It always cracks me up how she gets so angry when something doesn't do what she wants. She totally gets that from me.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
She Wears Her Sunglasses at Night
It always cracks me up how she gets so angry when something doesn't do what she wants. She totally gets that from me.
Neighbors
Every now and then, I'll mention in posts how awesome our neighbors are (and no, Bergrens, I'm not just sayin' this because we just all became Facebook friends. It's a good move, though, isn't it?).
We get along so well with our neighbors. They're all fun-loving, kind people, and I feel so comfortable knowing that if anything ever went wrong over here, I could run to any one of the four houses around us and they would all be glad to help me (the Bergrens were even so kind to mention recently that if I go into labor in the middle of the night, they would take care of Nora for us).
Most people don't get that lucky when it comes to neighbors. In fact, we've had worse neighbors in the house that the Bergrens live in now. Ever since the Bergrens moved in, our quality of life has improved dramatically. That's no joke. It's a good feeling to know that the people next door aren't going to rob our house while we're gone. In fact, it's a good feeling to know that if our house was on fire, they probably didn't start it, and they'd probably call the fire department. All good things.
Frank and Dolores keep to themselves most of the time (and, you know what, if I were them, I probably would, too). They're a retired couple that spends their days doing exactly what they want—working in their amazing flower garden, working in the garage, watching TV, reading, taking walks, listening to music, the list probably goes on and on. We don't see them constantly (they only come out for a few hours during the middle of the day if it's gorgeous outside), but every time we interact with them, it's always such a sweet exchange.
In fact, today, when I got home from having an ultrasound on my armpit (still don't have the results, by the way, but the technician thinks I've got nothing to worry about), Nora and I found this on our patio:
We get along so well with our neighbors. They're all fun-loving, kind people, and I feel so comfortable knowing that if anything ever went wrong over here, I could run to any one of the four houses around us and they would all be glad to help me (the Bergrens were even so kind to mention recently that if I go into labor in the middle of the night, they would take care of Nora for us).
Most people don't get that lucky when it comes to neighbors. In fact, we've had worse neighbors in the house that the Bergrens live in now. Ever since the Bergrens moved in, our quality of life has improved dramatically. That's no joke. It's a good feeling to know that the people next door aren't going to rob our house while we're gone. In fact, it's a good feeling to know that if our house was on fire, they probably didn't start it, and they'd probably call the fire department. All good things.
Frank and Dolores keep to themselves most of the time (and, you know what, if I were them, I probably would, too). They're a retired couple that spends their days doing exactly what they want—working in their amazing flower garden, working in the garage, watching TV, reading, taking walks, listening to music, the list probably goes on and on. We don't see them constantly (they only come out for a few hours during the middle of the day if it's gorgeous outside), but every time we interact with them, it's always such a sweet exchange.
In fact, today, when I got home from having an ultrasound on my armpit (still don't have the results, by the way, but the technician thinks I've got nothing to worry about), Nora and I found this on our patio:
I called Frank when I got inside (he lives next door, but I was heating up our lunch and making sure a little girl wasn't running all over tarnation), and I asked him if he knew anything about the cute, little, red chair that is sitting on our patio. He said that he might.
He made it for Nora. Can you believe that? How stinking sweet is that?
Maybe the guy just wants some cookies, but he doesn't have to build a chair to get 'em. I think he knows that.
We are truly blessed when it comes to neighbors. We couldn't have picked 'em better or nicer ourselves.
He made it for Nora. Can you believe that? How stinking sweet is that?
Maybe the guy just wants some cookies, but he doesn't have to build a chair to get 'em. I think he knows that.
We are truly blessed when it comes to neighbors. We couldn't have picked 'em better or nicer ourselves.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Pink Tutu
I dressed Nora up in a tutu for church and Father's Day yesterday. I took many pictures. Looky-looky:
Here are my favorites (larger size): I think she liked it.
Oh, and then there's also this:
The end.
