I know, this is such a tease. I owe you – the readers I love – a full accounting of the wedding. The problem is, I’m still waiting for the official photographs, and trust me this is not a story that can be told without pictures (see preview below). Until then, I’ll be sharing some of the posts I write for other sites, like this one from mom.me.
Ah, to be an unencumbered bride. Engaged to be married, she registers for a fantasy future of fine china, crystal goblets and lily white hotel bedding. One never knows when The Queen might visit.
But what if you already have kids before you get married?
Then you know the truth: fancy, fragile, stainable shit is not going to survive 10 minutes in your house.
Sure, in 20 years when you have an empty nest, you may decide to throw some elegant dinner parties, but will the items procured two decades before have survived all the “indoor baseball” and “teddy bear tea party” incidents? I think not.
I recently married my baby daddy, and though we’d been cohabitating for years, we still needed STUFF. Specifically, I felt that if my family was going to continue to demand home-cooked meals, then I had a right to replace the rusting pots and pans I’d had since college. After all, how much damage could our daughter do to All-Clad? If she wanted to use my new pots as bongos, it was fine by me.
But once inside Bloomingdale’s, I struggled mightily against the bridal fantasies of my youth. Holding that registry gun in my hand, with the power to click on anything my heart desired, I started to covet the cut crystal vase that I imagined filling with fresh peonies on our mahogany entry way table (never mind that we don’t have a mahogany table. Or an entry way).
Continue reading at mom.me…