from flickr user bitzi

The other night, the mister and I did a short run. I was having one of those days where it felt I never woke up. I was going to pass on the run to get some thank you cards done, but he convinced me otherwise.
As we were running and chatting, he abruptly says, “Babe! Watch out for the poop!” and pushes me to the side.

I was incensed! “I see the effing poop! You don’t need to effing shove me!” His face went shocked, and quietly said wow. I felt terrible for yelling at him and embarrassed to have such a strong reaction to something that he says to me all the time. (I’m like a poop magnet. If it’s on the street, I’ll step into it. And he always gently steers me away.)

I didn’t strike me until this morning after two more short encounters, that I’m internalizing a lot of stress at the moment. And quite frankly, there is a  lot of stress. Family stuff, did I make the right choices with vendors, SO much left to do, so little time, that I’m a little short. I’m processing every comment, every remark as negative. I’m in the NEO.

When I got home last night, we were sitting together, sharing our days.  I found myself reacting to something as criticism, and I immediately apologized and explained to him how I was feeling. He didn’t quite understand, and didn’t know how I would react to anything right now. I explained that whenever something he says that could sound like an order or starts with You, is when I get on the defensive.  He replied that he’d be more aware of his words.

Our conversation turned to the things overwhelming me at the moment, the massive to do list of things I’d like to get done this weekend. He turned and looked at the apartment and said, “It would be nice if we could get some of these half finished projects done.”

I looked at him, and said criticism. “It’s what we were just talking about, saying how I feel like I need an extra day to finish these projects! I can’t do them at night, because I need to go outside! I know what has to be done, and the earliest I can get to it is Sunday. I have thought of everything I felt like he was doubting me, that I hadn’t already made a mental list of everything to be done and figured out a when.

He apologized, and suggested I needed to let him in my brain, into the to do list so he knows what’s going on.  And so we try, to exercise more humility.

A fun game to play when dealing with the stressors of wedding planning, but also slashing and burning through the To Dos…. My Next Wedding!

For example:

• For my next wedding, I’m going to print all the guests names on the RSVP cards. Therefore no confusion about who is and isn’t invited.
• For my next wedding, I’ll have bridesmaids, but they’ll pick out their own dressed- a la that amazing Vogue spread.
• For my next wedding, I won’t be registering (especially not at Macy’s) and ask for cash cash
  cash.
• I’ll spend less money on the silly wedding things, and more on taking a very long honeymoon through India.
• From Bryan: For my next wedding, I’ll marry Natalie Portman in a Star Wars themed wedding.

fifty -two

My husband-to-be loves lentil soup. His usual Murray’s order: everything bagel with cream cheese and small lentil soup. I am sure he would it eat everyday for the rest of his life if he could.

So, I want to make him the best lentil soup ever. I want him to love it, ask me to make it and brag about it. ‘Cause, you know, that’s not such a bad thing. Husbands should brag about their wives.

What was a bad thing… the soup I made Monday night. I don’t know how this is possible, but my lentil soup had no flavor (despite the garlic and cumin) and had the consistency of baby food. The poor man could barely take two spoonfuls. I ate my small bowl, having grown up in an eat-everything-on-your-plate household.  He pushed his bowl to the side, and told me not to worry: I have our entire future to figure it out.

Sure, sure… but in the meantime: anyone have a killer lentil soup recipe out there?

from flickr user Leo Reynolds

I’m feeling a bit murderous today. The joys of working with the public, I suppose. It’s all gray, cold and wet out. Rain is forecasted for the entire weekend.

The murderous feelings are also coming from this question, “How are the wedding plans coming along? Do you have a date yet?”

The first one I get, which I’ve learned to respond to with a tight lipped fine. The second, I just don’t get! Have people been living under a rock?

Also: “Are you excited?!” Well, yes and a bit terrified. Not so much for the marriage part, as I believe it requires daily work  and intentional actions. But for all the small pieces to come together. I feel like I’ve been floating through wedding planning by the seat of my pants, piecing things from here and there and crossing my fingers it will all work out.

Okay- here’s the real deal. I’m a major procrastinator. Yesterday, I finally broke into the box of baby food jars we are using for candles to assemble them with tea lights. Most of them still had the labels on and all needed to be washed. And there is that sticky stuff on labels, you know? That glue that is a pain in the butt to get off? I dried cooking oil, rubbing alcohol, hair dryer and an exacto knife, all to various degrees of success. I want to get these done so I can drop them off at my mom’s this weekend, so she in turn can deliver them to the florist. So why did I wait until the last minute? I’ve had MONTHS to do everything. I’m trying to reflect back on the papers I wrote in college, the conference presentations I made, the training plans I developed into the wee hours of the morning, and it all worked out fine. Lovely, without a hitch.

This wedding day just has more moving parts. More room for error, more players, more emotions.

Walking to the train station, a song from the late 90s came on. Liz Phair’s Jealousy. By all accords, a rocking song, but tonight it hit a new chord.

Sometimes I’m envious of these high school/ college sweethearts. (And middle school. My dear sweet friend!). There was no life before them. Bryan and I are grown adults with a few relationships under our belts. And this was a first for me- the first man I had been substantially involved with to care about his ex. Our past relationship experiences framed a lot of our early conversations- what made us unhappy, why we stayed and ultimately why we left. These were the experiences we bonded over and through them discovered our shared values.

I wonder what we do with the digital artifacts of our previous relationships. I liken them to digital clutter- why hold on to it? Bryan says, why does it matter— and years down the road it will matter less. It’s still memories of the life he had before me, which involved experiences that shaped him into the man I adore. Yet, I say, why hold on to that. It was the pass, let it go.

Let me say this to shape my point- I don’t believe in the friendly exes. I don’t do it, and I’m not entirely convinced one can. Is it related to the idea of your partner (being spouse, B/G-friend) as your best friend. We are friends- but our relationship is more than best friends. I think you need some immediate distance, you still aren’t going to tell your now ex everything you once did. I’ll concede that people may be able to get to that point later on, but it involves a lot more people being on board with it.

So, I try to work through my jealousy. Is it the same pose in photographs? Was it the living together? Or was it the time in between his last relationship and me that drives me crazy? And the truth is, it’s a bit of all of it.

Jealousy is insecurity, anxiety and fear of a loss. My fears are that we won’t last; he’s going to leave me. It’s irrational, but it’s based in the relationship models I had growing up. We’ll be vowing our commitment to each other soon and already as Bryan says, feels in his heart that we are married. But underlying, there is this fear: of being rejected and pushed aside, at some point. It’s similar to the feelings I had early in our relationship- I felt like I was self sabotaging so he’d just get the breaking up with me over with. Marriages don’t fail so instantly, there is hurt, lies, contempt that builds up the breaking point. One must work every day at having a positive relationship and be honest about expectations.

i’ve been thinking about and feeling the pain surrounding wedding planning. the ever wise meg, leader of the practical brides, posted a question from a reader. her father was very ill, and may not make her wedding. she was reaching out to the community of readers to say wtf, this sucks, and what do i do?

weddding planning is hard work, it’s money, it’s details. but it’s also some of the most emotional taxing work i’ve ever done on a consistent basis. and it is not fun.

my father died on sept 21 2003, just a few months after i graduated from college. it was sudden and painful. he entered the hospital on the night i drove to boston to see bjork and died 3 weeks later. my dad was never well through my life, struggling with his weight and side effects of being overweight. that first year was the most painful- a physical pang in my heart, a measured loss, a concrete change. and then slowly you shift. i believe if one could  hover in space and look down at the imeline of my life, there is a large black line (or maybe even a wall, ’cause you can’t go back) when my father died. crossing that line meant crossing into a new life, a new world and learning how to be okay in that space.

and father’s have a big role in weddings, right? i mean, traditionally a father gives her daughter away, dances with her, gives a speech. and even before, he’s to approve of her beloved and offer his blessings for the engagement. taking all the feminist concerns and trappings of patriarchy away, father of the bride is a big deal. especially when, you can’t have it. the fresh faced women studies major may have balked at being given away, but today i see it more as a symbolic act of recognition. i am who i am because of my parents, and it’s a way to honor them. (remember, ’cause weddings just aren’t about you.)