Friday, June 19, 2009
B is for Broomba
We are experiencing some serious weather weirdness over here. All day, it's been threatening to storm (and it stormed all last night—and Nora didn't sleep well through that), but every time I know in my gut that it's going to storm, the sun arrives. I give up! I keep running Nora outside to play every moment that I think we're good to go, and we keep missing that sunshine. She is now napping, so, of course, the sun is out. I'm seriously contemplating mowing our lawn, but I really can't be far from my work computer today. I've got a deadline, and I'm waiting to see about more changes to that project.
This morning, I realized that Nora's vocabulary is just exploding. Several words that she's used (just today) are: shoes, book, thank you (pronounced, "dankoo"), thanks, dog, kitty, juice, cheese, cookie, more, up (whenever I ask her if she wants down, she says, "Up!" and she always says, "Up!" during one of the songs on my cousin's kids' album), and no (of course). She says lots of other words, too. She said "monkey" yesterday when we were reading Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed. I think that might be her first two-syllable word. She says Mommy and Daddy, and she pretty much will repeat any word when I say, "Say ____."
Speaking of Five Little Monkeys: one of these days, I need to get Willis to record me reading that book to Nora. Every time I say, "The mama called the doctor. The doctor said, 'NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!'" the kid wrinkles up her nose, gets this huge grin on her face, and she even growls sometimes. It's hysterical!
Oh, and speaking of books: I can now completely recite the book B is for Bear from memory. No joke.
I think Nora adores our neighbor, Zach, who is 13 years old and taller than I am. Every time she sees him, she gets this huge grin on her face, and she pulls her shirt up, exposing her belly. I always say, "Well, I don't know why she feels she has to flash you every time she sees you, Zach."
I think it embarrasses him a bit, and I do take some small joy in doing that. Muahahaha.
I've got a lot to do before this baby arrives, and it's hitting me pretty hard lately. I wonder if that's why my eye is still twitchy. I'm getting fairly stressed about it. Whenever Nora wakes up in the night (and after she's calmed down again), as I fall asleep, my mind races and thinks about all of the stuff that I need to do to prep for kid #2. Oi. I'm not ready!
In other news, Nora answered the phone yesterday. I was screening a call (the number actually said "Telemarketer" under it. Um. No. I will not pick up), and I let it ring. Nora ran over and grabbed the cordless phone. I'm pretty sure the person on the other end got an earful of baby tell-off. It was pretty fantastic. If I had been more on the ball, I'd have tried to get that on camera, but by the time it was happening (and by the time I realized she was probably, indeed, talking to someone), it was too late. Plus, I didn't want to miss it.
Could you imagine calling someone and getting baby gibberish on the other end? That would probably make my day—especially if I was a telemarketer.
In other, other news, I want a Roomba iRobot that follows my cat everywhere he goes to suck up all the freaking hair he keeps dropping all over the floor (and kitchen table). Is that too much to ask? I swear that cat thinks he's giving me "gifts" by leaving part of himself all over the place. I'm about ready to freaking punt him! He also barfs a heck of a lot more than a cat ever should (always immediately after eating), and he always chooses to do it in the stupidest places (for example: my ironing board or on the couch in the basement or in an out-of reach area on the ledge in our basement). Punt, punt, PUNT! Smash his face!
I'd also like a Roomba iRobot that follows my dog to not only suck up his hair but also to torment him (he's a huge wuss about vacuum cleaners, and if one was, like, sentient and following him, I think he'd just wig). That would be money. Then, I could, like, walk through the house without tripping on one of these punks (because they'd be too preoccupied to run underfoot every time I get up to move). Maybe.
This morning, I realized that Nora's vocabulary is just exploding. Several words that she's used (just today) are: shoes, book, thank you (pronounced, "dankoo"), thanks, dog, kitty, juice, cheese, cookie, more, up (whenever I ask her if she wants down, she says, "Up!" and she always says, "Up!" during one of the songs on my cousin's kids' album), and no (of course). She says lots of other words, too. She said "monkey" yesterday when we were reading Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed. I think that might be her first two-syllable word. She says Mommy and Daddy, and she pretty much will repeat any word when I say, "Say ____."
