the big day

I'd been practicing for months. Coaxing my hair into any sort of curl was a painstaking and physically and emotionally draining process, but my fancy dress demanded to be topped by fancy hair, so I did my best. And when the big day arrived, I was confident in my ability to achieve a certain level of success. I just had to wake up at 4:30 to do so. So I set my alarm and went to bed, only to awaken every couple of hours. I kept trying to tell my body to take advantage of what little sleep time it had, since the following day would be demanding, but to no avail. Until suddenly it was 7:00 and my mom was knocking on my hotel room door. And I was still in bed. Whoops. I can't really explain how it happened. Maybe it was the sleeping pill finally kicking in. Maybe it was the white noise of that blasted heater. All I knew was that I now had only 20 minutes to get ready. On my wedding day. So I did. For the most part, I was a pretty good sport about it, and I was on time to the temple at 7:30.

The session and the sealing were both beautiful and wonderful experiences. Pictures went well, with only a few, minor hiccups. The luncheon was fun and tasty, and I was so grateful for everyone who came all the way to Manti to be with us on our special day. But then the madness set in.

We were a little late getting back from Manti, but I wasn't too worried, since my woefully straight hair would require very little touch up before the reception. But first Christian and I had to pick up the flowers to decorate the reception hall. Seven dozen vendela roses that I carefully coordinated and that I was really excited about-Gone. Just gone. The Flower Patch said that someone had already picked them up, which was crazy talk, no one had. I tried to keep it together and remind myself that it wasn't directly the fault of the girl trying to help me, but I was upset, and I think justifiably so. She took me back to their fridge and let me have my choice of their pitifully small selection. Crestfallen, I settled for some red roses that would not match my wedding colors, but at least they wouldn't clash too much.

So Christian and I were late to our own reception. There were already guests there when we arrived, still in our luncheon clothes, with the chair covers and sashes and the red roses in tow. Wonderfully nice people put the covers on and put the roses in vases on the tables for me while I got into my dress. I thought for sure that things would go smoothly now. Not so.

The shoes that I was supposed to wear with my wedding dress were no where to be found, and Christian's tux was locked in a car to which we could not find the keys. So I spent most of the reception barefoot, and Christian spent the first twenty minutes in a white dress shirt with no tie. We were so occupied with these things that we forgot to give my side of the family the matching ties that Christian's mom so graciously bought for everyone, and we forgot to put out the sign in book that Christian had spent a lot of time and money on making himself. The caterer was understaffed and other people had to pitch in. When the time came to clean up, some of the people in charge were MIA. But I was done. Christian and I were off to Park City, deciding that they could burn down the reception hall for all we cared.

And at the end of the day, everything was great. I was married to my love. I was part of an eternal family. I had gained so many family members that I loved. I was blessed with friends to pitch in and fill in the gaps left by...less reliable people. It was one crazy roller coaster getting there, and my reception might not have been exactly what I had hoped, but the end result was the same, and that's all that really matters.