Happily Ever After

Our family is made, the wait is over.

Thank you for reading and following along over the past four years. It’s time to live the life we dreamed about, and savor every minute.

We found our happily ever after, and it’s right here.

What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. ~T.S. Eliot

Surfacing

We are slowly finding our sea legs again after a whirlwind week leading up to the wedding (note: it may not have been the smartest idea to combine 6 kids, a fiance unable to take a day off, 3 houseguests AND the last-minute wedding to-do list into one 5-day stretch), the wedding weekend itself in all it’s chaos and family and emotion and happy tears and “Has anyone seen my shoes?”, and the blissful aftermath of the honeymoon. That last part was my favorite, as I’m sure it goes without saying

The sea legs must be found quickly because we now have exactly 12 hours to pack up 2 houses and move. Our first stop after surviving customs Sunday night was to visit *our* house, complete with a sweep-up-the-bride, carry-her-giggling-over-the-threshold, moment of giddiness. It waits for us, the rooms empty and ready to be filled with furniture, photographs, sticky handprints and memories. I dug around in the overgrown garden and emerged with several ripe tomatoes, the happy realization that we will have pumpkins this fall, sprigs of herbs that I recognize (and several that I don’t), and ant bites that were so. totally. worth it.

Tuesday night was our first night together as a family, and we spent it together, as a family. We loaded up sleeping bags and bathing suits, ordered pizza, raided the stash of leftover wedding wine, and camped out in our very own home. The kids swam, danced in the rain, then swam some more. The big girls scampered to the pond that is behind us, then scampered back with news of the five ducklings that have been added to the family of two (that we witnessed mating in the pool at one of our showings…good, educational times, that).

We headed out for a twilight walk to the playground, and stumbled upon lightning bugs along our path. Our oldest three ran into the woods after them, trying (in vain) to catch them with their bare hands.

We are smitten with this house, this neighborhood, this life we are embarking on. I joke that it’s like a Norman Rockwell painting, or Funny Farm. Someone cued the ducks and the fireflies, but we were sold way back in February when we first drove by and subsequently fell in love with our two story yellow house.

I will be so happy once this weekend is finished. Away from the stress of the week leading up to the wedding and even the quiet solitude of our honeymoon waits a life of laundry and homework, crock pot dinners and late night swimming. It will be humdrum and mundane in comparison to these past few weeks, and I’ll happily, gladly, *willingly* take it.

I’m so looking forward to our finding a rhythm, establishing new routines, and no longer feeling like we’re just trying to break the surface in between major life events.

I promise…

Our minister encouraged us to write our own wedding vows and my fiance readily agreed.  I hesitated, unsure of my ability to put into perfect words what he, and that day, meant to me. I can voice them, certainly, but not without great emotion or the fighting back of choking tears.

The night before our wedding I took a deep breath, opened my laptop, and the words just flowed. One draft, perfect in its meaning and encompassing exactly what I wanted to promise this man of mine.  We had been through so much, fought so long, struggled and lost more than we anticipated, but endured, and in turn gained, just that much more in return.

I stood before him last Saturday, our hands holding each other’s tightly, and we began to exchange our vows.

As expected, tears began to form, and I fought to keep my composure, to keep my words clear and strong. To hold it together as I made my heartfelt promises.

And then, exactly as I finished one particular line in my vows, the glass door to our venue just…shattered.  It fell like a sheet of ice peeling off from the side of a glacier.  No one was around it (thankfully), and it was a miracle that it didn’t happen 20 minutes earlier when our guests were arriving, or 5 minutes before the ceremony when the girls and I snuck in to wait for our cues.

The venue explained that earlier in the week a pane had shattered in one of the upper classrooms.  They muse that it’s a combination of the direct sun on one side of the glass and the air conditioning on the other. Minuscule cracks. Faulty installation.

I think it was more than that.

There was just one line in the vows I wrote to my husband that referred to what he has been through, what he continues to go through, and what brought us into each others’ orbit in the first place.  It was the line that my sister-in-law wasn’t able to read past earlier that day when I asked if she wanted to read the promises I would be making to her older brother.  She handed the paper back, wiping tears away and laughing as she said “I can’t get past that one part, the tears are making it impossible to see”. It’s the line that brings his parents to immediate tears, and that which I never want him to forget he is worthy of.  It is the easiest thing of all that I promised that day to give to him.

