DORÉ

As of this December, Tyler and I will have attended thirty weddings together. Yes, this dyslexic is the queen of typos but that is not one of them. THIRTY. DAMN. WEDDINGS.

That doesn’t even tap into the weddings we attended solo before we became a duo six (almost seven!!) years ago.

I’m not going to lie, thirty weddings takes its toll.

First, financially. Savings is not a word in my lexicon at this moment. Maybe one day. But not now. I am much better acquainted with the words credit card and interest rate.

Vacation. Another word I’m not that familiar with. People tell me a wedding is like a vacation. I disagree with this for a few reasons…

1) You get to choose the destination of a vacation. And said destination is not a small town in the middle of nowhere that the bride visited every summer growing up and insists it is the most magical place in the world and you will love it. Really? You know what I love? Aruba.

2) There is no family drama on vacation. Okay sometimes there is, depending on the vacation. But it’s your own family drama that you are well versed in and equipped to handle.

3) There are no deadlines on vacation. A wedding is essentially one big deadline broken up into smaller deadlines to try and pretend it’s not a deadline at all.

First, the rehearsal dinner. Which includes the first round of food you don’t get to choose and speeches you can’t tune out.

Then the 8am wake-up call so you can get your hair and make up done in a room of 12 other women and too much champagne and not enough coffee.

Then the pictures. So. Many. Pictures. You will not look good in any of them because there are just too many of them and after the first three, your smile will be strained for the rest.

Then the ceremony. (Okay, that’s the biggest deadline but you’re still not done with the deadlines…)

Then the second round of food you either did not choose, or you had a choice between two (maybe three) options. Then the conga line that Aunt Milly pulls you into.

If you wanted to sleep in before drudging back to the airport, too bad. There’s a going away breakfast you must, must attend and eat some room temperature eggs and dry toast. (But, in the back of your credit card riddled mind you see this as one more free meal you can squeeze out of the weekend so you oblige, but barely.)

But despite all my bitching and struggling, you know why I keep showing up to these weddings?

Because to love something that death can touch is the bravest thing we can do as humans.

To commit your life and a large portion of your happiness to a single person who is only mortal is an insane thing we do on a regular basis.

So, I show up. I show up to honor that gamble and leap of faith (even if it’s accompanied by dry chicken and cheap wine).

This month on the site we’re going to be honoring those relationships in our lives, the ones we take a gamble one, the ones we show up for. The ones that bring the most joy, and sometimes, the most pain. And we’re not just going to be talking about romantic relationships, the ones the state deems “official” with paperwork and a white dress. We’re going to talk about everything from lovers and family, to work wives (and work husbands), best friends, and the barista who makes our coffee each morning. We’re even going to talk about our own boobs (!!).

Ultimately we’re going to talk about what makes us fallible humans — we’re going to talk about love. And the people we place our trust in, the relationships that get us through all the rest of life’s bullshit with our smiles intact.