In recent weeks I’ve asked my 3 1/2 year-old daughter repeatedly, “What does a flower girl do?” She replied, “They throw flowers down the aisle before Aunt Tahlia gets married!” I was impressed that she understood this. Charlotte was extremely excited to be the flower girl in my step-sister’s wedding this past weekend. She knew she would get cake, get to stay up late and wear a pretty dress.

It takes time to recover from a family wedding. The preparations, scheduling, events and emotions are exhausting. I always feel like I need a vacation after a family wedding. Having your young kid in the wedding party? Psh! That’ll wear you out like nothing else.

We strategically timed meals and napping that day. She knew it was the big day. She said, “It’s my special day! I’m the special girl!” I hated to break it to her that her aunt was the special girl, you know, being the bride and all, but if the title of “special girl” got her down the aisle, I wasn’t going to argue.

I WISH I had someone filming her coming down the aisle with my phone. I’m kicking myself for not doing that. We have to wait for the videographer. I’ll have to tell you what happened in my own words.

It was a long walk down some steep steps for two little girls in poofy dresses. Charlotte and Kylee held hands and wandered down a brick pathway to the outdoor awning where the bride and groom were to say “I do.” They clutched their baskets, staring back at the smiling crowd, “Canon in D” coming through the speakers. We told them, “When you get to the bottom of the steps, you can throw the petals down the aisle.”

In hindsight there were two problems with that:

1. We didn’t practice with petals at the rehersal. They have some fire code or something. The venue was particular about when you could throw petals.
2. We used the wrong verb. We said “throw” instead of “toss” or “drop.”

The girls got to the bottom the stairs and stopped, though Pachelbel’s tune continued. They looked at each other. They looked down at the yellow rose petals still in their baskets. They looked confused as the adults dressed in matching dresses and tuxedos whispered “Okay! Throw the petals!” while playing a game of flower-dropping charades. They looked at us like we were insane. We were. We had not told these poor children exactly what to do. So as children do, they had their own interpretation.

Remember I said we used the wrong verb? Charlotte threw her petals. She threw them. She tossed them in the air with the the flair only a “special girl” can have. It was with the dramatics of a runway model or in her mind, a fairy princess, that she threw the petals and watched them fall. She threw the heck out of each one. Those flowers didn’t have a prayer. We wiped away tears of laughter as Kylee sprinted to her mom and Charlotte emptied her basket, one enthusiastic fling at a time. They were adorable little show stealers.

We danced into the reception hall to Taylor Swift’s latest pop crossover “Shake It Off.” Charlotte now refers to it as “the wedding song.” As the sun set she asked if she could finally dance. Dinner was over, the cake had been cut. I told her it was okay for her to take the floor.

She did. All. Night. Long. She wouldn’t even come off the dance floor for cake. The song didn’t matter. Earth, Wind & Fire, Garth Brooks, Iggy Azalea. Everyone. She even joined the crowd for her version of “The Wobble” and “The Cupid Shuffle.” She earned the little blisters on her feet. She saw other girls with their shoes off, she joined in.

We got in the car around 11:00pm, the latest she’s ever stayed up in her life. She said sleepily from the back seat, “That was really fun, Mama.”

I will never forget the looks on the bride and groom’s faces as they made their vows. I’ll never forget the fun and love at a great wedding. Most of all, I’ll remember my curly-haired flower girl in her poofy dress dancing until her feet hurt because she could. I watched her hoping one day she would have this much fun at her own wedding, as only “special girls” can.

Our family is in the home stretch before my step-sister’s wedding. I pick up my bridesmaid dress from the tailor shop in a few days. I finally found my little flower girl some shoes to wear with her dress. Tahlia texted me yesterday asking about firming up a videographer. She has samples of the programs. She and my mom were recently discussing the order of service.

The couple has been showered and celebrated. It’s almost time.

I waited to order Henry’s suit until right at the start of August because, you know, the insane growth of 9 month-old’s. Oh, did I forget to tell you my son and my nephew will be MATCHING in these adorable suits?! I was so excited, I had to take some iPhone pics of Henry yesterday. I couldn’t wait. He is getting harder and harder to photograph.

This reminded me of a time this winter when Henry almost cost me a wedding dress. It was February. He was 3 months-old. I was quite a bit puffier and not overly anxious to try on bridesmaid dresses. Alas, it was for Tahlia, so I tucked Henry in the stroller, sucked in my baby belly and barely zipped up several dresses. We weren’t there for me, though. We had to find her dress.

Tahlia tried on gorgeous gown after gorgeous gown. They all looked great on her. It’s ridiculous how stunning each sample dress looked. I was sitting to the side with my step-brother, their mom and our sweet friend Erin. Erin was feeding Henry his bottle. After debating the top two choices, it was unanimous, she found the dress. We were celebrating and being silly. I walked over to the stroller to stash his bottle. Tahlia was dancing around in the dress and wanted to “dance” with Henry. It was adorable. She took him from Erin.

My “mama senses” kicked into gear. I sniffed the air. I knew what it was. I turned and looked up as Tahlia grabbed him. It was like slow motion. I shouted, “Tahlia!!!! No!” She was holding him under the arms. Henry was headed for her hip covered with beautiful organza, or silk or some other fabric you only wear when you get married. I darted between the chairs to grab him just in time.

