If the Shoe Fits, GET MARRIED IN IT!

Bridal caboose is back on the wedding track! Now that the big items are taken care of, the "smaller" items are starting to feel big because they are surrounded by all small things. The biggish small thing I took care of today was getting my shoes. Accompanied by bridal caboose rider, Krista, I effortlessly bought the shoes that will carry me across the threshold of maidenhood. I like them because they are sparkly and strappy and the heel is only about 2.5 inches. I am honestly not sure how this is all going to go because my gown is heavy-- and I mean heavy. When I brought her home, I hung her in the closet in the guest bedroom. I went to check on her last weekend and the hanger had broken and the dress was sort of slumped over. Luckily the skirt is hearty enough to stand on its own, but it's a little disconcerting to see your wedding dressed slumped over in a closet like a homicide victim.

So the shoes have been purchased. I also have my eye on a tiara to wear during the reception. I got a little sticker shock when I saw the price, but if I am ever going to wear a tiara, I'm pretty sure now is the time. I was too scared to pull the trigger today, but it's only a matter of time before I make one of them my own.

We also got a lovely gift from Krista and Gene-- a book by Anna Diamant about the Modern Jewish Wedding. It's very comprehensive. We read about the significance of the chuppah today and also about the breaking of the glass. I have been telling Jeff all along that if we have the breaking of the glass, we are both doing it. I haven't been very keen on the traditions that have rigid gender "rules", although you didn't exactly hear my plaintive cries when it came to him buying me an engagement ring. In any case, it turns out that modern Jewish wedding ceremonies often feature both the bride and groom breaking the glass. Having now bought my bridal Mary Jane's, I am not so sure about stomping on a glass. We read that breaking the glass symbolizes several different aspects of Jewish culture, including a commemoration of the communal sadness associated with the destruction of the Temple. Nothing says party quite so much as communal sadness. I was less enthused about bringing in memories of centuries of sadness, oppression and destruction into our wedding so I am attaching to another significance: it also alludes to the initiation of the sexual union. Racy business, this Judaism! I remember reading that a groom who fails to break the glass foreshadows his own impotence. (Jeff, are you reading this?)

We've actually had a very religious weekend. Last night we buried a St. Joseph statue in a flower pot on the balcony of my condo. You know, the one that's been on the market for almost 10 weeks without an offer. We buried St. Joseph head first so that his feet face the heavens and said a prayer that he facilitate our home sale. We tried the St. Joseph intercession when Jeff's place was for sale, and I say it worked. Jeff says that the fact that an offer came weeks after we stooped in freezing rain and plunged St. Joe into the ground means it didn't work. I say that had we not buried him we would have never sold his condo. Who can touch that impeccable logic?

Who's Amazing?

You know who is $*&^ing amazing? Sarah Silverman. I have always loved her. I may actually have a crush on her. But I read an interview with her this morning that restored my faith in humankind, which, incidentally, had taken a real beating after the Chinese gymnast scandal and the whole Wesley Snipes tax evasion situation. If you have never seen Sarah Silverman in action, log on, go to your Netflix queue and order Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic. If it doesn't offend you at least once, then you have no heart and you don't deserve a Netflix account. It's really, really something. Think jokes about 9/11. I love it because it's brash and just about over the top in some places and it's brutal. It's really brutal. It makes me uncomfortable. I feel afraid to laugh and unsure whether some of her "observations" are really funny or just plain cruel and sociopathic. I had a real viseral reaction to some of her material. I am still thinking about it three years later. It woke something up inside of me-- perhaps it was just shock and revulsion. But I liked it. Her material is undoubtedly offensive, and ribald, and totally cruel. Reminds me of group therapy.

Anyway, in her interview Silverman is asked about her act and how she skewers just about every ethnicity and race and leaves no cultural bias unexamined. She mentioned that there is one group of people of whom she will never make fun: Fat women. I thought it was windup for a new joke. There was no joke. She basically said that fat women in society have it hard enough without being the butt of a joke. This woman is totally fearless, and I mean fearless, when it comes to poking at racist or religious ideology. She has more than one joke about child molestation. She's got a limit, though, and that limit is fat women. Thank god she has romantic limits too because Jimmy Kimmel is no match for her, and she's better off without him.

Without thinking about it too much or consulting the portable Nancy Chodorow, I like it. I like the Silverman has a limit. It makes me like her even more. At a professional conference recently I heard a panelist exhort females in the work place to support and champion one another. It was framed as a way to become successful in your own right by uplifting other women and building up the network. I have been trying it out at work. I have actually been working on being more positive overall (that's why this isn't a post about who &^*king sucks, which comes WAY more naturally to me) but I am especially being more conscious of how I talk about female colleagues and engage in any evaluation/conversation/interpretation of women and their work/behavior/appearance. Here's why that is especially crucial: I stepped into a colleague's office today and mentioned that I had seen Justice Ginsburg yesterday at a conference. His comment, his first and only comment, delivered with a ice cold dose of sarcasm: "She's a real attractive lady."

Hmmmm.

Wow.

You mean "attractive" like Scalia? I don't mean to play dirty, but have you seen his hairline? His waist line? His unibrow? Justice Ginsberg is at the apex of the legal world. There is no court higher than the Supreme Court. There is nowhere else to go unless you want to dispense justice on the moon. Of all the gender neutral accomplishments (top in her law school class, served on law review at both Harvard and Columbia, argued in front of the Supreme Court, appointed to the Supreme Court), as well as all of the gendered accomplishments (named one of the 20 most powerful women in the world by Forbes magazine, most powerful female lawyer), the sole comment my articulate and well-educated male colleague can make about this woman is that she's not "hot."

If Justice Ginsburg, whose power is unmistakable and whose brilliance is uncontestable, can be reduced to her appearance, what about the rest of the teeming female masses trying to make our way in the corporate, or legal, or publishing, or IT, or business, or I-banking world today? If she's going to be denigrated for her failure to live up to cultural norms of "hot," what is going to happen to me? God, what if she was, according to my colleague's estimation, also overweight? The most unforgiveable sin a woman can commit in our culture is to be overweight, right? We'd forgive Medea before we'd forgive Jennifer Love Hewitt for having cellulite on her thighs.

It's probably a good spiritual practice for me to work on being more positive and affirming about everyone's appearance, not just my female colleagues. The difference is that the subject of appearance comes up so much more around female colleagues. Women still fall on the body side of the mind/body equation, so until the pendulum swings and the cultural reflex is to attack a woman's mind-- her logic, her politics, her writing, her analytic skills-- then I will remain vigilant about how I participate in conversations about women and their appearance.

Bridal Countdown and Lessons Learned

It's August 29th.

It's 3 months until our wedding.

We have done everything major there is to do, except actually get married.

We learned that having two wedding-related appointments within 48 hours is WAY TOO much for us.

I haven't done a single arm exercise in about 2 weeks.

Trying to grow my hair into a bridal mane isn't working and I am making a hair appointment with Ricky, a new recommendation, ASAP.

Trying to grow my nails into suitable bridal talons is working, but that may be related to the prenatal vitamins I am bingeing on daily.

