The weather held up.
The bride looked beautiful.
The food was delicious.
The DJ was great.
No one fought, fell down drunk, or ripped/wet/removed their pants.
My hotel room was well appointed and uninfested. I did not contract pubic lice, or even detect a single down-there hair on the comforter.
I shared a room with my mother. She is a nice person, and we get along. My extended family is filled with nice people who are nice. They were at the wedding too.
I gave my mother some coasters for Mother's Day (yes I am trying to bore the living shit out of you. You're welcome!) along with a nicesoulful card from the "Mahogany" series, even though my mother is not black, because that's the kind of thing I do to amuse myself these days (I = Have No Life).
Basically, from a blogging perspective, the weekend would have been an utter loss had it not been for good old Aunt Elizabeth, who had the courtesy to throw me a bone by falling down my Aunt Mary's basement stairs and breaking her wrist in two places, just hours before we left for the wedding.
BLESS YOU, BRAVE WOMAN. It's not every day that family members make these kind of sacrifices for the sake of each other's art.
And she didn't just fall down the stairs in some humdrum accidental oops-aren't-I-clumsy kind of way. She was SLEEPWALKING. Sleepwalking through a night terror, and yelling "HELP HER! HELP HER!" and then BOOM! THUMPETY! CRACK! she woke up battered and bruised and broken and the ambulance came screaming up to the house, and the EMTs carried her off on a stretcher, and I SLEPT THROUGH THE ENTIRE THING.
Oh! I'm sorry! Were you falling to your POSSIBLE DEATH? Because I was justzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Fortunately, someone heard it, and she was able to get x-rayed and anesthetized and splinted and pumped full of codeine in time for me to drive her and her car to the wedding. Unfortunately, the combination of anesthesia and codeine made her so violently ill that she could hardly walk. Hence--no wedding fun for Sleepwalking Aunt Elizabeth. My mother, ever courteous, signed the wedding log oh her behalf: "Wish I were here."
All of this drama made me the designated driver for the ride home (something that no doubt thrilled Elizabeth given my Exceptional Driving Record), and let me just say that nothing raises your pothole awareness like driving a broken person around. I basically apologized every eight seconds for the first four hours of the trip until she was like HOW ABOUT YOU JUST APOLOGIZE EVERY THIRD POTHOLE? M'KAY?"
And then we were home. And it was Mother's Day. And after the boys gave me flowers, we got them some Haagen Dazs ice cream with sprinkles (for Mother's Day), and they got to watch their favorite video (for Mother's Day), and I read Gus an extra story because after all ... it was Mother's Day.