How I Planned Your Wedding (17 page)

The ceremony came together somewhat seamlessly—it’s pretty awesome having a family of writers. And our officiant provided us with the most customizable of templates so that we could incorporate any extra elements that we wanted. Michael, the man who married us, was a friend of my dad’s who was deeply intellectual and spiritual, a perfect fit since neither Dave nor I wanted our wedding to reflect a particular religion. Michael didn’t even mind that I refused to have the phrase
till death do us part
uttered during our ceremony. Because, I don’t know about you, but death will be nothing more than a speed-bump for Dave and me. Spiritual beliefs aside, if there is a heaven, I’m not about to show up there, see Dave and be, like, “Oh, uh, about that life we spent together…? Yeah. Uh, I don’t know if you remember our, ahem,
agreement,
but I think I’m going to go on a casual date with this angel I met the other day…”

It might sound stupid to you, but Michael didn’t bat an eyelash when I told him my reasoning for using the phrase
forever and ever
instead of
till death do us part.

SUSAN

Moments before the ceremony, I considered drawing Elizabeth aside for one final mother-daughter chat before she headed out on her epic trek down the aisle. In the meltdown room, we would lovingly embrace and I would tell her…what? After all this time, and all the planning and advice and arguments and hilarity, what on earth was left to say? That I love her? (Duh.) That I’m proud of her and excited for all the future holds? (Again, duh.)

The truth is, by the time this moment arrives, there is nothing left to say. She knows it all. You know she knows. Flogging the issue one last time is only going to make you both cry and ruin your makeup. Now your job is to simply walk down the aisle, take your seat in the front row and get out your hankie.

But still, be prepared to have a pang. There will come a moment when everything stops, like the wind taking a breath in the middle of a storm, and it hits you right in the solar plexus—your daughter’s life is heading off in a different direction,
away
from you.

There might be this searing thought:
no bloody way.
You want to grab the groom by his big, flapping ears and say, “Forget about it. I changed my mind. You can’t have her. She’s mine. I put twenty-five years of blood, sweat and tears into this child and you’re not about to take her away.”

I bet lots of moms feel this way. Of course you don’t want to let go. She’s your heart, your life, your soul, and there’s no way you’re sharing her.

These feelings are normal. And, trust me, they will pass, blown away by the winds of change. I’m not being a Pollyanna when I tell you that nobody’s taking her away. She’s not going anywhere. She’ll never leave your heart. That precious little girl, the one who whispered her secrets in your ear and snuggled up to you in the “big bed” is still there. She lives inside you, in your deepest memories, and she’ll always be there, no matter where life takes you…or her.

And something else to remember—there’s just more to love. She’s bagged a son for you, for petesake. Brought him home and dropped him at your feet like a prize twelve-point buck. And it doesn’t hurt a thing that he is gorgeous and kind and adoring. He and your husband do boy stuff together and giggle like third-graders. He’s tall enough to change any lightbulb. He eats everything that’s set before him, including the garnish. Kids and dogs love him. Your daughter loves him.

What more do you want? You get to be a new mom, except you don’t have to go through the trouble of birthing and raising him.

But still, you’re going to cry. You’re going to watch these two vibrant, beautiful young adults say their vows and take each other’s hands and turn toward each other, away from you. Come prepared with plenty of tissues and a magnifying mirror, because I guarantee, you’re going to lose a contact lens in a flood of tears. Just remember, watching your daughter’s dreams come true is the sweetest pain you’ve ever felt.

M
y wedding reception pretty much rocked the house. Held on the second floor of Seattle’s Pan Pacific Hotel, it took over two ballrooms, an outdoor terrace, four smaller rooms and the landing over the lobby. One small room housed a chef making custom crepes to order; another was transformed into a soft-seating lounge where we kept the music quiet so guests could chat and get away from the loudspeakers. The smaller of the two ballrooms housed our cupcakes and half the dinner tables, and the larger held the dance floor and the rest of our tables. Cute signage throughout the floor encouraged guests to explore the space, and we strategically placed the three bars to get our peeps to mill about and pass Yvonne’s photo booth.