Caboose Visit to Emergency Room

Last night was a scary time on the bridal caboose. Still lightheaded from my brush with judicial greatness, I got a phone call from Joyce in the EMERGENCY ROOM. That's about the last place I want anyone to call me from. She had been riding her bike home and got "doored" by a passenger in a car (from Iowa) and took a nasty tumble.

Thank Heavens Joyce is OK. She's not thrilled about the sapphire blue sling that now supports her splinted arm. I don't blame her one bit, though blue is a really, really good color on her. Who wants to be injured in the last few weeks of summer. Thank God Joyce was wearing, as she ALWAYS does, a helmet. The staff at Illinois Masonic hospital was attentive and thorough. The nurse who put the splint on told us that bike accidents happen all the time. I asked the nurse what he recommends, from a health and safety perspective, for people who want to bike in the city. He said to just assume an accident involving a car door will happen to you. Maybe it was just me, but I wasn't particularly assured by this "advice." I have been telling Jeff for weeks he is not allowed to ride his bike in the city. Luckily we are both too busy to tool around town in a bike. But, seriously, he's not allowed to ride the bike in the city.

Jeff and I both left work when we got the call from Joyce and headed to the hospital. On June 2, 2005, I went to the same hospital to see Joyce who had been in a much worse car accident on the highway. That time I left a work conference and went to see her by myself. Last night while we were lounging in the cubby hole the hospital assigned to Joyce, I was thinking how grateful I am that (1) Joyce can visit the emergency room with slightly alarming regularity but end up ok, (2) I can show up for her because we are truly family to one another, and (3) Jeff really is part of that family. It's moments like when we made the decision to just go to the hospital that I know Jeff and I have the same values and priorities. People come before work. People come before exercise. People come before money. And when Jeff told me to steal a few pairs of rubber gloves for upcoming painting projects at our house, I also knew we had the same sense of humor. And, then when I realized he wasn't joking, I re-learned that I treasure what Jeff can do that I simply just cannot: think through a situation relate it to a future home improvement project. I was aware in the moment that I was in the middle of understanding something about family and coming together.

I was having an "I'll be a great mother some day" moment when I was tying one-armed Joyce's tennis shoes; and I could see in Jeff a very fatherly demeanor when he was taking care of her bike and thinking through the best way to deal with dinner last night.

I would prefer not to learn such lessons at the emergency room, but since everyone is alive and in one piece I guess it's ok. And if Illinois Masonic is reading this, yes, those two pairs of rubber gloves were pilfered from your premises last night around 6:30 p.m., and thank you for taking care of Joyce.

EVERYONE wear your helmets!

Once Biden, Twice Shy

Does anyone else think Biden looks like Bob Barker? I am trying to decide if that is good or bad.

May It Please the Court

I met one of my heroes today. "Met" may be an overstatement, but I was seated at Table 12, a mere 6 feet from the podium where Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg gave a key note address today. This has nothing obvious to do with our wedding and I won't try to wrench it into the wedding context, but when you see a Supreme Court Justice speak-- the ONLY female Justice currently on the Court-- then, you blog it out as far as I am concerned.

She's so articulate and committed and humble. She didn't offer any antedotes from her own experience, but she told the story of Belva Lockwood, the first woman to argue before the Supreme Court in 1879. She made only one allusion to current law when she mentioned the Ledbetter decision where she wrote a dissent arguing that pay discrimination claims develop over time and, yet again, championed a view that would uphold an interpretation of Title VII that would actually provide remedial relief for victims of discrimination.

What was more amazing to me than the fact that she wore a scrunchy to hold her salt-and-pepper shoulder length hair in a pony tail was her vitality and energy. She makes 75 years old look young. I just two nights ago told Jeff that I needed a goal to strive for in my non-wedding life. I am tired of athletic goals, which may be less compatible with my goal to have a bunch of sets of twins, but something real. A stretch goal. Something that would blow the lid off any previous vision. This goal-search can be put off until after the nuptials, but it's germinating and marinating and working its way into my consciousness.

Biden My Time

Still not feeling it. Want to, but still not feeling it. When watching the video montage of Biden before his speech last night, I felt a little melting of my hardened heart. The other half of my brain was willing me not to melt over some propgaganda film. After all, look what Triumph of the Will did. I am not saying Biden is a Nazi-- not at all-- but film images can be powerful galvanizing forces and I want to think critically, even about the people chosen by the leaders I really respect and admire. And, hope to vote for in November.

Yes, his son Beau is sort of cute and his name is curious and so southern. Is his full name Beauregard?

And yes, I was sad to hear about the death of his first wife and daughter.

But, I am not there yet. I may have started to come around when I heard he passed the Violence Against Women Act. Just not quite there.

Bridal Juke Box

You know how a certain song reminds you of a certain time period or memory? Like I remember hearing Madonna's Borderline for the first time ever at White Water Amusement Park with April and Adrienne McKinney. It must have been 1984. Or the summer that I started graduate school I listened to Lyle Lovett's "I Love Everybody" at least three times per day.

So, nowadays I avoid songs with a break-up or divorce theme. Yes, there are songs about divorce. There's a terrible Sting song about divorce and custody, there's Randy Travis' "Bones," and there a song by Reba about divorced parents dropping off children for the weekend. Horrible. I don't want those songs in my head while I am metamorphosizing (is that the right word?) into a wife.

What I DO want as the soundtrack of my last three months and three days of maidenhood is-- of course-- Dolly Parton's newest album, Backwoods Barbie. I woke up this morning and the lyrics of "Better Get to Livin'" were in my head. When it's time to pick up the pace, I am favoring Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied." If I was a coffee drinker, which I am not, and I was in a position to have to let go of the $5.00 per day Starbucks habit because of a need to penny pinch, I would go through caffeine withdrawal with Beyonce at my side and in my ear. Instead of drinking coffee every morning, I would listen to this song-- it does for me what the internet says caffeine does-- raises my heartbeat, gives me dry mouth and gives me a boost. It's like audio cocaine. It's changing my life. It's on the bridal juke box.

Bitter.Sweet.

Well, we took no prisoners tonight at the bakery that will create our wedding cake! We ended up in a warm embrace, half-intoxicated because the most amazing mocha creme frosting was coursing through our veins. I think I got a cavity from the sweet deliciousness that was the filling tray that Bittersweet served us. We picked a cake and found a fun design that is somewhat reminiscent of our wedding invitations.


Jeff and I were blessed enough to have two bridesmaids join the cake project. These two ladies have a dessert named after them: Angel food cake. It was nice to have company to help us wade through the cake choices: almond, hazelnut, chocolate, vanilla, white, carrot and banana. Then, there were the fillings: Creme brulee, chocolate creme brulee, chocolate mousse, white chocolate mousse, vanilla, passion fruit, lemon, mocha creme. Then, there was the butter cream frosting. I am seriously in need of some insulin. It was all very delicious, but we all agreed that the almond cake was the moistest, the mocha filling was the most divine and the butter cream was a no-brainer.


Jeff and I are not big cake eaters. I have a huge sweet tooth, but he doesn't really. He's the kind of person who can eat half of a dessert and walk away without having to call suicide hotline. He expressed ambivalence about the cake tasting on the way over to Bittersweet.