Speaking of Five Little Monkeys: one of these days, I need to get Willis to record me reading that book to Nora. Every time I say, "The mama called the doctor. The doctor said, 'NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!'" the kid wrinkles up her nose, gets this huge grin on her face, and she even growls sometimes. It's hysterical!
Oh, and speaking of books: I can now completely recite the book B is for Bear from memory. No joke.
I think Nora adores our neighbor, Zach, who is 13 years old and taller than I am. Every time she sees him, she gets this huge grin on her face, and she pulls her shirt up, exposing her belly. I always say, "Well, I don't know why she feels she has to flash you every time she sees you, Zach."
I think it embarrasses him a bit, and I do take some small joy in doing that. Muahahaha.
I've got a lot to do before this baby arrives, and it's hitting me pretty hard lately. I wonder if that's why my eye is still twitchy. I'm getting fairly stressed about it. Whenever Nora wakes up in the night (and after she's calmed down again), as I fall asleep, my mind races and thinks about all of the stuff that I need to do to prep for kid #2. Oi. I'm not ready!
In other news, Nora answered the phone yesterday. I was screening a call (the number actually said "Telemarketer" under it. Um. No. I will not pick up), and I let it ring. Nora ran over and grabbed the cordless phone. I'm pretty sure the person on the other end got an earful of baby tell-off. It was pretty fantastic. If I had been more on the ball, I'd have tried to get that on camera, but by the time it was happening (and by the time I realized she was probably, indeed, talking to someone), it was too late. Plus, I didn't want to miss it.
Could you imagine calling someone and getting baby gibberish on the other end? That would probably make my day—especially if I was a telemarketer.
In other, other news, I want a Roomba iRobot that follows my cat everywhere he goes to suck up all the freaking hair he keeps dropping all over the floor (and kitchen table). Is that too much to ask? I swear that cat thinks he's giving me "gifts" by leaving part of himself all over the place. I'm about ready to freaking punt him! He also barfs a heck of a lot more than a cat ever should (always immediately after eating), and he always chooses to do it in the stupidest places (for example: my ironing board or on the couch in the basement or in an out-of reach area on the ledge in our basement). Punt, punt, PUNT! Smash his face!
I'd also like a Roomba iRobot that follows my dog to not only suck up his hair but also to torment him (he's a huge wuss about vacuum cleaners, and if one was, like, sentient and following him, I think he'd just wig). That would be money. Then, I could, like, walk through the house without tripping on one of these punks (because they'd be too preoccupied to run underfoot every time I get up to move). Maybe.
Dilly out.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Second Chance
Willis and I often listen to Q101 when we're in the car anywhere from here to Chicago. Q101 is a Chicago alternative rock radio station. We generally like it quite a bit because it plays a good mix of new stuff with the old, 90s grunge rock that we miss so dearly from our teen years (we also enjoy Sherman and Tingle). For the past several months, they've been playing the song "Second Chance" by Shinedown, like, constantly. At first, I remember thinking, "This song is okay with it's driving beat and whatnot, I guess—not really, but it's passable enough that I won't change the station."
After hearing it over and over again (and honestly thinking that the guy was saying, "I just saw Halley's Comet shawaaay"), I just couldn't stand it anymore. I legitimately have to shut off the radio while that song is on now, and if I can't (like if I'm too concerned about driving or if I'm riding while Willi's driving), I emphasize (by singing it) the Halley's Comet line for anyone that may be with me in the car (that's usually Nora and sometimes Willis). The lyrics are just pathetic. Last night, after seeing on a TV commercial that "Second Chance" by Shinedown is apparently the number one hit of the summer, Willis and I finally remembered to go look up the lyrics. Here's a link to the lyrics (apparently, you can't copy and paste lyrics or something). If these lyrics aren't sounding familiar to you, here's a link to the video on YouTube.
Good freaking grief. Number one hit? Are you kidding me? "Tell my mother, tell my father, I've done the best I can."
Weak. Go tell 'em yourself. I doubt they're gonna agree if they've heard your number one hit.
