Moon and Mrs M’s Wedding: belly laughs and happy tears
Firstly can I just say that I hate Ryanair? Hate, hate, hate Ryanair. I know, I know, it’s dirt cheap and all that, but when you’ve walked miles, queued for hours and then find you can’t sit anywhere near your children in a hot, sweaty cabin and there’s no room in the overheads for your hand luggage? Grrr, I could kill that feckin’ Michael O’Leary.
Awwww, we had such a lovely time. We went out for dinner with the Disreputable One when we arrived on the Friday night (after he picked us up from the airport in his swanky new 4×4 – thanks Dad!), then stayed at me Ma’s for the weekend. Arriving in the pub before the wedding was fantastic, seeing all my friends and family, my much-missed sisters in law, my lubly brothers, my beautiful nieces and big strapping nephew was just amazing. The church service was surprisingly emotional although I have to say that it was the adults that did the naughty giggling – the kids all stood together and shot us withering glances as we misbehaved – it was Hubby’s fault, he did silly singing, and then some little teeny girl went ‘I WANT A WEE!’ in a really loud voice which set us all off again. All went swimmingly apart from some rather bizarre parental goings on (note to my parents: I love you both madly but jaysus, go out for a coffee together and sort yourselves out already).
Mrs M looked absolutely stunning in a slinky green silk fishtail dress – I don’t care what anyone says there wasn’t a single pair of eyes that weren’t glued to her fantastically peachy bottom as she walked down the aisle.
The evening bash was full of fun and laughter. We had a total riot and the boys had loads of fun with their cousins. Mad Uncle A behaved himself (almost) – actually, Sensible Uncle I was just as naughty – and Mrs Sensible was challenging Hubby to down shots of Mrs M’s traditional 80% proof fire-water. Wow, it took your taste buds clean off.
Moon gave the longest, most boring speech I’ve ever heard (nah, not really – he made me cry twice which is probably a record) and then we all clinked glasses and shouted ‘Nastrovya!’ and downed the traditional Slovakian shot things (wow!) before stuffing our faces at the buffet, then dancing the night away. The Slovakian contingent held their own admirably in both the drinking and the falling over on the dance floor, but in true English fashion, it was all wrapping up by midnight – in Ireland we’d only just be getting started!
We rounded off a manic but happy weekend with one of my Ma’s epic Sunday lunches and then it was back to the airport with our Disreputable Chauffeur for another wrestle with our hand luggage. We arrived home, tired but elated, to find an ecstatic Bert who sang us a little whiny song, he was so happy to see us.
Highlights of the weekend, then:
- Stealing me Ma’s car and rushing round to my friend J’s beautiful new house to catch a glimpse of scrumptious little J and her new baby, M, who I’ve never even seen – we both stood and burst into tears, which made us laugh.
- My mate, C, taking the time to pop to the church to wish Moon luck and say a quick hello to me and Hubby (I wanted to cry again – I’m getting old, I think)
- The photographer shouting ‘No! look at her face!’ when Moon’s gaze kept wandering downwards
- My nieces, who have turned from cute little girls into beautiful young ladies.
- Above-mentioned niece, A, being bribed by Sensible Uncle I’s mates to balance sachets of mayonnaise on the head of Moon’s brother-in-law who was asleep in the corner after coming over all ‘tired and emotional’
- Boogying on the dance floor with my boys, me Ma, Mrs M and a gaggle of her Slovakian mates
- The scary amount of people who came up to me and said ‘ooh, I read your blog!’
- Moon, staggering around with a box of Montecristo cigars saying ‘this is the happiest day of my life’ in a somewhat slurry fashion.
So there you have it. A lovely weekend, a perfect wedding, and a very deserving couple. Here’s to you, Moon and Mrs M: wishing you a long, happy and very giggly life together. Mwah!
The one that never was
Now I’m always telling you about my boys: something funny they’ve said, some adventure they’ve had, their raging guitar riffs and their mad behaviour. Sometimes though, like at the wedding, they’re terrifyingly, achingly grown up and sensible: a teeny glimpse of things to come?
Hubby’s often away working, and hey, it’s the holidays, so we’ve been a bit slack about bedtimes and the like. The other night, though, I sent them up to get ready for bed, and found them not in the bathroom, but in a little huddle on #2′s bed looking a bit pensive. They’d been told off for something or other, and I’d emphasised the fact that they should respect each other a lot more as, after all, they only have each other. I snuggled in next to them and I could tell they were working up to asking me something. I stayed quiet and the conversation went a bit like this:
#1: Mum, can we ask you something?
Me: Anything. You know that.
#1: Well, you know we had a baby that died? Was it a girl or a boy?
Gulp. Okay, so we never kept it a secret from them. Hubby and I, along with thousands, nay, millions of people, lost a baby once, a long time ago.
Me: I don’t know, darling. The baby died inside me, and when it was taken away I was asleep. (This is hard, but I figure that honesty is the best policy). Actually, I like to think that it was a girl – my daughter – it feels funny to think I might have had one.
#2: Are you still sad?
Me: Yes, sometimes when i think about it I suppose I am, but then me and Daddy already had you, and soon afterwards we had #2, so we know we’re very lucky.
#1: Will we ever have another brother or a sister?
Me: No, I don’t think so now. We’re getting to be quite a grown-up family now, aren’t we. And anyway, you already think #2′s a pain – can you imagine having a new baby around messing with your guitars and drooling on your X-box?