Joyce is NOT ambivalent about cake. We are super sad that the Silver Surfer could not join us, but he had to take a business trip to Indianapolis. We really needed Joyce's refined pallet and joy for all things cake. She delivered. NO amivalence. Just what we needed.


We think that maybe we should have eaten dinner before our sojourn into cake testing. In fact, I am positive I should have had dinner first. We still ended up with smiles on our faces, which is a small miracle, because ......



Jeff and I had a little tiff on the way to the bakery. It was a new kind of tiff for us. Jeff snapped at me for the first time ever. Ever. Ever. Definitely and hopefully not the last. I am happy that the Mayor of Patience lost it with me today. I kept interrupting him, which is something I am wont to do, and he didn't like it and he let me know. I think doing cake on the heels of Tatiana was maybe a little too much wedding planning for us. We do better when we spread it out. I am happy that Jeff can express his anger at me in my presence. I know it's an affirmation and I am glad it happened. At the time, however, my thoughts were less charitable and humble, but now, after 80 dips of my spoon into pure sugar goodness, I have mellowed. It's not just the sugar....it's a recognition of the messiness of intimacy. I hate it and I love it and I want more and I hope it never happens again and of course it will and maybe next time we'll just stop whatever we are doing and go get some cake.




Pictured above: Jeff only 6 minutes before his first-ever snapping at me on the street for interrupting him. Does he look like a man about to snap?

Twosies

Last night was the second time in a month that I have had a very vivid dream that I have given birth to twins. The first dream was the most sublime dream I have ever recalled. (It's really only a coincidence that it was 5 days after Brangelina had twins.) It was a dream about pure love. All I remember is staring at my babies-- one boy and one girl-- and feeling my heart burst with love as I propped them up on little baby pillows. At one point I was showing Jeff how beautiful and perfect they were.

Last night's dream was not quite as "pure joy," or as clear, but I know I had twins in a stroller and I was on the road from Forreston to Waxahachie, Texas (where my paternal grandmother used to live). People were asking me about the babies and I was showing them off. They were really small.

I record this here now just in case one day I have twins. How cool would that be? Once I got over the shock and exhaustion and total terror of raising two children simultaneously, I think it would be really profound to look back the dreams that helped prepare me.

Speaking of babies, when I got to spin class this morning, I was surrounded by pregnant ladies. Pregnant lady #1 was on the bike next to me, and before class she called over to Pregnant lady #2 and said, "That's not fair! I look way more pregnant than you." Well, now all of spin class knows that Pregnant lady #2 is sperminated. They compared their stomachs and breasts and then class started.

I may or may not be totally peeved that both Pregnant lady #1 and Pregnant lady #2 kicked my ass in class. Oh, it's not enough to have large glorious breasts and have a womb full of human life and promise....you also have to show up the rest of us in spin class?

Wedding Pause

This is not wedding related, but I have to say I am not feeling it for Biden. I am still holding a grudge about his comment about Obama: "I mean, you got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy." Clean? Clean? I just don't forgive that fast. He seems like a redneck a little bit. I imagine I will come around and enjoy his feisty barbs and quips. Like Harriet Miers (brought to you from mid-tier SMU law school), Biden is a graduate of Syracuse Law-- he graduated 76th of 85. I am in favor of proof that you don't have to go to Harvard or Yale to advance, potentially, to the number two spot in America.

I am just not quite feeling it.

Move Over Frank, Tatiana's in Town

Remember Frank from "Father of the Bride"? Remember his thick accent and his visions for the wedding?

We found our FRANK! Last night we met with Ukranian designer Tatiana who ushered us into her studio to discuss the "design" of our wedding. I thought we were going to see a florist, but 1.25 hours into the visit we had not discussed a single flower. Tatiana has vision. She told us right away that she has the "soul of a designer" so when she sees something visually "wrong" she "immediately gets a headache." (Note to self: Do not invite Tatiana over to house until all the furniture has been ordered. Even then, have Advil at the ready.)

She was great. Turns out, yet again, that Jeff had a few more ideas and opinions than I did. I love that about him. What an affirmation! At one point, Jeff's foot fell asleep and he was shaking it. When Tatiana asked him what was wrong and he explained that his foot was asleep, she said, "be glad it wasn't you who fell asleep." She went on to talk about how most grooms have nothing to say about the design elements of a wedding. In our household, the groom is the new bride.

My favorite part was listening to Jeff explain how he envisioned the chuppah. http://www.myjewishlearning.com/lifecycle/Marriage/LiturgyRitualCustom/Chuppah.htm?gclid=COqRx4merpUCFRghnAodqiE9kg
Sometimes, it is spelled huppah. Anyway, we had already talked about Jeff using his tallit (prayer shawl), along with his dad's, his brother's and his grandpa Jack's as the top of the canopy. He and Tatiana had a long conversation about how to design the chuppah-- passing back and forth the pencil and paper to sketch out their thoughts. I felt so happy just watching the process unfold. We think that Tatiana is a little worried about whether it will look "too patchworky" to have four different tallit as our chuppah, but she went with Jeff's vision and assured him that she's "got more ideas that he has tallit."

We did some good negotiating around the flowers, once we got to them. Actually, Jeff did some good negotiating. When Tatiana asked us about our budget, I just froze, but Jeff threw out a number and Tatiana asked if we were commited to that. Jeff, without skipping a beat said yes, but I was behind him mouthing to her that we were willing to go up from there. Now that's partnership, people.

I was about to go into a hypoglycemic coma, which the perceptive Tatiana noticed, so she didn't belabor the discussion about West African hydrangeas. We are totally using Tatiana-- in part because she has that awesome Ukranian accent, part because she's a confident and accomplished designer, but also because she made an auspicious restaurant suggestion: She told us to go to La Scarola for dinner. Jeff and I laughed and told her that is where our first date was.

Delta, Delta, Delta, Can I Help Ya, Help Ya, Help Ya?

I finally got a picture from my college roommate, Alice. She's another heroic working mom to the two gorgeous munchkins in the picture. Talk about someone who has seen it all with me! Whoa. When Alice and I met at the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority house in 1991 we became best friends right away. Both of us had our hair permed and big, BIG Texas-sized jewelry. We had some fun times "mugging" with fraternity boys, mixing Crown into our diet cokes and maintaining our 4.0 grade point averages! We were no ordinary girls-next-door. And it was harder for me because Alice is a bona fide somnambulist-- I would wake up in our dorm room and she would be sitting on my bed putting on her shoes and talking to me about her BANA exam or taking all the posters off the wall, but she was ASLEEP. One time she walked out of the room and walked down the hall. I am told she still can be found wandering in the night talking about an upcoming exam!

I love Alice for so many reasons! Her brain is totally different than mine-- she's a star accountant who sailed through business school and the CPA exam with nary a snag. She's practical, blunt, honest, loyal and principled. She was the first prototype for what a good partner for me would look like: someone very grounded, emotionally even-keeled, and right-brained. She also took good care of me during some of our zany-bordering-on-dangerous college days.

She will be choosing a reading for our wedding as well! She's not that enthused about the prospect of reading in front of the crowd. I told her she was welcome to sing or do Gregorian chant, but that didn't elevate her enthusiasm level. I know she'll do a great job, because she excels at everything she does. And I don't care how she performs-- I am just happy she's going to be a part of it.

