Five years ago, a lifetime ago… My own winter wedding, held in a candlelit post-and-beam barn in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, still shines as the most joyful fun I’ve had on any given day. Giddy on love, family, friendship, food and champagne, I danced my head off till 1 am. It was hands-down the best party of my life.
Fast-forward five years to my brother’s wedding last weekend. It was a spectacular sunlit affair in the lush Berkshires. The ceremony was visually gorgeous, moving, full of music and meaning, and yet I couldn’t be fully present because I was attending alternately to my crying toddler and my eager Flower Girl, who kept asking loudly during the vows when she could go back and PICK UP the flowers she’d thrown on her way down the aisle.
It figures that C., whose operatic screaming has been a near-daily part of our life since she was 10 days old, would let loose just as she was supposed to walk down the aisle with her sister, holding her be-ribboned basket of blue hydrangeas. The guitarists were playing “Here Comes the Sun”, 150 well-dressed guests were seated in white chairs overlooking the mountain, the bride was waiting on the terrace, wearing a stunning lace gown.
Everything was civilized and ceremonious, the elaborate ritual was underway. And C. was screaming. She’d just been woken up from a late nap, poor thing. Like a bear roused from hibernation she was disoriented and grumpy, stubbornly wailing for her grandmother, who she’d barely glimpsed all weekend. T. had to remove her from the scene for most of the ceremony. And then, when the glass got broken right before the kiss, A. started sobbing as well. Two crying, overtired, overwhelmed girls in a crowd. T. and I just passed them back and forth like hot potatoes.
Traveling with children is a process of letting go and shedding expectations. Layers and layers of expectations, like a snake shedding its skins. The weekend was exhilarating but utterly exhausting. I wanted to be there for my brother, connect with my relatives, and be a part of the family clan. But as the only one with small children, I felt like an outsider, slightly removed from the event. I didn’t stay late at the rehearsal dinner, didn’t join in the group run on Saturday morning, didn’t help decorate for the wedding or primp pre-ceremony.
Even in a new venue, I was still being a mom, doing my same old schtick, attending to my kids. I hadn’t realized just how much small children– and their parents– rely on ROUTINE. When we’re jolted out of it, we get rattled. I was rattling like ice in a glass all weekend, driving back and forth from the wedding site to our motel, trying to get the girls to sleep and eat, making Mac-n-Cheese in the kitchen during Cocktail Hour while the caterers passed trays of Margaritas and tiny crabcakes with chipotle aioli and the grown-ups mingled happily in a post-wedding glow. Everything was deliciously adult, and I was on the outskirts of it, trying to glide between two worlds.
At the reception, I met a lovely young couple from Toronto who had 2 and 1/2 year old twins. But they’d left them with the grandparents for the whole weekend and thus emanated relaxation and calm, enjoying the event and each other’s company.
What a wise idea. I think I will try, somehow, to do that at the next wedding I attend.
The next time we’ll be delighted to take them.
It’s hard to conceive of A’s sobbing. She looks so angelic in her flower girl dress. I hope you have more photos of the girls in their finery.