After hearing it over and over again (and honestly thinking that the guy was saying, "I just saw Halley's Comet shawaaay"), I just couldn't stand it anymore. I legitimately have to shut off the radio while that song is on now, and if I can't (like if I'm too concerned about driving or if I'm riding while Willi's driving), I emphasize (by singing it) the Halley's Comet line for anyone that may be with me in the car (that's usually Nora and sometimes Willis). The lyrics are just pathetic. Last night, after seeing on a TV commercial that "Second Chance" by Shinedown is apparently the number one hit of the summer, Willis and I finally remembered to go look up the lyrics. Here's a link to the lyrics (apparently, you can't copy and paste lyrics or something). If these lyrics aren't sounding familiar to you, here's a link to the video on YouTube.
Good freaking grief. Number one hit? Are you kidding me? "Tell my mother, tell my father, I've done the best I can."
Weak. Go tell 'em yourself. I doubt they're gonna agree if they've heard your number one hit.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Schtuff
I'm taking a few minutes to update this thing because I'm feeling all productive today. I cranked out about 6.5 hours of work (Nora played and napped really well today) that needed to happen. As soon as I finish this blog post, I'm heading downstairs with my little rat to play until Willis gets home. Unfortunately, it's rainy out there, so we will be doing our playing indoors.
I had an OB appointment yesterday. I'm going every two weeks already (this pregnancy is flying, I tell you). Everything was normal. I've gained a total of nine pounds this whole time. The baby is flipping around and doing well. I've had a weird armpit for awhile (it's all puffy for some reason), and my CNM scheduled me for an ultrasound to check into that. I've actually had to have an ultrasound on my armpit before (shortly after Nora was born) because I found a lump in there (it was apparently just a weird cyst thing that eventually went away). I have a feeling I just have a wacky, rogue milk duct, but Lisa wants to be sure it's not something else. I'm not worried about it, but I'm going to the ultrasound when the time comes.
My world just changed again over here. Nora is climbing more than she was and is more fearless than ever. She's also stopped sleeping well. So, she's wearing me down (and I'm getting larger and slower). The past several weeks, she's been waking in the night and screaming for me. Every time, she's standing up in her crib and fully awake. I'm not sure what's up with that. She used to be such a good, little sleeper. I'm really hoping she stops with that soon so that I can catch some Zs before this little boy is born. I'm also hoping she doesn't wake up in the night with the baby boy when he comes home. I think Willis and I are going to be tired for a good, well, until our kids are out of the house. Oi.
Nora's been saying a lot more lately, and she's getting some really long, curly hair going. It's going to be time for her first haircut soon (I imagine it'll just be her bangs)!
Here are some recent pics:
In other news, I'm currently reading New Moon from the Twilight series. It's okay so far. I'm about 200 pages in (which is really, really good for me considering I've only spent, like, part of one day reading it so far). I don't think I love it as much as everyone else does, but I'll admit that it's entertaining. I still prefer the Harry Potter series thus far. I'll give it an honest chance, though.
I determined two nights ago that one really cannot watch the movie "The Pursuit of Happyness" more than once. It's really, really painful. It was on TV on Sunday night, and I finally gave up when there was about 45 minutes left (I knew what was yet to come, and I knew I couldn't bear to watch it again). Willis gave up about 20 minutes before I did and for the same reason.
Time to go play with a rug rat! Cheerio!
I had an OB appointment yesterday. I'm going every two weeks already (this pregnancy is flying, I tell you). Everything was normal. I've gained a total of nine pounds this whole time. The baby is flipping around and doing well. I've had a weird armpit for awhile (it's all puffy for some reason), and my CNM scheduled me for an ultrasound to check into that. I've actually had to have an ultrasound on my armpit before (shortly after Nora was born) because I found a lump in there (it was apparently just a weird cyst thing that eventually went away). I have a feeling I just have a wacky, rogue milk duct, but Lisa wants to be sure it's not something else. I'm not worried about it, but I'm going to the ultrasound when the time comes.
