by Susan Wiggs
It was awesome.
And remember the whole ugly, photo-ruining sobbing down the aisle crisis?
Weeks later, I got my wedding photographs and video back, and it turns out that my “ugly cry” wasn’t so ugly after all. Sure, I looked emotional and had the teensiest bit of a double chin when I ducked my head shyly in an attempt to hide my tears. But mostly I look like a beautiful, emotional bride who had just been hit by the significance of the moment.
I had nothing to worry about.
And that’s my advice to you, brides: if you’re hit with some random emotion or feeling that you weren’t expecting during your wedding ceremony, ride it out. Don’t think about it or worry about what it will look like in your photographs. The love you’re feeling will make you beautiful, no matter what.
Plus, if it’s really that bad (and it won’t be), there’s always Photoshop.
SUSAN
THE BIG DAY HAS ARRIVED!
“Can I have a bagel? Wait, I’d rather have an English muffin, with freezer jam.”
“Where’s the dustpan?”
“What’s your wireless password again? I need to check my email.”
“Is Barkis allowed to eat that?”
“Is there a dry cleaner nearby?”
“The printer’s jammed and I need to print the MapQuest directions.”
“We’re out of coffee.”
“The dog just yarked on the carpet.”
“You never told me I’d need cuff links.”
“Can I borrow your hair dryer? And will you iron this shirt?”
“Someone’s at the door.”
Let’s hope it’s an ax murderer. Because, face it, as much as you adore your family and have been dreaming of a houseful o’ love for this blessed event, you kind of want them dead right now. All of them, right down to the little old lady rooting around in the fridge for the jar of Marmite.
It’s your daughter’s damn wedding day. Doesn’t anyone appreciate that?
Fortunately, I have a completely nonfelonious solution for dealing with a situation like this—and trust me, it will come up. Four words: Run Away From Home.
Yes, I mean it. Smile excitedly, check your watch or cell phone screen and say, “I have to go now. I’ve got a hair appointment.”
“At 7:00 in the morning?” Skeptical frowns all around.
“The hairdresser insisted. She’s giving me a special process.” Lie with impunity. No one will quibble with a hairdresser’s special process. Then say, “I’ll see you at the ceremony!”
Breeze out of there, jump in the car and floor it.
A couple of assumptions. Prior to making your great escape, you have done everything on your mental and/or written checklist. You have your dress, shoes, jewelry and makeup already stashed in the car. (Note: You have my permission to forget your Spanx—you know, those punishing undergarments that suck everything in. No one will think less of you for it.)
Grab your purse (take the cell phone, but turn the ringer off for now) and drive. Where you go is up to you. Just make sure it’s peaceful, quiet and unknown to people in need of English muffins or freezer jam. Stop at a latte stand and get yourself something tall, sweet and creamy. Make sure you have a fat, juicy novel to read.
I really did have a hair appointment the morning of the wedding. Not at 7:00 a.m., though. So what I did was, I got my double-tall-skinny-vanilla and took it to the waterfront park, which at that hour was deserted except for some really quiet people doing tai chi, and a Border Collie stalking some killdeer. I stood watching the sky turn from pink to gold, and I pictured my daughter at every phase of her life—every beautiful, naughty, glorious, frustrating, hilarious, triumphant, despairing and joyous moment of her life—and with every cell of spiritual energy I had, I wished her well. And had a little cry.
Okay, kind of a big cry.
Then I got over myself, went and sat on the front porch of the salon and did my nails. A French manicure with seashell pink. (Tip: Always try to patronize a beauty shop that has a front porch.)
Take some deep breaths. Don’t touch anything until the nail polish sets hard. And for heaven’s sake, quit fretting. Don’t worry about abandoning your family, your houseguests, even your stubbornly clueless spouse. It’s not your job to manage everything. That’s what you do every other day of your life.
You need to take time on the day of the wedding that’s just for you. You need to remember this is a spiritual, life-changing event, not to be taken lightly, so give it the time and space it deserves.
As for the above-mentioned spouse, you probably have one of your own. Maybe you’ve had him for decades and you’re still not done raising him. That’s because—news flash, hello—he’s a guy. He is not going to turn into Richard Gere in Shall We Dance? overnight. Or ever, for that matter.
Just remind yourself of this—you’ll be surprised at how well he comports himself, left to his own devices. Maybe the pleats of his cummerbund will be facing down. It’s quite possible he’s wearing zip-ties where the cuff links are supposed to be. And, um, you might catch a glimpse of athletic tube sock peeking out of his tux shoe. I’m just saying.
But again, remember, a joyous smile covers a multitude of flaws. This is the guy who helped you raise the princess bride. He’s fabulous, when it comes down to it. My editor and friend, Margaret, had a great suggestion I wish I’d taken—after the postwedding dust settles, jump in the car with this guy and head out for your own little recovery-moon. That comes later. For now, though, just get him into some semblance of a tux and hope for the best.
