Thanks to all who weighed in on how I should do my hair for the wedding. We all know it’s especially important for the wife of the groom’s big brother to look hot, right? All eyes were on me!
Oh, wait. No one noticed me at all (thank God). Also? You know you’re at the wedding of twenty-somethings when there are girls there in full-length ball gowns with their hair in ponytails. SERIOUSLY. (How… interesting… yes?)
Anyway, the wedding was simply lovely; the bride was gorgeous and the groom radiant and I had to physically restrain myself from pinching them both, they were so adorable. Also I may be in trouble with my OTHER brother-in-law for introducing my sister-in-law to Long Island Iced Teas (whoops). But, um, I think maybe that was someone else. I’m not sure. I made sure to leave before the dancing on the tables started.
For those of you who simply cannot sleep without knowing how I did done my hairs (ha!), I have to tell you that despite all of the very sweet “oh your hair is so pretty! leave it down!” comments, this was a wedding out on the Cape, in July. It was hot and it was windy, and I no sooner would’ve worn my hair down than I would’ve worn a fur stole. Fortunately, with enough determination (and bobby pins!) it is, in fact, possible to put up even my sort-of-short hair.
I stabbed at it for a while and then went to my sister-in-law with a couple of pretty flower clips I’d picked up and said “Help?” and she perched them in my hair and we hairsprayed the heck out of it and called it good. I think it worked.
Here it is from the side, and also from the back. (I hope that the cousin whose boob is in the first photo has not been told the location of my blog. Whoops! I just asked Otto to give me a picture of my hair! I didn’t know there was gratuitous cleavage! And no, the wedding was not at a pool, but we stopped at the hotel pool to round people up, some of whom had boobs. In bikinis. Shutting up, now.)
So the wedding was delightful and then we stayed down on the Cape last night and today we’re back in the Boston area with our nephews. The 5-year-old came into the kitchen this morning and noted our return, then grabbed my hand and said, “I need for you to come upstairs, because I have something to tell you.”
“Why can’t you tell me right here?” I asked, because I am SO STUPID.
“I just need for it to be upstairs, c’mon!” he replied, pulling on me. So I allowed myself to be brought upstairs to the room where we’re staying, and he said “See, in here, in here,” as he marched me to the far corner of the room where Otto had left a pile of stuff. He pointed with a big flourish at the pile, which was topped with a package of gum. “Do you see that, there?” he asked.
“That’s a pack of gum that is yours.” He said. “And did you know that gum is my VERY FAVORITE THING TO CHEW?”
I tried not to laugh, and also tried not to dip him in chocolate and swallow him whole. “Really? It’s your very favorite thing to chew?” I managed.
“Yes,” he said. “And I think that I would like a piece of it.”
So we had to negotiate that—after lunch, if Mommy says it’s okay—and eventually I was allowed to go back downstairs.
So all in all, a successful weekend, I think.