It was one simple line, just nine words. The promising of it in front of our loved ones and before God was more powerful and more dynamic than anyone expected. And with that, the curse was lifted and we blew the door off of the place, leaving only love in it’s place.

I promise to always respect you as a man.

 

Backseat Conversation

While driving home after a rare Tuesday night together last week, my sleepy, sad-to-leave, “Why can’t we just stay together at night, you’re *almost* married” oldest asked a profound question:

If you could choose to stay at any age forever, what would it be?

I sat with this for a few minutes, volleyed it back and listened as Ben said he would choose 20, “because I would be in college, with girlfriends, and not living with my parents…but you will still visit me, right?”.

Samantha chose 16, “because then I can drive a car”.

Coco was already asleep, but I’m pretty sure she’d choose every day that she’s not spending “sit and think” time in her room for some transgression, which is certainly NOT these days. The girl is three through and through, and I have high hopes that four will be a bit easier for both she and I.

But, I digress.

If I could choose ANY age to stay at forever, what would it be…

I thought about some of my more detailed memories growing up as a child and into an adult. High school was pretty nondescript, college was fun, but not something I’d want to relive indefinitely. The years before my kids were born were missing, well, MY KIDS. The years where my marriage began unraveling can stay forever in the past. Last year when The Man and I were dating stands out as a happy one, but it still so much in limbo because the children were not yet a part of our life together.

Would I fast forward to the future? After the kids are off to college and we have the ability to travel together to all the places on our bucket list sounds good, right?

I thought about the options, and settled on the obvious answer: Right now. 36 years old. On the very cusp of marrying my best friend, of moving into the house that felt like ours from the very first moment we saw it, from blending a family of six children that already consider one another best friends. My loved ones are healthy, my children secure and still easy to steer through life. THIS is the age I would freeze forever in time if I could.

The realization of that simple fact produced grateful tears, and I am sharing my daughter’s thoughtful question with all of you as a result:

If you could choose any age to stay at, what would it be, and why?

;

ps) Saturday is the big day! We leave for our (kid-free!) honeymoon the next day, and move immediately after our return. My twitter account has gone dark in order to hunker down and keep the focus of the next few weeks exactly where it belongs: On our friends and family, and most importantly, on my love. This blog will follow suit, and I look forward to my first post as a glowing newlywed in a few weeks. Until then, be safe and happy, count your blessings every single day, send love and light to everyone you know.

Whirlwind

We are in those last few days before the wedding/honeymoon/move, where life suddenly hits warp speed and with every blink, every moment that at one time felt much too far away is suddenly right. there.

Eleven days.

There are lists of things still needing to be done for the wedding. Large, momentous life events that normally occur sporadically throughout one’s lifetime…not exactly within a nine day period.  We close on our house in a week, and orchestration that has yet to occur for our moves looms.  Details both finite and enormous that will surely find themselves worked out before the multiple dates for our various Very Important dates are here star my calendar.  I can be very Pollyanna at a time like this, but I think the correct title at this point is Honey Badger Bride.

So much has ceased to matter, while the issues of importance rise to the surface.

Small, amusing example that has me laughing tonight: The girls selected their own ‘Sisters of Honor’ dresses for the wedding.  As we felt strongly that all six of our children should feel that they have equal roles to fulfill (no Maid of Honor, Flower Girl, Best Man, etc…which would sure have left two to three of our brood out in the cold), we found a title with a wide swath for each side, and (knock on wood) all have been pleased with this.  So the Sisters of Honor did a little shopping on etsy, and settled on a shop that (MIRACLE!) everyone agreed upon.  They oh-so-carefully (and trust me, MUCH THOUGHT went in to this) selected their colors, and we waited for weeks for the dresses to arrive.

#etsyexplosion has become the best way to describe what occurred when I opened the box that arrived last week.  The tulle that took over my living room has, no lie, grown with each passing day, and as my kids were with their dad this past weekend we elected to wait to tentatively introduce these tulle monstrosities to the girls.  Fully expecting anarchy, but smart enough to anticipate Coco’s dependable joyous reaction to anything over-the-top, I am happy to report that 2/3 of our SoH are thrilled to pieces.  Also, THERE’S A LOT OF TULLE FLYING AROUND MY LIVING ROOM.