Better yet, take advantage of all available family members. It would be a great idea to leave him in the care of your two most irresistible nieces. Honestly, have you ever known him to say no to his nieces?
Tell the nieces that the hairstylist is supposed to make him look like Dr. McDreamy on Grey’s Anatomy. Tell them they must not allow him to smoosh down his hair with his lucky baseball cap. Tell them there must not be any visible duct tape anywhere on his person. Tell them his socks need to be black, even if it means getting out the Sharpie markers.
Style tip: The best wardrobe Nazi in the world is a twelve-year-old niece.
ELIZABETH
One intrinsic wedding detail that many couples seem to do the night before is the writing of the ceremony. Writing your ceremony should be a personal process involving you, your fiancé and your officiant. Oh, and if your mom is a romance writer, guess who else gets a say? Luckily for us, words (even the words of a published novelist) are cheap and asking for her input didn’t lead to another showdown between the Wiggs women. Honestly, at that point, as long as I wasn’t asking my mom for more money, she was happy.
The ceremony came together somewhat seamlessly—it’s pretty awesome having a family of writers. And our officiant provided us with the most customizable of templates so that we could incorporate any extra elements that we wanted. Michael, the man who married us, was a friend of my dad’s who was deeply intellectual and spiritual, a perfect fit since neither Dave nor I wanted our wedding to reflect a particular religion. Michael didn’t even mind that I refused to have the phrase till death do us part uttered during our ceremony. Because, I don’t know about you, but death will be nothing more than a speed-bump for Dave and me. Spiritual beliefs aside, if there is a heaven, I’m not about to show up there, see Dave and be, like, “Oh, uh, about that life we spent together…? Yeah. Uh, I don’t know if you remember our, ahem, agreement, but I think I’m going to go on a casual date with this angel I met the other day…”
It might sound stupid to you, but Michael didn’t bat an eyelash when I told him my reasoning for using the phrase forever and ever instead of till death do us part.
SUSAN
Moments before the ceremony, I considered drawing Elizabeth aside for one final mother-daughter chat before she headed out on her epic trek down the aisle. In the meltdown room, we would lovingly embrace and I would tell her…what? After all this time, and all the planning
and advice and arguments and hilarity, what on earth was left to say? That I love her? (Duh.) That I’m proud of her and excited for all the future holds? (Again, duh.)
The truth is, by the time this moment arrives, there is nothing left to say. She knows it all. You know she knows. Flogging the issue one last time is only going to make you both cry and ruin your makeup. Now your job is to simply walk down the aisle, take your seat in the front row and get out your hankie.
But still, be prepared to have a pang. There will come a moment when everything stops, like the wind taking a breath in the middle of a storm, and it hits you right in the solar plexus—your daughter’s life is heading off in a different direction, away from you.
There might be this searing thought: no bloody way. You want to grab the groom by his big, flapping ears and say, “Forget about it. I changed my mind. You can’t have her. She’s mine. I put twenty-five years of blood, sweat and tears into this child and you’re not about to take her away.”
I bet lots of moms feel this way. Of course you don’t want to let go. She’s your heart, your life, your soul, and there’s no way you’re sharing her.
These feelings are normal. And, trust me, they will pass, blown away by the winds of change. I’m not being a Pollyanna when I tell you that nobody’s taking her away. She’s not going anywhere. She’ll never leave your heart. That precious little girl, the one who whispered her secrets in your ear and snuggled up to you in the “big bed” is still there. She lives inside you, in your deepest memories, and she’ll always be there, no matter where life takes you…or her.
And something else to remember—there’s just more to love. She’s bagged a son for you, for petesake. Brought him home and dropped him at your feet like a prize twelve-point buck. And it doesn’t hurt a thing that he is gorgeous and kind and adoring. He and your husband do boy stuff together and giggle like third-graders. He’s tall enough to change any lightbulb. He eats everything that’s set before him, including the garnish. Kids and dogs love him. Your daughter loves him.
What more do you want? You get to be a new mom, except you don’t have to go through the trouble of birthing and raising him.
But still, you’re going to cry. You’re going to watch these two vibrant, beautiful young adults say their vows and take each other’s hands and turn toward each other, away from you. Come prepared with plenty of tissues and a magnifying mirror, because I guarantee, you’re going to lose a contact lens in a flood of tears. Just remember, watching your daughter’s dreams come true is the sweetest pain you’ve ever felt.
* * *
CHEAT SHEET
TOO BUSY DEBATING BETWEEN 1 CORINTHIANS AND
“I CARRY YOUR HEART WITH ME” BY E.E. CUMMINGS?
HERE’S YOUR CHEAT SHEET:
When you begin your walk down the aisle, you might be overcome by some unexpected emotion. Don’t freak out about it. And don’t worry about looking ugly if you’re crying—trust me, you don’t.
Try to get at least one or two personal details into the ceremony. Have your little sister read a poem, or choose a passage that has a lot of meaning for you. This is your moment.
