Married.

Bridal

So, I haven't written that much about wedding planning, because this isn't a wedding planning blog and you guys don't care about how crazy this whole thing is. But seriously.  Wedding stuff has moved into my head and taken over occupancy and it won't go away. 

I had a couple of anxiety attacks of the kind I haven't experienced since right before the Bar Exam.  These have pretty much gone away since all the deposits have been sent and all the various wedding elves have been booked.  Though I had a miniature breakdown the other day because I realized I hadn't figured out what Fella and his Best Man's ties would look like.


At night, I have the hardest time falling asleep.  There's really not anything to worry about, not really. Everyone whose services I need has been reserved.  Locations are secure. Major decisions made (except the honeymoon, which is entirely Fella's decision and still hasn't been made).  But there are still things! Things that could happen! Things that need to use up my mental energy and occupy my mind! Things that require worrying! And they spin from one topic to the next...

What if I do fall down walking down the aisle?  I really like the symbolism (in my own mind if no one else's) of not being "given away," of doing this act as a grown up independent woman making my own choices.  But those heels are high.  And what if I trip over my dress?  That would be highly mortifying.  Especially with all those people on Fella's side I have never met before.  That will make an awesome impression.  It's not my favorite thing, meeting new people.  I know I have to be a good hostess and I do want to get to know Fella's extended family and the people that are important to him.  But there are so many of them! And I want to have the chance to be with my closest friends and family, too, to celebrate.  Oh, and who am I going to seat at a table with Mr & Mrs Loudandrude?  I feel sorry for whomever I choose, but somebody has to do it.  What if people don't like their tablemates?  What if everybody wants to switch tables and it messes up the caterers and they take people the wrong food?  What if people don't like the food?  What if they think a seated dinner is boring and lame?  What if they think I'm no fun at all, and they don't hang around for the dancing?  What if nobody dances?  What if EVERYBODY dances, and the dance floor is too crowded?  What if instead of my feeling surrounded by love and joy with the important people in my life, the guests don't seem happy or joyous or loving?  What if people go home early and nobody has fun?  What if the people that I don't get to invite are mad at me because the didn't get invited, and the people I do invite are mad because the party was lame? What if when I trip down the aisle I break my leg and the whole thing gets all messed up and I don't even end up married because we have to we have to leave the church and go to the hospital?

So, you see what I mean.  I'm crazy.  

Real

The wedding invitations are here. 

They arrived on our doorstep Thursday, discovered when we returned home from a tasting at the caterer.  I dug into the box and we both giggled while we read it.  "It's real," he said. 

I ran my finger across the raised lettering on the thank you cards, that read "Mr. and Mrs. Fella Fellaslastname" and he said there were times he thought he'd never see that.

For some reason, the arrival of the invitations has calmed me. I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that the last vendor was booked the same day, but still... I have one propped up in my office and it reminds me that all that really matters at the end of this is that we're married.  Even if I trip over my too-high heels, or the flowers are the wrong color, or the table linens aren't the perfect shade of champagne.

Hard to believe that life can be this good. 

Eight

My niece turned 8 years old Monday. The Christmas right before she was born, I went up to Michigan, where my sister and her husband lived, to await her arrival, due on December 28.  She did not choose to join us until after I returned home of course.  It feels like last week, and it feels like a century ago.

I was engaged then, too. I was ass-over-teakettle for Mr. Never-Really-Was-Incredible. Completely oblivious to...everything.  This time, things are so different it's hard to even compare the two situations.  This time, my ass is firmly below my teakettle.  I'm not swept away, it's not about rainbows and unicorns.  That girl thought she'd found The One. I don't even believe in The One anymore. I don't believe in soul mates, not the way I did.  I don't believe in perfect relationships.  I believe in making it work with one person that you love and respect, that loves and respects you in return (thank you, Songbird).


I still struggle, I won't lie.  I have never had a healthy romantic relationship, so it is difficult for me to recognize it. My therapist compares it to the way a child will go out into the world, knowing that whatever happens, Mom will be there when you get home, Mom will help, Mom will always love you.  That's what love is like. Safe, reliable, secure, and CALM.  That was a watershed moment for me, because love has always been fireworks, and crazy passion, drama, tears, game-playing. Apparently I've mistaken the anxiety that results from all that for Great Love.  And the closer the wedding gets, the more I think about the wrong decisions I've made and how to make the right ones.  Am I crazy for trying again? Is HE crazy for wanting to marry me- as messed up as I am?  Should we scrap all this marriage baloney and just live together? Is the anxiety I'm experiencing now just wedding planning crazies? Or my neuroses rearing their ugly heads? Or something bigger?  And all I can figure out is that this is what I want, that he is not my ex, and that I am perfectly capable of doing this.  Even though it freaks me right out. And every once in a while I have to take a deep breath, and remind myself that I am not irretrievably broken.

