At some point tomorrow morning we will pack ourselves and the children into the car and travel to London, where we will be staying over the weekend to witness the marriage of my cousin from San Francisco to the fantastic guy she met over here a couple of years ago. They now live in Marin, just north of the San Francisco Bay, but are “coming home” to tie the knot.
I say “coming home” because my cousin’s Dad is English, and her Mom’s family were English too - through various accidents of fate, they ended up in San Francisco in the late 1970s (it’s a great story that I will try and get my Uncle to tell one day - he was in the merchant navy and missed his ship - the girl he met the night before drove him hundreds of miles to catch it again).
It will be our children’s first chance to meet a lot of the extended family - my brother, his wife, several uncles and aunts, several of my cousins… In some ways I’m a little nervous for the children; over dinner this evening our eldest (8 years old) who has been excited all week about the wedding, suddenly piped up that she was scared. The girls are going to be “flower girls” at the wedding, and she is terrified that everybody will be watching her.
W reassured her - “Don’t worry - everybody will be looking at the bride.”
“Why?”
“Because weddings are all about the girl really - it’s her big day, isn’t that right Dad?”
I added my two penneth - “Yep - blokes just go along with it all really” (I grinned)
W kicked me under the table.
In reality, I too am nervous about tomorrow - hoping everybody will like the kids, and give them a little of their time. While it’s easy to forget the journey we have been on for the last few years, at times you do remember that the girls are far more insecure than other children; we defeat it most of the time by being there to catch them, or alongside them, holding their hands. This weekend will be the first time they have been thrust forward into trusted hands a little more on their own.
There will of course be family there who they have met - my parents (“Nan and Grandad at the seaside!”), my nephew, who our 5 year old idolised last summer and will do so again this summer. There will be the excitement of staying in a hotel for the first time ever tomorrow night. There will be the nerves of wearing the pristine white dresses flown in from America, along with new socks and never worn shoes for their walk behind the bride on Sunday…
We have been dreading getting through the last week with none of the girls face-planting, ripping their knees open, or otherwise injuring themselves ahead of the big day. Last weekend I recoiled in horror when our 4 year old arrived in the kitchen with what looked like a huge black eye… it was purple makeup.