Stay present. Be conscious of what it feels like as you become a wife. This is one of life’s transformative events. You’ll always remember it if you keep your eyes open and your mind clear.
* * *
14
PARTY ON, BRIDE
Wipe off your tears of joy, grab a glass of bubbly, put on your dancing shoes and get ready for a kick-ass time at your very own wedding reception
ELIZABETH
My wedding reception pretty much rocked the house. Held on the second floor of Seattle’s Pan Pacific Hotel, it took over two ballrooms, an outdoor terrace, four smaller rooms and the landing over the lobby. One small room housed a chef making custom crepes to order; another was transformed into a soft-seating lounge where we kept the music quiet so guests could chat and get away from the loudspeakers. The smaller of the two ballrooms housed our cupcakes and half the dinner tables, and the larger held the dance floor and the rest of our tables. Cute signage throughout the floor encouraged guests to explore the space, and we strategically placed the three bars to get our peeps to mill about and pass Yvonne’s photo booth.
Looking back, I can see how all the little lessons I learned while planning the wedding fed into the amazing reception we had. To put it bluntly, because I hadn’t been a total bitch to anyone, there wasn’t anything toxic about our party.
LESSON ONE: Be polite, gracious and considerate.
Learn to say “please,” “thank you,” “you’re right” and “yes, Mother.” Even when you don’t mean it. Those are going to be some of the hardest words to utter as wedding stress starts to pile up, but never forget your manners. A smile and a heartfelt “Thanks!” can make someone’s day. And never underestimate the magical properties of a single chocolate truffle.
Handwrite thank-you notes promptly, and not just for gifts. Thank your vendors and all the people who go above and beyond for you throughout your wedding planning process.
offer dinner to your vendors, such as your photographer, your videographer, your wedding planner and your musicians. Most places will offer you a cheaper meal option for them.
DO NOT FLAKE on appointments. Yes, you’re the bride and it’s all about you, but respect other people’s time and show up to all your appointments on time and in a good mood.
Handwrite apologies when you screw up that last rule.
Remember when I forgot to write Venita a thank-you note? Imagine how icky that would have been if I’d never apologized. Thinking about that makes my insides shrivel with awkwardness.
If that’s not convincing, then put yourself in the shoes of the people who have toiled and sweated for you. If you were in their place, wouldn’t you feel so much better if your clients acknowledged how much they appreciated you? A week before the wedding, Dave and I sat down and prewrote thank-you notes for all our vendors. And then we stuffed the envelopes with cash. For our incredible wedding planners, who had obsessed with us, fought for us and carried us through our stressful times, we enclosed gift cards for massages at a little boutique in Seattle.
Not to sound self-serving or anything, but I felt pretty great during my reception, knowing that I was going to brighten my professional entourage’s evening with a few thoughtful notes and a wad of thank-you money. Okay, that’s an understatement. I felt like the Mother Teresa of brides.
LESSON TWO: Be transparent. And not in the shallow sense—just make sure that the people you interact with know your expectations, values and goals.
Specify to your guests whether or not they’re allowed to bring extras. And be gracious when someone who wasn’t invited shows up.
Give the people working for you as much inspiration as possible. Don’t force your invitation designer to guess about your taste—send examples of things you like AND things you don’t like. I could have saved myself a ton of time and money if I had done that from my very first updo trial.
Find a way to graciously tell someone when you don’t like something. I am TERRIBLE at this (remember how I smiled and said I loved the hairstyle that caused me to have a snot-squirting breakdown in a parking lot?). You’re not doing anyone any favors by pretending to like something that just isn’t right with what you want—you must gently learn how to say, “I don’t know if this is exactly what I was envisioning. Could we try something a little more like this?” (Then whip out the inspiration photos you have because you followed the rule above.)
Be proactive about your wedding guests’ behavior.
Let’s use that last rule as an example. Dave and I knew that with over fifty of our twenty-five-year-old classmates from Pomona College attending the wedding, the alcohol consumption would be off the charts (case in point: one buddy decided it would be a good idea to do a handstand on a table in the middle of a restaurant after our night-before happy hour). We had some choices: we could wring our hands about it and stress
out, but do nothing and fork over the cash for the giant alcohol bill after our wedding was over; we could grow more and more bitter at our friends and their debauched ways in the weeks leading up to the Big Day; we could spend the whole evening policing everyone, knocking wineglasses out of their hands if we thought they’d had more than three drinks; or we could force everyone to pay for their own drinks at the reception. All pretty lame, right?
Then, on a trip to Costco one night, Dave and I were hit by the same bolt of inspiration-flavored lightning. We passed a display of inexpensive cases of wine, exclaimed over how cheap they were, and then realized: what if we provided mass quantities of cheap alcohol to our friends for their consumption before the reception? It would be like in college, when you preloaded your drunkenness before heading out to the football game!
