meditations in Advent

liturgically 

there are four Sundays in Advent 

this current calendar year 

is the shortest Advent can be

we had ten days between

Thanksgiving

and the first Sunday

like a pre-Advent

waiting to wait

in those days

I thought to put up a tree

switch out my everyday china

for green and gold

but I kept waiting

I don't know why

if you want something done

just do it

the first Sunday of Advent

was my grandmother's birthday

and our first without her

she was born during Advent

and she died during Advent

but I don't think she died

waiting for anything

I think she was tired of waiting for

the reunion with my grandfather

(he died during the previous Epiphany)

she went almost an entire liturgical calendar without him

but did not wish to experience

the shortest season

(Christmas, a mere 12 days)

without him

she didn't need to complete the cycle

she died exactly 48 weeks after him

because she wanted to

we buried her during 

the 12-day season

we sang Oh Come All Ye Faithful while entering the church 

and Hark! The Herald Angels Sing while exiting 

we all struggle(d) 

our hearts so hurt and sad

someone else said

grief is love with nowhere to go

but the seasonless love she showed me

lives on through me

I have tried to redirect my love for her

into my children

into my spouse 

into my village

to try to find the divine 

in the waiting 

in the in betweens

both the journeys and the destinations 

I have tried to 

have patience and grace 

in the in betweens

there are two liturgical seasons 

where we wait 

the four Sundays before Jesus is born

and the forty-seven days before he dies 

the bookends

candles being lit and extinguished 

entering and exiting

carrying forth the torch that her soul was and is

waiting for birthdays and deathdays 

observing them with celebration 

bring out the decorations and light and heirlooms 

celebrate having known this love 

celebrate knowing this love

wait for the warmth of cherished memories 

find places for your love to go

grieve 

and wait again 

Eileen Watts Griffith

I wrote the following on a plane, on the evening of December 16. I read it to my grandmother on the morning of December 17. She died at high noon on December 18.

My mother suggested we publish it in her funeral program. I'm publishing it here, too, so that those of you who could not attend can know her a little better.

*

I asked my mother who would give your eulogy, and she said you felt the same way about them that Granddaddy did. [He loathed them.]

I’m disappointed, because I always expected to give your eulogy. But just because I won’t read it in a church doesn’t mean I can’t write it. And, also, when have you shied away from being the center of attention?!

Should I start with the fact that you never met a stranger? For most people, this is a cliché; for you, it was a way of life. For a woman whose work was unpaid, you were a master networker. I’ve never known anyone as good at making everyone around her feel welcomed, at ease, as if they were talking to an old friend. This trait served you and your family very well at places like Disney World, where you’d connect with a person early in his career and watch him rise while he elevated your status, too.

Wait. I guess if I was giving a real eulogy I’d start with myself. (I also like being the center of attention.)

Good afternoon, all. Thank you for being here. I’m Emmy Murray, neé Emily Watts Remington. I am, among lesser titles, the first-born grandchild of Eileen and Buster. As an infant, I lived with them: my grandmother told my mother, who was living in Tampa with my father when I was born, that if she wasn’t going to sleep, she was going to not-sleep in her own home; consequently, the first six weeks of my life inhabited 3320 Riverview Boulevard, the house my grandparents bought in 1963. I bet nearly all of you have been there.

We moved from Tampa when I was three years old, and my grandparents and I never lived in the same state again, but that didn’t stop us from spending as much time together as we could. We visited at least 10 states together and three other countries—including France, where my grandfather flew me from when he was 83 years old!

From the time that I was seven years old until the time that I was 22 years old, my brother and I joined my grandparents in Disney World during the month of December. Even as an adult, with the exception of the COVID years, I saw my grandparents quarterly.

I could go on about myself, but this isn’t about me.

I’m trying to prove that my sample size of time spent with her was statistically significant… although, I’d argue that any amount of time spent with her was significant, because she made everyone feel so good. She made everyone feel significant. She taught me to laugh unapologetically, to find joy wherever I could, and to treat everyone as a friend… or, if they weren’t nice or acted like they were better than me, to treat them as an equal.

It's hard to love a jerk of a neighbor as yourself, but she was good at it. She was good at finding some good in everyone, even if it was just “she thinks she makes a decent pound cake.”

My grandmother believed in a lot of things. She believed in tucked in shirts, well-fitted undergarments, and closed toe shoes. With no disrespect to the Catholics in attendance, Eileen was the Patron Saint of Pearls. She believed in lipstick at all times, ideally in a bright color. She believed in having your hair out of your face. She believed in single earhole piercings for women but not girls. She did not believe in tattoos. She believed in Santa. She believed in the magic of the world around her—and she often was that magic.

Christmas is your favorite time of year. I think you are dying now because the thought of celebrating Christmas without your groom is too much for your body or soul. Granddaddy wasn’t magical—he was often, frankly, kind of a grump—but he allowed you to flourish. Granddaddy allowed you to give yourself the Christmases you’d earned as a child but never received, and then to give your children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren the Christmases you’d wanted. Granddaddy allowed you to not worry about expenses. Granddaddy allowed you to love as largely as you wanted.

