Bloggers do it for the comments. October 30, 2008

Yes, another flair.  And, like a considerable amount of flair, so true!

This must mean you like me...

 

Kearsie gave me this award after she received it (in the same week that one of her posts reached #1 on Facebook’s blog network), but there are strings attached in order for me to accept the honor.  I have to tell you, the readers, six random facts about myself (which is good, since I don’t think I ever finished my 100) and then tag six unsuspecting fellow bloggers.

 

1.  I don’t like the number six.  It’s amazing I’m following through with this post with as much as I dislike the number six.  I don’t know what I have against the number other than that three of them together make the number of the beast.  That has an actual phobia, you know, fear of the number six hundred sixty-six — hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia.  Say that six times fast.  Don’t really, because if you do, you will have sixty-six years bad juju.  Not six hundred sixty-six, because you won’t live that long.  Or maybe you will, and that is the bad juju.

 

2.  I don’t collect anything, and for a long time I felt like there was some kind of a void in my life because of that.  I had nothing where I lived that showed I had an interest in one particular thing.  No figures.  No coins.  No stamps.  No commerorative plates.  I do like Willow Tree figures, but I can’t just get them to have them.  I want them to mean something — the ones I have relate to specific times or events in my life.  Also, I don’t like buying them for myself.  I keep waiting for The Husband to buy me one of them because he saw one and it reminded him of me.  But that would mean he’d have to be in a place that sold them, and he doesn’t frequent Hallmark or the store inside of Cracker Barrell.  It would also mean he’d have to look at them for longer than a nanosecond.

 

3.  I like Celtic Thunder.  (No one said it had to be new information.  Plus, that was pretty random.  Except that it was me, saying something about Celtic Thunder.  Maybe not so random.  Can I keep the award?)

 

4.  I have been wondering if my words per day quota is met by IMing and e-mailing.  The elusive “they” say that women usually say 20,000 words a day, men say 7,000.  So if in fact the internet is allowing me to use more of my words, then The Husband should be darn grateful I spend so much time online.  It means I’m more available to listen to him and tend to his needs.  WOW.  That is the coolest rationalization EVER.

 

5.  I cannot sew a button back on an item of clothing.  Nor can I mend any stuffed animals that are injured in battle in this home.  When I was in 7th grade I took home economics, and when we had to sew a button, I had a guy in the class do it for me.  I considered it some kind of victory for feminism.  Now I have a very sweet and kind mother-in-law and friends who I suppose are kind of enabling me, because they sew things back on or back together for me. 

 

6.  You do not have any idea how hard it was for me to not leave this one blank.

 

Okay, six bloggers to tag…

 

1.  The Funny Sister.  Two posts to her blog, and already she’s receiving an award.  She’s not just any funny sister, she is the funny sister, and she’s all mine. 

 

2.  Mommy’s Heart.  Because she writes just how she talks, and as I read I can hear her incredibly adorable southern accent in my head.

 

3.  I’m Just Sayin’.  I want her to write more, I’m just sayin’.  And even though she just did something like this, I thought she deserved an award.

 

4.  Lovely Little Lovelies.  She makes amazing things.  She’s smart.  She writes.  She likes me even though I’m a Republican.

 

5.  The Sneaky Ninja Writer.  She’s an inspiration to me. 

 

6.  And, finally, WendiWinn {she likes stuff}.  I love reading her, and I love to engage in peer pressure.

My House, Our Home October 30, 2008

The Husband and I rent.  We wish to buy, and we shall.  You know, when the words economic crisis aren’t being thrown around with reckless abandon.  When it happens, it will be so exciting!  I love the thought of a picture of us in front of a SOLD sign, smiling like little kids at Christmas. 

But wait… Deja vu.  Oh yeah.  I’ve done that before.

The Wolf and I had a house.  The process wasn’t really exciting.  There was a picture, but it wasn’t a picture of a loving couple embarking on a new journey together.  It was two people in front of a sign, in front of a building that they would live in.  Together, yet separate.  The house was purchased because it seemed like it would make things better, bring us closer together.  But things only got worse.

It will be completely different when The Husband and I have a house — it will be a home.  We will be entering that home as a team, a unit.  A couple.  A family.

So it will be better, because it will be right.  The right person, the right time, the right place.  What a difference that will make.

