A successful “Plan B”


My husband and I recently renewed our wedding vows, and as weird as the whole experience turned out to be, I’m so glad we did. Here’s the skinny.

To celebrate our fortieth birthdays, Doo wanted to vacation on the beach where we first met… with our four children and his parents. Yeah. Not exactly my idea of a romantic getaway. As any mom can testify, you can’t truly relax if you’re “on duty” the whole time.

So, I tried to steer him towards a Belize rainforest package for two, but six airline tickets later, we were committed to “Family Va-cay 2012.” Disappointed, I quickly launched my Plan B: “We’re renewing our vows, babe, since you scheduled this trip over our anniversary. Make peace with it.” He reluctantly agreed.  I tracked down a local gal on the internet to help me with the details, and then bought three linen shirts for the boys and two matching sundresses for the girls. That was the extent of my planning.

Only, once we arrived, I got caught up in the swimming and snorkeling and quaintness of the small town with dodgy internet service, and fell in love with sharing this special place with my kids. (Doo had been right!) I didn’t contact my “wedding planner” until two days before the proposed event.

Unfortunately, like in many tropically-hot locations, logistics move at a much slower pace: She thought she had a minister lined up, she was still working on a cake, and wouldn’t the massage parlor/gazebo make the perfect spot?

Feeling slightly better once I realized I could remove the “1-Hour Massages Given Here” sign, and trusting that it would all work out in the end, I successfully kept the panic at bay until t-minus three hours.

Maybe I should shower. Why didn’t I bring my de-frizz cream? This bra is showing! What the frick am I doing! My daughters calmed me down and found an old deodorant stick for the “something borrowed” bit. When I came downstairs, self-conscious about my hair and dress and tan lines and wondering why on earth I’d thought renewing my vows would be so awesome, Doo looked at me and said, “You look beautiful; maybe we could just take pictures and skip the ceremony?” He was nervous, too!

But do it we did. And it was lovely. And affirming. And surprisingly emotional. I honestly think the words meant more to me this time then they did sixteen years ago. In the presence of our kids, Doo’s parents, the governor (AKA, the last-minute officiant), the coordinator, and a tiki bar singer who performed “Rhinestone Cowboy,” we said “I do” again. Happy fortieth to us!

Peace out.

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