And you love out loud.

You believe in a big God. You believe that Jesus was the only begotten Son. You believe in sunshine and also in rain and probably these things are the Holy Spirit. You believed in gratitude decades before it was a buzz word. You believe in the beauty of simple things, like butterflies and the ways rivers flow and kisses.

You believe in yourself: you’re one of the only women I’ve ever known who did not question her own value. You know you are enough.

Most importantly, at least to me, and I guess we’re back to me now: you believe in me. You have encouraged me for my whole life. When we clean out your home, I bet we find poems and stories I wrote when I was my daughter’s age. I started a blog 10 years ago mostly to be able to write to and for you. If and when I ever get around to writing the book you’ve always believed I was destined to publish, your voice will be prodding me along, discouraging the swear words you’ve never used and elevating love.

I will move forward. I will choose joy, just like you did every day. And I will carry with me all of the days of my life the unconditional love that you enveloped me in, the unconditional love you sustained me with, the unconditional love I now have for my own spouse and children.

For almost 43 years, I have been, among lesser titles, Eileen Griffith's granddaughter. May it be known by my lipstick. May it be known in my laugh. And may it especially be known in the way that I love.

sincerely

Dear Southwest Airlines:

On the evening of March 18, I arrived at the Tampa airport with my 3-year-old son just as I received a text message that our 6:40pm flight to New Orleans was being pushed back to 8pm (a full hour past his bedtime); we had just gotten through security when I got a text that flight 1601 was delayed until 9pm. My son and I killed some time walking laps through Terminal C, then I decided to head to Gate 34/35 to speak with the CSA, Luis, in order to find out what the delay was, whether the crew might time out, etc.

Luis informed us that the plane needed a part that was expected to arrive at 7pm and that work would continue until weather conditions deteriorated, at approximately 7:30pm. He explained that the ground crews could not work with lightning in the area and would work expeditiously. Furthermore, he offered to let me leave all of my luggage behind the podium so that I did not continue to have to drag a hungry, tired boy and 50 lbs of luggage with me. He made dinner recommendations and told us to stay close in case the delay decreased.

Luis did not know that earlier in the day I had said goodbye to my grandfather for the last time, that I had packed for three days and stayed for nine, that this stretch of time was my son's longest away from his father. He did not know that I was very anxious about being in an airport with atrociously poor mask wearing. He saw an exhausted human and offered her refuge. 

After my son and I had dinner, we sat on the floor behind the gate counter and watched the rain move in and the crews work hard and the trucks move; in between narrating the scene for my son, I listened to Luis speak to customers, one after the other, in the same kind and patient tone, no matter how (un)kind or (im)patient the customer was. He communicated regularly over the speaker to keep us all updated. While he certainly did not have control over the situation, the situation remained controlled due to his empathetic demeanor. 

In short, Luis was a shelter in our storm, and I am grateful to have received such grace. Thank you, Luis!

boundaries

His default is yes.

Her default was yes. It changed.

Self-preservation.

1000

My son has been alive for 1000 days.

One. Thousand.

In honor of this milestone, I have decided to write him 1000 words. 

Dear Nugget:

It has been 250 days—one-quarter of your life—since March 13, 2020, when the governor of Louisiana closed schools for a month, and your father and I decided to move to Birmingham to ride out the storm there. You got so much extra time with your grandparents, aunt, uncle, and cousins… (and also your parents and sister). Your days with your oldest cousin yielded a blossoming verbal vocabulary that everyone was so proud of, as your words had come in reluctantly… just like your arrival into this world (past our due date) and your appreciation of solid food and your teeth and your desire to walk.

You take things in your own time. You go at your own pace. It is maddening, exhausting, and beautiful.

A friend posted that something we didn’t know about our own parents when we were kids is that they were figuring this all out, too. I am learning how to be a parent and partner every day, and you expect that I have the answers and reasons and agenda already figured out. I am trying.

From the moment I found out that I was pregnant, I prayed for you to be viable. When we learned that you were not only viable but healthy, I prayed for you to be curious and kind. For more than 1000 days, I have prayed for you to be curious and kind. I want you to be so many other things, but those two words summarize my deepest dreams for you.

I hope you listen to teachers and scientists. I hope you will recognize rhetoric from politicians and priests and parents. I hope that your first memories are not colored with the dread and uncertainty that every adult around you has felt for the past 250 days; I hope that they are vibrant and bold moments of picnics in parks and by the River, of learning to ride your balance bike, of porch parties.

I hope we have hidden our anxiety from you, because you give us enough anxiety!

I told a group of colleagues yesterday that one of my greatest achievements during the pandemic has been keeping a two year old alive. They clapped for me, and I blushed.