Still… It would have been nice to not have any memories of a previous experience.  Even things learned the first time around don’t seem to matter because it was all wrapped in something so wrong, so ill-advised, any hope of the education being beneficial is pretty much lost.

Imagine how much nicer the process would be if there was nothing to compare it to.  How much more special it would be if the first home I’d bought was with The Husband.

Are you catching what I’m throwing?  For those who don’t enjoy a good analogy, I’ll speak slowly.  The house is like s e x.  Moral of the story: it’s better to wait.

You can give pieces of yourself away to anyone, thinking it’s the next logical step or that it will bring you closer together.  It won’t.  You might get a false sense of security at first, but that facade can only last for so long.  Eventually, because it isn’t the right person, the right time, the right place, it will just magnify everything that is wrong.

That’s not to say that the right experience will be any less exciting (and many other positive adjectives), but you’d never have to wonder if what you’ve brought in from your past has somehow colored the present.  You’d never compare.  And the other person won’t have to wonder either.  It’s all about the two of you, and nobody else.

That’s the way it was meant to be.

Adventures in Virginity October 28, 2008

Many, many thanks to those that have been willing to share their own adventures in virginity with me!  For those of you that just skimmed that post (tsk, skimmers), if you are willing to answer some questions about why you waited to have sex, or if you are in the process of waiting for your wedding night, please contact me at muchmorethanmommy(at)gmail(dot)com.

——-

I wanted to post a public service announcement of sorts.  Because I remember being a young, impressionable girl.  I remember hearing a lot about waiting.  I heard all the reasons to wait, and they were excellent reasons.  I heard how beautiful it would be when it was right, and I wholeheartedly believed it — and have found that to be true, by the way.

I heard about how basically all physical contact led up to sex.  Though it was severely mocked, one guy on a video talked about the “biological hand grenade ladder” — once you take one step up, you just want to keep going.  So don’t get on the ladder.  (For weeks, maybe months, after that, couples would hold hands and those of us who had seen the video would gasp at their taking the first step on that ladder.  We were joking.)

I got it.  All roads led to sex, so don’t get on the road.  Boys are the gas, girls are the brakes.  Understood.

What everyone failed to mention was that maybe, just maybe, even though I was a girl, I might have the desire to hit that gas pedal from time to time.

Granted, for quite a while the life of a prude worked for me.  My first kissing experience obviously didn’t leave me wanting more.  The first time an attempt was made for second base, several errors were made and the player was called out.  I spent a great deal of time wondering why anyone would want to make out.  Seriously, that worked for me.

Alas, one day there was a kisser without fangs.  Then kissing didn’t seem so bad.  But only kissing.  That was it.  Everything else was uncomfortable and awkward and practically unpleasant.

Those were the good ol’ days.

I remember how absolutely shocked I was the first time a guy made a play for second and my internal coach was waving him on.  WHAT?!?  That was not supposed to happen!  I was supposed to be appalled!  Offended!  Disgusted even!

Yeah, not so much.

Thankfully Someone was looking out for me and I managed to stay out of trouble for quite a while.

But really, nobody ever, ever told me I might actually enjoy the kissing and the more than kissing!  Why didn’t anyone warn me??

Anyway.  Adults.  Leaders, mothers, fathers… Let’s be honest with our kids and prepare them for what they’re going to encounter.  Tell them why 2 Timothy 2:22 says to flee youthful lusts (or, for that matter, lustful youth) — FLEE!  That’s the only way to keep out of trouble.  Don’t go dancing up to the line to see how close you can come before you cross it.  That’s. Just. STUPID.  And dangerous.

The pros obviously outweigh the cons when it comes to abstinence, but if you’re on the edge, you’re probably not using your brain so much at that time.  Don’t get yourself into a position where you are face-to-face with the decision.  And believe those that have gone before you when they tell you it’s worth waiting for.

Pants on fire!! October 24, 2008

So.

A woman told authorities she was robbed, and when her attacker saw her McCain bumper sticker, he carved a “B” into her face, attempting to make her an Obama supporter.

So.

This woman lied.

Most articles online give people opportunities to comment.  Who came up with this idea?  It’s not always the best idea to give the general public opportunity to speak out.  Sorry, but it’s true.  A lot of the comments I read denounced McCain and Palin themselves for this woman’s behavior. 

Uh, excuse me?