Secret Bridal Fantasy No. 2

Is it wrong to dream that Dolly Parton herself will show up for the reception and serenade me and J? I was thinking a medley of "I Will Always Love You," and "9 to 5" (for our work friends), "Islands in the Stream" (she can bring Kenny Rogers if she wants to), and "Light of a Clear Blue Morning." We have valet parking for her tour bus.

Please note: given my history, Bridal Fantasy No. 2 is more realistic than Bridal Fantasy No. 1.

*sigh*

Secret Bridal Fantasy No. 1

Is it wrong to pray on a frequent basis that on my wedding day, as well as the week leading up to the Big Day, that I am totally regular? When I get anxious things in my body stop moving and that's so not how I want to get into my wedding dress or the hot number I am wearing for the rehearsal dinner.

So help me God, I am ingesting Fiber One, 100 ounces of water, and dates every day for the next 96 days.

Romantic, huh?

You say tomato; I say to-maaaaa-to

If you called me last night around 8:00 p.m. I would have answered, even though I am notoriously awful about picking up my cell phone after bedtime. (Yes, I like to think bedtime is 7:30 p.m., especially now that I have fallen hopelessly and madly in love with our new mattress. If J wasn't around, I would marry it. I am deperately looking for a place in the wedding ceremony that will include the mattress. I love it more than the air I breathe.) But, I would have answered the phone because I was sitting in the living room in the dark pouting. I told Krista this morning it was a very intense, full body pout. Like cardio pouting.

Our gentle and saintly groom, however, was scurrying around the kitchen whipping up a feast that included fresh basil and garlic as two hightlights of the pasta sauce he was brewing. Sounds great, right? Why the pout?

Here's why. I can't seem to be in the kitchen cooking a meal with J and not start a fight. Last night we made it through the gauntlet of what to have for dinner (I wanted a big salad with chunks of cheese and chicken and fresh bread; J wanted something more hearty...like pasta with homemade sauce). I surrendered to the menu proposed by my Beloved and then I asked him how he was going to make the pasta sauce. He listed, in this order, fresh basil, garlic and tomatoes. I, having taken a thorough inventory of our refridgerator moments before, asked a really good question: "What tomatoes?" With those perfect doe eyes, J responds that he will be using the canned tomatoes.

I feel a pout coming on.

First of all, I hate canned tomatoes. They are salty and stringy and they taste like awful Lipton's tomato soup. I may have had some residual poutage in store from losing my vision of having a delicious salad. In the middle of our negotiation I had a flashback. I recalled that one time J and I were out with friends talking about pasta sauce and J, in a very dismissive voice, telling our interlocutor that "Christie likes that stuff in a glass jar." Um, "that stuff," is the heavenly nectar also known as Classico pasta sauce. And, it's a mischaracterization to say that I like it. I actually adore it; I love it; I would eat it as soup. Every kind. The spinach florentine? Forget it, I will just take a spoon and go sit down with it. We recently tried a new flavor: carmelized onion and I thought I had died on gone to Italy. Does anyone in the free world really think that someone who uses -- and lauds-- canned tomatoes (generic Jewel brand at that) can really cast so much as a pebble at someone who deigns to enjoy sauce from a glass jar? I mean it's not like I said Ragu. I asked how come he makes fun of me for enjoying the pasta sauce that comes in a glass container when he is using canned tomatoes, but I didn't hear the answer. I had already moved into the pout zone.

I treated myself to turning on the TV because and I was mad and irrational enough to know that nothing on TV would distract me from the pout. I almost softened up when I saw Edward Kennedy's speech at the Democratic National Convention--he looked pretty good and it seems like his congnition is fairing well despite his brain tumor. I have a friend whose father had the same kind of tumor, and it swiftly took his speech and soon after, his life. I got a little distracted by Caroline Kennedy who looks really anorexic to me, but maybe someone tried to serve her one too many canned tomatoes. (I know, enough about the tomatoes-- there are starving children that Madonna and the Jolie-Pitts haven't adopted yet and LOTS of people would love to have a fiance (or anyone) make them dinner).

J and I are well versed in the power struggles of the kitchen. He sees himself as sharing his efficent systems and time-tested methods with me, but when he's sharing I feel defensive and ashamed and unable to hear what he's offering me as something other than criticism or pedantic "how to's". I can almost believe he's offering to share something with me-- nothing excites J more than working out a system or finding the best way to execute a task. But when he shows me how to chop the garlic or how best to wash the frying pan I can't seem to keep from experiencing him as a little too Henry Higgins for my taste.

It's been a while since we've had a Higgins-Doolittle battle in the kitchen. We ended up talking it out after ingesting a not-insigificant amount of (canned tomato) pasta sauce on bowtie pasta. I told him I thought he was bossy, and he agreed, which took some of the thrill out of asserting that he was bossy.

Trish reminded me that first year of marriage is really hard. We aren't married yet, but we are living together (Sorry, Mom, but I gotta make it explicit), and it's hard. I have been eating my Classico for years. I have been doing my own thing for over 3 decades. So has J. Neither of us have ever done this before-- "this" meaning live with a partner, plan a wedding, negotiate every single aspect of life. I am not sure that either one of us has a model for what we are trying to do: be partners in every single realm of our lives. God, can you imagine the post if J expected me to whip up dinner every night? We are committed to having joint responsibilities and sharing as much as possible, as opposed to dividing up chores and staying out of each other's way. I think we are about to commit to stay in each other's way for the rest of our lives-- which I think I can do as long as I can have as many pout breaks as I need along the way.

Seriously, though, canned tomatoes?

Dr. Crimson Nose

If I was a therapist, I am pretty sure I would not go out of town for a two-week vacation within three months of one of my patient's weddings. But, hey, that's just me. And my therapist thought nothing of cruising on out of town this week and next, right as I am crossing the line into the "it's less than three months until my wedding" zone. I have a few fantasies about where he is, which I am entitled to because I am a faithful patient so I pretty much paid for half of this jaunt. What's totally annoying is that he spends time teaching us about self-care, but he'll come back from a vacation looking like a man who has never ever seen sun screen. Have you ever tried telling your deepest thoughts to a man with a burnt red nose? (The nose ain't small, by the way.) Have you ever tried taking in a suggestion from a therapist to set boundaries to take care of yourself when said therapist's cheeks are crimson from UV poisoning?

Well, I have, and I am hoping come September 8, when Dr. Vacation returns to his post that he has the decency to at least come home with human-hued skin-- tan I will begrudgingly accept, but not red. Not this year.

Seriously, the more I think about it, the madder I get. I am supposed to face my first-ever wedding shower on September 7 and take in all the gifts, and food, and attention and people, while Dr. Crimson Cheeks gallavants around Mexico? Jesus. It better not be Mexico. I don't pay 840.00 per month to send my health care practioners to Mexico. I hope it's Italy or Croatia or Honduras. Maybe eco-tourism in Costa Rica. It better be international and it better be fabulous. And, there better be room in the suitcase for a fabulous wedding gift -- something crafted by the industrious locals-- for a certain slightly needy and neurotic patient.

I'm just saying.

