Tag Archives: Erica

The Wedding, Part 3: Decorating Drama

For “The Wedding Part 1,” click here. For “The Wedding Part 2,” click here. For “The Wedding Part 4,” click here. For “The Wedding Part 5,” click here. For “The Wedding Part 6,” click here. For “The Wedding Part 7,” click here.

I had grand plans of posting “The Wedding, Part 3: Decorating and Rehearsal Dinner”. It was in my days of great naivete, before I realized that would entail a 90-picture post. And 90 pictures in 1 post is just plain immoral. Unwieldly. Inappropriate.

Therefore, this morning I am bringing you only “The Wedding, Part 3: Decorating Drama.” The rehearsal is getting its own space and going up tomorrow instead; please register any complaints with Erica and Dave for being so ridiculously good-looking. If they had looked a little more hideous, maybe I would have taken less pictures in the first place.

So for today, it’s pictures of the extensive preparations. Both families pitched in so graciously to make everything come together. Aunt Jessie gets accolades, as usual, for being the mastermind behind the madness. Here she is in the background managing a regiment of silver candelabras:

. . . and a quadrille of flowers and utensils.

Wendy, Erica’s new mother-in-law, was looking lovely . . . though I think I overdid it on the “green” in my color balance–sorry Wendy. I hope you’ll give me a second chance.

My bad color balance made it necessary for her daughter to quickly intervene in order to boost her confidence back up. “Mom, you’re not actually green–it’s her camera!” she reassured her.

There is a lesson to be learned: don’t mess up your white balance or everyone will need immediate psychological help.

The large camera around my neck enabled me to free-flow through the preparations snapping pictures without doing any actual work. That’s the true reason I purchased the camera–to avoid laboring away at family shindigs. A few hundred bucks in equipment versus years of back-breaking toil? The choice was clear. In fact, this whole blog is a cover-up justifying my role as the family photographer so that I can continue my work-free policy in the years to come. (Sidenote: this is my life policy #2, #1 being the blackmail-free policy discussed in yesterday’s shocking post)

Brilliant, eh?

I mean, seriously, why else would I be blogging? It’s better than Erica’s erstwhile “I have to go the bathroom” cover-up act that she would pull when we were young ‘uns as soon as we all had to unload the dishwasher–she used that one for decades. OK, from about age 6 to age 10. Thankfully, as the oldest sister in residence at the time, I whipped her into shape and now she’s a hard-workin’ wife who made Molten Chocolate Cakes and Pastor Ryan’s Pasta Carbonara for her new husband just last week. But Dave, be warned, if it’s ever time to do the dishes and Erica’s like “honey, I have to run to the bathroom,” you have her number.

My husband and Mike, the dutiful brothers-in-law of the bride, worked their butts off. Laurels were placed on their heads to honor them.

Dad was hard at work carting around a vacuum cleaner wherever the need arose.

Heidi, Jen and I felt like we were cheating since our job involved sitting down and making all the place cards.

It was veeeeeery relaxing. Jen was a whiz with the scissors.

It all started off fun and games. I mean, how hard could it be to write some peoples’ names on some paper? I learned how to write names in kindergarten. Here I am, looking very self-assured with my little gathering of pens.

Oh, thou who is self-assured and over-confident! Hear ye, hear ye, you may be about to experience your greatest downfall! [Insert biblical saying with something about man, trouble, and the sparks flying upward!]

I was so upset by my own lack of calligraphy skills that I considered simply destroying the evidence.

However, that would have resulted in armies of confused guests hopelessly milling around. It’s a lesson I learned long ago: don’t mess with unassigned seating. Mass chaos = stampede alert. And nobody wants to risk a stampede when a bride donning an expensive white dress is involved. I don’t know if the dry-cleaning could get out those shoe marks.

Heidi’s calligraphy was just beautiful. She was also looking particularly beautiful. There may be a correlation.

Maybe I could get some funding and do a research study to prove that beautiful pregnant women named “Heidi” have an uncanny talent in the hand-writing area for making gorgeous loopy swirls and uniformly sized letters. That would also explain why I failed–my name isn’t Heidi and I’m not pregnant. See? Nothing is my fault.

There were some old, cold fries on the table right next to us. I’m sad to report that I was drawn to them like a magnet. They just looked so good that I managed to forget how bad they tasted, time after time, fry after fry. Please understand that failing at calligraphy was seriously distorting my judgment in these matters.

Kelsey artfully arranged piles of tulle on the cake table.

She also outdid herself by hiding a chocolate under each of the coffee cups at the head table.

