It’s been a mighty busy week. So much so that I’ve hit my quota of human contact for the entire month of January. Not that it was bad human contact. I’m just beat.

Let’s see … where was I? Wednesday night, Courtney and I hit Off Broadway for a LiveFeed show with three local bands. Go read about it here.

Thursday after school, Clara Jane and I hopped a train to my hometown. My youngest baby cousin, Hillary, was getting hitched on Saturday. I still don’t quite have my head wrapped around this scenario. You see, it was about three months ago when I was sitting in Mrs. Bluhm’s class and Mr. Wilso, our curly-haired principal, stuck his head in the classroom door to tell me, “Robin, I’m supposed to tell you that it’s a girl and her name is Hillary.”

Oh, wait … that wasn’t three months ago! That was 1983. It was three months ago when Hillary told us her wedding, planned for July or August, was being bumped to January 10th. And no, she’s not pregnant.

You know what else a wedding means, don’t you? It means Clara Jane as flower girl. Lord help us all.

Actually, Clara Jane a co-flower girl, since there aren’t any little boys on either side of Hillary’s family, but her husband brought a neice to the mix. Dessie, who’s three months younger than Clara Jane. It took them about a nanosecond after meeting at Friday night’s rehearsal to start this:

That’s my girl – desecrating a church and coercing an innocent bystander into joining her.

Dessie’s mom didn’t bother to come to the rehearsal, and her dad was busy being the best man, so I got to know Dessie really well. She’s a very sweet child. Agreeable. Not once did she argue with anyone. Nor did she lift her dress over her head. I was completely baffled by this child.

Even when given the green light to act rowdy, Dessie passed. In an attempt to make Hillary’s head explode, her husband, the groom’s party, ushers, and the pastor stripped down at the beginning of the rehearsal to reveal their matching tuxedo t-shirts with the sleeves cut off. Dessie had one of the t-shirts under her dress, but was so appalled at the thought of wearing it that she cried when her grandma tried to talk her into revealing it.

Brian and the dogs came to town in time for Saturday’s wedding. I saw him for about two minutes before my mom, Clara Jane and I headed to the church to get ready and take photos.

Clara Jane’s been so excited about wearing her fancy dress. When it arrived last October, she tried it on and even though it was easily a size too big she refused to take it off. She’s since grown a little, and my granny made some alterations. She was thrilled to put it on Saturday so she could do this:

Oh, come on. Like you’ve never wound up face-down on the floor after putting on some formal wear.

The wedding was lovely and perfect.

Well, except for one thing. See how Clara Jane’s hem is quite a bit longer than Dessie’s? During the service, after they’d done a fantastic job of depositing the rose petals down the aisle, the girls took the two steps up the alter. Dessie did fine, but Clara Jane stepped on her hem. With both feet. And got stuck.

Have I told you about the time I was on a date, wearing a flowy hippie skirt, and I stepped on the hem with both feet while walking up some stairs, managing to slam two toes into the next step, destroying two toenails in the process before my date could rescue me from my clothing?  Yeah. Sorry about the genes, Clara Jane.

Before she could cause permanent foot damage, my new cousin-in-law swooped down while his bride was walking down the aisle, picked up my felled child, swung her nearly over his head, and deposited her with the bridal party. I’m amazed that she didn’t wag her finger at him and declare, “Hey! Don’t you ever, EVER pick me up like that again! I mean it! I don’t like it so don’t you ever do it!” I think she was too stunned.

She did manage to rip the hell out of her dress, and she lost some of the yellow roses from her skirt along the way. My granny did some quick mending in the church lobby while my mom had a panic attack. Must save dress for upcoming five-year-old photo session! I tried to convince my mom that it was fine, that destroying your wedding dress for a photo session is all the rage these days. Mom promptly popped another blood vessel in her eye.

By reception time, the kid was plum worn out. She’d promised to do the dollar dance with Hillary, and promised Hillary’s brother Tyler that she’d dance with him. After dinner and cake, though, she couldn’t even sit up. She was laying across two chairs at our table and told Brian, “I just want to go home, get under the covers, and sleep.” We were leaving during the first open dance when she was once again swooped off her feet – this time by Tyler – and let him lug her around the dancefloor to U2’s “Beautiful Day” (which was the song playing when I walked out the door to deliver her five years ago):

I’m such an old fart. Brian offered to stay at my parents’ house with Clara Jane so I could go back to the reception and party it up. Truth is, I was just about as tired as she was, so I passed. I had to rebuild my strength reserves for the next party of the weekend. That’s right, we didn’t just have the full wedding festivities. Oh no! We had to get up early Sunday morning to get back to Belleville for a party full of preschoolers and reptiles!

I can’t even write about that yet. Not without a lot of Klonopin.