My world just changed again over here. Nora is climbing more than she was and is more fearless than ever. She's also stopped sleeping well. So, she's wearing me down (and I'm getting larger and slower). The past several weeks, she's been waking in the night and screaming for me. Every time, she's standing up in her crib and fully awake. I'm not sure what's up with that. She used to be such a good, little sleeper. I'm really hoping she stops with that soon so that I can catch some Zs before this little boy is born. I'm also hoping she doesn't wake up in the night with the baby boy when he comes home. I think Willis and I are going to be tired for a good, well, until our kids are out of the house. Oi.
Nora's been saying a lot more lately, and she's getting some really long, curly hair going. It's going to be time for her first haircut soon (I imagine it'll just be her bangs)!
Here are some recent pics:
In other news, I'm currently reading New Moon from the Twilight series. It's okay so far. I'm about 200 pages in (which is really, really good for me considering I've only spent, like, part of one day reading it so far). I don't think I love it as much as everyone else does, but I'll admit that it's entertaining. I still prefer the Harry Potter series thus far. I'll give it an honest chance, though.
I determined two nights ago that one really cannot watch the movie "The Pursuit of Happyness" more than once. It's really, really painful. It was on TV on Sunday night, and I finally gave up when there was about 45 minutes left (I knew what was yet to come, and I knew I couldn't bear to watch it again). Willis gave up about 20 minutes before I did and for the same reason.
Time to go play with a rug rat! Cheerio!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Four Years
Four years ago, it was raining (like it is this morning), and I awoke at about the same time that I did today. Well, I guess one could say I awoke. I was barely snoozing the night prior because my mind was racing and worrying about minute (and major) details of the upcoming day. I knew the rain was going to make things interesting, and, what's more, it hadn't rained much at all that spring thus far.
I had that tingling going on in my belly that I'd only had a few other times in my life. It was the kind of tingling that happens when you wake up at four in the morning to get up with cousins or friends to go to an amusement park when you're about eleven years old, running on pure adrenaline. I was excited, but I couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness.
I wasn't nervous about the choice I was making that day. Not at all. Of all things, I knew that was solid. I was nervous about getting to the ceremony and hoping that I'd planned everything well enough that things would move smoothly and that the guests would be pleased. I was also secretly terrified that a certain ex-boyfriend could show up at the ceremony and pull a move out of "The Graduate."
"ELAINE!"
Luckily, I'm pretty sure that guy never saw that movie.
It turns out that my nervousness was well-founded for the "getting to the ceremony" part. On the corner of Earl and 26 in Lafayette (I was on my way to get my hair done), I hit the brakes for a stop light only to completely lose traction and slide straight through it. At that moment as I saw that red light passing over my car, I remember thinking, "Oh. I get it. I'm actually not going to live to see my wedding."
Luckily for me, I slid into the back corner of a Grand Jeep Cherokee with a mother and two very, very upset kids (well, I'm pretty sure I was the reason they were upset). Nobody else slid into me, and nobody else slid into her either—thank God.
There I was: in the middle of a busy intersection wearing something completely ridiculous (I had on a small camisole with capri sweats and my wedding shoes—I had them on so I wouldn't forget them). My veil was hanging in the back of my car. I wasn't really expecting to be seen by the public yet.
After much emotional, bawling trauma (my registration had slipped back behind the flooring of my car from my glove box, and I never found it), my friend, Bethany, came to pick me up and drive me to my hair appointment. Of all the people in the world, I think she was probably the best person for that job (and the fact that she was there and able to take care of me was a blessing from God—I'm convinced of it). I was a sobbing mess, and she helped me to avoid the subject at all costs (because, even though I knew it'd be funny one day, every time the subject came up, I was a blubbering, ridiculous puddle).
I remember how other wedding parties (yes—other people were getting married that day) were looking at me while I was getting my hair and makeup done. They all had this face that said, "Oh, honey. If you don't want to get married, don't do it."
How could they have even had a clue that I had just walked out of a near-death situation? (My car was totaled, by the way.) I wasn't about to go explaining it to them. It just would've meant more tears and smeared makeup.