We still have 1/3 to convince, and I am fully expecting a last minute trip to the mall to find a suitable replacement, should our most opinionated and passionate refuse to look like an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras.  Fingers are crossed that it goes well, but personally, I wouldn’t blame her one bit if she draws a line in the sand.

I feel you, sister.  And I’m not one to fight a battle when it comes to any detail about our day.  The important stuff rises to the top…matching tulle monstrosities are not it.

But what is?

This weekend was Fathers Day weekend, and as most kids from divorced households, my three were with their dad while we enjoyed a weekend with his.

There have been weekends with all six, weekends with just his or mine, weekends with dance recitals and soccer games, visits to my family’s ranch or rare weekends where not much is required of any of us.  Weekends with *just* three are a rare privilege, and for whatever reason this past weekend was one of our best. It may have been THE best, and I’m not sure of the catalyst.

It could have been advice given by his oldest’s therapist, or the fact that it was our first weekend alone with them for a while (undivided attention is magical). Regardless, it was, as quoted by his youngest, the “best day of my whole life”…and I have to agree with her.

At dinner his oldest and I had a chance to really talk. He had my entire focus, and took full advantage of it.  Tough questions were asked, appropriate answers were given, and it was a wonderful feeling to know that the foundation we are working on forming is more than well established.

His middle child, always affectionate, was extra demonstrative this weekend.  More than once I found myself with arms wrapped tight around my middle, his head buried into my side, and we would stand together until he was ready to let go.  My heart would soar each and every time this happened.

His youngest is the one that has been consistently accepting and welcoming.  The girl is a fan of anything and everything girlie, and as a mommy of two girls (and fairly girly myself) it’s very easy to accommodate.  That being said, it’s not easy to share your Dad with not one, but THREE other ladies.  She continues to amaze me with her depth, and the comments she made that weekend helped me feel that she has not been lost in the addition.

I want to protect his childrens’ comments, feelings and statements as much as possible.  But this past weekend was more than affirming, it was empowering, encouraging, and reassuring.

It was, in short, the perfect lead into this two week whirlwind that we find ourselves in.

It Takes a Village

A month from tonight we will be celebrating with our friends and family, dancing with our children and toasting the first day of our happy ever after.

It still feels so very far away…and then I remember all the loose ends still needing to be tied and I panic just a tiny bit until my ADD Pollyanna kicks back in, and I procrastinate for another day, knowing it will somehow all get taken care of.

It helps, of course, that so many of these finer and easily overwhelming details have been handed off to the slew of creative, generous, oh-so-giving people that surround us.

Hair and makeup? I’m almost AS excited about spending a few hours with my dear friend Julie the day of the wedding as I am for what follows. An hour in her salon chair never fails to leave me invigorated, empowered, confident and (just as her salon is named) full of old-fashioned Moxie.  I couldn’t ask for better when it comes to knowing I’ll look as good on the outside as I feel on the inside as I slip into my wedding gown.

Let’s not forget that she’s become my kickboxing buddy, and because said gown is NOT forgiving, and flabby arms are not exactly something I want immortalized, I not only kickbox and weight lift my way through each week, I have her right there with me, sweating and cursing and laughing alongside me.

My college roommate/BFF Rebecca just happens to dabble in wedding decor and flowers on the side, and has happily taken up the job of making everything look pretty (which also just happens to make her a miracle worker when faced with our tiny budget).  She texted yesterday with photos of her ‘vision’, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude.  It doesn’t matter if she put out burlap bags and a few twigs, it would look beautiful and we would love it.  But the care and attention to detail she has put into her design is truly something I never dreamed was possible.  It is stunning.

There will be more than a few cameras present as along with our photographer and her second shooter are the guests, and even family members, who are also photographers. There will be some serious glass present that night, and all of those images, all of that talent, combined? I am already itching to get my hands on them and turn it into a slideshow that will tell the story of our day in a way that is usually only captured with a slew of hired photographers. Lucky us.