I am not sure of the protocol for blogging about one's therapist. I actually have only ever read travel blogs and baby blogs. Never seen a therapist come up. So, I guess were doing some off-roading in bloggerland. Helmets on.

The best way to describe my relationship with Dr. Crimson Nose is to make what may be my last Bridled With Joy allusion to the 2008 Beijing Olympics. As emotional as it was to watch the audacious feats performed by Michael Phelps (and as physically stirring as it was to see his body with those freaking swim pants about to fall off all the time), the most emotional parts for me were seeing the athletes interacting with their coaches. Not the asshole coaches like the American pole vaulter coach who yelled at his silver-medal-winning athlete about her "getting caught in the meat grinder" right after she lost the gold to that whorish Russian woman. (He'll get his just desserts on you-tube. ha!) I am talking about the coaches whose hugs to a disappointed or elated athlete say everything you need to know about the relationship. (This is making me cry!) Did you see Laura Wilkinson's coach when she did her final Olympic dive? He held her so solidly and so lovingly-- you could see his pride and his love and his presence. Oh! and Dara Torres talking about her coach who fell ill with a serious disease before her final Olympics? One question from the media about him and Dara teared up explaining how being without him in Beijing was a huge loss for her. Granted some of the coaching relationships are strange and make me uncomfortable -- see Nastia Luikin who is trained by her father, himself a former Olympian. I was relatively open minded about the possibility that that type of a relationship could be healthy until I heard him say, "There is only one color in his house. Gold." Um, that seems a little bit extreme and a little bit perfectionistic. (Note to Nastia: Call me, I have a great therapist who will help you get more color in your life.) And, let's leave the Chinese gymnasts out of this-- they are way too young and pre-pubescent for me to do any healthy comparisons.

Ok, so putting aside the whole Father-As-Coach-To-Revive-His-Own-Olympic-Dreams, and focusing on those coaches who have been loving, and tough, and consistent, and EXPENSIVE, and a stand in for parents, and boyfriends (hey, you gotta run through the cycle of development), and teachers, and mentors, and bosses, and friends and sponsors. It's not a surprise that the relationships that stand out most to me are those between the young, accomplished, driven female athlete and the older male coach. I am the Mary Lou Retton to Dr. Crimson Nose's Bela Karolyi. That analogy is only half a joke. Actually, I relate a wee bit more to that young Karyoli-trained Olympian who, in Barcelona (or was it Atlanta?), finished her vault and ended up with a broken ankle. Kerri Strug. The iconic picture from that competition is that photo of Bela carrying her and her bandaged up ankle. You get the picture. Actually, you can see it above. I have had the experience, on more than one occasion, of Dr. C.N. carrying me (though I assure you I had way better hair than Kerri Strug and a way better outfit than those hideous white leotards).

Anyway, it's a huge relationship in my life. Coach is one dimension of the relationship. Coach more for life and relationships rather than my career, but I suppose the argument could be made (though I would never give him the satisfaction) that having learned certains skills in my work with him, I am now equipped to find coaches and mentors in all areas of my life. One of the great monuments on the way to the altar for Jeff and me was when Dr. Crimson Nose invited us over to give us a blessing. I am still processing the experience and the meal, prepared with enviable skill by the Mrs. Dr. C.N. Just this weekend, Jeff hung in our kitchen a present they brought us from another vacation: a plaque from Israel that says, "Shalom, Ya'll," which beautifully synthesizes Jeff's Jewish history and my Texas history.

One of the stops my bridesmaids and I are making with the photographer on the way to the wedding ceremony is to his office where we will pose for photographs with him. Yes, we are planning a very conventional wedding.

So, I am PO'ed he's out of town, though it sure was nice to sleep in this morning! I hope he's spending my money on his lovely wife and getting lots of rest and relaxation because he needs to bring his A game to therapy in September, October and November.

Overheard on Street Last night....

Me: "I think being married will be awesome. Now, GETTING married seems like a huge pain in the ass."

J: "You should have that as a quote on your blog."

D.SoMo

It's not just because she's as leggy as Cameron Diaz and as tall as Gisele B. that I look up to Debbie. Debbie, though she may be the last living soul that knows it, has a lot to be envious of, including a wonderful marriage to a similarly leggy hunk of a man, a private therapy practice that is about to BURST (her specialies include infertility issues and attachment/commitment challenges), athleticisms, friendships, and beautiful skin and hair to boot. Debbie has been a staunch supporter of the Bridled With Joy staff. She's the first one I call after accidentally spending 500.00 at Nordstrom's on "potential bridal-related clothes/accessories." She's the first to suggest a plan of action on anything from a broken toe nail to a failing career. She can set a boundary and share her lipgloss and open her home and listen to my cries.

Debbie's most special role on the bridal caboose is that she and I can have a fight-- like really, really have a fight, where one of us (ok, usually me) hangs up in fury and rage-- and work it out to come out the other side. I hope she knows how valuable that is to me. She's the first person I fought with when I got engaged, though not the last, and I am not sure I ever officially thanked her for being available for that much of my intense emotion. Without her, I am not sure I could have stayed engaged AND out of jail. Debbie is a strong and courageous woman-- she's got passion and spitfire, as they say in the country. We are lucky to have her in our midst. She's the one who is going to know what to do when the hem of my dress falls out or my hair piece falls off on Wacker Drive.

My favorite memory with Debbie was the Chicago Marathon 2006. It was the edge of Chinatown and I was starting to sweat Gu and contemplate hopping on the el and going home. But, then, around mile 21 Debbie and her Tall Glass of Water stood waiting to NOT ONLY cheer me on, but to run me in the final 5 miles. I have never ever been so happy to see anyone. Those final 5 miles were the best run I have ever had in my life. If memory serves, I was crying most of the way and Debbie, steady as ever, just kept encouraging me to hear the cheers growing louder and louder as we made out way to mile 26.2!

She's like a big sister to me and I am so grateful she's chugging along on the caboose with us.

Do-Re-MIMI

The U.S.S. Mimi sailed into my life during Fall 1997. She is undoubtedly the member of the bridal caboose that I think I am most like. It's almost impossible to describe the force of nature that is Mimi! She's so full of love and goodness and hilarity that I have to pinch myself when I am around her because it seems like it must be wrong to have that much fun. Next to my sister, I have known Miss Mimi the longest. She's the kind of friend who sent me a dozen roses when a former, (and now long-forgotten) beau broke up with me. She's competent and sharp-witted and savvy and adorable all at the same time. She's like a cross between Murphy Brown, Lucille Ball, and Shiloh Jolie-Pitt. They come no cuter than Miss Mimi. She's generous enough to make the trek from the western wilds to spend the wedding week with us, leaving her hunky husband and adorable mini-Mimi at home in the Valley.

My favorite memory of Mimi is from Fourth of July 2006 when I was visiting her in the greenness and beauty that is the western valley she calls home. We were at some outdoor concert where the Blind Boys of Alabama (who, frankly are a little creepy) and both of us started dancing and laughing so hard. That was no easy feat for the 4-months pregnant Mimi! I can't describe it. There is a force field of love around us and I think the world of her. Everyone who knows her feels the same way.

Brains and Beauty-- All Aboard!

