The last wedding I attended was my own. Four hundred years ago. I simply don’t know anyone of my generation who is single. Fiddledaddy and I were the last hold outs in our family. We like to think of ourselves as late bloomers. Which is why we are in our mid to late 40’s and still changing diapers.
And why we are certain that having children is for the young.
Some of our smarter siblings and in-laws, who had their act together much younger than we did, began their families before they needed reading glasses to check the dosage on the Infant Tylenol bottle. They are now facing an empty nest. Sending their children off to college, and then thankfully, marrying them off. Those particular siblings and in-laws now sit back and laugh at us chasing diapered toddlers, as we reek of Ben-Gay.
And they boast of quiet Sunday mornings, reading the newspaper in their underwear. A visual I’m still trying to erase from my head.
We attended the wedding of the oldest niece this weekend. I had plenty of warning for this wedding. And I intended to go shopping for something suitable to wear. But, I plowed through excuse after excuse, and the day arrived, and still I had not gone shopping. I vowed not to buy another article of clothes for myself until I finished losing all my baby weight. Which may be when I marry off my own children at the rate I’m going.
In desperation, I pulled out the purple suit on the day of the wedding. The purple suit has been my standby dress up outfit for the last 5 years or so. It’s made of a wonderful lycra type material that hides what needs to be hidden, and stretches where it really ought to have another 6 or 7 inches of material. And it zipped. The advantage that this suit has over, say, a potato sack, is that the label tells me I’m a single digit size.
In other words, it lies to me.
I even broke out the control top panty hose in honor of the grand occasion. I don’t think I’ve put on a pair of panty hose in this century. And I thought I had it goin’ on.
Until I climbed into the van.
The skirt was, um, a tad bit shorter than I remembered. To test this theory on the drive to the wedding, I discovered I had to climb over the passenger seat to the middle aisle of seats where Jensen was strapped in. Because he spotted the yogurt that I had brought for lunch. And keeping the boy fed when we have such a long afternoon ahead of us was more of a priority than my hunger issues. Which are considerable.
Fiddledaddy, trying to keep his eyes on the road said, “You’re not climbing back there are you? There are cars behind you and that skirt……” Before he could finish the sentence I had kicked off my black pumps and started the ascent. I had one leg swung over, completely missing Fiddledaddy’s head, but my foot got caught in the DVD holder strap. I tumbled into the back seat, while managing to keep the yogurt righted. And everyone within a car length of us got a story to tell around the office water cooler this week.
I make it a practice to always do all of my own stunts.
We made it to the wedding on time and were seated at the end of the family pew where we could make a hasty exit
if when Jensen lost his composure. I saw my brother-in-law, poised at the threshold of the aisle, his baby girl hanging onto his arm. And I no longer envied his empty nest. Looking at my own two princess girls, with their eyes shining, watching their cousin get married, I could not imagine the day, many years from now, when we hand them over at the end of the aisle. It is beyond my comprehension.
I blinked back my tears.
The wedding was beautiful. And no, Jensen didn’t make it through the vows. The picture taking at the end was a bit of a struggle. Especially when I had to race down the aisle to tackle Jensen, keeping him from making a spectacle of himself on the alter during the professional photography session.
In my micro-mini skirt.
Which in hindsight (no pun intended), the only spectacle was me. Thankfully, the family is use to me. Besides, a promise of an open bar at the reception awaited us all.
Stay tuned for “The Reception” tomorrow. I can only handle so much public humiliation in one post.