Thankfully, there was one comment after one of the articles written about this that made sense. 

Hey now, first of all I’m an Obama supporter. People need to realize that there are nutjobs on both sides. This presidential election is another way for these people to act irrational and a means to grab attention. It’s not a McCain problem, it’s not an Obama problem. Its an American problem.

Thank you, Jerome, wherever you are.

The First Time Ever I… October 23, 2008

Do you remember your first kiss?

I do.  I have to say, I don’t remember any details about any kisses between my first kiss ever and my first kiss with The Husband.  (No offense to any guys I kissed, but c’mon.  Nobody holds a candle to The Husband.)  As for remembering my first kiss ever… Let’s just say if I did forget about it altogether, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

In 7th grade I started wearing contacts, which I thought would solve all of the problems in the world.  Or at least in mine.  I definitely thought losing the glasses would mean getting a boyfriend, and my misguided teenage mind thought that attention from any boy was acceptable.  So I became the girlfriend of a young man we’ll call The Worst Kisser Ever.  (That’s not his real name.)

One night on the phone, he asked me what I would do if he French kissed me.  I told him I would probably run away.  The next day, in the middle of the lunchroom, he tested me.  People were getting up from tables ready to go to class, and all of a sudden there he was.  It happened in slow motion.  His eyes were closed, he was leaning closer and closer.  This was it.  My first kiss.

Ow.

Yeah, ow. 

You see, The Worst Kisser Ever had not been introduced to orthodontia yet, and his eye teeth were quite vampire-like and dominated his mouth.  So, ow.

True to my word, I bolted.  Yet, that did not dissuade The Worst Kisser Ever from his very public displays of affection.  I was awkward and naive, and I had no idea what to do.  He kept on kissing me and being bad at it, and I kept on enduring it and being embarrassed because everyone could see. 

There is only one word to describe that very brief courtship.  Bleah.

I have another memory the includes TWKE.  Before classes began one day, it was either in the morning or right after lunch, we were in front of a bunch of lockers outside of the cafeteria.  He and his friends were having a blast cutting each other down.  They were trading insults, and this big, goofy blonde guy with glasses looked over at me and said to my boyfriend, “Oh yeah?  At least my girlfriend isn’t a virgin!!!“

There was a chorus of ooooohhhhs and my knight in shining eye teeth looked at me and said, “You’re on your own there.”

Did I mention I was 13-years-old?  THIRTEEN.  Thirteen, and these morons considered my virginity worthy of mocking.  Let me tell you, I was stumped.  I had no idea why they thought that it was a bad thing.  Why wouldn’t I be a virgin?  First of all, didn’t they know what sex could lead to?  Pregnancy?  Diseases?  And if having a reputation as a virgin was bad, it seemed having a reputation as a slut would be worse.  I don’t know, I must’ve had a warped teenage mind to think that waiting was a good idea.

Throughout my teen years in my position as a wallflower, I possessed the ability to become invisible.  Okay, maybe I wasn’t actually invisible, but I went unnoticed a lot of times.  So unnoticed that people would have really personal conversations in front of me.  Even if I hadn’t been planning on waiting to have sex, I sure didn’t want to do any messing around after hearing how people talked about it.  It did not sound like fun.  And how many times do girls have to have pregnancy scares before they realize how to prevent it?

I have heard that kids still get picked on for waiting.  That’s just pathetic.  Virgins… They don’t have to worry about getting pregnant.  They don’t have to worry about STDs.  They don’t have to worry about someone blabbing to the entire school that they’re easy.  Or that they were bad.  They don’t have to worry about the possibility of comparing someone they really love to someone that meant nothing later on.  They don’t have to worry about how many people have seen them completely exposed and vulnerable.

You know who stays quiet too often?  People that waited.  You waited, and you should be proud.  There are young people that need to hear from you.  There are young people that need to hear that no, not everyone does it. 

You know who else young people need to hear from?  People that aren’t doing it.  They need to know that not everyone is doing it.

So what do you say?  Any takers?  C’mon, I know you’re out there.  If you’re willing to be interviewed by me for a message to those fragile young people who are being pressured every which way to give up something so precious, let me know.  E-mail me at muchmorethanmommy(at)gmail(dot)com.  I want to ask you some questions.  Yes, I’m going to use the answers on the blog, but I won’t use names.  Names will be changed to protect the innocent — and I actually mean innocent!

