August 1, 2001
The *Boo Hoo* Queen


I began weeping about four seconds into the wedding ceremony. Ten days later, I still haven't been able to stop.

I guess this probably shouldn't come as a surprise to anybody. I'm the original *Boo Hoo* Queen of Internet Journaling, after all. The idea of me weepy/happy secra on her honeymoon sitting here dribbling snot and Maybelline onto the keyboard while I compose a *FootNotes* entry isn't exactly stop-the-presses news. (I cryoutloud over VOLKSWAGEN COMMERCIALS, forcryingoutloud.)

We should all be used to it by now ... right?

But it's still embarrassing to sit here and admit that I'm having a teeny-tiny bit of trouble getting a handle on my post-wedding emotions. What can I tell you? The whole getting-married thing was just so much bigger than I'd expected it to be. The feelings were bigger than I'd expected. The sense of *unfolding destiny* was bigger. The words that David and I exchanged -- and the power and permanence behind those words -- were bigger. (The cake was MUCH bigger, and so am *I,* now, as a result. But that's another story for another day.) I knew, going in, that it was going to be a profound and powerful day -- a day of swirling emotions (and hormones) -- but I honestly thought I was prepared for it.

Clearly I wasn't. At least, not as prepared as I thought I was.

Now I'm wondering if anyone can ever be "prepared" for such a thing. How can you be totally "prepared" for the biggest day of your life? You can spend seven months shopping for dresses and making To-Do Lists and reminding yourself that The wedding isn't the important thing: the important thing is that you're marrying the man you love more than KFC Honey BBQ Wings, People Magazine and The Matt Lauer Show, put together. But when it comes right down to it, all of a sudden it's just you and your guy standing up there, in front of God and everybody, pledging to love each other until you DIE, for goddsake ... and you're thinking This is BIG, dammit ... this is really really BIG ...

And the next thing you know, you're swiping at your runny nose with your bridal bouquet again.

I started to weep the minute I heard my sister singing the Mr. Lennon song. I wept as I watched each of my daughters walking across the lawn, and I wept again a few minutes later, as my dad gave me away. I wept as David placed the ring on my finger, and then as our brother-in-law introduced us to our guests, for the first time, as "Mr. and Mrs. David Rafter." I was so dangerously emotional, immediately after the ceremony, that Jaymi and Joel were forced to confiscate my great-great-great-grandmother's handkerchief from me. (They were afraid I was going to accidentally blow my nose on a two-hundred-year-old 'Something Borrowed.')

But the weeping didn't end when the ceremony did. The morning after the wedding -- as David and I were packing up the rental car, getting ready to drive off to our honeymoon destination -- the sight of my rumpled wedding dress, crammed into the bottom of the suitcase, nearly did me in. I wept, off and on, as we drove along the Olympic Peninsula towards Port Townsend ... as we checked into our honeymoon hotel ... as we sat in the jacuzzi, holding feet and eating potato chips. By that time, the ' I can't believe I'm getting married' weeping had morphed into the equally embarrassing (and equally-debilitating) 'I can't believe it's over already' variety. I wasn't unhappy: I was just overwhelmed by emotion. It continued unabated throughout the honeymoon week ... through all of the Tot 'goodbyes' and the flight back to California ... through the thrilling moment when David lugged me over the threshold ... right up until today, my second day back to work. I'm sure that when I start posting the rest of the honeymoon photos on *FootNotes* this weekend, the floodgates will open up all over again.

It's sort of like postpartum depression. Except this time I'm not waiting for the episiotomy to heal.

David has been amazingly tolerant and patient through all of this. This morning, the first day of August, I was a little sniffly again as I dressed for work. "Our wedding month is over," I said mournfully.

"Yes," he said, "that's true. But it's not the end of our wedding YEAR, is it? And then there's our wedding DECADE, and our wedding MILLENNIUM." And then he put his hand beneath my jaw and tipped my face back and kissed me with great tenderness, the way the wedding photographer taught him to do.

I think I'm going to be OK eventually.

one year ago: 10 commandments of executive assitude

throw a rock