It's not easy to have a little baby and a thriving law practice and a cutie-pie house and a wonderful marriage! But Cindy does it and she does it with grace and style. She also just sent me an email that my wedding is only 100 days away. Is that close or far? I guess we'll find out.

I love Cindy because she is a total original-- there is only one Cindy. Cindy and I lived together during our third year of professional school and our first year of our careers. My favorite memory of her is spending Spring Break in Punta Cana laying in the sun, reading books and watching the crazy Euro tourists strut around in bathing suits that were way too small. We've had wonderful adventures together. Another highlight was going to one of our other friend's from law school's wedding in Florida over Thanksgiving in 2005. What happened in Florida stays in Florida, but I will say that was the last time I smoked a cigar.

I met Cindy and her husband Garrett at the same time. I saw them date, fall in love, break up, get back together, get married and procreate! They have always been unbelieveably generous with me-- sharing their lives, their holidays and their families. Both of them have the nicest and most attentive parents you could ever want to know. The best Thanksgiving food I have ever had in my life was at Cindy's mom's house in 2001. Italian Thanksgiving...SIGN ME UP!

J and I wanted to showcase marriages that were influential to us and Cindy and Garrett are at the top of my list. I asked them to pick a reading to read together at our wedding. We want to be suprised. The only guidance we gave the readers was "nothing from the Bible." I can't wait to see what Cindy and Garrett pick. The bridal caboose is co-ed!!

Touch of the Irish

I am honored to introduce the most eligible bachelorette in Chicago! As far as the in-town bridal caboose members go, I have known Trish the longest. Man, we have had some history. When I think about how long I have known Trish, I think about how my hair looked when I first met her in 1998. My hair style then could best be described as Harry Potter Chic. Man, she has seen me come a long way.

Trish has the greatest giggle in the free world, perhaps on the planet. It's impossible to drown in self-pity if you can just crawl to where she is and take in her laughter. Trish is the original love bug. I love her for her sense of humor, her innocent heart and her courage. I love her taste in music, her openness and her commitment to joy. Any woman who takes crayons to Biology class to draw during the lecture has my vote as most willing to LET GO. Trish is on a path of skyrocketing personal growth and I am so happy to have a front row seat. I have so many memories of laughing with Trish and loosening up my rigid grip on life. To know Trish is to experience joy in a whole new dimension.

There is nothing this woman can't do. Photography? Yes! Cook? Yes! Throw a fabulous dinner party? Yes! Show up as a devoted and honest friend? Yes! Work with numbers? Yes! Intuitively know how to connect with children and harried mommies? Yes! Add sparkle and charm to the bridal Caboose? Absolutely!


And, she loves to hydrate!

Ghandi-licious

How cute is my husband to be? He just spend an hour down in my office helping me go through some numbers I am supposed to be crunching. I got stuck in mid-crunch and asked him to take a look. I figured his fancy Kellogg degree was worth bringing to bear on the situation. Undoubtedly it went farther than my women's studies/humanities degree from U of C! We had the usual banter about how using tables in Microsoft Word is far inferior to the wonders of Excel and I explained for the 280th time that I don't know how to use Excel and don't plan on learning any time soon. If I wanted to learn Excel, I would go get a business degree.

But, J is a saint. I often compare him to Gandhi. Same patience, same amount of body fat, and same hair line. We each bring such different things to the table. Each of us is like half of a rainbow, and together we have all the colors we need. I can't fathom how anyone could look at spreadsheets and enjoy the process of figuring out the calculation for the missing metric. He looked up about 15 minutes into process and said, totally genuinely, "this is fun."

Anyway, I took a break from introducing the members of the bridal caboose to shout out to the man who is making all of this possible. I also need to get pictures of my other bridal caboose riders. I am trying to go in alphabetical order-- we are a sensitive lot and I don't want to hurt any feelings by picking an arbitrary order. (We are going alphabetical by last name.)

Some days I just know I am so blessed.

Kreesta Bella

The discerning reader will note a trend among the bridal caboose riders. Lots of artists! So far you have met Joyce and Heather, two extremely accomplished artists, one working on canvas and the other with music. Kindred spirit, Krista Bab-Boo, is another artist in our midst. Krista just finished her graduate degree from Columbia where her final thesis presentation blew me away. It was like Susan Bordo meets Margaret Atwood meets Hilde Bruch meets Cindy Sherman-- but better. Once the Bridled With Joy staff figures out how to put video clips in posts, you will see more of this accomplished artist's work. Screen printing, video, writing, puppetry....these are a few of Krista's favorite things. Incidentally, she is married to an artist, and the creativity and imagination and artistry they brought to their August 2007 wedding set a dauntingly high bar. For example, the program for their ceremony included a shout-out to every single guest in attendance; their invitation included a miniature zine and calendar; and incidentally, their cake was to die for delicious.

But, Krista, let's get back to her. She vaulted onto the bridal caboose as a spiritual sister and trusted fellow traveler. If there is a more ardent spiritual warrior, I have never seen her. I adore Krista because she is so willing to go through whatever it takes to stay in her relationships, her marriage, her journey. If there is someone who knows better how to bring color and honesty to a room, literally and figuratively, then I sure would like to meet her. Krista's greatest gift to me is that she has taught me how to pray and celebrate all the things that come my way-- the things I prayed to encounter and the things I prayed to never have to deal with. This woman can really write a prayer. She's inspiring and creative and loving and hilarious. I adore her. She came with me when I got my henna tattoo way back in 2003-- an assignment from my therapist to get a tattoo on my stomach that said, "I love my breasts." A friend who joins that excursion gets a lifetime pass on the bridal caboose.

Best man

This man just volunteered to be our best man. Technically, I think the tradition is that J gets to pick his own best man, but I think that Jim Latturner's sense of style and ability to carry his own baggage means that he should have a prominent role on the bridal caboose. I am thinking either fashion consultant or stylist.

Order of Operations

I am terrified of being a bad bride. It's one of my deepest fears. I am afraid of being selfish and demanding and petulent, but I am also afraid of playing small, minimizing and depriving myself and Jeff of something or someone we really need. So there is a fair amount of tension around this process. On the one hand I want to take good care of myself in this process-- be true to myself and my vision, but on the other hand I also want to check in with Jeff to be sure we are in line and in communication about the process and the hoped-for results. I want to be cost conscious, which isn't easy when dealing with this industry, but I also don't want to cheat myself out of having something nice or special. It's totally maddening to me. It's also totally my personality either to find or to create a situation where I can't win. If I get the gorgeous flowers that I really want that I think are beautiful and part of my vision, then I can tell myself I am disappointing Jeff by being a spendthrift or irresponsible about cost.

Also, I hate asking for help. I just hate it. I feel afraid to impose on other people. I am afraid they will say yes; I am afraid they will say no. I am afraid of losing control of the process. I am afraid also, however, of having to do everything. I am not even sure what exactly we need help with. We are meeting the florist next Tuesday and having a cake testing next Wednesday. We have almost all of the addresses for the invitations. The tasting for the venue itself isn't until 6 weeks before.

What do I need help with?

I think I mostly need help with all the feelings that are coming up. I need help being available to the love and joy that is coming my way: from J, from my family and friends. I need help slowing down. I need help being in the moment. I need help relaxing and trusting it will all turn out just fine.