YOU CAN DO IT!  (Be interviewed, that is.)

Gettin’ Down With the G-O-P October 20, 2008

I will preface this by saying that my excitement did not compare with that of The Husband’s, who shuttled members of the press that were traveling with McCain to their destination.  He got direction from Secret Service agents, he blew through stop signs and red lights, and he got to shake the hand of Senator John McCain.  He wins.

As for me, I was insanely jealous of The Husband’s opportunity.  I pouted and insisted sweetly suggested that he could find out if there was a way for me to attend the Road to Victory Rally since he was helping out.  Because The Husband is The Husband, he asked, and he got me a pass.

Not just any pass, my friends.  I was rollin’ VIP.

So I dressed as suggested, in Republican Red (thanks again, Carrie!), put on my pearls and headed out to the venue.  I parked in another zip code and walked to the entrance.    The line stretched from the main doors all the way out to the street.  I’d done my homework, though – people with VIP tickets usually had a separate entrance.  I walked up to an information booth and inquired about such an entrance and was apologetically told they they had not set aside a line or entrance for VIP ticketholders.  I looked out at the line and back at the woman behind the table.  She suggested I merge in line somewhere.  Fantastic.

I stepped out on to the sidewalk and considered my options.  Option 1: Go to the back of the line.  Clearly fair.  Obviously there had to be other VIP passholders already in line, and they were waiting patiently.  Option 2: Merge.  In other words, butt in line.  I hate it when people do that — who doesn’t?  But… It was hot.   It was hot, and I had borrowed the shirt I was wearing and didn’t want to return it in a deteriorated condition.  So I stepped out on to the sidewalk and planned my attack.  Really, it’s all about presentation.  Act like you belong, and no one will question you.

I took a cautious step forward between two small groups of people.  A family and sweet elderly lady ahead of me, and a sweet elderly lady and her kind of scary-looking sons behind me.  The sweet elderly lady behind me made a comment about the bottles of water selling two for a dollar, and we started chatting.  I was in.

The line moved  s l o w l y .  It was about the time that the sweet elderly lady behind me asked her son if his rash was clearing up that I noticed another breakout line had formed up closer to the door.  I squinted and saw that their passes had the green line on the top like mine.  The mom in the family in front of me said she’d hold my spot if I wanted to check it out.  Sweet!  So I did, and yes, the VIPs had formed a new line.  Yay!  I struck up a conversation with a woman in line with me, and we edged our way forward together.

Once inside, my possessions were scanned and poked through, and I cleared the metal detector.  About a zillion people checked my ticket and I finally reached the auditorium.  My line buddy and I walked in and took our seats, right in the middle about eight rows back.  Great seats!  After a bit, we were told to go to the end of the aisle, so we obeyed, but my line buddy said that she didn’t want to sit that far over and she ditched me.  It was okay, a very nice couple moved one seat closer to me.

The community college’s choir sang, a local high school’s ROTC Color Guard presented the flags.  Congressmen and future Senators spoke.  People cheered, especially those in the balcony.  They were super excited and super LOUD!! 

Directly to the left of where I was sitting, there was a platform.  There were lights set up on it and a camera, but I didn’t think much of it because it looked like all of the press were in the back.  But then people started bustling about on the platform, and I knew something had to be up.

The people in front of me and the couple next to me changed.  Their eyes glazed over.  Their jaws dropped.  I looked to my left and saw this guy holding a microphone, preparing to report LIVE.  Throughout the rally, anytime there was a lull he was getting a lot of attention.  People were shouting at him, waving, their eyes big like saucers.  It was like he was a Republican Rock Star!

Confession: I had to ask who he was.  C’mon, I have a preschooler and a toddler.  During the day if the TV is on, it’s on a station where the N doesn’t stand for Network or News.  It’s more like Nick Jr. or Noggin.

The whole thing was a lot of fun though!  I waved my “Country First” sign, I cheered, I clapped.  Then, since he was like Republican Royalty…

Campaign Carl!!

On my way out, I was stopped by a local news anchor and asked if I was a candidate’s wife.  Hee-hee!  I said no, and he asked if he could interview me.  Thankfully the interview didn’t air.  I am pretty sure I came across as Ultra Hyper Conservative Cheerleader Girl.

It was definitely a fun way to finish up a couple of weeks of stress and unrest!

