Family dynamics can get confusing, yes?
She was a gorgeous bride, the location was fantastic, and we got to stay in a hotel.
I love staying in a hotel. On family vacations through the years, I never really computed where we were going or when. All I knew is that we were going to be staying in a hotel. I couldn’t wait to see what the room would look like, and I was still little enough that swimming in the hotel pool sounded like a FUN thing and not an anxiety-inducing P.E. requirement.
I couldn’t wait to pack my to-do bag. (Please tell me we weren’t the only family that packed to-do bags.) I would put coloring books, colors, markers, (Hi, I’m 6.), books, magazines, playing cards, and MadLibs in that bag with a fever.
When we go on vacations or road trips now, that old part of my brain still goes to that “Oh, I should pack a book!” place, where I think I’ll need something to do while riding or in the room to keep me up later than necessary.
But then another part of my brain goes, “Tap tap. ‘Scuse me. You’ve already packed your to-do bag. It’s running from room to room in a blue Cinderella dress right now, asking if Ariel can help make jumbleberry pie.”
Oh yah. That’s what I’ll be doing in my downtime. Entertaining. Distracting. Offering snacks and beverages with a smile and asking, “Do you need a diaper change?”
(Yes. Potty-training. I’m on it.)
And why do I even ask that? You can’t trust a word that comes out of her mouth if she thinks she might get herself suspended on a changing table or a truck console somewhere with her legs in the air and a froggy diaper pad under her.
But this is not what I planned to write about.
When I was looking through pictures from the wedding, I ran across a family shot. Here. See?
Well, that’s not the whole family. Obviously. That’s just us, hanging out on the edge. I cut everybody else out, because what if they don’t want their picture on here? I left B in, because he’s good-lookin’. I left ME in, so that you could see my knees. NOT because they’re good-lookin’, but for a point of reference.
They are white. Mercy.
It reminded me of a couple of Sundays ago, when Katie and I were on our way to church. B was at the station, so it was just us two. It was kind of chilly out – shocking in January, right? – so I put some white tights under her dress. She had oodles of questions about these tights: where did they come from, why was she wearing them, did she need bloomers, too?
So we get dressed and make it out to the suburban and climb in. She’s sitting in my lap – but only ‘til the end of the driveway – to help me steer. (Trainin’ her up early, so she can help with the riding mower and the tractor, ya’ know.) She looks down towards the floorboard and says:
“Oh, Mama! You have on tights, too!”
I say, “No, no tights for Mama.”
And she says, “But I see a lot of white.”
No Cheerios during the sermon for you.
And just because they tickle me, here are some pictures of my husband holding coats and purses during the photo sessions:
“Are we done YET?!”