Barefoot In The Kitchen

Dear Mum,

I am capable of organising my own wedding.  I can make decisions about dresses and cakes and venues and flowers and invitations and every other tiny annoying thing.  I would appreciate it if you didn’t nag me to make decisions, and then criticise the ones that I do make: we are NOT having a church wedding, we are NOT having the reception in your local Working Men’s Club, and I don’t give a stuff who makes the cake!

Let’s work on some of these points, shall we?  Firstly, a church wedding: we don’t want one.  Joe doesn’t feel comfortable, I’m not sure I would, and it costs ten times more than the small civil ceremony we were planning originally.  I don’t want to write a letter to the local vicar saying “I don’t go to church in your church, but I’m a good person really, please can I get married there just to keep my relatives happy?”.

Secondly: I guarantee you will not like the dress I’ve chosen.  It’s not white or ivory, it’s not conventional, and I know you will moan at me the minute you find out about it.  I don’t care.

Thirdly: The wedding and reception are being held where we live, not in your local Working Men’s Club: I don’t care how “nice” it is!

Fourthly: “…but it’s not TRADITIONAL!” is not an excuse to make us do things your way.  If you pay for it, you can choose.  As we’re not having a church wedding, you’re not paying, so I get to choose what I want.  That’s fine, just stop interfering.  Please.

Your loving daughter

Dear Dad,

Stop flapping, please.  I know Mum’s nagging you about it.  I am in control, I am organising things, just stop worrying.  Just write your father of the bride speech, turn up on the day, have a beer too many, and enjoy yourself?

Your long-suffering daughter

Dear Aunt,

I don’t really mind about the cake, honestly.  I’m sure that it will taste lovely, however it’s decorated.  It’s cake, therefore it will taste GOOD.  (Especially if it’s one of your fruitcakes.  Please.)

Your niece (who won’t be counting calories after the wedding!)

Dear Marmite

Please don’t break again.  I want to use you as my wedding car.  In fact, I’d like to be able to afford a wedding rather than another lot of parts.

Love, your penniless driver

Dear David,

Please behave yourself on the day.  That’s all I ask.  And yes, I will get a tux for Tiger, too, if it’ll make you wear yours.

Love, Mummy

Dear Vicar At My Old Church That I Still Go To Sometimes,

We’d probably think about getting married in your church if it wasn’t for Mum interfering and wanting to hold the reception in the Working Men’s Club.  I’m sure God won’t mind if I get married in a register office, anyway: after all, we did things the “wrong” way round in the first place.

Regards, The Heathen Who Got Pregnant First

Dear Joe,

I’m not sure I want to know about your plans for the stag do.  Just stay in the country, preferably nearby, don’t sleep with any hookers, and don’t pass out.  I love you, and I can’t wait to get this over and done with.

Your loving fiancee

Dear Joe’s best friend,

Please make sure he behaves himself on the stag do.  Thanks.

That weird girl that Joe’s still shagging, God knows why.

Dear Me,

However frustrating it may be, this is why we’re doing it in the first place:

I am trying to keep that at the forefront of my mind.

For a while, you were there.  Yesterday, you were gone.

For four-and-a-half weeks, to be precise.

Until a few days ago, I didn’t know it, nobody knew it.

I didn’t dare think about you.  I told nobody.  I’d said, “no more”, “enough”.  ”We’re done.”  I meant it, too, and I still mean it.

I’ve been here before.  It hurt, then.  This time I just feel empty and numb.  I didn’t want to be here again.

There was nothing I could’ve done to change this.  I’m not sure I would have if I could.  But still I feel guilty, guilty for thinking and feeling nothing.

I’m going to hold this little boy tight and be thankful for what I have.  That is all I can do.

I’m participating in the Best Of 2009 Blog Challenge.  Every day this month, I write something different about what’s happened this year.  Apologies for lack of posting yesterday, we spent the day in London and the weekend at my parents’ place; I’ve come back slightly more insane than before.  The answer to yesterday’s question?  Falafel.  Could NOT live without the stuff now.  Anyway, today’s post is about the best change we made to the place we live.

Eric.  Introducing him into our home and our family has been the most wonderful thing.  He and David are growing up together.  They sleep next to each other, play together, and annoy the crap out of each other.  They cause me equal amounts of worry, and have roughly equal numbers of hugs!  (Eric is a very snuggly, clingy cat and I’ve worn him in a sling so I can work before now.)  They are both in this lovely in-between stage: David is neither a baby nor a toddler, and Eric is no longer a kitten, but not quite a cat.

The older cats have mostly accepted him.  Snowball still dislikes him, but then Snowball doesn’t like anyone or anything apart from Joe.  Wily puts up with his adoring attentions with great patience and grace.  ”Oy boss, have you been outside, where’ve you been, did you catch any mice, will you teach me how to catch mice when I’m big, oh please, please, PLEASE…”  He will catch mice when he’s allowed outside: Snowball has brought the occasional live one inside, which he’s finished off, but I still don’t want my little baby boy going out.

So again, I’ll let the pictures do the talking: