Flower Girls

Two of my flower girl posse looking through the railing at view from the new location.

Princesses and Cake

“Auntie Sarah, can we be flower girls in your wedding,” Edda asked.
“That’s what I called for. Will you be my flower princesses?” I thought princesses sounded much cooler than generic flower girls.
“Is that like a flower girl? Do we get to walk with you?”
“Yes, you get to walk with me,” I answered.
“Oh goodie!”
My youngest niece got on the phone.
“What kind of wedding cake are you having?” She wanted to know the important stuff.
“I’m thinking chocolate. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah. I love chocolate!” Amma said. I could hear the delight in her three year-old voice.
“Auntie Sarah, it’s Edda. I don’t like chocolate. I like white cake.”
“Okay, maybe we’ll have a small white cake, too.”
“Oh goodie! I get my own cake!”
“Um, I don’t think it will be your own cake.”
“Bye!” I heard the phone drop. “Mom, I get my own cake!’

To be a Princess

When Lady Diana Spencer married her Prince in 1981, I was glued to my television set. I made a scrapbook of all the photos and articles. My favorite ones were in LIFE magazine because they weren't posed. She looked happy and relaxed. I dreamed I was one of her flower girls complete with a wreath of flowers on my head. I sketched my future wedding dress, and it looked a lot like hers with puffed sleeves the size of full-grown sheep legs, a small sweetheart waist and a train that reached the church doors.

In honor of my love of Princess Diana, my best friend’s mom made me the most beautiful wedding dress for my Barbie. It had a row of pearls at the neck. It had gathered cuffs so they ruffled out. It had puffed sleeves and was made of white satin. Barbie was gorgeous and happy in all of her wedding ceremonies – and there were many.

Somewhere along the way, the shiny wore off of weddings for me. Princess Diana left Charles because of Camilla and a myriad of other reasons. My mom left my dad after twenty-five years because of Kristine and a plethura of other reasons. My friend got divorced two years after their rose-filled reception. The perfect gown and gorgeous flowers make a wedding, but those things do not make a marriage. It can still fall apart. I won't even go into the fact that the day Princess Diana was killed I was at a wedding.

All of this leads me to where I am now: planning my own wedding, but more importantly, learning to make a marriage that works.