10 years ago today:
I wore an absolutely gigantic lily in my absolutely gigantic hair 10 years ago today.
P.J. chose that morning- of all mornings- to attempt shaving against the grain.
Our geriatric organist appeared to be having a stroke during roughly half of the ceremony.
My throat, which had been scratchy for the prior week, was downright on fire for the entire day.
Our professional photographer made some odd creative choices: among them, neglecting the majority of the service and the entirety of the reception. (Our video also consisted of footage of the actual sky for actual stretches of time.)
It had rained and rained and rained on the cold, cold, cold, Massachusetts ground for- oh, at least a month prior to our Big Day.
But last night? P.J. and I viewed some cobbled-together footage of our wedding.
And, as it turns out, our wedding day had been perfect.
We saw:
My Dad, 10 years ago today, hugging P.J. tightly after he walked me up the aisle…
P.J., beaming and gorgeous in a pale grey suit, unexpectedly leading the congregation in song (see: organist’s stroke)…
The two of us looking rested and ecstatic and roughly 19 years old…
All four of our parents being joyfully escorted into the reception tent in my parents’ stunningly perfect backyard…
(On a day which, by the by, turned out to be gloriously warm, sunny, and full of crabapple blossoms floating through the air)…
So many loved ones mingling with so many other loved ones on a day where, as it turns out, it didn’t really matter what went “right” or “wrong” 10 years ago today…
Because in the days (and years) since?
We grew and met three intensely wonderful people.
We’ve grieved and remembered roughly a dozen of those loved ones at our wedding.
(Including my Dad.)
Somehow we’ve kept a fixer-upper home (mostly) standing.
And filled it, questionably enough, with three cats.
We’ve flung horrific words and turns of phrase at each other like dinner plates. (Also dinner plates.)
We’ve gone to bed mad. (A lot.)
Apologies have taken the form of notes, emails, texts, breakfasts left on countertops, and the occasional Spotify playlist.
Careers have been started and shifted and put on hold and reimagined.
It’s become incredibly clear that marriage is abundantly wonderful.
It’s become incredibly clear that marriage is a near-impossible task which requires daily re-upping and no little amount of high fives.
(Also hand-holding whenever possible. Even when not possible. For example, when the other person doesn’t really want to be holding your hand at that very moment in time.)
We’ve gotten really, really good at:
Becoming each other’s soft landing place.
Becoming each other’s swift kick in the butt.
Ending fights/starting great evenings with bourbon and playing cards.
Ending fights/starting great evenings by laying bodily on the other person until they have to, once again, acknowledge your presence.
Never ever leaving the house without a kiss and an “I love you” (regardless of level of “meaning it”).
Sitting on the floor and intensely disliking every single thing about the other person for roughly ten minutes at a time.
Getting up off the floor and understanding that, if the mere presence of socks on the bookshelf makes one stabby, perhaps one might do best with a brisk walk around the block.
(Moving the damn socks yourself.)
Making playlists. Our musical game has, quite literally, never been better.
Complimenting each other. (Because doesn’t P.J. look so cute in those jeans, you guys?)
Bringing out the best, the worst, the snarkiest, and the snackiest in each other.
Wondering what the heck we did to deserve this life where we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be, the one that just so happens to be with (and because of) this other person.
As for me, I’m pretty sure I know how it all happened.
It involved saying ‘I do’ to one fairly important question.
(10 years ago today.)
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