One year

Last night my husband and I shared a piece of the top of our wedding cake and watched our reception video, for the first time (I'm still not ready to watch the ceremony). As I had already concluded from still pictures, my bridesmaids' bouquets and my hair were twice the size I wanted them to be, and I probably should have told the groom to have the groomsmen wear black vests instead of green so they weren't so matchy-matchy weddingy (since renting tuxes was cheaper than having the boys buy suits, even if tuxes were more formal than we wanted). And I'd do the invitations differently. That's what I'd change about the day, a year later--well, except for maybe eloping in the French Quarter as was my original plan.

We realized the best way to include our friends and family would be to have a traditional wedding. In a church (ruling out informal wedding party attire, we felt, out of respect). With a reception at a place where others did the work (ruling out the backyard picnic idea). Even our honeymoon plans changed from "hop in the car and just drive" to "stay in one spot all week," because by the time it was all said and done, the less decisions that had to be made the better.

I didn't give a crap about anything, really, on the wedding day itself: I just wanted to get married and then go have a party with my friends and family. It bothers me that I'm bothered now by the hair and flowers and formality, but I think this is because it's the wedding that everyone else reviews and scrutinizes and holds for posterity. The wedding does not matter. The vows very much matter, the promises very much matter, thanking your friends and family for their support very much matters; all the other stuff is just expensive fluff (on which conversations will be had forever).

And the pictures are nice, even if your hair is way too stiff and poofy. And even if everyone looks too much like they are in a wedding.