Yours. Mine. Ours.

When you become married, life suddenly goes from being singular to being pluralized. It’s no longer me or I. It’s we and us. We will be available next weekend. This gift is from us. What was mine is now ours and the same goes for him. What was his is ours. That couch I bought years before? It’s ours. His colorful fiesta mugs? Those are ours too.

While these little things are small and insignificant, it does take some brain work to adjust our vocabulary. To remember to use inclusive language when, for so long, you spoke only of yourself. And maybe, though the ring is on your finger and the memories of the wedding day are still lingering, you still don’t quite believe that you made the plunge. That somewhere in your mind you still don’t believe you’ll ever get married even if you have the documents to prove that you have, in fact, been hitched recently.

I’m finding for myself that the hardest part is actually referring to Jake as “our” son. The Mr. has been raising him for sometime with me and we all feel that he’s as much a father as anyone else. He loves deeply and thoroughly and he worries just as any father would.

It’s not that I don’t want to share, it’s just an adjustment of vernacular. Instead of “my” son, it’s “our” son. Our son finished first grade today. Our son left his towel on the floor again. Our son has grown another inch and needs new pants that fit him.

Our son. Our home. Our life. Our dreams.

Ours.

And Then There Was A Wedding

This weekend ended the 7 month road I’ve been walking with my best friend. We are no longer bride and groom, we are now husband and wife.

The day was gloomy with a slight breeze. I was ok with this because I know that for photography’s sake, an overcast day is actually better for picture taking. Less glare and direct sunlight to contend with.

I woke up, made some coffee and breakfast then sat down to watch Wild Kratts with my son. It was like any other Saturday except that in a matter of a few hours, I’d be a Mrs. Something I’d been wanting for a long time.

Soon the rush began. Hair appointments, collecting the last little tidbits. Writing vows that wouldn’t write themselves. Makeup and 4 pairs of eyelashes to attached. Practicing the vows aloud and packing up the emergency bag for any little missteps that would happen.

Then we were off. My girls, my parents, my brother and my son. We all piled into a car along with tuxes and dresses and my gown. There, in the bubble of that car I realized it would be the last time we were all together with the same last name and I began to cry. The car wept silently as my jittery hands held a tissue up against my eyes to hold back the tears that threatened to ruin my makeup.

Before long we were at the site and realized we forgot the veil and the maid-of-honor speech. Oddly, while I tend to be the perfectionist, it didn’t bother me. I was ok with it because I knew that veil or no veil, I’d still end up married to The Guy.

Into the old house we went, carrying my gown aloft. And there we waited. We waited for the flowers to be delivered and the photographer to make her way into the house. We watched as the reception was set up on the patio behind us and as a flurry of activity bustled below, readying our wedding.

Then time stopped. I realized this was it. This was the day I never thought would come. The day I almost compromised with others because I was willing to settled and get it over with. The day I wanted so badly I was willing to ignore warnings and what my heart truly wanted because I didn’t believe I deserved it.

My heart wanted everything: love, understanding, honesty, passion, acceptance, integrity, encouragement, and a future we dreamed of together. But I hadn’t found someone who fulfilled all these requirements so I sacrificed one or another to make it fit, never thinking someone out there could be all these things for me, could love me and accept me without question and without asking me to sacrifice any of my dreams or his.

As I stood in that 130 year old house, I realized how peaceful I was. And for every moment for that whole day, I was there. I was awake. I was present and living every second of that day. I had found that person who was everything to me because he made me feel like I was his everything.

Things weren’t perfect that day but it didn’t matter. I was marrying my best friend and in the end, all the small details and the big plans melted into nothing as I turned the corner and saw him standing there. Then nothing mattered and everything WAS perfect.

We were married in front of 110 of our closest friends and family. People flew in from out of town and mingled like they were made to be one big family. The food was spectacular, the music was wonderful and everything came together beautifully. The day was amazing and better than I could have ever dreamed of.

And I’d do it over again in a heartbeat. After all the stress and tears and frustrations and worry about planning something so tremendous, I’d do it all over again. As long as when I turn that corner, he’s still there, waiting for me.

The day was better than either of us could have imagined.

It was beautiful.

It was special.

It was quirky.

And it was us.

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