Life is beautiful

Mom asked me to blog about my wedding day. I'm not sure why. It has something to do my five-year anniversary next week.


Here comes, well, you know...

My wedding was, in a word, bee-yoo-tee-ful. I am a detail person, and I planned every little detail down to the color of M&Ms in the candy dishes in the entry way of the reception hall. Our colors were pink and white, but mostly pink. I wanted a classy wedding, so I refused to have a dee-jay who might play "Baby Got Back." Instead, we had a 14-piece jazz band, and PC and I danced to "All the Way" by Frank Sinatra. I didn't want to serve alcohol, because not all of my friends and family stay classy when they drink. (You know who you are.) Instead, we served raspberry lemonade made from real raspberries, not Crystal Lite.

Everyone said I looked like Audrey Hepburn, which was truly a miracle considering I had not slept for more than three hours a night the entire week before. You see, those were my uber-perfectionist days (now I am just a normal perfectionist), so I didn't let anyone help me plan or prepare for the wedding. (OK, I let Mom help a little bit, but she had to send me pictures of prototypes of her decorations so I could approve them.) The week before the wedding, I realized that I NEEDED people, and it scared the hell out of me.

The wedding was huge - 250 guests - too huge for me to pull off on my own. I kept having to ask people for help and to tell people, "no," two of the most difficult things for me to do. I knew that lots of people were traveling very far for the wedding, and I didn't want them to regret having come. It made me think about what it would be like to actually be a wife, not just a bride, and how it would probably mean I would have to rely on someone else a lot. Chad (he was just Chad back then, not PC) would eventually learn all of my weaknesses and shortcomings. I felt certain that after a month or two, he would think he made a mistake marrying me. All of those thoughts just swirled in my head until, the morning of the rehearsal, I burst into tears in my mom's hotel room and cried until I fell asleep on her bed. Of course, I only slept for 15 minutes before I had to put back on my perfect face and go to the bridal luncheon.

Looking back, I can honestly say the best part of my wedding day was that it was the start of my marriage to PC. Being a wife has been exponentially better than being a bride. The wedding day was symbolically good, but I wouldn't say it was the happiest day of my life. It wasn't even as good as our first anniversary, when PC and I played golf and went to Chili's for dinner. Or the day we day we picked out our dog at the animal shelter. (I wanted to name him "Mishka, which is the Russian word for "Teddy Bear." We settled on the name "Bear.")

I don't think our wedding day was as good as the day we closed on our first house and celebrated with wine and Lee's Fried Chicken on the back porch. And it definitely wasn't as good as the day we saw Vivine for the first time in Haiti. Or the day just a few months ago when we had all of our closest friends here in our home, crammed around our 30-year-old dining room table for a meal.

I'm not saying the wedding day was bad. It was beautiful. Just not as beautiful as the life PC and I now share together.

(Mom and Dad, by now I hope you're not regretting the money you spent on the wedding. Yes, I know you could have each gotten new cars for the same amount. Just try to think of it as a downpayment on your grandchildren...)