In which I cannot fall asleep the previous night because my legs are throbbing from the extended hours spent trying to whip the house, yard, and garden into shape.
To pass the hours, I watch multiple YouTube videos on how to do a French twist. My preference would be to hire someone to take my hair up a notch from the dowdy, fifty-three-year-old housewife look I typically sport. I’m not being stubborn about doing it myself: 99% of hair salons care closed on Mondays and the remaining 1% open at 10. The wedding begins at 10:30.
Empowered by the apparent ease of the YouTube stylists, I head into the bathroom and attempt to replicate their steps. I wish I had been able to make a video of the process. It would have generated a few guffaws. My efforts fell significantly short of the sophisticated look I imagined.
I’m well aware that the success of the wedding is not riding on how the MOG does her hair—but there is something at stake for me. I’ve pressed through a great deal of self hatred in my life. At some juncture during adolescence, I swallowed the lie that to be loved and accepted, I had to be prefect. It wasn’t until my early forties that this flawed logic came crashing down around my ankles. Now that I’m in my fifties, I actually appreciate who I am. This self acceptance has translated into a bit of laziness regarding my everyday appearance (greatly exacerbated by the fact that as a writer, many days pass when my sons and husband are the only ones who lay eyes on me).
However, I actually care how I look on August 4. Maybe it’s knowing that the photos will be viewed for fifty years. Maybe it’s the reality that weddings offer all of us—not just the bride—the opportunity to shine. I don’t need to look nice to impress anyone. I want to feel what I know to be true; I am my Father’s daughter and I am beautiful.
It remains to be seen whether the updo actually happens or whether I surrender to the limitations of my hair challenged self.
Yard work continued at a blistering clip. Everyone worked full throttle for eight hours. And we all had multiple mosquito bites. 😥