Bethany waited with me through my appointment, and she took me over to the church (she's seriously sent from above). I walked in the door, spotted a couple of my bridesmaids at the bottom of the steps, and I promptly slipped on the first stair and slid down four or five more due to my wet shoes (and the steps were concrete with thin, little strips for gripping that I apparently missed just enough). I banged up my knee really well, and I scraped up the skin on my arm trying to stop myself from falling further (I grabbed the rail). There was more crying after that, too.
I was such a freaking mess once I got to the basement dressing room of the church, I just tried to keep quiet or only talk about things that had nothing to do with wrecks of any sort. I had missed photos prior to the ceremony (we had planned to take several so that the space between the ceremony and reception would be shorter). I had missed chit-chatting and goofing off with my bridesmaids.
My sister, Julie, was bawling, too, but she had her own reasons. Her husband was stuck at the hotel with serious food poisoning, she was pregnant (that alone could do it, honestly), and she had two toddlers to care for while she was wearing a dress that was never intended for a pregnant woman. One of the toddlers was part of the wedding—my flower girl. She wouldn't put her dress on (she wasn't feeling well, either), and she was screaming under a table. I looked at Julie, and I said, "Honestly, if she goes down the aisle naked or not at all, it wouldn't be the worst thing that's happened today."
I know that probably didn't help Julie feel better (I didn't realize she had no idea I had wrecked my car or fell down the stairs that morning—she may have known about the stairs, actually), but I seriously would've been okay with it. I was just happy to be at the church and alive, and the only stairs I had to walk on were all uphill (which was safer than downhill at that point).
Strangely enough, Jennifer (the flower girl) cheered up last-minute and put on her dress. She did wonderfully, the little ham. It was as if she knew she didn't have to do it, and maybe that calmed her. Maybe the ring bearer, Liam, helped give her some confidence once she got up to the doors. Or, maybe it was the help of the bridesmaids who talked her out from under the table. I don't really know. I wasn't really able to pay attention, unfortunately. I wish I had seen what really turned her around. It had to be pretty amazing.
When the music started, and when I met my dad at the back of the church, my day improved dramatically. In fact, from that moment, that day was the best day of my whole life. Mind you, I wouldn't want to have that sort of day everyday (or even more than once, honestly—any aspect of that entire day), but it certainly was the start of all of the best days of my life. It's pretty wild, too, because I'm pretty sure that morning may have been the worst morning of my entire life.
All the days that have followed that one have been nothing but better (and more fulfilling) than the days prior to that day. It was just a day in some hot, uncomfortable clothes. It was just a ceremony, but because of that day, we are here together, we are happy together, and we'll stay that way for the rest of time.
Our little girl is 17 months old today, and when we look at her and each other, we realize how lucky (and blessed) we are. I can't wait to see what else is in store for us (even if any of it could be bad).
We aren't two, different people. We're one, whole person.
Happy Anniversary, Willi.
I had that tingling going on in my belly that I'd only had a few other times in my life. It was the kind of tingling that happens when you wake up at four in the morning to get up with cousins or friends to go to an amusement park when you're about eleven years old, running on pure adrenaline. I was excited, but I couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness.
I wasn't nervous about the choice I was making that day. Not at all. Of all things, I knew that was solid. I was nervous about getting to the ceremony and hoping that I'd planned everything well enough that things would move smoothly and that the guests would be pleased. I was also secretly terrified that a certain ex-boyfriend could show up at the ceremony and pull a move out of "The Graduate."
"ELAINE!"
Luckily, I'm pretty sure that guy never saw that movie.
It turns out that my nervousness was well-founded for the "getting to the ceremony" part. On the corner of Earl and 26 in Lafayette (I was on my way to get my hair done), I hit the brakes for a stop light only to completely lose traction and slide straight through it. At that moment as I saw that red light passing over my car, I remember thinking, "Oh. I get it. I'm actually not going to live to see my wedding."
Luckily for me, I slid into the back corner of a Grand Jeep Cherokee with a mother and two very, very upset kids (well, I'm pretty sure I was the reason they were upset). Nobody else slid into me, and nobody else slid into her either—thank God.
