I used to roll my eyes at anyone who gushed about how wonderful their wedding day was. I didn’t believe that a single day could be so perfect. I didn’t want to believe it. I know how I can kind of ruin things by having unrealistic expectations, so I put a lot of effort into making sure I had very little expectations for our wedding day. I didn’t even like referring to it as the “big day.” I didn’t want to feel disappointed when my wedding day felt more ordinary than the rom-coms and Internet had promised. I told myself that my wedding day was going to be okay no matter what happened and I would appreciate it for whatever it was. The point was getting to marry my best friend, and in the end that’s all I wanted out of it.
What actually happened was so unexpected. It was magical, breathtaking, wonderful, emotional, and so ridiculously happy. It was the biggest high I’ve ever felt in my life. It wasn’t perfect by Pinterest or TheKnot.com standards, but it was perfect for us. I didn’t expect to be lucky enough to have a wedding day that felt that good.
There were plenty of things that weren’t technically perfect. It was about ninety degrees that weekend in September, and stifling summer heat was the exact reason we didn’t choose a date during July or August. I did cry in the bathroom during the rehearsal dinner the night before, out of sheer exhaustion. Half of our rehearsal dinner food didn’t show up and had to be retrieved by a few kind guests. I also got absolutely no sleep because of an obnoxious (and it turns out broken) air conditioner in the hotel room that irregularly alternated between CLICK CLICK CLIIIICK and CLICK ERRRRRR all night. And, sure, a lack of sleep combined with a healthy amount of butterflies in my stomach did lead to some nausea, and there are photos of me eating saltines in the bridal suite bathroom. Traffic was congested and hectic as my mom drove us to the park from our hotel. The AC blasted while I sat in the backseat, awkwardly stuffed in and hoping my dress wouldn’t rip. My sister sat next to me, looking so grown up and lovely in her rose-gold sequined dress, and recited our favorite lines from Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls to keep me calm. I felt antsy and wondered whether I would be the first bride ever to barf on herself while walking down the aisle.
But then, when I was walking down the aisle on that sunny day, holding onto my mom, I started to feel things that I’ve assumed only other people are lucky enough to feel. I caught a glimpse of Joby standing at the end of the altar, already emotional and wiping tears from his eyes. I don’t remember much of what anything or anyone else looked like in those moments. I only remember Joby. We stood facing each other on the grassy lawn in front of our closest family and friends, surrounded by trees. Someone later said the traffic was loud at times, but I didn’t hear it. Our sister-in-law stood next to us as our officiant. I felt pretty in my off-the-shoulder ivory floral lace dress. There were subtle ivory sequins all over it, and I loved how it sparkled when I moved. Joby looked so handsome in his navy suit, with the bright blue sky behind him, and I thought to myself, “Oh, so this is what it feels like.” I had never felt so peaceful in my entire life, so completely in love, so grateful, so split open and vulnerable. Those are the feelings I imagine everyone else feels more often, the ones I roll my eyes about but secretly wish I could feel, too. I thought about how those feelings must live inside me and have been there this whole time, but I miss out on them when I overthink, worry, and compare. Everything was beautifully all right. It’s like I could feel all the way in my bones how all right it was.
My wedding bouquet was so lusciously big that I could barely hold it with one hand. Natural, romantic, and a little unruly, it was perfect and exactly what I asked for. The bouquet smelled heavenly, too. Knowing that flowers don’t last forever somehow makes them smell even better. There were creamy white Cafe au Lait dahlias that were tinged with shades of pink and peach, pure white ranunculuses with delicate layers upon layers of silky petals, velvety white and blush garden roses, dainty ivory and mauve snowberries, fragrant sprigs of woodsy rosemary, spiky pink veronicas, forestlike ferns, dusty blue-green silver dollar eucalyptus, fluffy tufts of Dianthus Green Trick that look like they came from a mossy forest floor, and whimsical fiddlehead ferns. Those weird, spiraly ferns looked unreal, and I wondered whether they actually were. I had never heard of them before seeing them in my bouquet, as the florist handed it to me in my bridal suite. Those furled fronds seemed so magical and surreal, unexpected but beautiful in their own way. I now find myself using those same words to describe our wedding day and our new life together.
