When Butterflies Attack

The tradition of throwing stuff at a wedding is a very old one. It began thousands of years ago when guests would throw figs and nuts at the bride and groom to encourage their fertility and prosperity. Gradually this evolved into throwing rice, which became temporarily taboo in 1996 when Ann Landers reported that rice is bad for birds. This quickly became the (now debunked!) urban legend that birds who eat raw rice could explode.

During the false exploding bird period, people in the western world started using alternatives to rice. It started with birdseed (good for the birds!), and then began to include confetti and rose petals.

Um, I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t want to be pelted with thousands of tiny sharp projectiles on the “happiest day of my life.” Don’t get me wrong. I know that rice has exfoliation properties. But while I might need a facial before the wedding, I don’t want one at the wedding. I’ll bet bits of rice (or birdseed, or confetti) would stow away in my veil (and dress, and undergarments), leaving the housekeeping staff at the wedding night hotel tickled pink to try to pick that stuff of the carpet. Humph.

Not to mention the fact that the darned stuff is slippery. I can fall on my dignity (yes, that’s what my grandmother used to call it) walking on dry pavement in hiking boots. And this clumsiness runs in my family. My Pop just fell UP the stairs, while Mama once tripped over her sister’s dog and broke her toe. Mama’s toe, that is. The dog didn’t even wake up. If we had the slippery stuff at the wedding, my family and I would all be wiping out left and right.

The next wave of innovation was to release wildlife at weddings – mainly birds and butterflies. Two problems with this plan. (1) Sometimes the fluttery things won’t cooperate. My MOH has been pooped on by birds something like eight times in her life. If that’s supposed to be good luck, she’s the luckiest darned girl in the world.

And butterflies, which are shipped in their cocoons, might not have hatched yet, or (even worse!) their short little life spans might have already run their course, leaving the guests with a bunch of dead butterflies (and all the symbolism that entails). (2) Even more importantly, these transplanted little critters may not fit into the fragile ecosystem in which your wedding takes place, leaving them without the proper food to survive, or putting them into a place where their food source is endangered. Birds. Butterflies. Bad idea.

I love this photo of a butterfly release . . . . I call it, "When Butterflies Attack"

Bubbles have also become popular. I love me some bubbles. Although they are just soap and water, they can stain formalwear (not just mine, but my guests’ clothing too!). I don’t want my wedding favor to my friends and family to be drycleaning bills. People have also begun using sparklers. If I’m too afraid of flames to do the unity candle, why would I voluntarily walk through a ring of fire on my way outta the church?! Duh.

All this is pretty much a moot point for me. My church won’t allow projectiles or incendiary devices. So I’ve had to come up with another plan. That's what I'll discuss in my next post!

Bad Hair Day

I don’t know about you, but I HATE what they do to my hair at the salon. I go in looking like a regular person, and I come out like this:


I firmly believe that hair should not be shellacked to one’s head. The only reason I escape the salon without helmet hair is that my chart (OMG, they have charts at the salon?!) says, “NO PRODUCT” in big red letters on it. Why do I go to this salon if I fundamentally disagree with their styling methods? Because they do a darned good cut. It’s a massive improvement over just a year ago when I used to cut my own hair using craft scissors and a hand mirror. Don’t try that one at home, kids.

It’s not like this is the only salon that styles my hair into an architectural statement instead of a fashion statement. I’ve been to at least ten hairdressers who have great talent for cutting, but not a single idea of what do to with my hair once it’s cut. My hair is baby fine. And there’s not a lot of it. After my twin died, it fell out in clumps from the stress. Some grew back, but a lot of the little buddies I call hair follicles simply gave up.

What hair I’ve got is great. It has natural curl that improves with moisture. But here’s the key – it is completely deflated by the overuse of a hairdryer or hairbrush. No matter how much I beg them to drop those implements of tress torture, the hairdressers insist on giving me a “blow out” hairdo that flops out by the time I get home. I look like Christian Siriano from Project Runway crossed with Macaulay Culkin from Home Alone.

To quote Christian, "It’s a hot mess."