The grand marshall of this entire event? Someone that we are so proud to call our friend. Early on in the planning process she gave a few ideas, which turned into an offer to assist, then an offer to take over the job as planner, telling me “Point at the pretty things you want, and I’ll make it happen.”.  Make it happen, she has.  Bethany has been incredibly patient, laid back, encouraging and positive.  The stress has been minimal, and the overall experience has been one of giddy excitement, due almost completely to her very competent, peaceful, organized manner (none of which I am on a GOOD day).  If she doesn’t turn professional after this wedding, she runs the risk of breaking many a future bride’s heart.  She is THAT good.  And she offered to help us? Pinch me.

There’s more…so much more.

The Man’s parents are the reason we are able to buy the house of our dreams.  They gave us a check back in February that I still don’t quite know how to thank them for. Because of them, we will be able to provide a home and a lifestyle for our children that still seems surreal.

Because of their generous gift, we made the rehearsal dinner less traditional and more of a dutch affair, to which my Dad and Stepmom said “We got this”.  Dinner is now at our very favorite restaurant in a private room, where we can let the kids play and toast each others’ families and officially kick off the wedding celebration in style.

Friends are arriving early to help with watching the kids the week before the wedding. Other friends are funding a few babysitters to watch the slew of kids that will be in attendance, so our fellow moms and dads can sit back and relax a bit.

It’s become such a testament for us, this assembled crew of volunteers, ready to help however they can.  Had the original plan to wed in Mexico worked out, 90% of this wouldn’t have happened. I love when things work out in a way that makes you look back and say “Aha!”…you know, like our lives thus far.

Another month to go, only a few hundred things still to do (okay, not really…I don’t know the exact number but I’m sure Bethany is on that ).  So many pieces and parts have been handed off to volunteers happy to help, and the loss of control has been a blessing in so many ways.  My countdown is to the wedding. To “I do”.  To dancing and toasting, to celebrating new beginnings.  I’m oblivious to most of the rest of it, knowing that no matter what, it will be exactly as it was meant to be.

It is taking a village to get us there, and we are so grateful.

An Abundance of Riches

Ever have those moments when you look around and can’t believe you are where you are? I’ve been doing that a lot this year, and scratching my head over all the amazing things that life continues to send my way, wondering what I did to deserve so. much. good.  I don’t get it, but I’m sure grateful to have it.

There are so many insanely good things looming on the horizon, and June and July are quickly shaping up to be mind-blowingly fabulous.

Along with that little thing called the wedding, and the move that I’m *sure* will go just like clockwork , and the house closing and honeymoon and packing and unpacking AND KIDS HOME FOR THE ENTIRE SUMMER, a lot of exciting professional opportunities have suddenly fallen into place (and into my lap).

For one, I was asked to speak in June at Spark and Hustle, a 20 city book tour and event geared towards women in business.  When I received the email, I assumed it was about photography, or parenting…both of which I though “Pfffft! Easy peasy!”.  Turns out, it’s about the demon I fight on a daily basis…”Overcoming Fear and Increasing Confidence”.  Which pretty much means I get to stand in front of hundreds of women and bare my soul.  Because it’s something I am more than a little familiar with, and because saying no would be giving into fear and NOT overcoming confidence, I said yes. Did I mention it’s happening a week before the wedding? Remember how I said it was going to be an insane month?

Yeah.

But I can do it. I WILL do it. And if you’re in the audience, go ahead and resign yourself to the fact that I’m envisioning you in your underwear.

Though I won’t even pretend that I have been confident enough to not peek at the other 19 cities and see who is speaking on the same topic.  I’m not sure which is better, realizing that the author I happen to think very highly of is rocking Fear and Confidence in NYC, or this text I got back after sending an angsty text or seven about it:

A few weeks after that happened, I got an email from D Magazine letting me know Sugar was nominated again for Best in Big D – Best Family Photographer.  And yes, my heart exploded with gratitude.  On top of everything else, to have this? It’s just too much.  The good? It overwhelms.

So, if you’re so inclined, you can click here to vote.

(Unlike last year’s HOURLY voting, this year it’s just daily (THANK YOU, D MAGAZINE), you can vote from your smartphone, computer, ipad, ANYTHING YOU CAN GET YOUR HANDS ON (don’t hold back ), and voting ends in two weeks.)

