It literally took 30 years, but I’m finally engaged

It’s true.

 

Andrew proposed to me at the James J Hill Library in downtown Saint Paul on June 19th, 2018. I’ll always remember that date, because I’ll always remember that I had my first real date with a man (after a long-term relationship with a not-so-great breakup) way back in 2010 on June 19th. It must mean something. Maybe I’ll have a kid born on that day in a few years.

He had conspired with a couple ladies at the library (and my friend, Amanda) to make sure that it was documented and memorable experience: He said that we should go out to dinner and go to the mental health exhibit at the MN Science Museum, and I had mentioned to my brother that ‘he better be proposing’ because he had been bugging the shit out of me to make sure I had that day off work. Then as we got downtown, he said that we should just check out the library because we were right there. I had shown him photos of the library months before saying that it reminded me of Beauty and the Beast.

We went into the library and were told that the stairs were blocked, so we’d have to take the elevator up to the second level, which we did, and starting walking around looking at all of the insane books/collections. When we got to the far end of the room and turned to look out at everything, he started saying that he wanted to start a new chapter with me as he got down on one knee. I instantly started crying and said yes – or I nodded yes? I was in shock! After we stood there hugging, crying, looking at the ring for a few minutes, Andrew told me to look across the library at a reading area where a woman was sitting – that woman was my friend Amanda, and then he pointed out a guy with a camera – that guy was Amanda’s boyfriend, who was taking photos of us the whole time.

I told you – well-documented and memorable.

Oh, and the ring he gave me was one that I’d shown him on etsy at some point. This guy pays attention to me.

Ten days later, we had set a date. By July 7th, I had ordered a dress. We had booked a reception/dinner location by mid-August, and I’d had a photographer in mind for like, years.

We ended up deciding on doing a family-only ceremony somewhere and then a dinner/non-traditional reception with everyone afterward. We’re getting married on Friday the 13th of this year – 91319, a palindrome (’cause we nerdy like that), just a couple blocks from where we lived when we first moved up here, and, oh, there’s a full moon that night. And the dinner location references a black dog.. huh.

tenor

It’s definitely a blessing and a curse to have the date set so far away from the engagement – we’ve gotten so much done so early and haven’t had to feel rushed with anything. We got the hotel blocks booked, the photographer booked, I knew who would do my hair, I’ve found someone who will do my makeup; my dress took about seven months to come in, so I’m glad I had the time to wait for that.. but then at the same time, I’m impatient as all hell. And there are some things that just have to wait – flowers, hair/makeup trials, sending invitations, booking a honeymoon, figuring out transportation, etc. Which can also be a bit frustrating or just nerve-wracking when I want to get things done NOW.

Maybe writing about it will help – I think I’m going to try to do updates as time goes on, as things get accomplished, as nerves start to fray haha but honestly, I don’t think I’ll get too stressed.

I say that now.

T-Minus Twelve Hours

So, in twelve-ish hours, my mom gets remarried.

I’ve been trying to tease out my emotions for a while now. Maybe lining them up would help me deal with each one. But I’m finding that I can’t, really.

I always cry at weddings. I’m a huge fan of happiness and love and I just get overcome. So there’s that. 

But this is my mom, you know?

My dad got remarried like, a year after my parents divorced, to a stranger (to me) in China, who still isn’t here due to immigration. He flew over on April Fools Day and stayed for three weeks. Sometime around Tax Day, he married her. He brought home a DVD of the wedding. I got to watch her get ready and him get ready and them saying their vows in Chinese and him playing Stairway to Heaven on an acoustic guitar. 

It was odd because I felt happiness for those two people getting married. Finding happiness. Finding love. It was like I was watching a documentary or a home video of two people having a foreign wedding. I couldn’t really connect to it being my own father. 

Tomorrow, I’ll be standing next to my mother as she gets remarried to a high school sweetheart of sorts, and I am wondering how I’ll feel. How I’ll react. Will I cry because it’s a wedding? Will I cry because it’s my mother? Will I feel like I’m watching from somewhere high above the ceremony, from someone else’s vantage point? Will I be sad?

I was a bit sad watching dad’s wedding DVD. Watching all of these family members be a part of this special day, but my brother and I not being there. Part of me was glad I was left out, but of course, it’s my dad; I wish I could have been included in some way.

Tomorrow, I am included, but I worry about how I’ll be. No, I’m not, I’ll do and say all the right things and it’s her special day and seeing her so happy will warm my heart. And yet, part of me thinks it’d be a bit easier to not witness it. 

I don’t know. Like I said, I’m having trouble teasing out my emotions. 

I’ve said it before, numerous times, but this is just something I never thought I’d be dealing with. My parents were married for twenty-five years, which was twenty-three years of my life. I’m twenty-six years old and I’m just now having to deal with a divorce and already remarriages. I’ll never be able to say which would have been better: them getting divorced when we were younger and we’d just be used to it by now, or doing it this way. I’ll probably always argue that it was harder for me this way. 

Of course, in the end, everything happens for a reason and everything happens when it should, as it should. How can I argue with that?

What’s even stranger is that dad’s wife has a son about my age, mom’s soon-to-be husband has a son just older than me and then two sons, seven and nine, I believe. 

I’m being very resistant to any ‘step-‘ terms. I have a mother and a father and a brother. I cannot call anyone a step-mother or step-father or step-brother at this age if no one has step-parented me or no one has been a step-sibling to me. I’m very possessive of my parents and brother. They’re mine and that’s it. 

But now they’re not. They’re other people’s, too. Perhaps I haven’t learnt to share quite yet.

I’m guessing most people who’ve gone through their parents getting divorced and remarried and doing the step- thing are wondering what I’m on about. I know. I’m an adult. I should have the tools to deal with this, I guess. Or at least be more open to these things. 

Maybe someday. 

I wish I could be a bit more like my brother in this case. He’s been very strong and ‘as long as they’re happy’ and ‘I’ve always wanted a large family/more siblings.’ I just haven’t, you know? I mean, sure, it would have been nice to have my cousins closer and whatnot, but Conor was just always enough sibling for me. I used to think having an older brother would have been nice, but Conor has the qualities of an older brother, so I get the best of both worlds. 

Now there are too many worlds, I think. 

And mom having these little kids around now. It makes me a bit.. I don’t know.. I wanted the first little kids she was looking after to be my kids, her grandkids. She’s going to be doing the parenting thing all over again before I’m even doing it. 

I am really going to hate even posting this, but I’m being fatally honest. And maybe someone will stumble across this open-heart surgery and think, finally, someone gets it

I don’t know. I guess I should get some sleep before the big day.

Mom’s going to look so beautiful in her dress.