The tables were really starting to come together:

Meanwhile, the boys worked on heavy lifting in the chapel. . .

. . . and messed with all things electronic.

Andrew made himself useful by untangling a mess of lights. I exulted because I had caught him in a full smile.

Priority #1 was making it to the hotel hot tub before it closed at 10pm. This necessitated an emergency run to WalMart and Kohl’s to purchase bathing suits for some bathing suitless bridesmaids. My weary body was just screaming for a hot tub. We met with great success: everyone was decently clothed for the pool time later that night. Thank you WalMart and Kohl’s for enabling a decent get-together free of rampant nudity.

I love that phrase–“rampant nudity.” I’ll try to work it into all my future posts.

While we were gone, much progress was made in the reception hall. We rejoiced that little worker elves had shown up and worked their magic in our absence. The head table was looking good.

We all got dressed for the rehearsal dinner. Getting ready for an event with other girls is always such fun! The make-up sharing, the giggles, the help with your unruly hair . . . Heidi worked on taming my frizz with Jen’s hair straightener.

Heidi and Mary Beth were looking gorgeous.

It was time to make everyone pose by the ladder. Mom dutifully settled in, looking sweet . . .

. . . but Heidi was disturbingly resistant, and decided to look like an alien instead. A cute, pregnant alien with dancer legs.

We had some time to kill, and there were all these fake flowers hanging ’round just screaming “props.”

It all started with some lovely shots, very proper etc.

But soon deeply ingrained genetic patterns for which we cannot be held accountable caused us to start posing in wilder and wilder configurations.

Bet you didn’t know I could look so frightening, eh? Well get a load of this:

I personally have chosen to hold the Maid of Honor responsible. She’s in charge of the ‘honor’ part, and yet our anything-but-honorable conduct gained no reprimand from her. She even posed with us. What a little instigator.

Rowenna settled into a tiny blue armchair to observe the proceedings from a safe distance. She chose wisely. I would like to take this moment to draw your attention to the stain on the chair to her right. The clues of history tell us that some child must have suffered from bladder control on that very spot.

And then, it was time for the Rehearsal to begin. See you tomorrow for the full account!

 

The Wedding, Part 2: Baby Shower/Meet-the-Fam shindig

For “The Wedding Part 1,” click here. For “The Wedding Part 3,” click here. For “The Wedding Part 4,” click here. For “The Wedding Part 5,” click here. For “The Wedding Part 6,” click here. For “The Wedding Part 7,” click here.

The festivities for the wedding weekend began Thursday night, with a little party that doubled as a “meet the family” event for the bride and groom’s families and a baby shower for my sister Heidi and her husband Mike who are having a small one in January.

Aunt Jessie headed up the effort, and we joined her in the kitchen.

This large block of cheese was heavily involved.

Knives were wielded responsibly. Ignore this evidence to the contrary.

We were a little distracted at times because we were all busy adoring Heidi’s baby belly. It was just so cute!

There were many treats, including these fantastic marinated mushrooms.

I loved them. My husband did not. My only recourse is to make a gigantic batch myself and slowly re-train his taste buds, because something is seriously wrong with them. Other than that, he’s perfect. Over and out.

There were also these delicious little bacon-wrapped water chestnuts. I must learn how to make them, but with a little less saltiness. I’m a salty-toothed girl, but these babies were a little much. I’m thinking of watering down the soy sauce mixture with some dry sherry? Alcohol seems to be the best solution. Aaaah, isn’t it always . . .

Just kidding!! Please don’t abuse the drink. Be cool, not a fool. A dimwit you ain’t, so act with restraint. Be sober my friend, or you will meet your end. You should not abuse your relationship with booze.

Please commit these short proverbs to memory.

I feel so much better knowing that I have now taught an upstanding lesson to the young minds of tomorrow.

While loitering near the gift table, I spied a series of suspiciously similar bags. What could be inside them? The yellow caps drew me closer . . .

Look, one has our name on it! I peeked inside . . .

. . . Lestoil!!!

It’s the best cleaning product ever, and if I ever entered into a drug abuse relationship via the “sniffing” method, it would be with this magical substance. Or maybe with my Noxzema facewash. I’ll have to think about that one.

I’m so happy that Aunt Jessie remembered my “little problem.”

Yesssssss.

She knows of my addiction, and feeds it.

Dang it, now I have to come up with another moralizing set of proverbs. Chemical sniffing is dumb, and will turn you into a bum. Don’t you sniff that crud or your life will be a dud. If the Lestoil you inhale, you’re sure to end up in jail.