In the nine weeks that I was on paid leave to care for you during the pandemic, I told my friends that I was in an abusive relationship. “He hits me, he kicks me, he withholds affection, he controls how I spend my days, he expects me to do all of his laundry and cleaning and cooking… and I love him too much to leave him.” You can try my patience, and you have made me a more patient and caring person. I will probably be grateful one day.

Everyone says that their first weeks with a newborn are a blur, and they are. You were a pretty good sleeper from the beginning, and you were silent and compliant until well past your first birthday. Much to what I had not planned, you were not the best breastfeeder: yours wasn’t nipple confusion; it was nipple convenience, and a bottle was far more reliable than my breasts.

You were a very sweet, docile baby. No one could understand how I had such a good baby. I couldn’t understand how I had such a good baby. I joked that I feared for what was karmically in my future, like you might knock up half of your middle school.

… Then at around 15 months, you learned how to destroy things, and you basically haven’t stopped.

When people ask me to describe you, I say “joyful.” Even though you have become defiant in the past 250 days, you remain joyful. Which is why you’re still alive, 1000 days later.

You don’t nap at school like you should, and you don’t listen at home like you should. You, like your mama, are your teachers’ favorite. I think it’s because you have already learned how to (dis)please people.

My first memories of you were terrifying. We both almost died in childbirth, a story I’m sure you will eventually hear and want to immediately unhear, the way that I rarely want to tell it. The doctor handed you to me, and I was so scared. But we did it, because we are warriors. You thrived, and I learned how to. I watched you be healthy, and it motivated me to follow suit.

You got to have two birthday parties with lots of people at them. You are unlikely to get to celebrate your third birthday that way because we believe in germ theory. You got to spend two Mardi Gras Days on the parade route. All three of your half birthday parties have been attended by the same people; they are our bubble, although we didn’t know that word until this year. They’re the family we chose for ourselves and for you, and I am reminded daily of how well we chose.

In your first 1000 days, we flew to London, New York City, North and South Carolinas, Florida, Austin. You were an incredibly easy baby to fly with. You’ve been to one wedding, no funerals. You’ve met all of your living great grandparents, of which you are blessed enough to have three.

I imagined that you would know your great grandparents by now, that you would have core memories of them. I grieve this loss, among so many others, big and small.

You are a fabulous person to take an adventure with. You love playgrounds; all forms of things that go, especially emergency vehicles; and books. You understand that we wear masks and don’t get to ride busses or streetcars because we love our neighbors. You are an exceptional eater and sleeper.

I love watching you discover the world. I love answering your questions. I love being your guide; I know I’ve been a good one. I will love when you develop empathy.

I will always love you.

Stay curious and kind.

Mama

renewal

Wow. I haven't written a blog post since the flu epidemic of 2018.

Did we call it an epidemic then? I remember that I did, because I was great with child and therefore given a carte blanche for hysteria. I had to cancel or reschedule a Board meeting because so many members of my Board were or had been or would become ill.

I digress.

I have promised myself to write every day in November. 

I need a 30 day challenge, regardless of germs or politicians or hurricanes or holidays or what my next ____ is. I need an agenda I can control.

It will be my way to express gratitude, even if it's just for soil that produces acorn squash every year at this time. 

(There was an acorn squash in my produce box this week. I welcome your suggestions for what to do with it.) (Also seeking suggestions for eggplant and okra and sweet potatoes, which I am frankly tired of cooking and need inspiration for, because these items have been in season for approximately the past 18 weeks of boxes.)

I am grateful I can buy fresh produce--both that I can afford it and that it is available to me. I am grateful my family eats nearly anything. I am grateful to know how to cook. I am grateful I am not the only person in my home who knows how to or has the desire to cook.

But I do not want to ask or answer "what do you want to eat?" more than 50% of the time. Neither does anyone else in my home.

I should be grateful that I am the primary cook, because I like to control the agenda.

Here's to reviving a small part of myself again.

the things she carried

at 34 weeks pregnant
she realized she was carrying more than a five pound fetus
one that would easily live outside the womb
(in america)

she knew she was carrying a boy:
the blood test had said XY
and the pictures had shown testicles clearly
and she was carrying high
(if wives' tales are to be believed)

and because it was she carrying the boy
she carried a white boy
who would be born into privilege
(not every privilege, but enough)
because he was being born in america
to parents who would love him
to parents who had been to college
to parents who work hard

she carried Board meeting agendas
fundraising events
class passes to three studios
two swollen feet (one markedly moreso)
a parental leave/business continuity plan
what felt like a sobriety coin
water, vegan snack bars, Poise pantyliners
insomnia

at 34 weeks pregnant
her husband got sick with the flu
so she carried her husband's daughter to a bed
she had made on the floor of a friend's house
(a quarantined inn)
she woke the child up to give her medicine
she took her own medicine
she carried herself to the bathtub
and less gracefully out of the bathtub

she carried groceries and more medicine
and clothes and toys and soup

she carried a phone that alerted her a faraway friend--
one she had chosen as her son's godmother--
had bought her
a spa gift certificate

she carried messages of
where are you registered
who is your doctor
when are you due
do you know the sex
you want to do it naturally?

