I hardly know where to start. 

The weekend was a tizz of preparations and clean-up punctuated by life-changing events and celebrations: our son’s college graduation and pinning, the private marriage officiation, the big wedding reception. Laced throughout were countless precious moments filled to the brim with…

New faces.
Warm hugs and cold toes.
Authenticity and vulnerability.
Friends and family.
Powerful, heartfelt words.
Lasagna and champagne.
Commitments.
Work.
Arguments.
Pride and gratitude.
Laughter.
Tears. 

Like I said it’d be: it was a lot to take in. The whole experience was so overwhelming and jarring that it left me feeling gutted. It’s Wednesday and I’m only now beginning to settle back into my body. 

So, again: where to start?

Well, Friday night, our son’s fiancé’s mother and grandmother came for supper and during the meal I ate a stinkbug. While deep in conversation with the grandmother, I felt something fall on my lap and automatically assumed I’d dropped a bit of tortilla chip. Without thinking, I popped the crunchy nugget into my mouth and chomped down — and then froze. Something was terribly wrong. Was it a bad bean? I spit into my napkin and a quick peek at the contents revealed the truth. Without a word, I left the table to rinse all the bits of masticated stinkbug out of my mouth. Only when I returned, did I tell what had happened, and I apologized to the grandmother for so rudely cutting off our conversation. Moral of the story: look before eating!

That evening my older daughter flew in at midnight and my son picked her up, and the next morning, we interrupted our frenzied wedding prep to drive into town to his pinning ceremony. Which was kinda weird since it felt like just yesterday— both to him and to us— that we’d attended his white coat ceremony.

For the past two years — most of it during Covid — he’s studied and memorized and tested and worked. My husband and I have been impressed at both his continued hard work and unflagging interest in the material. 

I never quite trust that my kids are going to do what they say they will — not because I don’t believe they can, but because situations change and people evolve. I’m more about the process, and less focused on the end result, so when we do reach the end — a graduation! — I can’t quite help but feel a little bit surprised.

And happy, too, of course. 

Afterward, there were lots of hugs and a whole lotta tears.

Our boy done did do good.

P.S. While his fiancé was sticking the pin on his shirt, the speaker reading his profile announced that our son had accepted such-and-such a job at a hospital. My husband and I were like, HUH? Is this his way of telling us he got a job? But no, turns out he hasn’t accepted any position just yet — who knows where that bit of misleading info came from — and his plans are still the same: to work with my husband for several months while studying for his boards. After that, then a nursing job…somewhere.

This same time, years previous: the coronavirus diaries: week forty-two, rock on, Mama!, ludicrous mashed potatoes, 2016 book list, old-fashioned sour cream cake doughnuts, the quotidian (12.22.14), toasty oatmeal muffins.

This is the song I consciously make myself think about when I’m up to my eyeballs, feeling like I might go under at any second. It’s a mood lifter and mantra, all in one. This morning I blasted it while precariously balancing atop a kitchen stool to wipe down the ceiling cobwebs.

AND IT WORKS. ¡Viva the chaos!

All is well!

This same time, years previous: 51 pies, the quotidian 12.16.19), croissants, sour candied orange rinds, almond shortbread, brightening the dark, supper reading.

The last several weeks have been a whirlwind. I’ve been keeping pretty mum about the wedding prep — head down, eyes on the goal — but lots is going on. Just to give you a general idea, here are some photos…

My adrenal glands have taken quite the beating. Every few days (minutes?) my stress levels spike, I erupt in shrieks and/or tears, things get done, I calm down, and then — maybe a week (or a few hours) later — the whole cycle repeats itself. My poor body. My poor family.

For the most part, I think the preparations for this weekend are pretty much where they should be. Supplies have been ordered, tools and help sourced, lists made, fires lit under butts (my husband’s, specifically). For so long, I’ve been actively thinking and anticipating and working and planning and now — NOW — things are really starting to move. 

It feels like this event is an enormous merry-go-round that, up until recently, was a cluster of smaller merry-go-rounds. For weeks, I was plugging away at my tasks — my merry-go-round: the reception meal — pushing it, trudging alongside it, pulling at it, yelling at other people (my husband, specifically) to help. Every now and then I let go long enough to help someone else push their project, or I’d just stay put and yell instructions. Gradually, more and more people began trotting alongside the spinning rides and grabbing hold of the rungs until, just this last weekend, we reached the tipping point: all the little merry-go-rounds finally gathered enough momentum, whipping themselves into such a whirling frenzy, that — POOF — they crashed into one single enormous, glorious, dizzying merry-go-round. Now events are moving so fast the wedding has a life of its own and I can finally stand back and just watch it go. 

Just kidding! I still have loads to do — but! The wedding does feel weirdly manageable. I occasionally get twinges of panic but I’m pretty sure that’s just my over-active alarm system testing to make sure I’m alive.

It’s strange (though perhaps perfectly normal): Now that things are mostly in order, emotionally I’m spiralling. Moods, tempers, tears, joy, sadness, pride, panic — it’s running the gamut. All in one weekend — the same day, actually — my oldest child is graduating from college and getting married. I’m gaining another daughter. We get to meet my son’s other family (and they us). Then the next day, we’re having a huge party filled with incredible friends and family. It’s a lot to take in.

Anyway. Here to report: I’m alive.

Wheeeeeee!

This same time, years previous: just what we needed, turkey broth jello, second amendment sanctuary, in praise of the local arts, the quotidian (12.12.16), Italian wedding soup, hot chocolate mix, constant vigilance!, sunrise, sunset, my elephant, cracked wheat pancakes.