To quote Macaulay, "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Anyhoo, if I don’t like what the coiffeurs do to my hair on a regular basis, why would I let them style my hair on my wedding day?! I’m going to do it myself. And I’ll save a buck or two in the process. Hooray for choices that are stylish and fiscally responsible! Boo to tragic wedding hair!

Unity Schmoonity

The unity candle, which is now a part of most traditional U.S. wedding ceremonies, is not really all that traditional. Wikipedia guesses that it is about 30 or 40 years old. So how did this new ritual become to many as necessary as marriage itself?

You know how it goes: At the beginning of the wedding ceremony, a representative from each family (usually the mothers of the bride and groom) light two taper candles, which represent the bride and the groom. Later in the ceremony, the bride and groom use the two taper candles to light the large pillar (unity) candle together.

There is major disagreement about whether the bride and groom should blow out the taper candles. Ten or twenty years ago, nearly everyone blew out the tapers, to represent the bride and groom leaving their respective families and starting a new family together. Today, the opposite is true – most brides and grooms leave the tapers lit to symbolize the continued existence of their individual identities, separate from their relationship as a couple.

Alternatives to the unity candle began to spring up over the past ten years as well, mainly because many couples opted for outdoor weddings, which make it difficult to keep the candles lit. If the candles go kaput, so does the lovely symbolism. One alternative is the sand ceremony, where the bride and groom each have a different color of sand, which they pour together into a larger vessel. This ritual can also be performed with different colored water or wine.

Crazy things can happen on one’s wedding day. (It has always puzzled me that people say they want their wedding day to be perfect. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had a “perfect” day when I do the same things I do every other day – things at which I have a ton of practice – like going to work, eating lunch, answering the phone . . . . So why on earth would I have a perfect day when I do a bunch of things I’ve never done before – like wearing a poofy white dress, feeding the Mister cake in front of a gazillion people, lighting a candle at church . . . .)

The candle can refuse to light, leaving the couple (and all their guests!) speculating about the future of their union. And I’ve watched enough America’s Funniest Home Videos to know that the unity candle ceremony can have fiery consequences. Tulle + fire = danger!

source

I respect the fact that some people want to take these risks. (Actually, I think these people are crazy! Who am I kidding?) I have visions of tripping up the altar steps and into the candle, followed by STOP, DROP, and ROLL.

What I do respect is the desire to include a ritual within the marriage ritual that further solemnizes the marriage. Rituals provide security, stability, meaning, and a sense of belonging. But why have we as Americans chosen a ritual whose main risk is catching fire and whose main benefit is to candle manufacturers? I've heard the story of a Catholic priest and a Protestant minister each "blaming" each other's church for the unity candle ritual. Instead of calling it a Catholic ritual or a Protestant ritual, they agreed to call it a Hallmark ritual, and to discourage it in weddings they perform.

The Mister and I have therefore spent some time considering the rituals for our marriage ceremony. More on that later. But for now, we've reached this decision: No unity candle for this clumsy dame. Sheesh!

What about you? Do you plan to/Did you have a unity candle ceremony?

Guest Blogger: Tipper!

Hi! I'm Tipper, and I'm interrupting your regularly scheduled wedding blog to bring you this urgent message: Please consider adopting a pet!

Before buying a pet that was specially bred for purchase, please at least consider animals already looking for happy homes. Aside from the major concern that purchased pets may be from puppy mills, where animal cruelty and serious health hazards abound, there is an even more important reason for considering adopting rather than buying a pet. You can save a life. According to the American Humane Association, an estimated 9.6 million animals are euthanized in the United States every year.

Rather than going over the specifics of this heartbreaking statistic, I’d like to focus on the positive aspects of adopting a pet. When you adopt a companion animal, you gain the lifelong gratitude and devotion of a pet that would otherwise be homeless. And the devotion and happiness go both ways! There are hundreds of “Happy Tails” on petfinder.com, describing the joy that adopted animals have brought to the lives of their families. And pictures, like these!