a five pound fetus
a nation
bloodwork
pictures
a Masters degree
a workload
volunteer obligations
stepmotherhood
a yoga mat

(a lot of extra weight)

she was carrying a firstborn son
dreams and expectations
hopes and wishes and fervent prayers
(anywhere you go, a mother has already prayed for that journey)

she carried the future
(an heir, the class clown, someone's groom)
tried to focus on the present
(plenty of rest and fluids, all the nutrients, keep blood pressure low)
tried to let go of the past
(doubts, debts, unkindness)

and focused on the most important thing she'll ever carry, ever give, ever bestow or be bestowed:
love.

schedule

A local parenting blog recently asked me to join their team to write a "step parent" column. I submitted three posts for editing and was told they wanted a more personal, less synthesized voice. I'm not comfortable speaking publicly about the challenges of coparenting, remarriage, etc., so I withdrew from the project.

But since I'd already written this post for the holiday season, I wanted to share it. I hope each of you are able to find warmth in some part of this season, regardless of how unconventional your season may be.

*

Navigating two weeks of time off from school with four parents who work full-time and four sets of grandparents who wish to spend time with your family is not easy… especially when you add in religion (which church to attend, if any?) and Santa (does he visit?) and if Christmas Eve or Christmas Day is a Bigger Deal. If one house is significantly wealthier than another, older children may recognize a disparity in quality and quantity of gifts. Or Santa may bring both houses a Playstation. Or children may be in a Christmas pageant one year and absent from church the next.

I’m not going to pretend I have answers. My husband and I both have mothers who would prefer to spend every Christmas with us; neither of them live in this time zone. We are lucky that they are understanding of our desire to balance our time as a couple, as parents, and as children.

Many people love the families they were born into and are able to spend time with them during the holidays; many people love the families they were born into and are not. Many people don’t like their families or prefer their spouse’s family or prefer to travel or prefer to simply not have to eat three (or more) huge meals in the span of 24 hours.

And this is just the adults—before you add in whether it’s Mom or Dad’s year to have custody. Some children whose biological parents are not together spend part of the holiday with each parent. Some biological parents are able to spend Christmas together with their child(ren). Some parents do not see or speak to their child(ren) at all if it’s not their custodial day.

In every instance in which my husband is navigating a schedule—he does not have a court order detailing how it must legally work—we always try to keep my stepdaughter’s best interests in mind. Of course we want to see her. Of course we want to at least talk to her!

But what’s in her best interest is to be able to spend the whole day with one parent/family. What’s in her best interest is only to speak to her father, and not me, when she calls. These are our expectations, for now, and what seems to work best for her, for now.

We are able to make the time we have with her special, regardless of whether it’s a Tuesday during the school week or the first day of the year. Every day is a holiday, and every meal is a feast. May the new year offer us all opportunity to give, receive, and feel love.

first Tuesdays

I attend monthly lectures on spirituality put on by the Loyola Institute for Ministry and hosted at the Church of the Immaculate Conception, one of the most beautiful and holy spaces I've ever experienced. I've heard some really powerful thoughts from people of all faiths over the past few years, and I enjoy the fellowship and perspective it gives me in the middle of my work day.

At the end of today's lecture, the Ignatian priest asked us, "When did you feel God today? Where have you seen God in your life today?"

Admittedly, I have not been much focused on today. I had a huge Board meeting yesterday, and tomorrow is my stepdaughter's birthday. I had 13 Board packets and a testimony to prepare yesterday; I have 29 people dining in my home tomorrow.

So I hadn't given much thought to today. I got through emails and text messages this morning. I made myself breakfast and drank lots of water. I got makeup on. I got to my lecture on time, walking by new construction in the Quarter to see how it was going.

I honestly didn't find much about the conversation today compelling until the priest posed those two questions. And then, suddenly, today started to mean something more than GiveNOLA Day. It meant more than a gateway from yesterday's challenges to tomorrow's celebration.

I have not felt God in this damn cold that won't quit me or Beau. I definitely don't see God when I look at our mountains of used Kleenex. And I'm not sure where God fits in to this scenario, but we haven't kissed on the mouth in days.

But I feel God every morning I get to wake up beside the person I love most in this world. I see Her in the sunshine and low humidity of early May. I feel Him in my ability to walk to my meetings.

I see God in the police officers I communicate with almost daily, as they try to protect our community... but I don't see Her when I hear about the rape of a mentally incapacitated woman.

I tried to help a friend see God in me by stealing her away for afternoon coffee and listening to her cry. I try to show God to others in the way that I laugh and forgive and connect... even if that means tracking down RSVPs at the last minute.

I did not feel God in the two giant spills/messes I made tonight or when I snapped at my husband for something really dumb or when I blew my nose for the 87th time today... but I think She was there for dinner on our back patio, surrounded by our garden at sunset.

I see God in my stepdaughter: her sheer joy, her solitude, her empathy.

