We had a family wedding this weekend and it was delightful. As with anything, it’s not just the destination that counts, it’s the journey. I learned a couple things on the way to the wedding. The first thing I learned was that I need to be incredibly specific when I say “Put on your tie, we have to go!” That particular instruction did’t go particularly well for me.
The second thing I learned was that [bctt tweet=”kids outgrow dress shoes faster than moms notice they have outgrown them.”] Apparently an hour before an important event is the most likely time to notice an important wardrobe staple is not usable. Typical, am I right?
We drove to “very quickly” replace them so we could get to the ceremony. “Very quickly” is not a thing, because if you need to get somewhere “very quickly” there is guaranteed to be no parking, long lines, people attempting incredibly stupid manoeuvres and at least 26 red lights. It is my experience that being late for something (or having to pee) is like a census for red lights. We arrived in the vicinity of the ceremony twenty minutes after it started, and went to the mall to wait until the reception. This made us the most overdressed occupants of the food court that day, but I was ravenous and shameless.
Standing in line waiting for fried chicken, my little boy cleared his throat and said “I’m sure you are all wondering why I called you to this meeting!” We laughed at our ridiculous predicament and tried to consume our snacks without soiling our festive finery before the big event.
When we arrived, we had great food and danced all night. We formed an incredibly weak conga line and enjoyed ourselves until someone started to get cranky. The rest of us were still having fun so I brought out the big guns in my mommy negotiation arsenal. It’s a little known fact that my child will do pretty much anything for watermelon. If anyone else noticed the fruit salad was a little light on watermelon (or missing it all together), that was definitely me trying to eke out a few more songs on the dance floor from the very cranky but exceptionally well dressed teeny tiny dictator.
I was shuffling at the buffet, loading up our plates, when I heard a small voice behind me as I reached for the caesar salad. “I wish Papa was here to see this,” he said. We both tried really hard to remain composed. I hoped he wouldn’t notice it was the first family wedding since we lost our Grandpa and his great-Grandpa. I hoped he wouldn’t remember the last time we were all gathered was for the memorial. But he did, and it had to be acknowledged.
Looking at the beautiful bride (my cousin) and her handsome beau, I couldn’t help but agree. “Me too, bud, me too.” If anyone could appreciate the shenanigans of my son and his tie when we were already late, it would be Papa. The collision of the sweetest of new beginnings and our still-too-fresh loss showed that our conga line might have been weak, but the joy we shared showed just how strong our family really is.
What’s your favourite family wedding memory?
This post originally appeared on UrbanMoms.ca, you can see it in its original glory here.