So, current status: We are 115 days from The Day, wedding planning in full turbo mode.  Most decisions have been made and most vendors booked.  It's gotten a bit larger and more involved that we originally intended, but I think that's the nature of the beast.  My goal is to be surrounded by love and joy and peace. Given that such things are not plannable, I'm focusing on music and food and flowers.

Slacker

Wow, I can't believe it's been so long since I wrote something. Since my last post on October 26, Fella and I moved in together to our new house, I hosted Thanksgiving for his parents and grandmother (and y'all, I cooked. A turkey and everything), and have mostly unpacked and settled in.  Things are going remarkably smoothly with the whole living together thing.  If I can just get him to do things EXACTLY THE WAY I DO THEM, we'll be all good. :)

We've been doing the premarital counseling thing, which is mandatory in our church (and also saves us $60 on the marriage license) and wedding plans are, for the most part, falling right into place.  The reception location has been reserved, the photographer too.  Caterer and florist are pretty much selected, but not quite booked.  Dress purchased. Invitations chosen (I think). Everything went pretty well, except for the one major argument about whether we REALLY needed thank you cards with our names on them (of course we do) and then that one time where the guest list doubled in the course of one phone call from one aunt.  But other than that...

We're going to my sister's house for Christmas, and I'm excited for our first Christmas together.  Then to ASPEN FOR NEW YEAR'S EVE I AM SO VERY EXCITED. 

Other than that, no new developments really. No major revelations about life or love this time. :)

Choosing

So I told Fella what I felt about the NYC bride and groom and their unguarded love for each other and how  I worried he was missing out and how I felt broken.   He said that he didn't think I was broken.  Being a knight in shining armor is too much pressure, he said. He likes knowing I can stand on my own two feet but choose to be with him.   He said he didn't want that woman that thought he hung the moon, because he has a woman that challenges him and makes him laugh and that is amazing, so why would he want something different.

Yeah. I thought that was pretty awesome, too.  Brokenness stopped in its tracks.

But the way I'm second guessing, reevaluating, questioning... is that bad? Does it mean this is not right?

So then today I read this on my new blog obsession: "For me, [engagement] was an ongoing regimen of gut-checks: Is this what I want? Is he who I want? And the answer was always yes. I was choosing him every day. And I knew he was choosing me."

Yes! This!  I keep checking my gut, I worry overly often, to make sure I'm on the right path. Since I don't trust my romantic choices, I'm continuously reassessing them. Is this right? Is he right? Are we crazy? Can I possibly have finally gotten it right?   And in doing so, every day, I choose him. Over and over. Pretty nifty.

Broken

Fella and I attended a wedding last weekend. It was quite the event- on the Hudson River in New York City, four course seated dinner, beautiful flowers... but what struck me was the ceremony.  The couple had written the entire ceremony themselves, and though I had never met either of them before that weekend, by the end of the night I felt I knew them well because they were able to incorporate so many personal elements.  One thing was quite remarkably clear-- these two were madly in love.  Madly in love, in that maybe I should write this down because I don't want to ever forget a single word that comes out of his brilliant mouth sort of way.  Can't keep our hands off each other sort of way.  The world stops when she walks through the door sort of way. Want to voice every thought and feeling we ever have sort of way.  It was lovely, and sweet, and really very moving.

I started thinking, naturally, about the wedding Fella and I will have. About our relationship.  And about how I feel like I am not capable of THAT kind of feeling.  I love Fella, I think he's a really good man. He makes me laugh, he's smart, and he's kind.  And I worry that he's getting the short end of the deal here.  I mean, he thinks I'm all that and a bag of chips, so he's pleased with this arrangement, don't get me wrong.  But am I depriving him of that kind of relationship?  His childhood friend just married a woman that looked at him like he hung the moon up in the sky just for her... But Fella gets a woman that looks at him with cautious optimism.  Because I'm broken.

I used to be that girl. I was wide open- honest and naked and completely and totally vulnerable. We all know that didn't turn out so well, and I think it's not unreasonable that I'm guarded.  But.

I honestly don't know if the wall will ever come all the way down. I'm not keeping it up on purpose, and I don't keep him a little bit at arm's length consciously, but... It is happening.  I'm protective of my soft places, and I'm a protective of my individual, separate life.   We've discussed this before.

When my phone beeps, if he picks it up and reads the text on the screen before handing me the phone I immediately feel a bit violated. Not because there is anything in that text that I don't want him to see, but it irks me that he would read it. It's not to him.  I have to remind myself that he just likes to know all about me, it's just his way, he's not trying to control anything. It's not like he's snooping, he's just infinitely curious and wants to know all about me and all the people in my life.  I'm not that way-- self-absorption or self-protection, I don't know, but either one, I'm not all that interested in other people.  I purposefully do not mention any little stories about a friend to him, because he will continue to ask about that friend and that situation forever. I tell myself it's protecting that friend's privacy, but sometimes it's really just because I don't like to share every corner of my life.


