It’s sort of ironic to use “At Last” as your wedding song when you’re only like, 8 years old when you get married. Ok, I was 22 but I might as well have been 8. I think the only reason my mother didn’t run screaming in terror when her 21 year old came home for Christmas with a diamond ring and a bag full of bridal magazines was that she and my dad also got married at the ripe old age of 22, exactly 30 years and 3 days before I did. And they’re still going strong.

Lucky for you my external hard drive is STILL at the computer doctor on life support so my 2000+ wedding photos are unavailable. It’s a shame really, since I could have easily posted all 2000 of them today for the wedding blog hop. There isn’t a single one I don’t absolutely love.

But since I’m working off of just a few I stole from myself on Facebook and a few I scanned in from my album I’ll try to keep this short. Short-ish. Medium length. Not ridiculously long.

I was the kind of girl who had (has) a box of stuff labeled “For My Dream Wedding” and kept a running list of which color flower/cake/bridesmaid dresses/bubbles/carpet runner/butterflies should be used for whatever month my current dream wedding took place in. I was basically Monica from Friends, although I like to think my crazy bridezilla moments were limited to breakdowns at work behind a closed office door rather than screaming fights with my bridesmaids or vendors. But who knows, maybe EVERYONE knew I was crazy. It may have been a good thing that E was deployed for 90% of our engagement or he might have called the whole thing off when I made him go to the FOURTH cake tasting because I couldn’t decide between the lemon curd or the raspberry filling.

I absolutely ADORED obsessing over those details and I happen to think everything worked out as perfectly as any wedding possibly can, from the inexplicably gorgeous weather (August in Charleston is NOT supposed to have 0% humidity) to the surprise fireworks during our rehearsal dinner cruise (put on by the city for something else but that I claimed were for me) to the leisurely carriage ride around the city between the ceremony and the reception so E and I got some quite time together before the drinking reception started.

Sometimes I remember every detail so well I can’t believe 2004 was 6 whole years ago and not yesterday. And sometimes it feels like the whole day was just something I saw in a movie once. But either way it was totally amazing.

Our church, on the corner of Queen & Church St, Charleston SC

Going to the chapel

And we got married

My dress tried to eat the flowergirl

My girls. Their only request was that my wedding colors NOT be blush and bashful.

The pattern on the cake matches the lace on my dress. The photos on the guest book table are from our parents and grandparents weddings

My aunt caught us on the street to take a picture. It's one of my favorites from the whole day - the driver's face, my laugh, and Sticky Fingers in the background!

We had an open bar. I think that explains the dancing.

 Now it’s your turn! Link up all the pictures of your own wedding you want!

Today started out so well. Baby Evan not only slept through the night, he slept IN, not making a peep until 8:30 am. E is home today so I got to pass the buck on the horrible morning diaper while I took a beautifully long shower. I managed to shave both legs, including above my knees, for the first time in weeks. Our possible agenda for the day included: going to the lake, boating, swimming, walking downtown for some lunch, Ikea, watching a movie, taking the baby to the park, the aquarium, or any number of other super awesome weekday-off-of-work summer activities we rarely get to do. We decided to start with Ikea (aka Home Design DisneyWorld). I packed up the diaper bag, changed the baby and ran downstairs to feed the cats before we left.

Actually, I only made it half way down the stairs. Then I noticed the water.

And then I noticed the smell.

This isn’t the first time we’ve had plumbing problems in this house. The day I moved in (E was at sea) the sewer backed up into the basement and I stood on the bottom step just staring at the mess until my father suggested I find a phonebook and call a plumber. I didn’t even know if the house HAD a phonebook. Eventually I got a guy to come out who hemmed and hawed and poked things and removed drain covers and stuck things in pipes for a couple of hours before declaring he had no idea what was wrong but we definitely needed a new line from the house to the street so did I happen to have $2,500 as a downpayment? Plus $200 for his opinion?

I fired him. Later, my neighbor said she hired him to do some work and he was even more of an idiot that I had originally suspected.

Fortunately, that first back-up turned out to be just a result of the house being empty for 8 months and my normal use of the plumbing for a couple of days flushed everything out. I lived in happy denial for 6 months.

The second back-up involved a dozen people stomping around the house hemming and hawing and looking for the problem and never really coming up with a permanent solution besides replacing the entire line out to the street. And that time it cost $800.