Bright orange liquid poop was soaking through the cute sock monkey outfit pictured above. This diaper disaster was less than an inch from the dress. Yep, I was less than an inch from being the proud owner of a sample wedding gown. I flashed to this…

 

You say, “Oh, but you could have just cleaned it and Tahlia could’ve worn it.” No, she’s so adorably petite she needed to order an even smaller size. Henry had to be a few ounces smaller after that unloading. Let’s just hope he keeps the suit clean until the family gets through pictures.

 

Yesterday I turned 33. My husband asked me what I wanted. I wanted waffles for breakfast. It’s a “special day” so I justified the sugar intake, pretending I abstain from sugar the rest of the year.

It took me awhile to tell him what I really wanted. You know, the present you mull over in your mind the week before your birthday and really, REALLY want, but feel guilty asking for it? I finally looked at him the day before and said “Okay. I know what I want and I promise it doesn’t cost anything!” I find this tidbit is crucial for the money-conscious. I said, “I want the bathroom clean and I don’t want to do it. I mean, I want to get it really clean, like scrubbing-the-shower type cleanliness. Oh, and I don’t want to do it.” He looked at me funny and said, “Okay.”

Greyson and I share the housework. He’s great about cooking and cleaning. Naturally, I’ve picked up more of the load now that I’m home, but he is great about dividing up the chores. We seem to get disgusted with our filth at the same time and get anxious to clean it up.

I peeked in on him scrubbing. He was sweating. He looked up and saw me holding the baby. He warned me about the chemical smell and told me to leave. I did. I just wanted to see him scrubbing. It was adorable. I giggled at his plumber’s crack as he was down on his hands and knees. (I’m so sorry I told everyone that on the Internet, Greyson. But, your plumber’s crack was cute. Hey, I didn’t take a picture!) 

I walked on the floor and wiggled the toes of my good foot on the clean, cold tiles. I showered and leaned my head against the glass clear of soap scum. My sink had been sanitized, free of toothpaste globs. As I brushed my teeth I knew I was a loved wife and mother.

Husbands of world, you are likely to experience some ::ahem:: “marital bliss” if you make this part of your wife’s present. I’m just saying, it was a happy birthday.

I’m listening to the far-off sound of fireworks from our community fireworks show, praying they don’t wake my babies. Like many other parents of little ones, we celebrated America’s birthday this morning with a kiddie parade, hot dogs and ice cream. My 3-year-old helped me decorate her tricycle before peddling her way adorably down the main street of a nearby town.

It wasn’t today, but yesterday that I felt more patriotic than I ever had in my life and I’ve seen that one Budweiser commercial during the Super Bowl after 9/11 and watched fireworks over the Potomac while hearing John Philip Sousa Marches.  Charlotte got a new children’s book that had the lyrics of “America The Beautiful” on each page with impressive illustrations. We explained to her that the book was a song. Admit it, that song gives you goose bumps way more often than the “Star Spangled Banner.” When we were finished reading it she asked us to sing it to her. We are not singers in any way, but Greyson and I smiled at each other and began our rendition with “Oh beautiful, for spacious skies…”

Somewhere around “…God shed his grace on thee…” she grabbed both our hands and smiled up at us. In that small moment, during our off-key serenade, I had never been more grateful to have the freedom to be raising little Americans. Happy Independence Day.

This week marks a big first for our family. We’ll be cleaning and packing all week because for the first time ever we’ll be getting on an airplane and taking a trip as a family of four. A 7 month-old and a 3 1/2 year -old on a plane. It should be interesting. Part of me wants to ask you to have mercy on our souls and another part of me is so excited I could burst.

The first time we took Charlotte on an airplane she was 10 months-old and we were going to a wedding in Quebec. We had to get her a passport, the works. It was a nightmare to get where we were going, but the trip was amazing. Henry’s first trip will be to Nebraska, so nothing international. We are going to Greyson’s family reunion. His family members are not the Southern Baptist teetotalers that mine are, so it should be fun. (Not that you aren’t fun, extended family! You know I love you and our games of Outburst while drinking sweet tea.)

After our trip to Quebec without our stroller we will NEVER travel like that again. I have an issue that I need advice on, however. Here’s where I need your help. If you were me, which stroller would you take? Please see the photos and read on.

Stroller #1

• Pros: Fantastic, beautifully made and durable. I have the accessory parts and tire pump in a little pouch. It folds up well. It’s easy to maneuver. 
• Cons: It’s a single stroller. Only one kid in it at a time. 

Please note: We will have the Ergo carrier for Henry. He loves it. Charlotte has not sat in that stroller in a long time. I don’t know how she would feel about it. She is good at staying with us and holding our hands in crowds. She likes to ride on Greyson’s shoulders.

Stroller #2

• Pros: It’s a double stroller. Both could stroll if they needed to. It has a huge storage compartment underneath. Henry is often soothed by his sister next to him in the stroller. 
• Cons: It’s cheap and cheaply made. It doesn’t fold quite as well. The tires are flimsy. It’s not as easy to maneuver. Charlotte will sit in it for a little while, but demands iPhone or iPad play while riding in it. (Actually, I’m fine with that. Whatever. Judge me.)

Another note: We’re going to the zoo one day of our trip. We’ll have to wheel it around the zoo.

Okay! Help me out. What have your experiences been? What do you think I should do? Which stroller should we go with?