Looking back, I can see how all the little lessons I learned while planning the wedding fed into the amazing reception we had. To put it bluntly, because I hadn’t been a total bitch to anyone, there wasn’t anything toxic about our party.

LESSON ONE:
Be polite, gracious and considerate.

• Learn to say “please,” “thank you,” “you’re right” and “yes, Mother.” Even when you don’t mean it. Those are going to be some of the hardest words to utter as wedding stress starts to pile up, but never forget your manners. A smile and a heartfelt “Thanks!” can make someone’s day. And never underestimate the magical properties of a single chocolate truffle.
  
• Handwrite thank-you notes promptly, and not just for gifts. Thank your vendors and all the people who go above and beyond for you throughout your wedding planning process.
  
• offer dinner to your vendors, such as your photographer, your videographer, your wedding planner and your musicians. Most places will offer you a cheaper meal option for them.
  
• DO NOT FLAKE on appointments. Yes, you’re the bride and it’s all about you, but respect other people’s time and show up to all your appointments on time and in a good mood.
  
• Handwrite apologies when you screw up that last rule.
  

Remember when I forgot to write Venita a thank-you note? Imagine how icky that would have been if I’d never apologized. Thinking about that makes my insides shrivel with awkwardness.

If that’s not convincing, then put yourself in the shoes of the people who have toiled and sweated for you. If you were in their place, wouldn’t you feel so much better if your clients acknowledged how much they appreciated you? A week before the wedding, Dave and I sat down and prewrote thank-you notes for all our vendors. And then we stuffed the envelopes with cash. For our incredible wedding planners, who had obsessed with us, fought for us and carried us through our stressful times, we enclosed gift cards for massages at a little boutique in Seattle.

Not to sound self-serving or anything, but I felt pretty great during my reception, knowing that I was going to brighten my professional entourage’s evening with a few thoughtful notes and a wad of thank-you money. Okay, that’s an understatement. I felt like the Mother Teresa of brides.

LESSON TWO:
Be transparent. And not in the shallow sense—just make sure that the people you interact with know your expectations, values and goals.

• Specify to your guests whether or not they’re allowed to bring extras. And be gracious when someone who wasn’t invited shows up.
  
• Give the people working for you as much inspiration as possible. Don’t force your invitation designer to guess about your taste—send examples of things you like AND things you don’t like. I could have saved myself a ton of time and money if I had done that from my very first updo trial.
  
• Find a way to graciously tell someone when you don’t like something. I am TERRIBLE at this (remember how I smiled and said I loved the hairstyle that caused me to have a snot-squirting breakdown in a parking lot?). You’re not doing anyone any favors by pretending to like something that just isn’t right with what you want—you must gently learn how to say, “I don’t know if this is exactly what I was envisioning. Could we try something a little more like
  this?
  ” (Then whip out the inspiration photos you have because you followed the rule above.)
  
• Be proactive about your wedding guests’ behavior.
  

Let’s use that last rule as an example. Dave and I knew that with over fifty of our twenty-five-year-old classmates from Pomona College attending the wedding, the alcohol consumption would be off the charts (case in point: one buddy decided it would be a good idea to do a handstand on a table in the middle of a restaurant after our night-before happy hour). We had some choices: we could wring our hands about it and stress out, but do nothing and fork over the cash for the giant alcohol bill after our wedding was over; we could grow more and more bitter at our friends and their debauched ways in the weeks leading up to the Big Day; we could spend the whole evening policing everyone, knocking wineglasses out of their hands if we thought they’d had more than three drinks; or we could force everyone to pay for their own drinks at the reception. All pretty lame, right?

Then, on a trip to Costco one night, Dave and I were hit by the same bolt of inspiration-flavored lightning. We passed a display of inexpensive cases of wine, exclaimed over how cheap they were, and then realized: what if we provided mass quantities of cheap alcohol to
our friends for their consumption
before
the reception? It would be like in college, when you preloaded your drunkenness before heading out to the football game!

There’s still a small part of me that can’t believe I’m comparing my wedding to a tailgate party.

