We had our last walk as Dr. Haitch and Ms. ljH. (Later in the day, I congratulated Mrs. McCarthy, and she thanked Mrs. RDC. Ha! Our next walk will still be as Dr. Haitch and Ms. ljH.) I had to abandon her with big rollers in her hair to go pretty myself up, but I took up the reins as Bride Wrangler as soon as I could.
I shoved RDC out the door to hand out the programs I'd folded during rehearsal (with the now non-shrieking two-month-old baby on my shoulder: who says I can't multi-task?) and scurried back upstairs with chocolate and downstairs to look for the black velvet bag with the make-up brushes in the blue Blazer that Sister had driven back to the hair salon and upstairs to appreciate Haitch in pajama bottoms and veil and downstairs to curl my lashes and that was all nerve-racking and tremendous fun--once the brushes were found. And the hair, unrolled and coiffed, was perfect, very Haitch and sleek and flattering.
The bridal staging area in the chapel was in the opposite corner from the casas de pepe, and the casas were downstairs to boot. The chaplain offered us his individual casa, upstairs but still in the front. Instead of herding Haitch across the vestibule and up the left aisle, I brilliantly led her up the right aisle and across the transept. The first time not many people were seated, and I held up my hands to shield her. The second time, most people had come in, but I spotted a framed poster propped against the wall in the chaplain's office and made use of it as camouflage, quite effective and of course amusing as well, for us and the assembly.
I am pleased to say that my emergency kit came in handy: safety pins were called for to secure the flowergirls' sashes. I should have had water and good chocolate instead of having to resort to M&Ms from the vending machine, but I'm pretty sure I'm forgiven. Everything else--the alcohol swabs, earring backs, mints--was unnecessary, because we were just that suave.
Haitch's nieces, 5, almost 4, and not quite 2, were staggeringly adorable as flowergirls. Despite being released half a nave apart each, by the time they reached the first pew they were bunched together. The older two sat down sweetly, but the youngest couldn't decide whether she wanted to spend the ceremony with her father and fussing younger brother in the vestibule or with her grandmother in the front pew or by her mother on the presbytery steps flanking the bride.
I did leave the poster in the staging area. Sorry, Father. And I lost a fleece of Haitch's. But I did coerce people into signing the guestbook and posing for photographs at the reception. My toast seemed to go over well.
And Haitch and McCarthy are married! They had a lovely ceremony in a pretty chapel, dancing flowergirls (though not with me, sadly), good food, no noticeable mishaps, many guests ready to dance and toast, maple syrup in maple leaf-shaped bottles as favors, and Frater doing an impression of McCarthy's childhood charade of a run-over frog drying in the sun.
McCarthy and Haitch
Haitch and me. One day I will remember to put sunscreen on my nose so contrasting color doesn't emphasize its size even more.
RDC and me
Typically, I savaged a centerpiece and shoved flowers in my hair. (RDC asked if I was drunk.) I wore the one that isn't a rose traveling home, though tucked into my french twist and not so much Daisy-head Mayzie.