but this is the sadness of wedding planning that no bridal magazine speaks of. what it’s like to plan a wedding in the face of sadness, and many more women and men are planning while sadness is unfolding on a daily basis. i was so thankful for this post- it was the voices i had been waiting to here. that i wasn’t alone in carrying darkness around.

and this is a club. not any club we’d want to be members of, but here we are. a club of pain, longing, sadness, but a club of hope, joy and deep love. and out of this club, we learn about the ways to celebrate the people we love at our celebrations. i’ve asked my dad’s sister to read a mary oliver poem, poppies. a good friend, a lover of poetry, sent to me shortly after my father died. it was touching, raw, and provided a little light- of life beyond the current plain. poppies has provided me comfort over the years- words i constantly turn to, keep nearby.

and this lightness, this happiness is our marriage. our commitment to each other. and while not there, i know my dad’s love will be shining down.

I don’t believe that the wedding dress should be the most expensive thing a woman ever wears. And god, I hope not. That said, I believe a wedding dress should be lovely, elegant and fitting for the bride. I had a budget of around $800 for the dress. Not very much in this world of $3000+ Vera’s.  I dutifully went through the wedding magazines, oohing at a dress to gasping at the price. I loved the lace dresses, and always have. I figured maybe I could afford a preowned lace dress or something ivory at a local boutique, and lace it up.

One day in April, I headed out to look at dresses. These ridiculous time lines suggest you should start 12 months before, so no time like the present! The first place I went was The Bridal Garden to try on dresses. A nonprofit bridal boutique that raises money for education in NYC. Win-win. The store was lovely with a good selection of dresses, good organization, excellent prices, and helpful but hands off staff. I grabbed an armful of dresses (heavy!) and went into the fitting room. Dress after dress wasn’t me. The dress I like the most was a beaded and lace number that would have required extensive alterations. I’m getting married outside (fingers crossed) and our evening won’t be that formal.  I also disliked how this particular dress looked. It was have required two pairs of Spanx, fishing line and a personal trainer. I am not interested in Spanx on my wedding day. I thanked the employee for her time and headed out to my next appointment.

Near by was Jenny Yoo who offers a alternative bridal collection. Simple, elegant dresses. And super affordable. Did I mention that? The cuts were excellent, a-line, simple and vintage looking… but too simple. I wanted something in between the lace and beaded gown and a simple plain dress.

I decided to round out my day at RK Bridal. It’s no frills and good prices. First come, first served. Put your name on a list for a dressing room, and then find the dresses you want, organized by designer. I found four lacy tea length dresses and waited for my fitting room. There’s really no place to sit down, so I ended up standing around and watching women come out of the dressing rooms, to show their mother’s and bridal party their selections. Some even had on tees proclaiming BRIDE and MOH. I watched one particular bride leave her dressing room, gowned and veiled. The woman helping her (who must have been working there since they opened), proclaimed, “Now this is what a bride looks like! Pure elegance!” Now, this woman and I have very different ideas of what elegance is, and I carefully reminded myself that. Having seen enough, I found a little bench in the back and pulled out my New Yorker, waiting for my name to be called. After a few moments, I realize my heart is pounding and I’m starting to feel lightheaded. And, I might be sick. Like now. I race out of the store and grab a cab. I barely make it down my block, let alone into my apartment, to get sick. I would have been at that store, all alone, trying on dresses, in front of others who would be judging me inside their heads. It was all just too much. I couldn’t handle it.

Bryan came home just as I was, er, in the bathroom and reminded me to relax. After a week or so, I reflected on the process. I was leaning towards the Jenny Yoo dresses, perhaps having it altered, adding some lace.  But why jump through those hoops?  I could have something made! I ended up knowing that I had a stronger sense about what I liked and didn’t like, and knew that it was going to be have to special. I had been reading the Wedding Bee, and knew I wanted a strong and fitting dress. I’m a clothes kind of girl. It mattered to me to have something fitting for the feel of the day, my style and my range.

