The story continues

Where was I?  Hmmm, yes, panicking about getting ready for the second biggest night of my life.

Now I love to get dressed up.  In day to day life I rarely do – so when I have an opportunity to pull out all the stops and fancy up, I do.  I take hours.  I love it.  And this is part of the reason why the Professor and I decided to ask his parents to throw us a small, wedding participants only rehearsal dinner at a fancy restaurant, instead of a bigger but less formal one for everybody in town.

So we get our wish, they arrange for a super fancy fabulous rehearsal dinner at the best hotel in this little town, and guests are told to wear cocktail attire and choose their meal from among menu choices with words like “crudites” and “timble” and “crostini.”  With a menu like that, nobody knows what they’re eating, but it’s guaranteed to be delicious.  The dinner is within walking distance of the church, so everyone has to come to the 5pm rehearsal already dressed up.

Well I’m in the car driving away from the church at 4:15, knowing I have to take a shower, dry my hair, put on various fat-sucking-up garments and then tape myself artfully into my plunging-neckline navy blue full length gown in less than 10 minutes, if we have any hope of arriving on time.  Let’s not even mention the fact that there are 6 other people that have to accomplish similar tasks in the same amount of time, with only 3 showers available.  I call the Professor, and he cheerfully asks if I’m at the church already.  When I tell him the dire situation, he takes a deep breath, then tells me we’d be fine, and he’ll get there early and get things going without me if necessary.  In the words of En Vogue, what a mighty good man.

We ladies get to the house, and leap out of the car and race up the stairs.  My hilarious father locks the bolt before we get up there and gives us a hard time about getting in – “Who is it?  Who did you say?  What, I can’t hear you?”  Oh my God, I almost committed patricide on the eve of my wedding.  If I could have shot him through the door I just might have.  But he finally lets us in with a chuckle, and we all disappear into bathrooms and bedrooms and closets and somehow, everyone gets bathed and primped and zipped up into their outfits in no time.  It was a sight to see – we were throwing brushes and stockings across rooms to each other, stacking ourselves in front of the mirrors for maximum person-per-mirror usage, and fixing each others’ bracelets and hair and makeup all in a big frantic bunch.  I get showered and dressed, and taped (I did it poorly, and eventually had to rip it off in a bathroom and stand akwardly the rest of the night to prevent exposure!)  The 5 children pile into one car, and my oldest sister drives like a madwoman to get us there, while my baby sister does something fantastic and twisty to my still-wet hair and I poke my eyeballs out trying to put on mascara.  My parents follow us, and we arrive at the church AS THE CLOCKTOWER TOLLS 5.  It was a miracle, even greater I venture to say than the one that brought my husband and I together.

So there I am, wet hair pinned up, makeup sort of crooked but applied, with my awesome silver shoes and navy blue fabulous dress, ready for rehearsal.  It goes well.  I carry my bow bouquet in the tradition, and everyone laughs and marvels in turn at our enthusiastically incompetent wedding coordinators.  I am about as wound up as I get, looking at a roomful of people that I love, all there for me.

After an hour, we troop over to the rehearsal dinner, where we start with a cocktail hour with hors d’oeuvres in the courtyard.  Then we go in, and eat mightily and well, and are toasted and praised and paid attention to, which is my cup of tea and then some.  It was so great.  There were laughs, there were tears, and the Professor’s toast to our parents and to me is the most special moment of the evening.  It was exactly what I dreamed.  After our formal dinner, we head over to an informal post-dinner fete that the Professor and I arranged and hosted, for everyone in town.  We reserved space in the Pub area of a seafood restaurant, and bought beer, wine, and wings for the crowd.  It was great – relatives and friends from far and wide were gathered, and it was a great opportunity to talk at length with some people.  We knew we wouldn’t have the chance on the big day – everybody gets about 5 minutes then!.

We stayed for a few hours.  The party continued even after I was ushered home for my beauty rest (of which I got very little!), and I heard some of the gossip later on.  It sounded like everyone had a great time, which was of course the goal.  Friends mingled and made new friends, pictures were taken, the beer was drunk, and all the while I was home in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling and thinking about what was to come the next day . . .