#2: Ew. Nope.
So there you have it. With one small conversation, all sorts of memories are brought flooding back; in spite of it all, feeling so terribly sorry for the young doctor who had to give us the bad news (‘I’m sorry, we can’t find a heartbeat’), a hospital ward full of pregnant women (why do they put you there?), Hubby and I arriving home from hospital, just numb with it all, my poor Mum, devastated herself, being so brave and supportive, bouquets of flowers being delivered, sympathy cards instead of congratulations. And afterwards, back to work; awkward silences with people not knowing what to say, still having to crack on and look after a toddler. I remember the December came when the baby should have been born. I was pregnant with #2 by then, but the date was a sad one: thoughts of what could have been.
Things happen for a reason, they say, and if one small life lost should have taught me anything, it’s that I should appreciate my two little fellas all the more. That’s if I can just stop myself strangling them before they go back to school. Happy days
The Friday photo (s): story of my life…
So seeing as I’ve bombarded you with pictures this week, I’m cheating slightly with the Friday photo. Both Kates: Kate and K8 the GR8 set me a little challenge. And you know how I love a challenge – it’s just got to be done. Here we are, then:
Here’s my question to you, if you had to select celebrities/actors to play the parts in the story of your life today (including yourself!), who would it be and why – this can be based on looks or personality!
I’m loving this. I actually laid awake thinking about it (and that was after a 1am Cabernet Sauvignon bender with The Lovelies, complete with sleepover so I spent half the night listening to #2 and Little Lovely #1 giggling too). So far my thinking is:
Me: I’m thinking Reese Witherspoon (think Legally Blonde and Just Like Heaven rather than Walk the Line, though). I know this is probably me trying to flatter myself, but I just thought: a bit blonde/quite smiley/fond of the pink and sparkly, but not as silly as one would assume. The smalls and Hubby thought Jennifer Aniston, but oh, I don’t know. Reese’ll do nicely. I was going to go for Nigella, but no, it’s wrong. And on so many different levels.
Hubby: There’s only one person who could possibly fit into Hubby’s shoes and that’s José Mourinho. He’s very similar looks wise, and I’d hazard a guess their personalities are pretty darned separated-at-birth, too. Hubby doesn’t take any crap, y’know.
#1: Well it’s got to be Reid off Criminal Minds, hasn’t it. Costs me a fortune in books as he reads them faster than the speed of light, steers every conversation off at some madly alarming tangent, and has an IQ higher than the Empire State. Nuff said.
#2: Hmmm, tough one, this. I think I’d probably go for a cross between Captain Caveman and Bart Simpson. Although he favours ‘either of Zac and Cody’
Now to the parents:
The Disreputable One: Ooh, toughie. David Jason, maybe? Although it would be more Frost than Del Trotter. Oh no, hang on, I know: Denny Crane in Boston Legal! (“100 women there, and you didn’t invite me. That’s 200 breasts! And you kept them all to yourself?”). A bit naughty, a bit cheeky, very clever but slightly bonkers. Perfect.
Grandma: We were very tempted to go with Grandma Georgina from Willy Wonka, but she’s not quite as doolally as that (give her time). The best bit was when the Great Glass Elevator came crashing through the roof and Grandma Georgina said ‘ooh, I think there’s someone at the door’. We eventually settled on Mrs Wembley, from that very underrated 90s sitcom ‘On the Up’, played by the wonderful Joan Sims (Carry On films wouldn’t have been the same without her). ‘Just the one, Mrs Wembley?’ Oh, and before I get beaten to death, can I just say that this is based on personality and not looks? Ta.
Bert: Hmmm, Scooby Do? Nah, too energetic. I know, Santa’s Little Helper from The Simpsons!!
Various other characters we mulled upon were:
Mad Uncle A: well he’d have to be Russell Brand, or maybe Steve Tyler from Aerosmith (both with shorter hair, natch).
Nanny: She’d have to be Aunt May in the Spiderman trilogy.
Over to you, then. What’s your cast list?
This dark cloud
I’ve got this cloud. It’s a big, dark one. It hovers above my head, blocking out any feeble rays of Irish sun that might possibly shine in my direction. And it just won’t go away. It’s there in the middle of the night, when I’m wide awake listening to everyone else in the house sleep peacefully, and it’s still there in the morning, when I finally drag myself out of bed.
Honestly, it’s just not like me. I’m the eternal optimist, the ‘glass half full’ girl. Hubby re-mowed my heart into the lawn, has given me extra cuddles and watches me, I’ve noticed, out of the corner of his eye. My children, well, of course they still make me smile, but recently, well…
I lost a good friend. She doesn’t see what I see: her children growing up a little more every day, new flowers replacing the old under her special tree. These things take time, I guess. Other stuff’s happened. People disappoint me a lot, I think. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I build them up into something they’re really not, then I’m disappointed when they let me down.
I miss my family, my friends. I’d like a hug from my Mum, to laugh at one of my Disreputable Dad’s silly jokes (I think I’d still laugh, even with my black cloud). I’d like to walk along the shore, watch the sun go down, pick up shells. I’d like to sit and demolish a bottle of wine and tell Bea all about it, to sit in the sun with Becca and Clare, catch up on gossip, talk about shoes, whatever.
I’ve been thinking of taking a bit of time. They say it’s a great healer.
