When someone asked us how the wedding went and I couldn't think of what to say first, Phillip piped up with, "Well, there were a lot of wardrobe malfunctions." And that, I think, is an excellent way to characterize most of what happened on Saturday.
Not with Molly, of course. Molly's stylist was on the ball.
Could I be any cuter? Could I look any LESS like my mother?
And except for the fact that I was too frazzled to remember to wear the earrings FPC gave me the night before, there were no wardrobe issues with either the bride or her bridesmaids.
Other Sister and FPC, in typical and characteristic stance. Other Sister: "Look at me! I'm five inches taller than usual! Where's Jack so he can tell me I'm a princess?! Because I AM!" FPC: "How many hours till I can get out of this thing?"
And before someone speeds down to the comment box to say so: YES, WE KNOW WE ALL LOOK SO MUCH ALIKE!
The first wardrobe malfunction took place much earlier in the day, when my mom, Other Sister, FPC's high school BFF and our SIL were driving up to Seattle. BFF (on account, Other Sister admits, of being barked at to hurry up) forgot her dress at Other Sister's apartment and didn't remember until they were about twenty minutes into the drive. Oops. It wasn't a huge deal and BFF more than made up for her grievous error by being the Girl Friday of weddings. Dude, thank God for the Random Family Friends who were stuck helping with the decorating because we were their rides. WE NEEDED THEM.
We spent an hour or two at the hair salon, and after that we spent a few hours at my house fussing over eye makeup, redoing the hair we'd just had professionally done, finishing up the last reception details, ironing the boys' clothes and plowing through the mountain of food Phillip had fetched first thing in the morning. Lots of re-bobby-pinning and eyelining and yelling, "WHO TOOK MY BAG?"
We had to be at the church at 1:30, which was probably the roughest part of the day for me. The wedding was supposed to start at three and it was a good hour and a half of Barely Holding It Together. I'd spent a long time packing Things We Might Need and distributed them between two bags, but my mom took one of the bags to the reception and it turns out we needed nothing in the bag I had and everything in the bag my mom had. It was raining, my shoes hurt, I had to run back and forth between the church and the hall I don't know how many times, my hair was falling out, I had a Himalayan range on my chin to cover up and nine million people were asking me nine million questions.
And then my dad showed up all, "Who has my clothes?" and I'm all, "My HOUSE has your clothes because that's where you are supposed to BE."
I forgot the biggest wardrobe malfunction, in which my mother discovers, about fifteen minutes before we are supposed to leave for the church, that she has left the top half of her wedding outfit at home. Fifty minutes away. In WRETCHED traffic.
Ohhhh, Internet. It was so sad. My poor mother. I mean, we're all a bit of a wreck at this point (except FPC, props to her) and what were we supposed to do?
We called everyone we knew. Everyone we knew decided not to answer their phones. I was, by this point, used to Last Resortting, and I dug a favorite top out of my closet, a stretchy black Banana Republic number. While it wasn't perfect and I know my mom didn't like it, IT DID THE TRICK. We topped it with one of the many shawls we'd dug out of our respective closets for all the people who didn't have cover ups, a gold one that, if I may say so myself, looked rather lovely. I'd post a picture but I am pretty sure my mother would kill me.
But back to my DAD. Between hunting down his clothes and ordering them to the church, piling up all the clothes in the dressing room and shoving them into the back of my parents' van, figuring out which clothes FPC was taking with her and which clothes the flower girl needed for the reception and tracking down scissors to cut out the tags in all the clothes we were wearing (WHY DID WE NOT DO THIS BEFORE?) I had about five minutes to turn the Himalayas into the Appalachians.
And then, during the ceremony, where I was hoping to catch my breath, I noticed that about half the programs were printed wrong. By which I mean: the first page was printed on the second page and vice versa. Picture all the wedding guests looking blankly at their programs, wondering why the order of the Mass begins with "Homily". GO WEDDING PLANNER!
Gak, I'm getting all stressed again. More pictures?
Bread means a not-shrieking baby. And is that my mom?! OOPS!
My kids (Jack wore a vest and shirt from Crazy 8 with black cords), their respective grandmothers and the stupid table number cards.
Other Sister and me in front of the prom photo backdrop - not as wide as I thought it might be, but it turned out pretty cute. Also, check out Other Sister's shoes, which I affectionately nicknamed The Drag Queen Heels. As for mine, I'm not sure if I am rocking the ankle strap or not. Also: big fat fail on the Movie Star Red Carpet Pose, eh? SIGH.
And the FPC was gorgeous. The end.
Quoth Jack, as I am ready to hit publish, "That's my Aunt Katie! Aunt Katie is a PWINCESS!"