Gretchen:

Ranger:

Rascal:

Monk:

So, my little two-legged friends, please consider adopting one of us four-leggers. We're worth it!

This is Tipper, signing off with an extra slurpy smooch. Back to your regularly scheduled blog.

Must Have Shot List

What’s up with those incredibly long must-have shot lists that people give their photographers? It’s a great idea to pick some shots you’d like to have, but 85?! That’s what theknot.com recommends.

For example, why do I need a posed, formal picture alone with my parents? By the time we get the proofs back from the photog, the Mister will be a part of my family (and I a part of his), so why would we exclude him? Will my parents ever display a picture of just the three of us without the Mister, when I’m in my wedding dress? Like, if I get divorced (God forbid!), and they want to cut him out of the picture? I’m sure no one would notice the giant poofy white dress. Maybe my mom can show it to new prospects for my second husband! Not. Gonna. Happen.

Why have so many posed shots, anyway? I’d much rather enjoy part of the cocktail hour talking to my family and friends than standing on the altar steps with a frozen smile in a parade of flash bulbs.

I know! The photographer can take pictures of the Mister and me actually enjoying our own wedding, surrounded by the people we’d put in the formal pictures. But I’m so kooky – everyone knows we’re not supposed to enjoy the wedding. We’re just supposed to look like we’re enjoying it, for the pictures. (Wink.)

If all else fails, the Mister and I can get a life-sized cutout of ourselves. Insert our faces here:

While we enjoy our guests at the cocktail hour, the people who want a ton of formal shots can take them with the cardboard us.

Cardboard is soooo slimming.

From the Very Beginning

The Mister called me last night, outraged that I claimed to have cankles in my last post. He says that I DO NOT have them, and that I should edit my post to remove the offending remark. I love that he’s stickin’ up for me, even if it’s against . . . well . . . me.

This proves one thing. And it’s not that I have lovely, slender ankles. It’s that love is blind. Not every guy in the world thinks my curves are slammin’, but I’m so lucky that the Mister does. Once I had someone ask whether the Mister is a leg man. I replied, “If he were, do you think he’d be dating me?!” Tee hee.

Mama says, “I may not be perfect, but parts of me are excellent.” So true. I know a few people who wouldn’t like the furriness of the Mister’s back, or the fact that you can almost fit the remote control in his ginormous belly button. Me, I like that he’s warm and cuddly, and his belly button makes me laugh. I’m grinning right now just thinking about it.

I really believe that there’s someone out there for everyone. Sometimes it just takes a little time to find said person. I’ve dated some real doozies, and stuck it out in those bad relationships because I thought that love wasn’t supposed to be easy. My last relationship was with a really nice guy who wasn’t right for me (and I wasn’t right for him). It literally never occurred to me that the effort we had to exert to keep the relationship going shouldn’t have been necessary.

That’s not to say that love is always easy. Fortunately I have two excellent models of happy marriages (Mama and Mr. Mama; Pop and Mrs. Pop). Add to that the Mister’s parents (Momma Mac and Mac Daddy). These relationships prove that love, like a well-rooted tree, is natural. It grows and bears fruit without trying. There may be hard winters that the tree must endure, but there are also optimistic springs and lush summers. So while love may not be easy, it is natural. My feelings for the Mister are the very first time that love ever felt right. Magical. Inevitable.

A commercial I heard this morning said, “If your girl is one in a million, then there are seven thousand other versions of her in the world.” I’m certainly not going to say that there is only one person for everyone in this world. I’ve seen widows who had wonderful first marriages find love a second time. While the concept of a one-and-only soul mate might not account for these stories, my feelings for the Mister have convinced me that the person or people you are meant to love are imprinted in your soul. In the words of the poet Rumi:

The moment I heard my first love story I began seeking you,
not realizing the search was useless.
Lovers don't meet somewhere along the way.
They're in one another's souls from the beginning.

When I look into my soul, I see that the Mister has been there all along.

The Epic Shoe Quest

And now for a topic that is near and dear to Mrs. Pop (my stepmother). The wedding shoes!