And I will make a more conscientious effort to feel and see God in my every day, in the mundane, in the work and the blessings and the laughter, in the low grade fevers and the perspective of strangers, in the tears I've been entrusted to witness, and in the patience and grace my husband grants us.

The sun rises, and the sun sets. It's up to us to be honest with ourselves about how we can love our neighbors best, one day and one moment at a time.

those who save us

(originally posted May 2, 2016)

My beau has a daughter. She doesn't remember a time in her life when I was not a part of it. She calls me her stepmom. Her friends and her friends' parents and my friends call me her stepmom. I could be. I should be. 

But it's not all cupcakes and champagne. 

As I said goodbye to one of my Board members one afternoon this week, I wished her happy Mother's Day if I didn't see her before then. She said, "Same to you."

It makes me feel like a fraud. I feel embarrassment, shame, and all other manner of self-deprecating emotions that are largely uncommon in my life when people wish me a happy Mother's Day. It's a ridiculous reaction. Nia Vardolas, the actress in/writer of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, wrote an amazing book, Instant Mom, about her journey towards motherhood that included adopting a child from the American foster care system and argued that "If you've wiped a butt, you're a mom."

N'est-ce pas? 

I rationally know that I matter to my beau's daughter. I rationally know that she loves me and enjoys spending time with me and admires me and considers herself my daughter. I rationally know that the day will come--and, at this rate, soon!--when she tells me with so so so so so so much anger that I am not her mother. To which I will respond, "but I *am* your parent."

When it comes to how I parent, I feel like I am constantly questioning myself. Especially lately, because the lessons on how and why to wear socks are far easier than the lessons on how and why to empathize. The tantrums that she mostly missed in her second and third years have arrived with foot stomps, exclamations of "I'm so so so so so so angry!", and slumping onto the floor in protest. Sometimes I wonder how we got a teenager trapped in a kindergartner's body.

I cannot imagine a circumstance when I get to spend Mother's Day with her. My brother got married last year on the night before Mother's Day, and that Sunday at brunch, everyone was wishing the women happy Mother's Day. Except not one person said it to me: no one in the family I was born into, no one in my new family, no one in the family I have created. 

And I felt like a fraud for being bothered by it.

I feel a constant search for validation: even though her father and I aren't married (yet? ever?) and that I didn't give birth to her, I desire a sense of belonging to a club I haven't biologically joined. The other female caregivers whose children are in her class have been really accepting of me; they offer advice whenever I ask, they encourage me via text message, and they refuse to let me belittle myself because I'm "just" a stepmom. They help me realize that all of us are questioning ourselves all the time, even the ones whose bellies and thighs and breasts stretched in ways mine haven't (yet? ever?). These neighbors and strangers recognize that beau's daughter and I love each other and that I put great purpose into always putting her best interests first. 

Which is one reason why I laugh at her when she gets alligator tears over having to choose which uniform to wear to school: validating her ridiculousness is not in her best interest.

So, this Mother's Day, I am going to try to put all of my ridiculousness away. I'm going to be grateful for my own biological mother and all of the other female caregivers and friends who have been the village that raised me. I'm going to be grateful for all of the female caregivers who have helped me improve as a mother. I'm going to be grateful for beau for being a wonderful partner and for sharing his beautiful and sweet daughter with me, for entrusting me, for loving me. 

Because embarrassment, shame, and all other manner of self-deprecating emotions are not in my best interest. I am not a fraud; my love for beau and his daughter is not a fraud. And it's in my best interest to find gratitude and grace today and always.

Sinatra

Old blue eyes croon/swoon
Luck be a lady tonight:
Be mine, forever.

my girls

I have never wanted bridesmaids. Even as a child, it seemed like a not very nice thing to do to people who are supposedly your best friends.

And then I grew up and had it affirmed approximately 27 times that it is not a very nice thing to do to people who are supposedly your best friends. It's expensive and time consuming. It is often humiliating. [Cue the bridesmaids' luncheon I attended where the mother of the bride described my hair as a frizzy perm (because it was August!) and accused me of having collagen lip implants (false).] It requires you to get on stage in a costume you probably aren't comfortable with and recite lines you haven't memorized, wearing stage makeup that sometimes you've had to pay for yourself.

But, in one of our first compromises, Beau said I needed a bridesmaid. He said it would look dumb for us to stand up there by ourselves, and it made sense to have someone to hold our rings and the flowers... and he's right.

So then I had to choose a person. This gave me a lot of anxiety, because I have a lot of beautiful, talented, supportive women in my life who love me really, really well... and choosing one of them wouldn't be fair to any of them.

Case in point: I have 16 other females getting their hair and/or makeup done with me the morning of my wedding.

I don't have a sister. I don't have a best friend from third grade, although the two best friends I had in third grade are still my friends, and one of them will be present. My college roommate/sorority little sister is swamped with a career and family in another time zone; she's never met Beau.

