it’s mostly a day of me doing school work.

Dana and Bryce, October 3, 2009

The last wedding of the season. M was in this one, so he had lots of decorating duties, which mostly meant he went golfing.

Yeah, I’m not really sure how that works either.

We got to the kind of far away location Thursday night and started working on the hall. I spent the day on Friday at the hall with the bride and her attendants as well, putting myself to good use to make up for coming so early. I was nervous about being in the way, so I just made sure I wasn’t.

Friday, they rehearsed. I played a stand-in Maid of Honour for about five minutes.

Friday night, the MC and one of the other groomsmans’ girlfriend showed up, so we checked into our (slightly odd smelling, but sparkling clean) motel room. (We think the smell was new carpet.)

Saturday, I spent way too long on my hair, rushed through my make-up and shoving some food in my mouth and ran to the wedding down the road.

I didn’t get many pictures at the reception. My camera and the battery situation is so far kind of unpleasant. Regular AAs boot it for about 20 minutes. I really need to invest in that charger.

Wasn’t M dashing that night?

The group of high school friends: The groom, his groomsman, the MC!

It’s growing!

We closed out the dance. And helped to clean up. Walked back to the motel and collapsed, tipsy and even more excited for my own.

Weddings are fun.

One run a week…

…is all I’ve been managing to do with this new routineless routine of school. Fortunately, I have a fiance who encourages physical fitness and reminds me that I like to run, so I haven’t fallen off the track completely. I’m still contemplating the half marathon here in my city, which is run next April or May. How crazy would it be to be training and running a marathon in the same month as my wedding?

According to this show I’ve been watching, Rich Bride Poor Bride, it would be absolutely crazy. Apparently, planning my wedding is supposed to make both me and M horrible people, especially to each other. Watching the show, I’ve learned what NOT to do.

Anyway, back on topic. My run!

4.39 km

30:18 minutes

Average pace: 6.8min/km

Not such a great pace. But, it felt good, so I’m not dwelling on it. I’m going to M’s parents’ place this weekend. I’m going to bring my running clothes in case there’s time to go for a run. Sometimes just being in a different place, taking a route I’ve never taken before is all the motivation I need.

An announcement

Some of you may have noticed that I’ve been a little MIA for the past week. Most of you know why. For those of you who don’t, remember how I caught the bouquet at my cousin’s wedding last week?

And now:

M had a carefully orchestrated proposal ready for me when I arrived to visit him on Friday. The ring doesn’t fit and until we can get to the jeweller’s, is being held on by the only other ring I wear, which I usually wear on the same finger of the opposite hand.

The weekend that followed is one of the best in my memory. We galavanted all over the city.

Saw some amazing street artists.

I tossed a dollar in his supply box as a thank you for letting me take his picture.

Wandered down the the waterfront and sat on the ‘beach’.

Hopped a free ride on the Island Airport ferry and took enough pictures of the Toronto skyline, which probably made it seem like we’d never seen the CN tower before.

We walked a good 15km the first day, another 7 the next and at least another 5 on the Monday. Our calves ached every morning when we woke up, but we had nothing else to do but go back out. It was a delightful weekend of holding hands, talking about the future (it’s not quite so scary anymore!) and thinking about preliminary wedding planning.

World, I am ridiculously happy.

The stylist’s chair

When my best friend came back to Canada from a stint in Florida, she chopped half her hair off and enrolled herself in hairdressing school. Her hair went from long and wavy to a canvas for experimental art, seemingly overnight. Knowing her, it was a perfect fit.

In the years since that time, I haven’t let anyone else bring a pair of scissors to my hair. She’s done simple layered cuts of my hair and gleefully gave me a blunt straight cut with bangs when I requested something a little more experimental. But, she knows I’m pretty conservative about my hair styles. I’m boring, if you will, mostly because I’m lazy. I want a cut that’s easy to manage and requires little to no maintenance.

This frustrates her, I know. She gives me ideas of cuts and colours that she knows will look stunning on me. She does her best to convince me. But ultimately, she gives me the same cut over and over again. And I love her for it.

This weekend, I sat in this chair:

Cindy started to work on me. She threw the hideous cape around my neck, opened a few drawers at her work station, moving slowly, looking for something. Asked me if I wanted sparkles (No!), asked me again, set up a curling iron, pulled out the hair spray, mumbled a bit. My anxiety level was shooting up and shooting up fast.

As she curled and hair sprayed, tied and hair sprayed, bobby pinned and hair sprayed, teased and hairsprayed, I zoned out. Found a happy place where I didn’t have to pay attention to what she was doing to my head.