Anyway, a week before our wedding, Dave and I went and picked up an obscene amount of beer and wine (okay, and a teensy bit of Jägermeister) for our friends. We contacted a couple of key people who could act as ringleaders after our ceremony and got them to store the booze in the bathtubs of their hotel rooms. (I wonder what the turn-down service people thought about
that
… Oh, who am I kidding? They probably thought it was awesome.) On our wedding day, while Dave and I were having our portraits taken and the less party-happy guests were having a serene cocktail hour at the reception venue, a troupe of our old classmates shotgunned, chugged and flip-cupped their way to a state of rowdiness that would have made the
Animal House
guys proud.

Now, look: I’m not saying I was thrilled about filling bathtubs with alcohol to save money on our catering bill. But given my alternatives, I’m happy we went the route we did. And I can’t pretend I didn’t enjoy the lap dance my friend gave me to “I’m a Slave 4 U” by Britney Spears toward the end of the night.

The takeaway here, though, is that you should be aware of some of the, ahem,
challenges
your guests might bring with them—and find a way to deal with them that will enable you to relax and enjoy yourself at the reception. And don’t be shy about recruiting a couple of your more influential peeps to be the first lemmings to leap over the cliff you’ve designated for them.

LESSON THREE:
Stick to at least a few of the traditions. Many wedding activities, like throwing the bouquet, sound cheesy. And they are. But on your wedding day, you probably won’t think so—and you might just regret opting out of at least one moment of no-holds-barred
wedding-themed fun. Here are some ideas:

• Shove cake in each other’s faces. The photos will be priceless.
  
• Go ahead—toss the bouquet. But make sure you enlist your bridesmaids ahead of time to act all excited in case the response from other ladies at your wedding is tepid. And to avoid making single people feel, well, singled out, you could do what I did and say that the bouquet toss is for ALL the ladies, single or not, and whoever catches it gets good luck.
  
• The garter toss? Hilarious. Especially if your groom takes it off with his teeth. We almost didn’t go through with it, but when I watch the video of it and see my friend Jabez wearing my garter around his forehead like a lacy Rambo, I’m so happy we did.
  
• Father-daughter dance. Or mother-son or mother-daughter or father-son…you get the picture. Share a dance with one of your elders. Someone who showed you the ropes. My dad and I both detest dancing, so I didn’t have a father-daughter dance…and wouldn’t you know it, it’s one of the things I’m a little sad about when I remember our wedding. He asked me to dance for the last twenty seconds of “Stairway to Heaven,” and we have a photo of it (Yvonne, our photographer, was, like, forty-seven places at once the whole time)…and I wish we’d had a more meaningful moment together.
  
• Dance the Hora. First, getting tossed around on a chair is like a ride at Six Flags. Second, watching gentiles attempt to figure out what they should be doing is comedic gold.
  
• Toasts. I spoke, I cried, my cousin spoke, I cried, my grandfather spoke and I REALLY cried (along with everyone else in the room)…then Dave’s mom spoke, I laughed, Dave’s big brother spoke, I chuckled, Dave’s little brother spoke, and I was practically on the floor with giggles. And then, the pièce de résistance: Dave toasted me. Me! It brought the whole room to tears (again). Here’s the transcript of his speech:
  

Amazing, right? Well,
I
think it is, anyway.

Ultimately, the reason my reception was such a hit for me was because I could look back on all the planning I’d done, on the life I’d built with Dave, on the life-changing moments I’d experienced along the
way…and I was proud. Part of it was manners—I hadn’t poisoned the wedding water by being a brat. But most of it was managing to remind myself (or have my mother remind me) of the bigger picture, especially when things got tough.

At the very end of the night, as I was belting along to Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls” with my eyes closed, a group of about fifty people formed a long tunnel with their arms. I was so entranced by my sing-along that I didn’t even notice I was the only person dancing until Dave tapped me on my shoulder and told me to turn around. He grabbed my hand, ducked his head and together we ran through a tunnel full of the faces of our loved ones, cheering us on and pouring their best wishes out to us as we stepped into our life together as husband and wife.

I may or may not have cried that it was over in the elevator on the way up to the honeymoon suite.

But then I got, you know, distracted.

And now my mother’s ears are bleeding from this very slight reference to my sex life, so I’ll leave it at that.