What if the wall never comes down? What if he's stuck battling my defense mechanism forever?  What if I'm irreparably broken?

Name

When I got divorced 3 years ago, and changed my last name back to my maiden name, I swore I would never change my last name again.  Never.

I hate that when I see someone I haven't seen in a while, and they say, "your last name was different then, wasn't it?" There are multiple possibilities for what my last name might have been.  There's my last name at birth. My last name when my step-father adopted me in second grade (my current last name), and two married last names have come and gone, with my maiden name making an appearance in the middle.

And despite my confidence in this decision, in Fella, in our ability to make it work, I'm unsure. I mean, of course I'm confident. He's my lobster!  Confident, yes. But I'm still wary.

My hesitancy is partially due to the fear that one day I'll have to change it back. Again. Those fears that rear their ugly heads, the remnants of my past, the foundations of my wall.

There's also the whole professional angle, Judges and other attorneys are starting to know me by name and I'm going to go and mess that up?  Also, if I keep this name professionally, clients and opposing parties will not be able to find me as easily in the world (by searching property records, etc. YES they do that).

I have to figure this out before I order our Thank You cards....

Funny

So, as I stare down my imminent move (25 days to go) I was thinking about all the times I had moved since this blog started.  I moved to Colorado during a time I wasn't blogging much (*cough* marital disintegration *cough*), and I didn't much talk about it. Then I moved again when I found myself suddenly single in June 2008, and didn't blog about that either. I lived for a few months with a roommate, then moved to my own place in early November 2008.  Then in April 2009 I moved in with P.  Then in April 2010 I left Colorado and documented my cross-country move. And last September, I moved back home to Memphis. And now, I'm moving in with Fella.


Wow, blog tweeps.  We've been through a boatload together.  This is my seventh move since I started the blog. I'm too lazy to count the jobs I've taken, lost, and/or  left (okay, I counted. Nine. Nine jobs, since I started blogging).  I've adopted a new kitten (wow he was so tiny!), lost a dog, moved across the country, gotten divorced, started writing like three books (none finished, of course), moved back across the country,  stayed in a job a WHOLE YEAR, found someone new, and now I'm getting married...

Life is a funny thing, isn't it.



p.s. I bought a dress. A pretty one. A bride-y one. :)  I went to visit my mom and sister and we went shopping.  I'm certainly not putting a picture up here, but I wish I could. Because I LURRRVVVE it.

More

My wrist is doing well... removing the screws and plate is a much easier undertaking than putting them in.  Today is two weeks and one day post-op, and I barely notice it.  I have steri strips over my incision, and sometimes they get pulled or rubbed by my clothes or whatever, and that irritates it a little.   And lots of typing, or carrying heavy things, makes it sore. But all in all, big improvement.

Oh, also? Fella is under contract to buy the best house ever, and we will be taking the big moving-in-together step on Halloween. Which I find appropriate. :)

(Actually, it's two days before Halloween, which is on a Monday this year, but that doesn't sound as good)

In the next six weeks, I have: this weekend, 2 bridal showers for my BFF; next weekend, my own birthday and a major fundraising event for which I'm volunteering; followed by 3 weekends out of town-- one for bridal shopping with my mom and sister, one for said BFF's bachelorette weekend, one for Fella's best friend's wedding in NYC, which is immediately followed by BFF's wedding weekend here in town, and then the next weekend?  MOVING.


Anybody wanna come pack up all my stuff?  I'll give you a dollar.

Details

Sorry for the delay!  I've been a busy busy bee...

So.  Let's start at the very beginning.

Remember when I did this?  Well, two years later and the metal plate and screws were bothering me, so I set up an outpatient surgery to remove them.  That went without incident, and after two days at home, stuck in the house, I was getting a bit of cabin fever.  Fella suggested just getting out and going to lunch, as he was craving a burger from a certain restaurant.  I thought it was a weird thing to be craving, but I like that place so I said that sounded good.  When we got to the restaurant, it crossed my mind that, because this restaurant was the site of our first date, it would make an appropriate proposal location.  But lunch came and went, and was delicious, but nothing of interest happened.  And back home we went.

I was ready to cuddle up under the covers on my couch, where I'd spent the past 2 days, and Fella let Max out.  When he let Max back in, he said, "Max has something for you."  I couldn't see anything in his mouth, and I was wary, because I expected a dead critter or piece of poop or clod of dirt.  Instead I saw a pink ribbon tied in a bow.  Max came to me and laid down, as he always does, and Fella knelt down beside us, took the ribbon off Max's collar which was holding the ring, and asked me to marry him.

I, of course and obviously, said yes...

Engaged.

 

Details to follow.... :)