Sidenote: You know what’s fun? Typing this post about things that by themselves are amazing, but together (and in the same two month span) are MIND. BLOWING. while texts and emails roll in with RSVP’s and happy wishes as wedding invitations that arrived in today’s mail are opened. It is an abundance of riches.

We truly ARE the luckiest.

Ballerina

Because I can’t stop staring at this…

Hurry up and wait

Time, she is a-dragging.

Every few days I check my ‘Days Until’ iphone app, and once we dipped below 100 days, I anticipated things speeding up somewhat.  What with the end of school quickly approaching, knowing we would be packing and moving somewhere around then, and just that general whirlwind that seems to accompany these HIGHLY anticipated events.

I looked at it this morning. We still have more than 60 days to go. I may cry.

Last week I picked up my wedding gown.  I shimmied into it in the dressing room, and as my salesperson was doing up the back she began asking about wedding plans. I’m sure I drove her crazy as I blithely waved her detailed questions away.  How is it coming? It’s done!

Shoes? Veil? Bridesmaids dresses?

No…that stuff still needs to be figured out. But I winked at her in the mirror over a pile of satin and sparkle and assured her that it would all get taken care of in plenty of time.

She clucked anxiously, and I couldn’t help but laugh.  It’s not about the details. It’s not about the shoes or the (intentional lack of a) veil.  It’s about holding the hand of my 7 year old son and walking into the butterfly garden at sunset this summer, surrounded by our family, friends, and children as we begin our life together.

It’s about packing up my house and his apartment and unpacking a few days after we return from our honeymoon, to our house.

It’s about the rest of our summer stretching out before us, with swimming and fishing and exploring our neighborhood to keep us busy. Settling into our new normal, with school and activities, my busiest time of year, the holidays…and knowing that never again will we have to say goodnight from separate residences.  That the person I kiss goodnight will be there to wake me in the morning.  That our lives will finally, truly begin.  That the impossible DID actually happen.

So these next 60+ days can go ahead and hurry up…there’s a celebration to be had, and a honeymoon to take, and a move to survive.  But then there’s the rest of our lives to live.

I’d like to go to there.

But I guess I should go ahead and find shoes.

A post for Rachel

During one of our trips to J’s hometown (I don’t remember if it was Christmas or J’s high school graduation), I was messaged on FaceBook by someone I didn’t know, offering a photography session for J, Coco and myself.  Ridiculously sweet, I thanked her for her offer and promised to one day take her up on it (what’s that saying about a cobbler’s children going barefoot? Same applies to photographers, I think ).

Fast forward a few years of FaceBook friendsies and Instagram likes, and she messaged me again a few months ago to let me know she would be in town, teaching a workshop. Could I get together?

And that is how Coco and I came to spend the day with the silly, fun, gorgeous and just plain delightful Rachel Vanoven and her ADORABLE son, doing something so kitschy and touristy that despite living in Dallas 20 years, I had never made the time.

Yes, we bought cowboy hats (or, as Coco calls hers, a ‘cowboy GIRL hat’) and watched the Longhorn drive through the Stockyards.  Then we hit my all-time favorite Fort Worth restaurant (shout out for Joe T’s!) and let the kids run wild through the patio while we talked about everything BUT photography (such a nice change of pace!).

During our day together Rachel commented that I need to blog more often, that she misses reading my words.  I laughed and said that I’m several sessions behind in blogging for work, but was getting back into my groove and would be caught up soon (ie I’m still working, even if it doesn’t look like it…I SWEAR (holiday burnout gets more and more difficult to recover from every spring)).  No, she said…YOUR blog. This one.  The one that talks about life and kids and love and nothing at all.

So Rachel, this post is just for you.  Thank you for providing the momentum to create a memory for my girl that she is still talking about.  Thank you for the pitcher of margaritas, the listening ear, the laughs, and for holding my hand as I waited for word that The Man survived his first sky dive (I know!).  Thank you for sharing stories of your life, your children, your work, and your wonderful outlook on life.  And thanks for this gentle nudge back into blog-land.

Now hurry back to Dallas soon, y’hear?