Fast forward a few weeks later, I was shopping in Nolita when I popped into Saja. I was looking for a dress to wear to a wedding, and eyed some lovely white dresses at the end of the rack. I tried on one, and thought it lovely. It was tea length, romantic, and didn’t require any alterations. It was one day and one year before my wedding and I thought it was a sign. I slapped down my credit card and skipped out the door. I thought myself so cool for checking that one off the list.

Months later, she didn’t sit right with me. Every time I thought of the dress, I was filled with dread. I didn’t love it. I felt some internal pressure to buy the dress. That it was good enough and would do the trick. In retrospect, I should have walked away but I felt anxiety about trying on dresses and finding something I loved in my price range. I had tried to convince myself that it would be fine, it’s just one night! And then, a lifetime in pictures! I mulled it over with two of my nonbridesmaids, who said, if you don’t love it, then find something else. I dreaded telling Bryan. I thought he’d be so upset at my quickness. Of course, he was wonderful and understanding.

I tried to return the dress in August, but as with most bridal, there is a strict all sales final policy. I listed her on WeddingBee and Craigslist and not a drop of interest. I figured I would try my best to sell it, consign it locally, or just wear it to our post wedding party.

Over Thanksgiving, Saja worked to put me in touch with a young woman who was interested in buying the dress, but it didn’t work out. However, just after the holidays Once Wed featured a wedding with that dress! And I had the last dress available! The store no longer carried this dress. I emailed them back to see if they’d reconsider their policy, and they agreed to offer store credit. I listed it on Once Wed, and within 12 hours had a buyer and shipped it that same day. We were able to get back most of the money on the dress and no longer had it hanging over our heads. I skipped out of the post office, having put her in route to a bride. It felt wonderful.

Though… of course our story doesn’t end here. There is a dress. A fabulous, much more me and appropriate dress. And shoes! Oh, the shoes! Stay tuned.

Bryan has just a handful of guy friends who are married. After our engagement he asked one of them, How is it different? Being married as to just being committed to each other? What’s the benefit?

His friend told him the good was still good, but the bad, the fights, the life choices, no matter how fraught with difficulty and urge for flight, you stay and remain and work through it. And it doesn’t seems as bad knowing that you will get through it and it will be okay.

I’m thankful for this perspective. And I think it’s one that Bryan and I share.

I am a bad bad blogger.

So, last week I went to visit my best friend in New Orleans. She and her fiance relocated in July and it was the perfect weekend to see their new city and meet their community. We spent a lot of time talking about wedding things: catering and cost saving ideas  to what it means to be a wife, and how that fits into the narrative of adult rites of passage.

I reflected on our conversation on the flight back, and should have written some notes. I think what I’ve taken away at this point is how I’m apperciative we are going through the same rite of passage. She said she hadn’t thought much about being a wife, and questioned whether things would change. I think they do, they must change, or else why would we commit ourselves to a partner for life? There must be security and safety that allows mircochange. I think a lot about being a wife, outside of being a mother. I’m thankful to have a friend who is going through the same rite of passage to share my thoughts and feelings with. As similiar as we are, we are both approaching marriage and wife-hood differently. The space in between is where the learning takes place.

I have a blister on my left index finger and a pulled muscle in my neck. All from removing the lids from baby food jars. Around 60 of them.

I’m using mason jars. Love the rustic look and how easy they are to come by. My sister even scored some with glass lids at tag sales. Woo hoo! Tables also need candles, so I thought hey, let’s use baby food jars for candles! Luckily said sister just had a baby and started to save jars for me.

I plunked myself down and attacked the jars with ferver. In retrospect, I’m not sure why my sister gave me all the jars with the lids on them, but she did. As kids, she would put lids on jars so tight that we wouldn’t be able to get them off. Things haven’t changed.

Also related: gave up the idea of making my own candles in the jars. Like putting in wicks and melting wax. Just going to order candles instead. Feels good to say no to DIY sometimes.