Seven months later, we adopted a puppy. The foster drove him to our house on a Monday morning, like a special puppy delivery mail service. He was small and golden, smooshy and teddy bear soft. We named him Tater, an adorable little potato puff of a dog. The first few weeks of living with Tater were a mixture of joy, regret, awe, and falling in love again. We were warned that it would be difficult raising a puppy, but I was surprised by the emotional roller coaster that came, too. The first week was hard, like “I had two meltdowns” hard. There were days that Joby and I were convinced we had just made the biggest mistake of our lives, deeply missing our “old” life, particularly the lack of responsibility. I logged a fair amount of hours googling why I could feel so depressed after acquiring a puppy, hoping to not be the only monster in the world.
During my episode of forlorn googling, I started taking note of all the plants and flowers that are poisonous to dogs. Rhododendrons, azaleas, daffodils, peonies . . . essentially everything that grows in our yard. Fantastic, I thought. These are some of the things I loved most about our home. I thought about obliterating our property’s foliage and starting over from scratch but wondered whether that was overkill. In the meantime, I hand-picked all of the dead rhododendron leaves from the grass and promised myself I could easily dig up and give away the daffodil bulbs with the first site of a munch. It turns out that those stupid leaves apparently regenerate overnight, and the bright yellow blossoms that tower over Tater aren’t tantalizing to him at all.
The uncomfortableness of this big life change passed, just like always. Many times throughout the day I can now be found outside shooing Tater away from soggy mulch chips and wiggly worms after it rains, distracting him from tearing tufts of grass from our mostly green lawn, and training him to trade the crispy brown rhododendron leaves in his mouth for a burger-shaped dog treat patty in my palm.
Standing outside in the early morning hours, the birds chirping in the sun-dappled forest behind our house as Tater sleepily stretches on the dewy grass with a clump of moss and clover in his mouth, I think about the hot, freshly brewed coffee waiting for me in the kitchen, which color of nontoxic zinnias would look best next to the house, and how I’ll surely never think of plants the same way again.
I’m very grateful to my literary agent, Laurie Abkemeier, because this book would not exist if it weren’t for her keen eye in noticing something special about my little lady illustrations. Thank you, Laurie, for all the hours, encouragement, patience, and advice you gave in the evolution of this book. Thank you to my editor, Patty Rice, for her always thoughtful insight and for being such a kind, constant advocate of my work. Thank you to everyone at Andrews McMeel who had a hand in bringing this to life—you’ve really created a place that feels like home with my books. Thank you to my mom, Pat Vaz, and sister, Sarah Vaz, for helping me remember all the details from long ago and of course for always, always being in my corner. And lastly to my ever-supportive husband, Joby Springsteen—I’m looking forward to many more chapters with you.
KATIE VAZ is an illustrator, author, hand-letterer, and graphic designer. She is the author of Don’t Worry, Eat Cake: A Coloring Book to Help You Feel a Little Bit Better about Everything, Make Yourself Cozy: A Guide for Practicing Self-Care, and The Escape Manual for Introverts. Katie designs her own line of greeting cards, prints, and other stationery products, which are sold both online and in brick-and-mortar shops across North America. Katie also works as a freelance illustrator and designer on a variety of branding, illustration, print, and packaging projects. Her work has been featured on BookRiot.com, ElephantJournal.com, BuzzFeed.com, RealSimple.com, WomansDay.com, and POPSUGAR.com; in Stationery Trends magazine; and in Time Out New York magazine. She lives in upstate New York with her husband, their dog Tater, and their cat Kittenface.
copyright © 2020 by Katie Vaz. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.
Andrews McMeel Publishing
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ISBN: 978-1-5248-6604-4
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020931049
Editor: Patty Rice
Art Director/Designer: Diane Marsh
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Digital Production: Kristen Minter
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