Wedding of the Century Part Deux: Chapter 2

Boy#3, Boy#1, Lovely Girl#1, Lovely Girl#2, Boy#2, MoG, FoG, Boy#4

This is the largest photo I have ever attached to a post in this site, and my apologies to Boy#4 for hiding his handsome face behind a description of his mother. No, I did not intend for it to take over the entire top half of your computer/iPad/phone screen, but once I had hit the wrong size button I realized that in some ways this little error was emblematic of the WotC: It was not exactly what I had anticipated but oh, how I loved it.

When they were growing up my mental picture of what our Boys' weddings would look like was heavily influenced by what Husband's and my wedding looked like--a nice little ceremony in a pretty church, with cake and punch in the church basement following. My brother and a dear friend sang our favorite songs, and my father-in-law officiated using the little black book he had used during decades in the pastorate.

Fast-forward 30-odd years to Oct. 13. I have not yet seen the videos of Boy#2 and Lovely Girl#2's wedding, but I'm suspecting they will be strongly reminiscent of this:



In so many ways our wedding was reminiscent of that other little party, from its setting in a gorgeous historic church to the Anglican ceremony to the throngs of people waiting outside the church doors. Okay, those crowds were not actually there for the wedding but for the book fair being held in the adjacent square, but not a person walked by who did not smile and call out congratulations during the pre-ceremony photography session.

The day had started out gray and misty, and at one lull during that photography Lovely Girl#1 and I ducked into the National Public Radio tent to get out of the chill.

"Hey! Mother of the Groom!" one of the NPR workers called out. "Have you had anything to eat today?"

"Not much," I admitted.

"Here!" she said, thrusting a bag of potato chips into my hand. "You're going to need some energy. And take this, too!"

It's like she knew me: Chips and a  Stand With the Facts t-shirt from WBUR in Boston are my love language.

Even better than the spectacular setting and the kindness of the passersby, though, was the feeling in the air that all was perfect, just as it should be.

I had worried that our side of the aisle would be undermanned. The distance from Kansas, the expense of travel, even the unexpected hospitalization of my father (he's doing fine but was deeply disappointed that he couldn't travel) meant only two rows had to be reserved for the groom's family.

But wedding magic is real. The same joy that was sealing the marriage of our son to his beloved was weaving together the families and friends, and there was no "us and them," only "us."

Tomorrow (or soon, depending on computer access that has been spotty during my writing hours), I'll start writing about the things you've asked about. My dress, which I know is what you're really waiting for. The best moments. The groom-and-mother dance that almost was danced to what would have been the creepiest symbolism ever. My make-up, although I promise I will not post more than half a dozen pictures of that.

Almost none of it was exactly what I expected. Almost all of it was better.