In Which I Almost Craft, and Other Stories

I had a crazy, crazy weekend. It was so crazy, I was actually thrilled for Monday. Is that pathetic or what? And the worst part about a crazy weekend (for our purposes the "weekend" started on Thursday when I got called to work - I know it makes no sense - work with me here) is the state of the house by seven o'clock Sunday night.

Can I say seven million loads of laundry?

Seriously. Between Thursday morning and Sunday afternoon, I spent approximately nine hours and three minutes at my house. The three minutes were on Friday after work when I SPRINTED in to collect piano books before dashing off to my kids lessons. I didn't cross my threshold again until 2:30 AM Saturday morning. Why, you ask? Because I was decorating for a wedding/wedding reception. And when I say "decorating" I mean that in the broadest sense of the word.

As in I personally arranged all the flowers for the wedding because as of TEN O'CLOCK THE NIGHT BEFORE NO ONE ELSE HAD DONE IT.

I still can't decide which part of the above sentence is more shocking - that the flowers still needed arranging (for fourteen centerpieces and twelve church pews), or that I did the arranging.

As in me. Yours truly. Who hates and detests all things craft. (Although, I still say flower arranging isn't really a craft...)

In my defense, however, it had to be done. And as all my piano students know, when the impossible needs to be done what do you ask yourself? "If I were stranded on an island and the only way off was to figure this out, could I do it, and how long would it take me?" (Have I mentioned how much my piano students love it when I ask them this question?)

So I did it. One more successful island escape proving the impossible can be accomplished with the right degree of desperation. And just in case curious minds want to know, my flowers rocked. Even my mother was impressed, and she's a Terry. (The significance being that the Terry women {of which I am technically one of, since my grandmother was, in fact, a Terry} have a knack with flowers. Legend has it that all they need to do is touch a bouquet and it becomes pleasing to the eye, and fascinating to behold. For obvious reasons I have never claimed this gene. But I'm claiming now).

Anyway, it was a long night. And can I just say that while marriage may be of the Lord, weddings are (without question) of the Devil? Seriously. Can we say irritating-tradition-designed-to-distract-the-bride-from-what's-really-important-and-cause-serious-depression-stress-anxiety-and-unChristlike-feelings-moments-before-walking-down-the-isle? As a successful elopee, I would just like to say that no one should have to worry about refreshment/flowers/tuxes/etc. while pledging themselves to another, and entering a solemn covenant - whether it be the till-death-do-you-part or time-and-all-eternity variety. I'm all for the grand reception - just not hours after the grand commitment. One tends to overshadow the other, if you know what I mean.

(Disclaimer: Note the use of the word "tends". I am not claiming that it is impossible to achieve a peaceful and perfect wedding/reception. I'm just saying it's pretty rare. Please do not be offended if you're combo deal was the greatest no-regrets thing you ever did, and believe me when I say I'm happy for you. Meanwhile, I will begin indoctrinating Miss Two with the concept of reception-two-weeks-later.)

But they were married AND are happy - despite some rather stressed out moments - and all's well that ends well. And I got six loads of laundry done today - despite being gone for five hours - so I believe I can now face tomorrow and all the other thankless tasks left to be done around here.

Housework stinks. Can I get an Amen???