I've asked a lot of people what they would change about their weddings, and most brides say they would have worn more comfortable shoes. Even Mama, who is a shoe maven herself, said that the shoes she wore to her second wedding (to Mr. Mama, my stepdad) were killers. This may be in part because Mama's ex-mother-in-law offered them as the wedding gift, but when the bill came, ex-MIL declined to pay it. They were nice shoes, but they weren't extravagant by any stretch of the imagination. Instead of the shoes, ex-MIL sent a clear plastic bowl in the shape of a clam shell. Did I mention it was PLASTIC? And shaped. Like. A. Clam. It was so ridiculous that Mama and Mr. Mama kept it for a very long time, just so we could laugh over it. It may still be in the basement for all I know.


So, I decided early on that I would NOT be wearing uncomfortable shoes. The last time I wore torture-inducing shoes to a wedding, my sister got married. I took the shoes off to dance for a while, and I couldn't get the darned things back on my swollen little piggies. (Those are my toes, for those of you without kids or friends with kids.)

I found some cute tennis shoe ballet flat skimmers that had a white ribbon bow for $25, which I replaced with a blue bow for my "something blue." Loved them. But when I went to try them on the next day, they were too small. Same thing one week later. And nary a larger size was to be found. How on earth did that happen? Do my piggies swell on a regular basis? Or were they shrivled when I bought the shoes in the first place? I don't understand. The shoes are like these, but white with a blue bow:

Next were a pair of seersucker blue and white striped mary jane Nikes, also for under $30. These are super comfy, but they do nothing to make my cankles look slimmer. Tragic. I wear them out and about (with cankle-covering pants), so I don't feel that they were a waste of moolah. They just probably aren't wedding-appropriate footwear.

I've thought about wearing blue mary jane crocs under my poofy white dress. My boss at work poo-pooed the idea, saying, "You want shoes that make men say, 'I wish I had married her!'" I take it flat rubber shoes with holes don't do the trick.

Mrs. Pop sent me a pair of cute ivory flats in the mail. I really love them, but they are just a smidge too big, so they make little blisters on my heels. (On the other hand, the shoes may fit swollen pigs perfectly, so you can bet they'll be in my go-to bag on the day of the wedding!) My favorite thing about these shoes is that Mrs. Pop bought them in my style, which is significantly more casual than her own. I felt totally understood! The shoes are similar to these, but in ivory:

Instead of continuing to try making comfortable shoes look fashionable, I thought I'd try a pair of fashionable shoes, in hopes they'd be comfortable. I bought these cuties, but I literally couldn't walk in them. They must have been made for someone with dainty, narrow little feet. Back they went.

Today I found my dream shoes. They're Doc Martens, so they're comfy! (And they satisfy my love for all things British!) AND they're mary jane dress heels, so they'd be (at least a little) more formal. DOC MARTEN HEELS! Why, oh why, can't these be in white or light blue?! I keep trying to figure out with what I'd wear them, so i can justify buying them. I haven't come up with anything yet . . . .

In my fantasy world (where money is falling out of the sky for everyone and there is no more hunger or war), I'd have a custom pair of these babies made, in light blue. I could turn 'em into tap shoes and live my not-so-secret dream of taking tap lessons with either the eight- to twelve-year-old set or the wonderful little octogenarians who do it to keep in shape. But I'd rather donate the money to Heifer International (a nonprofit organization that alleviates hunger, poverty, and environmental degradation through gifts of livestock and training) than wear expensive-shoe-guilt along with these:

The upshot of this is that I'll keep the three pairs of flats I've currently got. If my pigs are tiny, I'll wear the skimmers with the blue bow. If they're swollen up to the size of snausages like my thumb on the day I got engaged, I'll wear the ivory flats from Mrs. Pop. And if my pigs are somewhere in between, I'll wear the Nike mary janes, cankles and all.

But that won't stop my epic quest for inexpensive, comfortable, low-heeled, periwinkle blue, mary jane shoes. I think these shoes are like Snuffleupagus -- they may not actually exist. Now that I've stopped looking for a great guy (got one!), I've got to be searching for something, right?