But I do have a female cousin with whom I have always been close, so she was a natural choice. Carolyn lived in Austin while I did, and we saw each other frequently. I have traveled internationally with her. We have each spent time with every idiot the other has dated, going back 20 years. I gave a great toast at her wedding and then shared the honeymoon suite with her the night before her wedding. I have had more slumber parties with her than any other female.

When I called to tell her I was engaged, she was already happy crying when she answered the phone. When I asked if she'd be our best maid, she screamed "of course!!!!!"

One of the most commonly asked questions I get is, "How many girls do you have?"

I would like to take this opportunity to tell you about my girls, the day after several of them threw me a bridal shower.

Brooke is my oldest (longest) friend in the bunch. We both attended Wake Forest but didn't meet until after graduation, when we were both being 23-year-old idiots in Washington, DC. We were making no money and spent a lot of Friday nights consuming pizza and two buck chuck on her couch. This worked out really well, because both of us like mushroom pizza and cheap wine; we would rather have been with each other than the ridiculous men the greater DC area offered as dates. One night, she programmed herself into my phone as "hotilishous." That's what her contact name remains. Her husband described me as the person Brooke would call if she needed to hide a body. Totally accurate, and it goes both ways. She arrives in New Orleans on her birthday, four days in advance of the wedding to help out wherever she can. She's throwing a luncheon for me on the Friday before we get married (you know, what would be the traditional bridesmaids' luncheon) and has been an absolute joy to vent to, because we have essentially the same sense of humor/sarcasm.

Brittany is my newest (and youngest!) friend in the bunch. She is my current work wife, as we see each other nearly every day for work and, if not, then for coffee. She got married in the French Quarter in August 2015 and has been an invaluable asset to me as I navigate the logistics of getting married in New Orleans. She's also very fashionable and opinionated, which helps when making nearly any decision.

Joy is my previous work wife. She is the Executive Director of CASA New Orleans, and I was the Executive Director of CASA Jefferson. We didn't know each other before I started working there, but we immediately liked each other and had standing meetings every other Thursday afternoon. She helped me write our major funding grant not quite three months into my position while her husband literally nursed Beau, who had just gotten out of the hospital with six broken ribs and two broken bones in his hand. Yes: I had *just* met these people, and they were in my home helping me through one of the most difficult times in my career/life. And, afterwards, they took home a load of our laundry to clean! There has never been a time when I have needed Joy that she hasn't made time for me; she often shows up often before I even ask for her help, usually with booze or flowers or both.

Julia has seen it all. I thought about this yesterday as I stood at her kitchen island, where I have stood 100 times before celebrating 100 different things, big and small. One of the first times was when she was distracting me with cheese and wine while my ex-boyfriend moved his stuff out of my house. Then she kept making me come over, even though the last thing I wanted was food or company, for the next couple of months. Her parents have included me in their Thanksgivings and birthdays. When my mother asked me if I had put together a vetting committee for my next boyfriend, I nominated Julia as President. She is judgmental but fiercely loyal. I've visited three time zones with her; we've shared clothes and more bottles of wine than anyone need count. She told me she couldn't let me get married without a shower, so she galvanized my other New Orleans' girls and hosted 20 women, many of them strangers, in her home. That's who she is: a generous host, a rallying cry, a champion for the people she loves.

Maggie and I met in the all-girls dance troupe we were both members of. Both of us have chosen terrible men as partners (although *fingers crossed* that phase of our lives is over!); both of us have experienced similar professional challenges; both of us love to travel, learn, adventure; both of us practice yoga and spend a lot of time self-reflecting; both of us feel a lot of guilt for being so far from our families, but both of us have parents who visit often. When Beau and I talked about someone to read at our wedding, we wanted someone who believed in the same kind of God that we do. Maggie was the immediate choice. She loves her neighbors in ways the rest of us should strive towards.

Meredith was my grad assistant at Tulane, and then we learned we were both in the same sorority alumnae group, and then we learned that we were both in the Junior League, and then we learned that my best maid was her best friend in elementary school. Obviously, the universe meant for us to be friends. (She has also worked for me in two capacities since Tulane.) She is one of those people who says yes to everything and somehow manages to diminish none of it. She uses her talent to improve her community, of which I am blessed to be a small part. She excels in making everything feel like a celebration, proving that every day is a holiday. She defines commitment, and I am grateful to be one of hers.

They are all strong, smart, amazing women. They have all held integral behind the scenes roles in creating the woman I am today, supporting my relationship with Beau, and this wedding. I couldn't be more excited for them all to meet, to celebrate with them, to laugh too hard.

May they, and the world, always know how special they are to me.

honeymoon

Our engagement will be fewer than four months. It has been incredibly intense to plan a wedding, which ends up being more than one day and more than one party. 

So we're going to wait to take our honeymoon. We'll recuperate energy and funds. We'll have more time to accrue vacation days.

And I really love to plan. I especially really love to plan travel. And I honestly haven't had time to plan it the way I'd like, so we readily decided to put off fleshing out all the details.