Of course, it turned out beautifully:

 

When the day quieted down a little and I had a chance to think about it, I realized what my problem was.

I have never before had someone I called My Stylist. When I was a kid, I got a haircut maybe twice a year. Or less. And every time, I went to the same salon but had a different woman cutting my hair. I cared about as much about it then as I do now. But I never felt like I got a bad hair cut.

And then my best friend became a stylist. I want to support her, help her be a success. Besides that, the salon she works at is beautiful and upscale. (I’m a little nervous about what her rates are going to do as she finishes up her apprenticeship… but it’s important to me that I support her.) The past half a dozen times I’ve had my hair done, she’s done it and I can’t imagine making an appointment for myself with anyone else.

And because she’s my best friend, I trust her completely to make me look good. I’ve never had a moment of anxiety sitting in her chair, wondering what I’m going to walk out with.

I don’t trust Cindy. She’s a random hairdresser who, unlike My Stylist, doesn’t know me almost as well as I know myself. I’ve gotten used to being able to put myself fully into My Stylist’s hands knowing it’s going to be perfect and not having to guard against that potential for disappointment. My fake “Oh, I love it!” smile was out of practice and I didn’t know if I could bring it back.

Hmm… I think I’m due for a haircut soon…

Isn’t she gorgeous?

I almost want to relive the day. Watching my cousin get married this past weekend from one of six of the best spots in the church was one of the highlights of my summer.

Weddings, in general, don’t make me cry. I almost wish they did. But there wasn’t a single wedding this summer that caused anything beyond a sentimental sigh. I haven’t gotten teary at a wedding since A and T’s wedding last summer, which I was watching from inside a crumbling relationship. But as my cousin came down the aisle and as I snuck a look at her groom’s expression, I’ll admit, my vision was swimming a little.

Likely, I wouldn’t have had the same reaction if I hadn’t been a bridesmaid. My cousin and I were like best friends when we were little. I remember playing with kittens in my grandparents’ hay mow and helping my grandma pick beans together. I remember putting on all the dresses and clothes my grandma had kept stored in a bin upstairs and playing dress-up. We were a team against the second cousins once removed at family reunions on both sides.

But then I hit my awkward stage that lasted through high school and maybe even into university. Suddenly, I didn’t know what we were supposed to talk about anymore, how we were supposed to interact. We were too old to play dress up and chase kittens in the barn. We were too old to have sleepovers at Grandma’s house.

I would say we’re still recovering from that stage, which is only natural, considering our changing lives allow us to see each other only once a year, if we’re lucky. When she told me she wanted to have a wedding party made up of family, I was honoured to accept her request to be a bridesmaid. In many ways, it felt like I was being given permission to continue being not only her cousin, but her friend, to honour the bond we had created in the hay mow and to let it continue into adulthood.

Congratulations Liz! You were a beautiful bride and I pray and trust that you and Andrew will have a long, happy life together!

(I’m aware that this post is full of sentimental drivel, but I’m not really sorry. If you can’t be sentimental about weddings and childhood friendships, what can you be sentimental about?)

Outsourcing

Because I’ve had a crazy weekend of rehearsal, wedding, and family reunion, I’m exhausted. I even skipped my run this morning for the sake of an extra hour’s sleep and still feel like I haven’t caught up.

So, I’m outsourcing my blog today to tide you all over to an actual post. (Which will hopefully come this evening.)

My aunt took some wonderful pictures at the wedding.

My dad wrote a blog post about yesterday. I know it’s not about the family reunion, but I just couldn’t resist pointing out the cuteness of my parents on my blog. Seriously, I couldn’t have asked for better role models.

(Though, they messed up my teenage-hood a little. In health class, I remember talking about how teenagers are supposed to have a switch from being mostly influenced by their parents to being mostly influenced by their peers, hence, rebellion. I couldn’t relate.)

For the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.

[From my backlog of pictures from bridal showers.]

Kids always seem so photogenic. No matter if their smiles are too big, their hair a mess.

Not only that, but they’re always the most eager subjects.

This little one and her partner in mischief were running around Bridal Shower Number 1 with balloons, helping to unwrap presents and stick ribbons on a hat for the bride. When they saw me with a camera, they walked right up and stood for their pictures to be taken.

There were kids at Bridal Shower Number 2, too. It was a Pampered Chef party, so this little girl volunteered to help make the mini quiche.

[Camera update: I don't really have an update. It seems there may be a camera that a friend, one of M's roommates, found on a camping trip, that may be offered up as a replacement for my A620. No details on it yet, and until I have it in my hands, I wouldn't call it official. I may be requisitioning M's camera for the wedding this weekend, so hopefully there will still be a few photographs!]