Oh, Blogosphere. Do you still exist?
Allow me to catch you up on a few outstanding matters. After .8 years of living in our "new" home together, two things have transpired. First, the last of the contractors has finally gone home. All of the home improvements that we have elected, and can currently afford, to do have been done. No more buzzing saws, drills, dust, making way for electricians and plumbers to cut holes in things, and parking in the street due to seventeen pickup trucks hogging all of our driveway space until their arbitrarily determined quitting time. It's just us. And the Tornadoes. And the Tornadoes' gazillion friends, eating all of our food and swimming in our pool. Serenity.
The second thing: Future Husband and I have finally decided when and where to get married.
We'd debated the available options on time and location until we could no longer kid ourselves about the fact that we were actually procrastinating about getting married at all. So we've decided on a date in the fall, and will hold the festivities right here at our house. Exciting, right? A wedding date! For me!
Except here's the thing. I'm thinking of not inviting Future Husband to the wedding. Not because I don't love him or don't want to actually be married to him. I'm thinking of not inviting him because, now that we have made these two decisions, there is a little bit of planning to do. In order for planning to commence, there must occasionally be a conversation about various items. And every time I initiate said conversation, Future Husband says, apparently reflexively, "Oh boy."
"Who do you think we should invite?"
"My photographer friend is available."
"We'll probably need a bartender, right?"
So last night, Future Husband and I were watching "Cake Boss" with the Tornadoes before bedtime. Cake Boss was making a wedding cake of epic proportions, as he tends to do, and this made me think that a traditional cake is not something I want at our party. So I ever so casually said to Future Husband, "Do you think we're going to need to have a cake?" And Future Husband said, "Oh boy." And this is when I got the idea that I might not invite him. I'll have to check with the photographer and see if that is workable. I'm sure it is. She's a very talented photographer.
Now listen here. I am no Bridezilla. Weddings, brides, ceremonies - these are nouns and that fall far out of my natural vocabulary. I was never one of those little girls who fantasized about her perfect wedding or perfect groom or perfectly blissful married future. The whole idea of marriage still makes me shiver slightly, mainly because I failed so spectacularly the first time I tried it. And? Didn't plan my first wedding, people. Other than my dress and the music selection, I left every stinking detail up to my mother and my bridal party. Didn't pick the venue, the photographer, the cake, the food - whatever other dozen decisions that had to be made to pull together someone else's vision of that day in my life, I let them go to it. It was the beginning of the end, and I acted like I knew it.
When I say, though, that Future Husband and I were procrastinating about getting married, what I mean is this: it feels like we already are married. Provided that marriage is supposed to feel like complete comfort and faith in being with this other person who is your partner, companion, and lover, and you can easily see yourself spending every day of the rest of your life with them. I don't know, maybe that's just me eating more vegetables. But I suspect it could resemble a good marriage. In my opinion, the point of following through with an actual wedding is to give our family and friends - and most significantly, our kids from other marriages - a means of officially acknowledging and celebrating our togetherness. And I was thinking that maybe it might be kind of a fun party to plan.
But the "Oh boy" reflex? Not fun to hear, lover boy. Not fun.