Ah well. It’s not my place to put other people’s faces on the Internet, anyway. That’s what Facebook is for.

The hotel:

The reception:

My exhausted little ringbearer:

See?

I also want to thank everyone who piped up with advice for me on what to wear. I can’t even tell you how helpful you all were.

I ended up with Shoes A (the pointy pumps) and pearl earrings, on direction of the brid (as a good matron of honor I bowed to her will). I think it looked nice, but I don’t have any head-to-toe pictures to show you, sorry. Just picture a groundhog in fancy dress. You will be relieved to hear that I didn’t fall down once in those heels. I’m not sure how I managed that.

The ceremony was beautiful and we all (the girls, anyway) sobbed our way through it, sentimental saps that we are. The reception was at The Venue at Smith Bros — an urban-loft looking banquet hall with a gorgeous view of downtown Columbus, all fairy lights and roses and rain. I can’t even tell you how pretty it was. And of course I can’t show you because I don’t have pictures.

But it was lovely. And the band they hired (MoJoFlo) was killer. Seriously, I was worried someone was going to have a heart attack dancing to it. I’m not naming names. There was a lot of funky-soul R+B plus some really excellent originals, too. Seeing them play out would make for a good date, if you live around there. The dance floor was packed most of the time and NEVER empty (thanks to my brother). Owen hopped straight out of his chair to dance with the flower girl when they started playing. (And those two? A fleeting four-year-old romance bloomed and faded in the span of about an hour and a half. I think they’re going to remain friends, though.)

Both kids lasted well into the night and then fell asleep at our corner table, watched over by my friends and relatives, who thereby enabled Iain and I to dance to the last song of the evening: a cover of Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On.” And when I say “dance,” I mean “hang on to each other while our feet move and Iain sings to me.” We like (fine, *I* like) to dance to one song together at weddings, and that “dance” usually involves more than the usual amount of swaying.

The next morning we gathered at my brother’s house for bagels and coffee and, unbeknownst to me, there was a birthday cake upon which was written HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARY BETH but which kindly left out the 30TH and which now, the remaining 17 servings of which anyway, is sitting in the box in my fridge.

The weekend ended on a literal sour note, as we drove home in the dark and had to pull over rather abruptly so Owen could be sick on the berm and then as we started up again Mac was sick all down his front and into every available car seat crevice. So that bit wasn’t so great.

But the rest of the weekend was a blast and I’m so happy for my sister.

Scored a great set of vintage tennis rackets on Craigslist. The kids and I have been in the backyard, thwacking balls around and having a very good time.

(Hal Incandenza = Infinite Jest; Annie Hall = Annie Hall)

(Gardening is still kind of weird to me. It feels like … like I’m just taking handfuls of my yard and calling it food. But oh, when those peppers and tomatoes finally come in? CAN’T WAIT.)

organizin’

caretakin’

hangin’.

I can’t believe we cut that hair.

I still get to call him my baby, right?

For his birthday we are going hiking today. I think that’s going to be our new birthday tradition for the boys. They get so many toys, but it’s a treat to take special little trips as a family.

The light, the chair, the plant: perfect.

Mackie, you turned one year old on Sunday. Truth be told, there were times this year when I wasn’t sure either one of us was going to make it this far. But you and I have prevailed, and things are just getting good.

Also in there is Owen disclosing the state of his bowels. You’ll be pleased to know that the cab remained unsullied for the duration of the trip.