Just call me Rhyming Rhonda. Or Proverb Polly.

Though Dave, the groom, wouldn’t be arriving until the next day due to flight cancellations, his family was in good spirits. His younger brother Andrew stared down the camera time after time. I think it’s a life goal of his.

You’ve probably noticed by now I was having some color balance problems in this room . . . all the walls were different colors, there was a combination of natural light, fluorescent light, and (get this) black lights that made the whites look a lil’ funky . . . I know. Excuses, excuses, excuses. I’ll stop now.

Despite the graininess (hadn’t set my ISO yet, whoops), I love this picture of Erica and Howard, her new father-in-law. It makes me feel a little better about the recent change in her last name.

One of the first things I learned about Dave’s family was that they have an uncanny talent for hanging spoons on their noses.

We all looked on nervously as Erica hung a spoon on her nose–if she failed, would they reject her forever?

She succeeded. Phew.

Then I learned that she was the one who started the whole spoon-hanging debacle in the first place. That Erica.

Our 88 and 87-year-old grandparents Big Jake and Mamma Kitty were able to make it, and they were decked out as usual. I can’t believe I haven’t written about them yet . . . there is so much to say. Wild and crazy stories that you wouldn’t believe. Wild and crazy pictures that you won’t believe even as you look at them. One includes my grandmother in white lingerie standing in the snow, for their now-famous yearly Christmas card.

I won’t even mention the picture of her in a transparent, sparkly body suit with animal furs covering, ehem, the key parts so to speak. She must have been in her seventies when that picture was taken.

I briefly passed off the camera so that I could have a little photo op with Big Jake.

After dinner, we headed over to a gathering of couches for the playing of games and the opening of presents.

One of the best presents Heidi got was a bunch of finger puppets.

This second set of adorable finger puppets is comprised exclusively of heavily furred creatures, so they should be OK weathering a harsh Alaska winter.

They received the majority of the Lestoil, in case they don’t sell that stuff in Alaska. Mike looks especially enthused, don’t you think?

Mamma Kitty snuggled the stuffed lamb. It was quite precious. After being harassed by these puppets, the stuffed lamb needed a little peace and quiet in the arms of somebody affectionate.

Erica also opened a few belated wedding shower gifts.

Something hilarious was probably happening here based on my husband’s adorable expression, but for the life of me I can’t remember what. Wait–sweetie-pie–am I allowed to call you “adorable” on my blog? Because, um, like, you totally are . . .

I’m extremely jealous of this gigantic cutting board courtesy of June and Mike. Just think of all the vegetables you could pile on that thing!

Then again, I’m trying to think of how I would fit that in our tiny sink, and my jealousy is quickly fading.

Erica also received Lestoil. Don’t want anyone thinkin’ the bride was forgotten. She needs it just as much as the rest of us.

And yes, Andrew is still staring me down in the middle of that frame. He’s persistent, and that will take him far in life.

My cousin Steve and his brand spankin’ new wife Steph were looking adorable, as I have come to expect . . .

Blurry picture , but I couldn’t resist posting it–the moment is priceless.

Since the party was held in the church youth group room, there were ample opportunities for gaming. My brother-in-law Mike and I attempted to play a game of ping pong. It was pathetic, and we quickly desisted.

I used to have ping pong talents. Those were my days of glory. I was sixteen, and had a fierce serve. Then, eleven years of ping pong neglect went by, and here you find me, an empty shell of my former self.

Erica and Jen played pool, and Mike played something involving a ball and a long strip of carpet . . .

After all that gaming, we loaded up on brownies and ice cream.

Wedding festivities make you burn a lot of calories, so we all dutifully piled it in. Especially Andrew.

Please notice that he was too distracted by the ice cream to stare down the camera. Hah! I win.

The clean up went fairly quickly since we made the pregnant lady do it. Isn’t that what pregnant ladies do?

After all the madness, where better to go than the hotel bar? Don’t worry, the pregnant one had a Shirley Temple. The rest of us knocked back a couple stiff ones (keep in mind I hadn’t yet coined the useful life-lesson proverbs). It was fantastic. And we actually didn’t “knock back” anything–the boys had a little beer and I daintily sipped a margarita. We were very restrained and proper. Hi, Mom. We’re good kids, we really are.

The Wedding, Part 3 forthcoming on Tuesday. To buy me time, Monday I will post the story and accompanying pictures of a historic wardrobe malfunction in my life. Only stop by if you’re prepared to be shocked.

Have a great weekend, one and all!