Go, John, Go!

That extra spleen wouldn’t have matched anyway! October 16, 2008

Nope, not an accessory spleen.

However, at this point the results I got didn’t sound all that bad.  In fact, it all sounds rather benign.

Hahahahah, I crack myself up!

Okay, so my spleen.  While there’s only one, it is being occupied by a cyst or something called a hemangioma, which isn’t really in it, it may be on it.  What is that, you ask?  *shrug*  I dunno, and neither did my primary care physician, so I get to go to the gastroenterologist in a couple of weeks to learn more!  FUN!  What we do know is that if it is a hemangioma, it is a benign tumor.  Benign being the operative word here!  Sweet.

The CT scan also indicated that whatever was going on in my right ovary was not going on anymore at the time of the exam!  The report says that it’s possible that it had resolved on its own.  I wondered to myself why, then, was I in such pain from that day throughout much of the weekend, and a very wise, trustworthy doctor friend suggested that perhaps it was a follicle that burst and that was what caused the pain.  The gynecologic oncologist had mentioned that as a possibility, so I feel quite comfortable with that.  The ovary will still be reviewed in less than a month, which is standard procedure from best I can gather, plus it was recommended by the doctor who reviewed the CT scan.  And follicles, cysts, etc., aren’t that uncommon, we just usually don’t notice them.  We women have got a lot going on inside us.  Men have no idea.  NONE!!!

—–

Rant Of The Day… WHY DOES IT TAKE SO LONG TO GET IN TO SEE THE DOCTOR?!?  I waited ONE HOUR until I actually saw her, and it was almost 30 minutes AFTER my appointment time before I was even taken back to an exam room!   Do you know what really bothers me?  Offices that have those notices telling you that you’ll be charged a fee if you miss an appointment, and you have to pay that fee before you can reschedule.  When Li’l Bit had to go to a specialist, they had a notice like that.  We waited one hour and fifteen minutes with a freakin’ toddler to be taken back to the exam room — twice.  And the first time I went, I waited so long in the exam room that they forgot I was there! 

I think I’m going to go to the doctor with my own notice… If I don’t get taken back to the exam room by my appointment time (because what is the point of making the stinkin’ appointment, I ask you?!), I get $5 of my co-pay back.  If I have to wait in the exam room longer than 15 minutes, $10.  If I see a pharmaceutical representative coming out when I’m on my way in, I am permitted to tackle said representative and take five shiny new pens and calendars with names of prescriptions that I can’t pronounce.  That will make me feel much better.

The morning after. October 15, 2008

What will happen on November 5th, 2008?

Your next door neighbor will still be your next door neighbor.

The other parents you see dropping off and picking up their kids will still be in front of you in the carloop.

The car that you always end up behind on your way to work will probably have the opposing party’s bumper sticker on it for a while longer.

The world will keep turning.  The sun will rise and set.  Co-workers, colleagues, friends and frenemies will still be around. 

There was life before the election.  It will resume.  No more e-mails forwarded telling you how horrible one candidate is over the other.  No more commercials.  Just one nation under God with a new leader preparing to take office.  And all the opinions offered up and disagreements that were had regarding the election won’t matter one little bit.

Interesting.

Jeans on Sunday October 13, 2008

Yesterday morning I wasn’t feeling so hot, and I ended up not going to church service.  Not cool.  I was tired of wallowing around at the apartment, so I decided I was going to suck it up and make it to Sunday school.  I hate missing church, it throws my whole week off.  I also hadn’t been out of the house much since the previous Wednesday. 

Usually I like to at least make an attempt to wear something nice to church.  Is it for propriety’s sake?  Uhm, no.  It’s because six days out of the week I am dressed in the basic uniform of the stay at home mom — t-shirt and capris or shorts — and for one day I like to put a little extra effort into my appearance.  (Some of you are laughing.  Yes, I do my hair and makeup every day of the week no matter what, but I said extra effort for Sundays.)  Yesterday was different though.  Even if I wasn’t going to put in the time and energy I normally would, I was determined to go.

I stood in my closet and thoughtfully studied my garments.  Dress?  Nah.  Slacks?  Nope.  Jeans?  YES.  It felt like a jeans day.  You can always dress up jeans, too.  The right top, some accessories, and you’re set.  But I didn’t feel like dressing up the jeans.  I looked at my tops and selected a t-shirt that had some writing and a few scattered sparkly things on it and figured that would do.  I slipped my feet into my flip-flops and I was off.