So this morning, although it’s been 2 years since the last backup, when I saw the water and smelled the smell I almost cried. Our plans for the day – for the week, maybe for the month – now all revolve around wet-vacs, rubber gloves, plumbers, RotoRooter, city workers, pipe cameras, and juggling bank accounts and credit cards until we figure out what exactly we have to do and how much it’s going to cost. Our plans for next week that previously included adding pantry shelves and a new workbench for E in the basement are now scrapped. Basically all the fun and joy and happiness in our lives has been sucked up along with gallons of (literal) crap by the shop-vac. Stupid, stupid house.

*One of the weirdest parts of our old house: random basement toilet. There isn’t an actual bathroom down there, just a sort of partition made out of random pieces of leftover plywood and a door that doesn’t shut. Also, no sink. Just a toilet. Which is where all the gross disgusting stuff that doesn’t make it out to the street line comes up. BLECH.

As I mentioned before (even earlier in my pregnancy than this ridiculously early post), if Sandy ends up belonging to the hot dog half of the hamburger-hot dog population, we’ve already got a name picked out. It’s an awesome, cool, unusual, non-yet-overused, legitimately-from-my-immediate-family-not-a-third-cousin-twice-removed-in-law name.

But y’all, as much as I am TOTALLY COMPLETELY 100% IN LOVE with this name, I am skeered. Skeered people are going to think I’m a crazy person, skeered it’s a totally stupid thing to name a baby, skeered that the internet is going to mock me. I can’t even bring myself to put the name out there – not here on the blog, not on the baby message boards, not to anyone besides my parents and E’s parents and one friend I knew would understand. E actually told a few relatives a while back while I made desperate cringing “no don’t say it don’t say it DON’T” faces behind their backs. Then I ran away before anyone could react so I don’t know what they thought. I just can’t stand the thought of someone saying “Oh. Really? Are you sure?” to a name that I’ve got my heart set on.

I have no idea why this is bothering me so much. I do not live in an area where everyone calls their babies Bob or Mike or Jacob. I know Lucien, Calvin, Tristan, Reid, Brody and Gideon, all of which I would put in the same category as the name I want to use. And now that I’ve heard them 10, 20, 500 times none of those names seem even a tiny bit strange. They aren’t even “baby names” anymore – they’re just people I know, although admittedly tiny, drooling, crap-their-pants people.

My name isn’t even unheard of. I sent a totally crazy stalker Twitter direct message to a blogger who happened to mention her nephew was named my very special secret name. (I may have scared her with my craziness and/or questions.) I also freaked out when I saw MY name on a list of unusual names that are gaining popularity – and according to a few websites it’s now in the top 200 most common. I promise it’s not Heahstan or Cenwig or Kinkson or Syre or anything else from the Baby’s Named a Bad, Bad Thing collection (WARNING: That link is a giant time suck. HUGE. DO NOT CLICK unless you have several hours to waste.) I promise I’m not really a crazy person. I promise even my own mother thinks it’s a fantastic name.

I also promise to stop talking about it now until I know for sure if we even GET to use it. Because the more I stress now, the more likely this baby will end up being a girl anyways. So it won’t even matter.

And for the record, if you’re DYING to know what the name is, send me an email or a Twitter DM or something. It’s not a secret, I’m just SKEERED.

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Minor housekeeping note: I finally broke down and joined the Top Baby Blogs list almost all my internet friends are members of. Unfortunately, you need like a quadrillion votes to show up in the top 100 so I’m going to be doing a little begging self-promotion. No registration or anything required: just click on the banner below and then click on the big icon in the middle of the screen. You won’t see my button until I make it to the front page (AHAHAHAHAHAHhahahahah!! Ha.) but rest assured you made my day just by voting!

Dear lady on the sidewalk in front of the post office,

You are probably a very nice person, although I do not know because you are a total stranger. I agree that you do not look crazy, at least not in the stereotypical smelling-of-booze-pushing-a-shopping-cart-ranting-about-the-end-of-the-world way. Perhaps you have a little bit of trouble understanding personal space, but in general I know your intentions are harmless. You most likely live a very normal, average life right here in town. There’s a pretty good chance you even see a doctor regularly and are not carrying any infectious diseases.

I’m sure my son does remind you of when your “babies” were that age. I understand that time goes by very quickly, and I should cherish every moment. (You may be shocked to learn you are not the first person to give me that advice.) I am incredibly blessed to have such a beautiful child. It’s great that your daughters seem like the kind of girls who will give you lots of grandchildren some day – although perhaps that’s more than I needed to know about them –  and I hope they are as beautiful as my own Baby Evan.

All that being said, if you ever EVER EVER put your lips on my baby’s face again, please believe I will punch you in the mouth.

Thanks for understanding!
xoxo
Suzanne