So we got married on Saturday January 5th.  In our last thrilling installment, we had just had our collective hairs styled by gum-cracking teens at the local beauty school and were speeding on our way to the church, oblivious to the carnage that awaited us.

Okay, not really.  But that sounds more interesting than, “And things were being prepared and more or less on schedule.”

Our besties Kirsten and her mister, The Davey, were up to their elbows in little nibbly things in the kitchen.  They volunteered to make the food for the wedding, which was in part why we held it when we did.  We also told them to make anything they wanted including — snicker — meatballs and little miniature weenie wraps.  (Get it?  For a lesbian wedding?  We slay ourselves!) And those little quiches, oh lordy how I do love those.  And cheesy poufs.  And and and.


At one point we were idly discussing, at home with the kids a few weeks before the wedding, whether it was feasible to have chocolate-covered strawberries at the reception when the Middle Spawn piped up with, “You guys should just have a chocolate fountain!”  We roundly proclaimed the brilliance of this idea.  She still reminds us how she is a genius because Mama told her so when she said that.   More on this later.

We flitted about throwing tablecloths on tables, fussing over the candles in the sanctuary, oohing and aahing over the flowers and the cake, both of which arrived very shortly before the wedding was to begin.

I cannot even begin to describe how gorgeous the flowers were.  Our flower guy, Justin at Bloke, did such an amazing job.

Bridezilla Moment:  The bouquets were not quite identical, though very similar.  The Lovely Rhonda asked me which one I wanted and I said, “Oh, I don’t care, they’re both pretty simil — OMG I WANT THAT ONE IT HAS PURPLE TENDRILS.”  And snatched it out of her hands like she was a dingo and it was my baby.  Observe:

And the cake!  Was so fantastic!  And perfect!  And even had three little fondant owls on it representing the Collective Spawn.

I’m the one on the left. TLR claimed the one with the pink bow as herself in ceramic salt-shaker form.

The fact that it arrived what felt like five minutes before the ceremony (but was probably more like a half hour, if not more)?  Just a little nerve-wracking, but I had faith in our beautiful cake-maker.  Who is beautiful AND makes beautiful cakes.

Out of respect for TLR’s dignity I won’t divulge too much about HER Bridezilla Moment, except to say that pantyhose are the very devil. 

And it really wasn’t so much of a Bridezilla Moment as it was a failure on the part of the hosiery industry to provide hose that are durable enough to withstand the stresses of your average wedding day.  Also: acrylic nails are rather tricky when it comes to the application of reluctant pantyhose to the legs of the modern bride, particularly when she is in a bit of a rush.  My BFF from high school, Alison, was dispatched to the local Fred Meyer to purchase more, thus saving the day.  Nothing worse than a wrathful, bare-legged bride.

We took a few photos in the sanctuary before the wedding began, when only a few early birds had arrived.  I haven’t gotten those back yet but rumor has it that the great guy who took the photos will be polishing them up this weekend.  Can’t wait!

Next up:  Weddin’, Part IV: MAWWIAGE

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