As I got out of the car and walked up to class, I thought back to when I started attending my church.  I was 11-years-old, and going to church meant wearing a dress.  Or a skirt.  But usually a dress.  Also closed-toed shoes, and pantyhose.  Tan or taupe.  As I got older, things started relaxing — I remember feeling okay wearing jeans on Sunday nights, but not shorts.  That seemed to be the norm, and I don’t recall anyone really telling us what we could or couldn’t wear.  (Except two-piece bathing suits on youth outings.  “There’s more cotton in an aspirin bottle than on than suit!”  I was inclined to agree with that one.)

Now when I walk into church, I still see people dressed up.  I also see jeans.  I see shorts.  I see lots of flip flops.  I even see some bare feet during class.  Nobody flinches.  Nobody cringes.  (Except W now that I mentioned bare feet in class.)

Even with that kind of change, though, I still feel like the church hasn’t changed.  It’s still a family, my family.  Some things will change, others will stay the same, and I’ll still love it.  I don’t have to like everything about it, I don’t have to be in agreement with every decision.  I know its imperfections, but I also know the qualities that make it the place I have wanted to be for 21 years.

I like the programs, I feel like the heart of the leadership is really in the right place, but mostly I just love the people.  I love that there are people that have known me since I was a really awkward elementary schooler, and then an even more awkward youth, and they still love me as an awkward wife and mother of two.  They loved me through the two biggest mistakes of my life and never treated me any differently.  They love me, love The Husband, love my girls.  The Husband and I have lived here all our lives, and our families are close.  Even with that comfortable connection in our laps, we have still developed an extended family where we worship.  I don’t know what we’d do without them.  So many people to learn from, to grow with, to have fun with.  To love right back.

There are people who look at my family and see a big building filled with old-fashioned tenets and uppity hypocrites in suits and dresses.  I have two words for those people…

Your loss.

Those pesky vows… October 10, 2008

It was probably a blur of activity, and now you rely on photographs and video to remember the details.  But it happened.  There the two of you stood before God and witnesses, staring at each other with googly-eyed awe.  Sniffling, hastily wiping away tears.  Looking stunning in a white dress or a black suit, overwhelmed by the scent of fresh flowers and the smoke from fifty gazillion candles.  Remembering to bend your knees every so often.  Making little jokes while the soloist sang, sneaking glances while the pastor prayed.  Repeating the vows without giving much thought at all to what you were saying…

To have and to hold from this day forward…

   for better, for worse…

      for richer, for poorer…

         in sickness and in health…

Do you remember saying that?  Do you remember thinking about how long “from this day forward” really meant?  How about how bad the worst could be?  Was there a qualification for what level of poor you would get to?  Did sickness mean a little cold, when that man you’re holding acts like a complete and total baby, or your wife expects you to bring her chicken noodle soup and a small glass of soda without her asking because you should know just what she needs?

Those thoughts probably didn’t go through your mind.  Who thinks about the negative at a time like that?  About losing jobs, changing jobs, and hard times on their wedding day?  Who thinks about illnesses?  Psh.  Why would you?

But maybe we should be thinking about those vows when these things come up, right?  Of course we didn’t know what we were in for when we said them, but we meant them just the same.  And they apply!  We are to love, cherish and honor each other through every twist and turn of this ride.

In our home, the whole sickness and health thing has about been beat into the ground.  Who would have ever thought that in under 5 years of marriage there would have been two major surgeries?  Who would have thought that in less than 6 we’d be even thinking about something like cancer?  (Wait, that happened twice now… Once before the colonoscopy as well.) 

I think about all the friends we have here who have moved from other places, often times for the husbands’ jobs.  They’ve been uprooted from family and friends to come to what some feel is a godforsaken place.  They have a choice to accept it and be a team, or one or both of them can be miserable until something changes and takes them back to where they started.  It really warms my heart to see so many couples really united, standing together, trying to find ways to make their lives better together, wherever it is that they land.

That one blurry day holds a lot more significance than we give it credit for sometimes.  It was more than a big party with fancy clothes and a white cake.  It was the day that you committed to living life with that one person through thick and thin, not knowing what in the world that would be.