Someone needs to write a handbook for how mixed families should interact with each other at weddings.
I would do it myself (Lord knows I’ve got 14 real life “how-not-to” examples), but out of respect for my family I can’t exactly tell those stories.
Family weddings just bring out the best in people. But actually, with the right ingredients they can be more like a recipe for disaster. (God bless us, every single one.)
Mind you, I’m not picking on other people here. I’ll lay it out up front that I have as much potential for ugly in me as anyone else does. Regardless of whether or not I’m the one stirring the crazy pot, I don’t always choose to stay out of the kitchen.I’m telling you all this because my stepson Alex got married this weekend, which was super and all that. But despite gearing myself up to face hard things and difficult situations, my efforts were pretty much #fail.
As much as I want to represent Jesus well, sometimes I get in the way of that. Despite all that I know and believe, I occasionally forget all of it in the heat of situation that trips my emotional switch.
This usually means I say things that would be better kept to myself, which doesn’t exactly win friends and influence people towards their best. In other words, the love of Jesus in me can get a little hazy in my humanness. (Have mercy, Lord.)
It’s not like there were any fights at the reception or anything wild like that. But if I would have live-tweeted the event, you could have had a front row seat to a real life episode of Real Housewives of (Pick Your Favorite City).
Let’s just say families are awesome and leave it at that.But as long as I’m whining, let’s talk about my wardrobe malfunction. Larry and I were late for parent pictures because of course we were, and in a hasty rush to get my dress over my head, I ripped it right down the back.
It was one of those slow motion disasters, and I can’t quite express the emotional spike that occurred when I realized the dress I had painstakingly chosen was not going to be so fabulous after all. In the middle of my mini-rant (or maybe it wasn’t all that “mini”) about The Dress, I saw the chain of my necklace fly across the hotel room and crash land into the ice bucket.
That’s because Luke had no idea that necklaces weren’t meant to be rapidly spun around in the air like a calf rope.
And since we left the hotel 5 minutes after we were supposed to be at pictures, I didn’t even have time to fix my hair so that was basically amazing. Luke told me that if he was my teacher, he would give me a negative mark for preparation.
For the whole weekend.
Because, he graciously explained, someone who is prepared doesn’t have to go to the mall at the last minute since prepared people don’t forget to bring sweaters. Also, they check the weather beforehand.
(Thank you, 9 year old son, for your
Larry and I made it to the parent pictures, but I’ll be fine if the photographer happens to lose those particular shots because I’m sure they’re gorgeous. How could they not be what with my frumpy last minute sweater and half-curled hair?
I know, I know. One day I will look back at the day’s mishaps and laugh. It’s just that I really don’t want that hair to be scrapbooked.
My favorite part of the whole day was when I (not-so-successfully) pulled Luke onto the dance floor, and he told me that I was becoming Greg Heffley’s mom. Greg Heffley is the main character in the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books. You can imagine how cool his mom is.
In fact, here’s the exact scene Luke was referring to. I’m not even kidding, they basically stole our script:
No one will ever call me Dancing Queen, that’s for sure. So I guess I’ll just keep time to the music while Luke rolls his eyes at me.
(You’re a real friend for listening to me whine. Thanks for that.)
Let’s talk soon…
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