We need to go somewhere Zika-free and within the United States; we always want to go somewhere with a direct flight. 

So we decided on the American Southwest. Parts of it will be new to both of us: I went to the Grand Canyon when I was 15, and Beau went to Santa Fe as an adult and claims it is the most sacred place he's ever been. So we'll experience new things together and share others. Our favorite.

We'll fly to Phoenix and rent a car, driving through Sedona and Flagstaff before heading along Route 66 to Albuquerque and Santa Fe, then conclude our ventures at a spa near Phoenix. (The only reservations we have are hotels, because that's as much planning as I had energy for.)

Read more about, keep up with, and/or contribute to our adventures.

best

Settle in, reader. I'm about to throw out some theories that are not commonly accepted.

I love Beau. I will love him forever. We are well suited for each other. We're a good fit in each other's lives and, if I may be so bold, in each other's families.

He is not my soulmate.
And I'm not his.
And we're both fine with this.

Remember how Grey's Anatomy taught us we all had a person? As in, "you're my person."

We are certainly each other's people in the way that we can depend on each other for big and small things. We have a partnership I am really proud of.

But we aren't soulmates.

Beau's soulmate is his best friend. They were college roommates. They talk all day, every day. His best friend lives two time zones away; I've never met him, but I certainly feel like I already know him.

He's our best man. Beau said he wouldn't feel married without his best friend as his best man. I had to get myself a best maid because Beau said he couldn't get married without his person at the altar with us.

My person, for as long as I can remember, has been my grandmother.

And she's another topic for another post. She's the elephant in the room of this #emmy30.

Because she has chosen not to attend our wedding.

I asked my cousin to be my best maid not only because she's the closest thing I have to a sister, but because she will understand better than anyone that I need someone to stand beside me and make sure that I don't fall apart in our grandmother's absence, that the grief doesn't overwhelm me, that I remain focused on marrying the person I love most in the world.

I am grateful she said yes.

page 423

Today we had our second (of three) counseling sessions with our priest. We went through the liturgy that will be used during our ceremony (and nearly all Episcopalian weddings).

He started out by asking how we were feeling, and we both answered variations of "overwhelmed' and "stressed," and then Beau realized the priest was asking if we still wanted to be married.

Oh. Yes!

At which point we discussed how we felt we had been planning our marriage for a long time, and the wedding is just the first day of it, and we hope our lives together will span several decades.

So then it was on to the liturgy. He warned us that very few people follow along in the Book of Common Prayer (beginning on page 423), which is so strange to me. There's a whole book sitting in the book rail in front of you with nearly every word of the ceremony... don't you want to know when it's your turn to chime in? To kneel? To sit?

Or at least how many more pages until you board a bus and head towards champagne?

We talked through the vows and the prayers. The priest had advice on how to not cry through the entire ceremony, which is especially helpful because Beau and I are both major weepers.

We're having one hymn (sung by our beautiful and talented friend Christian Sineath) and one reading. We are not having Communion. The homily will be brief, as the priest seems to understand that while everyone is excited for us to join our lives to each other and God, he's standing between us and what we all hope is the best party you've ever attended.

May there only be happy tears.

beloved

I have written before about writing for World in Prayer. I volunteered this week, and I used the Scripture that will be read at our wedding as inspiration.

As I concluded the prayer, I needed a synonym for "empower," a word that I loathe, and discovered "embolden," which reminded me of one of the best compliments of my life.

On the morning of September 7, 2016, I walked Beau's daughter to school. We had a brief exchange en français goodbye, during which I kissed her, told her I loved her, Daddy would pick her up from school, and we'd have dinner with my mom, who was visiting. A class mom grabbed me afterwards. 
She said, "Y'all just have a different kind of love." I was completely taken aback, worried as always that I'm failing terribly at parenthood, and somehow differently from everyone else. I said, "Different... bad?!"

She replied, "Not at all. I'm just really glad she has you. The love she gets from y'all is really big. Y'all love out loud. It makes her bolder."

We do love out loud. We hug. We kiss. We hold hands. We tell each other that we love each other (in two languages!). We apologize. We practice empathy. And we love our neighbors.

Our "mundane" is big. We celebrate having dinner together, because that's something we don't get to do every day. When you only have a child present in your life half the time, you choose to love really big to make sure it lasts through the times when you're absent.

This summer, when Beau and I were trying to figure out how to entertain his daughter at church without Sunday School, I emailed the World in Prayer team and received this amazing and beautiful response from another member:

Even if you don't have [her] all the time, trust that what she is being exposed to with you and [Beau] will "stick", even when, in the future, there may seem evidence to the contrary. Most of all, your behavior- that of the two of you- will speak far louder than any words. Telling of a loving God needs to be demonstrated by being loving, and exposing her to a community where she is loved and accepted. I spent a lot of time "bored" in church as a young child and I ended up a pastor. She will still be absorbing the liturgy, the hymns, the prayers...I knew the entire Lutheran liturgy by the time I was four, plus words to lots of the hymns. Trust yourselves; trust the Living and Loving Spirit. And remember, [her] story/journey will be hers, not yours. And she will be writing it every day, which is as it should be. 