I want to see if I can find a calligrapher to do the escort cards or place cards for the reception. I want help finding jewelry for the bridesmaids and the two maids of honor. I want help finding out what kind of food is in Argentina. I want help figuring out a tax issue at work-- any takers on that one? Anyone? Anyone?

I want help letting go of having to be perfect and feeling all the pressure to be skinny, and beautiful and cost conscious and gracious and thoughtful and put together. After all, it's still me, so there is some mess and contradiction and confusion and feelings and pouting and guacamole and accessories and dresses to buy.

I just found an on-line quiz about how to know if you are a Bridezilla:

You Might be a Bridezilla If...
...You wonder why that mean ole mayor is being such a hard ass about a lil ole tickertape parade.
...You think it'd be "really awesome" if the schoolchildren of some country ? oh, say Luxembourg or Canada ? could gather and hold candles and arrange themselves so they spelled out you and your groom's names from above.
...you think it's OK to drain your 401K. After all, what's a little thing like pushing gambling with your security and paying whopping withdrawl penalty when you can have an ice sculpture on every damn table.
...You don't think spray-painting 100 doves gold is the teensiest bit "over the top."
...The Fire Marshal has come to your house to plead with you in person.
...You don't understand why your fiance is being so pig-headed about letting your Chihuahua "Snooky" be his best man.
...Your reception involves speedboats, hot-air balloons, or fireworks.
...Your reception involves camels in any way.
...Your reception involves the Secret Service in any way.
...Your reception involves NASA in any way.
...Your reception involves the Pope in any way.
...you instruct the caterers to never look you in the eye and to always refer to you as "Her Majesty, The Bride."
...your floral arrangements will leave several countries bereft of flora.
... Al Gore calls to say he's concerned your floral needs will affect the Earth's fragile eco-balance.

Songbird

The bona fide songbird of the bridal caboose is Heather. Have you ever heard Jessye Norman sing? Heather's better. Have you ever heard Beverly Sills sing? Heather is better. Think female Pavarotti. I don't really know any other opera stars off hand, but if you can think of one, Heather's better. Her talents do not stop at singing-- she can also conduct entire choirs. Seriously, the lungs on this young woman are as strong as any Olympic athlete.

In 2005, when Heather and I first became close friends, I sat on her bed with her and her precious daughter A.P. for hours on end dreaming about having a wedding one day. At the time I was doing lots of dating and she was a tireless listener and supporter. Having been happily married for a few years to a wonderful Jewish man, Heather generously offered to help me find my own wonderful partner. One auspicious Saturday afternoon, she signed me up for J-Date. Me, the Irish Catholic school girl with a middle name straight out of the blarney stone and a first name straight out of the manger. Not many women on J-Date named Christie O'Brien. I will never forget how much fun we had trying to answer the questions about whether I kept kosher and whether I kept the sabbath. Because I am a lifelong hater of ham, we decided it was ok to put that I was kosher. Heather is one of the most creative, hilarious, and generous people I have ever known. I admire most her ability to commit and devote herself-- to her art, her family, her dreams. She's a powerhouse of love and loyalty and I thrilled she's on the caboose.

Meet the Other Maid of Honor

Never one to follow rules or keep it small, I am blessed to have two maids of honor. Emphasis on HONOR not on maid. Joyce has been a great friend to me since we met in Evanston on Christmas Eve in 2001. I love Joyce because she is a tireless supporter of self-care and abundance. She has opened her home and her life to me and to J and we adore her and her husband, the Silver Surfer. Joyce is an amazing artist, whose work can be seen at her website: http://www.joycepolance.com/. CHECK IT OUT! Her work is intense and real and developing more and more texture and depth everyday. We are proud owners of two early Polances, as well as some of her encaustic pieces. J and I hope that we continue to earn enough money to enjoy collecting Polances for a long, long time!

Joyce is also an avid cyclist who is able to keep up with the Silver Surfer on the steepest of hills. And also the Pyrennes mountains. Joyce has always been available to me, though it's a little harder to reach her during July evenings when the Tour De France is on! I love her passion and her art and her humor and her capacity for joy and relaxation. I have a lot to learn from her. She's been generous enough to host a shower for me in early September, and I am very excited, though a little nervous to have so much attention and love lavished on me and J.

J and I are toying with asking Joyce's talented son, Evan, to be our videographer for our wedding. We want something that is down to earth and reflects some of the sponteneity of the event... we think Evan's film-making skills will be a nice addition to the wedding family.

Meet the Maid of Honor

Having been so influenced by the Olympics and the media's treatment of the athletes, I decided to profile my bridesmaids here as a celebration of who they are and what they mean to me. We start at the beginning with my sister, Caroline. I have known her all of her life since she is my younger sister. She's the same woman who brought us the Party P. She lives in the Red State with her wonderful husband and the Party P! I love her sense of humor and her big heart. She's very compassionate. I have so far called her twice while wracked with sobs asking her to be on duty as a maid of honor. As a married woman she is supposed to be called a "matron" of honor, but I hate the word "matron," so we're going with "maid." Come to think of it, I have issues with "maid" too, but matron just doesn't fit the ladies in the Bridal Caboose. Caroline is a great mom and a hard working professional woman with tons of friends and a really cute dog, Mookie. I am scared of dogs myself, but as far as big labs go, Mookie is a good one.

Caroline just sent out the information for my bachelorette party, so that's going to be one hot party. I am very excited. We are going to a dance studio that hosts bachelorette parties-- we will get a lesson, and hang out. I am hoping that Annie Ross will make a pinata full of my favorite candies and we will probably go somewhere fun to eat. I am very excited about this!!

So, Caroline has been there every step of the way and I am so happy she's going to be such a huge part of our wedding. (Been trying to refer to the wedding as "ours" and not "mine.") J and I love hanging out with Caroline and her husband, because they are really supportive and we know they have our backs. It's a good feeling.

Mojo

One should never ever underestimate the power of sleep. I have gotten more sleep in the last few days and I have gotten my mojo back. The real turning point was Friday night when J and I had dinner with our two friends JB and Jo, who just got engaged. That dinner was the first time that J and I got to sit down with two other people who are concurrently facing all of the challenges and joys that we are. There is no one who can understand the Chirp China debate better than a couple who similarly trying to keep a lid potential wedding feuds. Since laying out our challenges around the whole wedding planning process, I have felt a lightness and humor that was distinctively missing before. Having downloaded and exposed the root of our philosophically differing viewpoints about money and hosting a wedding, I am now available for the joy and lightness of the experience.

Another big boost came from the arrival of our bed! Now we don't have to sleep in the guest bedroom on the first floor anymore. We have arrived to the master bedroom. And, now we have a king-sized bed. There's lots of space, and I mean a lot of space. Last night when my Beloved was snoring like a pirate, I tried to hit him from where I was laying, but he was too far away. Since my earplugs were closer, I just put those in and went back to sleep. It's astonishing how big a bed can really be. I literally would have to do some major scooting to shove J to his side to curb the snores.

That boost, however, may be canceled out by how tired I am from staying up all hours trying to watch the Olympics. It's killing me! I get roped in to every event, now matter how inscrutable or strange. Last night, I was mesmerized by the trampoline event. I cannot believe it's possible to get a gold medal for trampoline jumping. Pole vaulting even had me in tears. I can't tear myself away once we start watching. I am probably the only person who is glad that Michael Phelps is done. It's not my nature to root for an unambiguous champion. I like underdogs. I like stories that grip my heart and toy with my fragile emotions. It will be hard to top the store of the German gymnast who used to be on the Russian team, but had to move to Germany because she needed treatment for her son's leukemia. (Pictured above: Oksana Chusovitina.) She's 33 years old and won a vaulting medal. And, her son is in remission. How can we go back to watching Project Runway and Top Chef after the Olympic binge? I guess for us we won't because we don't have Bravo anymore, but that's probably the subject of another post.

The mojo is good, a florist has been called, a plan for bridesmaids' jewelry has been made, and shoes have been ordered. Life is good.

I can imagine having a really fun party. I can imagine having a wonderful honeymoon that is both adventurous and relaxing. I can imagine being married to J.

My mojo has made me available for all sorts of miracles!

Enjoy the View From the Bridal Caboose

Enough with the sentimental, "isn't it fun to buy a cake for my wedding guests" bride. Here's what I haven't said. Planning a wedding is stressful and heartbreaking. Yes, heartbreaking. I find it heartbreaking. As I told Joyce yesterday over my half panini, I am either going to end up at the alter in November or on the evening news for going on a homicidal rampage.

So, here's the heartbreak for me. Everyone in my entire family tree over the age of 18 is married. Every sibling, every cousin, every second cousin (though maybe not my second cousin Julie on my dad's side). Some are on their second marriages. All of my law school friends are married. And guess what? Once people get married, they tend to procreate so most of my siblings and cousins have kids. Half the family is Catholic, so there is no shortage of kids, even in this more secular time. Same with my law school friends.

Here comes me, the caboose of the generation, bringing up the rear in the lovely roundness that is 2008.

So there is a part of me that feels heartbreak about being last. I like being first. If I really had my way, I like being both first and best, to the extent those are two different things. My friend Debbie told me a while ago, "Just give it up. You lost the wedding race. You also lost the baby race. Slown down and enjoy your own stride to the finish line. If there are no bagels and bananas left at the finish line, take yourself out to breakfast and get pancakes and sausage." There is no consolation like that from a fellow competitor who has her own battle with the finish line.

Let Them Eat Cake!

My self-appointed task for this week is to deal with the cake. In an act of unbridled (get it?) generosity, I am doing something I never, ever do: gathering quotes so we can look at the relative economic benefits of each potential choice. The examples of me eschewing this process are legion. But, I celebrate this sea change! I have a quote in hand from Bittersweet and Alliance Bakery is going to call me back. This is a good task for me. I don't care that much about cake, except that I want there to be enough. Some people who are near and dear to me really, really love their cake so I want those who indulge to do so as much as they would like. Also, because J's mother's birthday is the same day as our wedding, we are getting her a cake too.

Here's what I have learned thus far in my cake pricing exercise:

1. I am excited to go through this process because it is good to stretch and undertake processes that are unfamiliar, but also because I believe it will make J happy.

2. Cake AIN'T cheap.

Bye, Bye Birdie

Well, there is nothing like a little shame to help one let go of her attachment to a certain bird-themed China pattern. My loving and supportive Monday morning group, after viewing the link to the Chirp China pattern, let me know their thoughts. What sticks in my mind is Jro commenting that he thought I was "dumbing down" in attaching to the Chirp. When I mentioned that it was Lenox China, the room errupted in what I like to call "shaming guffaws." Said shaming guffaws were loud and unanimous enough to quench any remaining flame burning in my heart for the Chirp China. It's over and it's done.

I called J to tell him that Chirp was dead and buried for real and we discussed other patterns. To satify my need for color and pizazz, as well as J's more subtle aesthetic, we are now leaning towards the "Library Lane" by Kate Spade. Because I am pretty suseptible to shame, it's likely that I will change my mind again when I am told that this too is too low brow! Ah, to be at the whimsy of what others think of me and my taste. Maybe now is a good time to make peace with the fact that lots of people, even people I love and almost respect, may disagree with my choices and my taste. While it's in my best interest and the best interest of my marriage to negotiate with J on items we will share and use for the good of the household, I am not so sure how adaptive changing every time someone offers me an opinion is. We'll see. With all that is on my to-do list, I am not sure adding "Change my character and personality" is a gentle way to proceed.

Tick Tock....

I am keenly aware that time is ticking away. But on this beautiful Sunday, I want to read the paper, watch the Olympics and relax. I don't want to do any "wedding planning" or any catch up from last week's business trip. I don't want to get ready for the week ahead. I want to lay on the couch. (Or is it lie on the couch?)

Last week I traveled to the Rocky Mountains for work, which was fun and productive. I got to have dinner with my college roommate who is going to be doing a reading at our wedding. She's fantastic....I laughed so hard at her stories about her amazing children and her ability to do it all with humor, grace, and sincerity. I love her!

J and I are working through the China debate. He does not want China. Originally, I didn't either, but then I saw a pattern that I just adore. I can't get it out of my mind. It's so delicate and beautiful. The entire set together looks almost Asian-- there is a lot of detail and color that I just adore. J is not persuaded. Not even close. I wish I could stop thinking about it. If we don't get Chirp, I sort of don't even want China. I don't see the point of getting something that is so plain it looks like our everyday China from Crate and Barrel. I want something colorful and special and beautiful.... I suppose I am grateful that this is our biggest "debate." We also had words about whether to register for Le Crueset or Martha Stewart dutch ovens. I voted for Le Crueset, which is about 200.00 more. Many of our negotiations come down to money: I almost always want the more expensive and J almost always wants the less expensive. Who will win the battle over China???? (Did I mention that it's also dishwasher- and microwave-safe!)

I am prepared to let go of the Chirp forever. Maybe I'll buy myself one little platter or plate to remind me of the value of compromise. I probably won't let Jeff eat off of it, though.

Newest Little Member

New niece has beautiful name: Lucille Rose. Lucille is my mother's mother and Rose is my sister-in-law's mother (maybe grandmother-- the cell phone was cutting in and out.). She's really beautiful and I am told she'll be visiting the fair Midwest in November. Perhaps the youngest member of the wedding party....

Jeff saw a very intense side of me this weekend, spurred by my thwarted attempt to shop at Anthropologie, which was cut short when Jeff locked himself out of the house on Friday afternoon, and he needed my help to get back into the house. I was adamant to myself on the cab ride home that I wanted to be loving and gracious when I saw Jeff and gave him the house key. I also knew that as soon as we got into the house I was going to have a gigantic meltdown-- like a Velveeta-style meltdown to the ground. And I did.

As Debbie and Krista told me on the way to get the wedding dress: There is no hiding in marriage.

It's a wee bit scary to me that there is no hiding. Jeff is going to see all parts of me, and he'll hear them and smell them and feel them. It's the scariest thing I can think of-- to be so messy in front of someone else who is going to love me anyway. Maybe he loves me because I can totally fall apart and be that vulnerable in his presence. That's hard to believe.

There is no hiding in marriage.

I love my wedding dress. Don't tell anyone.