A traditional wedding...

... in many ways our wedding is going to be very traditional, which to be honest I had not planned for my second time around (once I knew there was likely to be a second time around, but before George was in the picture). This is his first and only wedding (his words ;) and so he gets the traditions.

I'm trying to make it non-traditional in small ways.

Ben will escort me down the aisle and he will be involved in the ceremony.

My bridesmaids are wearing different dresses (tho the same color).

We will have NO chicken dance, macarena, electric slide, etc at the reception.

...and then my favorite. Our guest book will not be the "sign on the line" type but rather a photo album. George suggested we take pictures of ourselves (as babies, kids, teens, etc) and put them together to make an album that people can sign. I think that is such a cool idea :) he really does get it sometimes, ya know?

not an anniversary to celebrate.

Yesterday marked three years since my Mom died.

The immediate grief has faded, but I still miss her. It comes upon me harder, now, as I am planning a wedding. These are the things I would share with her.

I deliberately planned that we would be at the beach this weekend. She loved the coast and it is there that I feel closest to her, though sometimes I do see an echo of her spirit in Ben's smile. We wrote a message to her in the sand - "We love you, Ma" and collected shells to take to her grave.

I miss you, Mama.

the cat that worships the printer....

We spent the last week at the beach, so the cats are alternating between ignoring us and sitting on us, as if that will prevent us from leaving again. They're odd little critters. Soldier is on my lap now, staring in rapt adoration at the printer as it does its thing. They were known to sit on the output tray of my old printer.

The beach was wonderful. I was actually sad to leave; the drag of my real life, with a work situation that is unsettled at best, and actually having to deal with the day-to-day routines of school (camp), being in close proximity to Ben's dad (yes, 10 miles is too close)... George was ready to turn around too. It was a small slice of paradise.