I hope she will live it out loud. I hope we have emboldened her. I hope that the love the three of us have for each other will resonate within her when she is feeling tired or weak or quieted or ignored. I hope that it reminds her that she is capable of anything and that we will love her no matter what.

It's an honor and a blessing to hug and kiss her, to walk her to school, to celebrate with her. I will be forever grateful for the moments we have, and I can't wait to see how she uses her big, bold heart to improve her world.

dress

We are having an afternoon wedding. Our reception venue has a 300 degree view of New Orleans, so we backwards mapped everything to arrive there at sunset.

My dress is extremely formal. I told my beau (heretofore referred to as "Beau") that I didn't want to look like we were going to different parties, since my dress is much more formal than his suit. 

So we started talking about morning attire. The total headcount for the male portion of our wedding party is two people: a groom and his best man. Once we galvanized enough male attendees (my dad and brother, some of our best/favorite friends, some of my cousins, maybe one of Beau's uncles), we requested that all men wear morning dress. Beau didn't want it to look like he and his best man were going to a different party, specifically a costume party, from everyone else.

I was immediately bombarded with questions.

Short answer: have you ever seen the Duchess or Duke of Cambridge dressed for a formal daytime event? Now you have a model. 

We have not mandated attire. We suggest any male who wishes to rent morning dress from Perlis call Ryan Vogel with his measurements this week, and any male uncomfortable in this kind of attire wears a blue or grey suit. We suggest fascinators for female guests rather than hats.

And we suggest you come ready for amazing and beautiful fun.

checklist

Our wedding is one month (!) from today. Here's what I/we have left to do:

• All the wedding cake. Due to a disappointing tasting experience with the original vendor, we will now spend the next week eating cake (which is not especially on my bridal diet). The good news is that my beau's mother is coming into town this weekend, so we'll be able to taste with her and with beau's daughter, who missed the cake tasting Round One and will be thrilled about being a part of the Final Round. We have one appointment tomorrow, one Saturday, one Monday, and one later next week.
• Pick up his wedding band once it arrives at the jeweler. 
• Decide on two of six menus. (Four down, two to finalize.)
• Receive and alter my rehearsal dress. It's due in next week. 
• Choose which shoes to wear with the rehearsal dress.
• Receive, finalize, and wrap gifts for the bridal luncheon
• Create a will
• Write one million thank you notes
• Design/order or find more stationery
• Obtain a marriage license (which we can do after I receive my birth certificate in the mail)
• Prepare and sign a prenuptial agreement
• Assemble hospitality bags for all hotel guests
• Finish premarital counseling with our priest
• Choose a perfume (I read somewhere to wear a new perfume on your wedding day so that the scent going forward is always associated with that moment in your life. I can vouch this happens, since I now think of our trip to St. Martin every time I use the sunscreen we used for the first time then.)
• Create a list of "must haves" for the photographer
• Write approximately 800 emails for the purposes of accomplishing the above and for making sure everyone knows what's happening and when.

I have delegated quite a bit, as is my practice. I did not want a wedding coordinator, so I have heavily relied on friends and my mother to help coordinate all that goes into wedding planning.

I really thought it was just like planning a really big party. But, in reality, it's planning several really big parties.

It can be very frustrating, so I keep trying to remind myself that the important part is already done: we've already planned our marriage.

I have also decided that I do not want perfection. It truly doesn't matter to me if it is a perfect day, because perfection doesn't exist in human nature, so it's a ridiculous goal.

My goal for our wedding day and for all of the associated parties is that it will be fun. I want everyone to have a good time; I want there to be a lot of laughter. I want new friendships to form and happiness to be shared.

And it shall be.

prophet

The Episcopalian Church does not prescribe any readings for its marriage ceremony. In fact, we don't have to have a single liturgical word spoken at our ceremony. But we met at church. We strive to love and serve God. However, we are not Bible readers, and our favorite stories are not wedding appropriate. (Good Samaritan, anyone? I could remind my most dearly beloved to "Go and do likewise.")

It turns out that documents that are more than two millenia old, written almost exclusively by men, may not share the same perspective on love and marriage that my beau and I do. And when one googles "best wedding readings," one get excerpts from chapters that especially don't reflect the perspective on love and marriage that my beau and I do. I'm a contextual person, and I believe that the first moments of our marriage should be taken in toto.

So we've decided on a passage from 1 John that talks about God is love and love is God and, my interpretation, love is love is love.

I texted my mother with our selection, and she read my message without the "1", and this was the passage she thought we'd selected a passage from the Gospel according to John that ends with this dialogue:

The woman said to [Jesus], “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.” He told her, “Go, call your husband and come back.”

 “I have no husband,” she replied.

Jesus said to her, “You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet."

She called me, very confused, and read me the passage, and then we could. not. stop. laughing. 

Go and do likewise.