One year ago, my mother was making final alterations on my wedding dress as I stood in the front hallway of my grandparents’ home. I was admiring the glass jars my aunt had twisted wire around- the decorations that were to hang in the trees around the reception. I was OKing last minute changes to the centerpieces. I was stressed out.
Steven and I were engaged for less than five months, and with an unfair amount of help from my grandmother, aunts, and lovely mother, the affair went off with style. I called my mother on a daily basis- she in Nebraska, me in Colorado. And we made plans for a wedding in Texas.
A year ago, Steven and I stood in the Kerr County Courthouse, requesting a marriage license. I began to shake a little when Steven pulled out his expired driver’s license, and we were told we couldn’t get the marriage license. Okay, I thought, Stay calm. We’ll get married before God and family in Texas, and get married again before the state in Colorado... No! This isn’t how it’s supposed to go!!! “Isn’t there anything you can do?” I pleaded. Steven saw my desperation and started throwing every card from his wallet on the counter. A supervisor walked over to us, picked out his fishing license and his expired driver’s license, and said, “These two together will work.” And the judge came down to sign it. Crisis averted.
One year ago, my mother and I were sewing pearls onto my wedding dress, and our stress levels collided. We ended up in tears, and all I wanted to do was get out of my party dress, into jeans and a tshirt, and find a justice of the peace. But I didn’t, and the tears dried, and a year later I can’t remember what we fought about, but I do remember how glad I was that my mother was there for my engagement, the wedding, and the married days since.
One year ago, I did not have cold feet. I kept waiting for it to come, but I never doubted. I had never met anyone as gentle and masculine, as funny and serious, as good for me as Steven Moore. A year ago, the menswear store ordered the wrong tux for Steven. “It could work,” the store salesman tried to pursuade him. And it probably could have. But when Steven told them that, no, it needed to match, my heart went pitter-patter.
As exciting and creative as the engagement was, as lovely as my bridal tea and bachelorette party were, as beautiful as the wedding was, I see wedding planning magazines as I’m standing in line with my dull groceries and a husband I’m used to, and I think, Good Lord I’m glad that’s over. Some girls dream of their wedding day, and when it’s over, the magic glitter turns to baseboard dust. But I dreamed of till-death-do-us-part, and I am so glad that dream came true with Steven Moore.