There I was: in the middle of a busy intersection wearing something completely ridiculous (I had on a small camisole with capri sweats and my wedding shoes—I had them on so I wouldn't forget them). My veil was hanging in the back of my car. I wasn't really expecting to be seen by the public yet.
After much emotional, bawling trauma (my registration had slipped back behind the flooring of my car from my glove box, and I never found it), my friend, Bethany, came to pick me up and drive me to my hair appointment. Of all the people in the world, I think she was probably the best person for that job (and the fact that she was there and able to take care of me was a blessing from God—I'm convinced of it). I was a sobbing mess, and she helped me to avoid the subject at all costs (because, even though I knew it'd be funny one day, every time the subject came up, I was a blubbering, ridiculous puddle).
I remember how other wedding parties (yes—other people were getting married that day) were looking at me while I was getting my hair and makeup done. They all had this face that said, "Oh, honey. If you don't want to get married, don't do it."
How could they have even had a clue that I had just walked out of a near-death situation? (My car was totaled, by the way.) I wasn't about to go explaining it to them. It just would've meant more tears and smeared makeup.
Bethany waited with me through my appointment, and she took me over to the church (she's seriously sent from above). I walked in the door, spotted a couple of my bridesmaids at the bottom of the steps, and I promptly slipped on the first stair and slid down four or five more due to my wet shoes (and the steps were concrete with thin, little strips for gripping that I apparently missed just enough). I banged up my knee really well, and I scraped up the skin on my arm trying to stop myself from falling further (I grabbed the rail). There was more crying after that, too.
I was such a freaking mess once I got to the basement dressing room of the church, I just tried to keep quiet or only talk about things that had nothing to do with wrecks of any sort. I had missed photos prior to the ceremony (we had planned to take several so that the space between the ceremony and reception would be shorter). I had missed chit-chatting and goofing off with my bridesmaids.
My sister, Julie, was bawling, too, but she had her own reasons. Her husband was stuck at the hotel with serious food poisoning, she was pregnant (that alone could do it, honestly), and she had two toddlers to care for while she was wearing a dress that was never intended for a pregnant woman. One of the toddlers was part of the wedding—my flower girl. She wouldn't put her dress on (she wasn't feeling well, either), and she was screaming under a table. I looked at Julie, and I said, "Honestly, if she goes down the aisle naked or not at all, it wouldn't be the worst thing that's happened today."
I know that probably didn't help Julie feel better (I didn't realize she had no idea I had wrecked my car or fell down the stairs that morning—she may have known about the stairs, actually), but I seriously would've been okay with it. I was just happy to be at the church and alive, and the only stairs I had to walk on were all uphill (which was safer than downhill at that point).
Strangely enough, Jennifer (the flower girl) cheered up last-minute and put on her dress. She did wonderfully, the little ham. It was as if she knew she didn't have to do it, and maybe that calmed her. Maybe the ring bearer, Liam, helped give her some confidence once she got up to the doors. Or, maybe it was the help of the bridesmaids who talked her out from under the table. I don't really know. I wasn't really able to pay attention, unfortunately. I wish I had seen what really turned her around. It had to be pretty amazing.
When the music started, and when I met my dad at the back of the church, my day improved dramatically. In fact, from that moment, that day was the best day of my whole life. Mind you, I wouldn't want to have that sort of day everyday (or even more than once, honestly—any aspect of that entire day), but it certainly was the start of all of the best days of my life. It's pretty wild, too, because I'm pretty sure that morning may have been the worst morning of my entire life.
All the days that have followed that one have been nothing but better (and more fulfilling) than the days prior to that day. It was just a day in some hot, uncomfortable clothes. It was just a ceremony, but because of that day, we are here together, we are happy together, and we'll stay that way for the rest of time.
Our little girl is 17 months old today, and when we look at her and each other, we realize how lucky (and blessed) we are. I can't wait to see what else is in store for us (even if any of it could be bad).
We aren't two, different people. We're one, whole person.
Happy Anniversary, Willi.
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