Dear Laney,
On Thursday afternoon, we drove to Spokane and dropped you off with Grandma Sue so your dad and I could fly to California for the wedding of Will and Lindsay. While I was excited to see all of my friends in California, I had been dreading leaving you, because three days away just seemed too much. On the day we left, I considered buying you a last-minute plane ticket, but your dad assured me that you probably wouldn’t have $940 dollars worth of fun that weekend, thank you very much anyway, Delta.
When we met up with Grandma Sue, you happily sat down and started playing with Play-Doh, and completely forgot that we existed, so I figured I could be at least as grown-up as you were.
As we boarded the plane in Spokane, your former-Navy-pilot dad inhaled deeply and, referencing the jet fuel stench in the air, said, “Man I miss that smell.” He couldn’t figure out why I thought he was nuts, even after I explained that poetic longing for smells should be reserved for honeysuckle vines in Georgia, or the parking lots of rib joints in Memphis.
***
This wedding weekend was a serious, timed-to-the-minute operation, as can be expected of any event put together by a television producer. It required a production meeting en route to Friday night’s rehearsal, and a call sheet for the weekend.
For those of you not in the TV business, a “call sheet” is an extremely specific schedule that’s drawn up for a day of filming. Until Will reads this and asks me to take it down, I’m going to post a portion of the call sheet here. If you glance at this and immediately begin sighing and rolling your eyes: Congratulations! You’re an honorary member of the wedding party! Fill out your I-9 and a time card and let’s get going!
On Friday night, your dad went with me to the wedding rehearsal so I could practice walking in a straight line with the rest of the wedding party. I learned that even in their 30s, boys need to be told to settle down, get in line, and hush. It doesn’t matter if they’ve passed the bar or own a dairy farm or – Lord help us – have been to seminary, they’re still 2nd graders at heart. Basically, I learned that wedding rehearsals exist for the people who won’t be wearing a dress to the ceremony.
The major epiphany your dad and I had during the rehearsal is that being a parent completely changes the way you experience a wedding. It’s not so much a secret now that when your dad and I got officially married, we went down to the Missoula County Courthouse, and used the extra $16 we had after buying a marriage license to buy two burritos from the Mexican place across the street. The end. We knew we were going to get married, and I wanted to go ahead and get a Montana drivers license, so what’s the big deal? Well, let me tell you what the big deal is, missy:
At Will and Lindsay’s rehearsal, the priest joked with the father of the bride, “Are you sure you want to give her away?” and while everyone else chuckled, your dad and I looked at each other with tears springing to our eyes and telepathically shouted to each other, “HELL NO, WE DON’T WANT TO GIVE HER AWAY!” Your dad and I are freaking out about your future wedding and you are only two years old. This explains why, when we called my mother from the Missoula courthouse to give her the heads-up that we’d gotten hitched, she screeched in my ear at a decibel only wild dogs could appreciate.
***
On the wedding day, we started the day early at Lindsay’s house, a.k.a. the Beauty Factory, where all of the girls had their hair and make-up done by professionals. The make-up artist asked me if I ever wore make-up, and I told him the bears in Montana don’t seem to have a preference. I told the hairstylist that with a little Aqua Net, my hair could easily be jacked up to Jesus, but – alas - Lindsay wasn’t going for the Alabama Pageant Queen look in her wedding party. Also, it’s possible that Aqua Net is no longer legally manufactured in the United States. Must check on that.
The rest of the day was a beautiful blur. Everyone looked great, the ceremony was flawless, the love was palpable, and the reception was great fun. Your dad will not want me to mention this, but while I was part of the wedding day photo shoot (see: 1:30p-2:45p on the call sheet, and call your union rep with any questions), your dad was left to his own devices back at the hotel, and was solely responsible for dressing himself. He arrived at the wedding in a seersucker suit, a plaid shirt and a polka-dotted tie. Still, in the loving spirit of the occasion, I was able to overlook his ensemble and confess to the people we met that I was the lucky girl married to Sideshow Thor.
***
It’s Sunday afternoon now, and your dad and I are on the plane home from the wedding. We can’t wait to see you; you’d be surprised by how much we missed you. Every time I called to check on you, you were “Drawin’ picher!” or “Eatin’ see-we-uhl!*” or “Watchin’ Ora Splora!” so I think you’re not going to be psychologically scarred by our separation.
Your dad and I want to be sure to thank Will and Lindsay (and their families) for including us in such a magical weekend, and for being such an important part of our lives. We’re sure they’ll have years of happiness together, and that Lindsay has accrued a lifetime of Heaven Points for pledging herself to a man who I once watched eat a past-its-expiration-date hot dog and then point to his complaining stomach and shout, “YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!**”
We love you dearly.
Love,
Mom
* a.k.a. “Eating cereal.”
** Absolutely true story
No comments:
Post a Comment