Wedding Blog Part Two: The Day Of

So now, it's September 6, 2008. And my sister is getting married. Today.

I wake up early, help myself to the left over sticky buns, have two mugs of coffee by the fire, and then watch as my mom and sister meticulously arrange the brought-to-you-by-Pike-Place-Market bouquets.

My dad is sitting across from me as my sister and mom are arranging the flowers, grinning the way he grins when he really wants to say something but knows he shouldn't. And I can tell there is a battle going on his brain – "Should I make a smart-ass comment right now? Should I not?" And I look at him and say, "You better not."

That makes him chuckle the way he chuckles – with a broad, teeth-bearing grin and wide eyes. I guarantee you he was going to say something like, "What, is flowering arranging brain science, or something?"

So the flowers were arranged (beautifully… as you can see…)



And now we're T-minus four hours before we have to be in the make-up and hair chair.

Erin and I still have to drive about half an hour to the honeymoon suite to set the mood for some sexin' – and Erin is flustered because we're running short on time.

Now, there are many, many… many things that my sister does better than me. BUT… there are two things I do better than her.

1.) Run late

2.) Drive a stick shift.

Explanation of number one – I run late better than she does: I run about ten minutes behind… always. My sister runs about ten minutes ahead, always. So if you put the two together, we'll be right on time. The only problem is that my sister didn't realize this. We had a direction mix-up on our drive to the hotel (mainly because these directions were not in the original direction packet) and we ended up going about 15 miles in the wrong direction.

My sister's response to the wrong turn? "We are NOT going the right way. We are in LA CONNER. This is not right. This is not good. Turn around. Hurry. We're late!"

My response to the wrong turn? "Whoops."

Explanation of number two - I drive a stick shift better than she does: Seeing as how I don't like to pay for gas and seeing as how the bumper of my car is attached by two rubber bungees… I didn't want to drive my car an hour round trip to decorate my sister's hotel room. My mom needed Erin's SUV to take stuff to the wedding site, so that left my dad's 1994 BMW convertible as the only choice.

But you need a little background as to WHY this is a big deal. My dad sold my high school car when I went off to college and bought this BMW, telling me it was a replacement for my car and that we would "share" it when I came home on breaks.

But in this situation, I didn't realize that when he said we will "share" it, he really meant "you will never drive it."

It's his baby. I understand. The man had three daughters… he has lived the past 23 years with four women in his household… he can be particular about who drives his car.

BUT… back to the wedding. So when we realize that my dad's car is the only option other than my car, my mom, Erin and I all turn our heads towards him with skeptical eyes and closed mouths.

"You can take it," he said.

"But I want Meguire to drive it."

Yes. Correct. My father chose me, his daughter of 23, to drive his car over Erin, his daughter of 27, because I CAN DRIVE A STICK SHIFT BETTER.

It's a right of passage. It is a memory I will remember always. And you know how in biblical times the birth right of each eldest son was land? Well… this is like MY birthright... except it's not a "right" for me to drive his car and I'm not the eldest. Ha. Not the best analogy… but I think I'll leave it.

And the only reason I keep going on about who got to drive the car is because it is rare… rare… that I am offered "the more responsible" roll. Erin is, hands down, the most responsible child. She is a better planner and organizer. She makes better choices. She is everything the eldest sibling is supposed to be and more.

But… just this once… I was "chosen." And so I think I'll relish in that for a while.

But back to the wedding… because that's what it's all about, right?

So we get to The Bluff (wedding location), after decorating the hotel suite with flower petals and candles, just in time to see Morgan getting her hair and make-up done. And as soon as she's finished I start tearing up… and that was just the beginning of the water works.

I was crying during the ceremony.

After the ceremony.

And during the toasts.

In fact… the photographer caught this oh-so-flattering photo of me trying to stop crying after the ceremony and decided not to delete it. Thank you, photographer, for allowing all of my friends and family to see this photo. And thank you, Morgan, for not honoring my request to keep this photo "private." I might as well embrace the Ugly Cry and show you all too… brace yourself:



But even with the Ugly Cry, the evening could not have been more beautiful. The weather was perfect, Morgan and Ben are gorgeous and happy, and I had more family around me at one time than I have had around me in a long time.

Here are a few of my favorite photos (courtesy Bella Pictures):



The Sister Kiss



Four Tall Brothers and Three Mini Sisters



Mom, Erin, and Dad



Two of my most favorite women in the world (and if we had Catherine in this photo it would have been three of my most favorite women in the world).



The Boys and Me



And the photographer who is behind perhaps the worst documented sighting of the Ugly Cry.

My musing of this day could never do it justice. It was so much more than I ever expected and I am honored to have been a part of it.

Congratulations Ben and Morgan – love you both.