The week before

This week, I've been reflecting on how I felt the week before our wedding. It's something no one can convice you of when you're planning, and you don't read about it in wedding magazines or blogs. 

The final week of April, my body and brain seemed to just slide into the checklist of last-minute stuff. I was walking in this euphoric state for five days. You feel centered, like you could hug every person you see, and like you're holding this awesome secret from the general public. I remember checking out at CVS or something and thinking to myself, "should I tell this checkout lady that I'm getting married in two days!?" 

The feeling is one that I heard best described by Lauren (she should know -- she's getting married this Saturday!). She called it "wedding Zen." Looking back, I think it's very much like the week after getting engaged, when I-can't-believe-this pretty much permeates your life. What an amazing time! 

So, happy wedding-Zen, Miss Lauren. Enjoy your last two days of engagement. I'll see you tomorrow morning! 

Instant replay

Hands down, the happiest hours of my life so far were on the day Patrick proposed. I've been replaying that December evening a lot lately during my commute to and from work, trying to bottle up that pure-joy feeling so that I never forget the look in his eyes, my trembling legs and hands, his sweet and simple words, the uncontrollable tears both of us cried. I want to remember, always, the cheers from our families and the glow our being engaged cast on our relationship and on our lives in general.

So many cherished memories are joyful because, over time, they've been whitewashed by nostalgia to become flawless. I wondered if that floating feeling was just something I created for myself. But a recently married friend of mine says she still thinks about her engagement night in the same way--perfect. It's less about reliving the past than it is about keeping that joy alive. Now Patrick and I see each other every day. To me, that makes it even more important to spend a few minutes each morning reflecting on the best "yes" of my life.

Mom calls it cohabitation

I'm in. His house, that is. Future husband and I are living "in sin," and it's only taken me about two weeks to completely reorganize the kitchen from silverware drawer to candlestick holders. I've reconfigured and/or reclaimed all of the furniture and decorative acccessories (replacing all of them, of course, with my own!). Two closets (one in each bedroom) and an entire dresser are crammed with my clothing. Mom calls it cohabitation. It's not fireworks and butterflies all the time, but it's pretty great to wake up to, come home to, share life with a person for whom you care deeply.

One thing. I wonder if it's a biological or chemical thing that happens to women. I wonder if it's just me. What was OK before ... picking up pizza for dinner, leaving dishes in his sink. Now it's our sink. Now it has to be perfect. Ridiculous? Yep. As days pass, my insane inner housewife is starting to quiet down. Maybe that has to do with the concerned looks my new roommate has been giving me. Or maybe its the fresh pot of coffee he makes me each morning or the sweet goodnight kisses I'm getting used to...