How Not To Treat Bridesmaids

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My definition of “bridesmaid” is not:

  • A doll to be stuffed in an ugly-ass dress
  • Fair game for forced temporary eating disorders
  • A bridal slave for any and all things slightly wedding related

In other words, my definition is not this crazy’s definition:

This Terrifying Bride Is Only Joking Except When She’s Not

For God’s sake, woman. An engagement ring is not an excuse to abuse your “friends”, which, by the way, is in quotation marks because guaranteed they are not anymore.

Bridesmaids are a gift and should be treated as such. Of course, there are duties that go along with the title. Yes, they should be making the bride’s life easier. Absolutely, they are there to plan events and look pretty in pictures and help you get out of any awful shapewear contraption you’ve managed to squeeze yourself into so you can finally just PEE. (That’s a whole other blog post entirely.) But what a bridesmaid is really for, in my opinion, is to be someone who you choose to  honor as one of the most important parts of your life to date.

One of the first things I thought about after I got engaged (well, besides the fact that Bill actually liked me enough to ask and how distractingly gorgeous this shiny thing on my finger is but mostly just is either of those two things for real and DID THIS ACTUALLY JUST HAPPEN?!?!?!) was the tough-but-not-so-tough decision of who I would choose to be in my bridal party. Throughout my life I have been lucky enough to have a lot of close friends. There have been times when these friends could arguably have been called co-stars in chapters of my life, times when it seemed more like they had a cameo or two, and times where location or time or life circumstance made any appearance at all beyond difficult. Choosing six was going to be difficult.

Or so I thought.

First there was Jen. No-brainer. After five and a half years of living together all the way through college, there were many (both drunk and sober) times that we had the tearjerk-ing “You Know You’ll Be My Maid of Honor at My Wedding” conversation that looks incredibly naive and girlish on the outside but feels incredibly momentous on the inside. Well, guess what, you haters. It was the latter. She was my Maid of Honor so you can just shove it with that box of Cheez-Its and those cheap burritos we lived off of in college.

But the day I was hired at the local news station fairly fresh out of college, I met the lady that made that first plan a little more complicated. JJ crashed her fabulous way into my life unexpectedly and became the type of friend  I never tought I make out there in the big scary real world. Here was another, more unexpected no-brainer. I had heard of people who’d had a Maid and a Matron of Honor, and after helping JJ plan her wedding the year before, I couldn’t imagine mine without her in a top spot.

As for Amanda, we were assigned as roommates freshmen year of college. Between her wit, her heart, and her (occasionally) filthy mouth, I have never laughed harder than when Amanda is in the room. I’m talking can’t-breathe, tear-inducing, stomach-hurting laughter.  I’ve never met anyone who has made more days than this girl has. It’s rare to find the kind of friendship Amanda has brought into my world – the kind you just know without a doubt will last a lifetime. So, again. No-brainer.

And Katie Bianchi! I first met her in preschool, but we ended up in the same elementary school and high school together, and finally, the same college. Twenty-one years of love and laughter, good times and hard ones, smiles and tears have created my unending thankfulness for every day Katie has been in my life. From the first sleepovers and lost teeth to celebrating finals and nights out on the town, nothing can replace the happiness that Katie’s bright personality spreads everywhere she goes.

Oooooh, Sasha. This girl moved “across the field” in 3rd grade, and I never knew how much I would learn from her in the years to come. Whether teaching me code words in Russian or how to be unapologetically myself, Sasha’s impact on my life is undeniable in the most amazing of ways. And even though we haven’t lived in the same city since graduating from high school, a friendship likes ours is one that never skips a beat – despite the miles between us.

As I continued to think about the bridal party I was creating, I realized that something was missing. My first experience with Shelby Rhodes was when I heard Bill on the phone with her after picking me up on one of our first dates saying, “Shelby, you have to meet this girl.” It wasn’t long before I realized that what he really meant must have been that I was the one who had to meet Shelby, because she is the one who is really something. She quickly became my partner in crime for all things San Luis Obispo, debauchery optional (but often included). Shelby was one of the many wonderful things that Bill had brought into my life, and I needed her as part of my girls.

No-brainer. No-brainer. No-brainer.

Wait, is that six? That was way easier than I thought, and I ended up with two bridesmaids from each of the three major chapters of my life: childhood, college, and the real world. Where was all the drama? And the tears? And the cat fights and punishments and forced expectations? WHERE WAS MY INNER BRIDEZILLA?!?!

So unnecessary.

As for the emails written by that bride from the link above? Hear this, LADY. When my girls worried about how they would look in their dresses, it was my job to tell them how beautiful they are inside and out. When one asked how I wanted her to cover the tattoo on her shoulder, I told her that her tattoos were an expression of herself, and it was the person she was, is, and always has been that I want next to me. I wanted them to cut their hair if they want to, and stay their perfect size (which is not a specific number), and wear their own damn bikini at the pool in Vegas at my bachelorette party. Because if someone is to be your bridesmaid, there should be nothing you want to change about them, expect for their understanding of just how IMPORTANT and BEAUTIFUL a part of your life they have been.

So take a gander at the ladies who have made me who I am. I hope you appreciate them as much as I do.

1, 2, 3... Laugh on Cue!

My MOHs  Zip Me Up!

The Ladies

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Team Halter

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Now go tell your friends that you love them.

Photography by Drozian Photoworks

Spotted: A Wish for Every Marriage

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I’ll take your example, Anne Bancroft, and make it my life’s mission to raise your bet. Mel Brooks has nothing on Bill Halter.

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Today Is A Day

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Most days we wake up and nothing really changes. Some days we wake up and everything changes with no warning. But then there are those rare days when you wake and know everything is changing, but you have no idea just how much or in which way. While you’re looking left at this shiny new experience, life blindsides you from the right by giving you a gift you didn’t ask for and never knew you needed.

Today is a very special day. Today is Jen Smiley’s birthday.

The first weekend I arrived on my new college campus 8 years ago was awkward. Now, when I am 18 and moving to a new city, there are two versions of this story evolving simultaneously. The first is visible from the outside: “I’m way too cool to care about this”. The second is what is actually happening behind the apathetic exterior and goes a little something like “ohmigodwhatamIdoinghereIjustwanttotellmymomtotakemebackhomesoIcancry”. So on my first day at Cal Poly while my inner turmoil and outward appearance were epically battling, the thought that the girl with big hair sitting across from me at the Family Welcome barbecue would be anything more than my freshman year roommate was completely out of the question.

Now she’s my best friend.

And number one confidante.

The person who makes me laugh harder than anyone else ever.

Did I mention she was my maid of honor?

Oh, and we warned my husband we were a package deal.

Let me break it down for you. She is the ketchup to my grilled cheese, the Redfoo to my Sky Blu, and the sea monkey to my sea horse. Worlds were rocked eight years ago, but don’t worry, ain’t no big thing.

Yeah, that’s not true at all. It IS a big thing. And today is a big day, because it’s a day to celebrate Jen and all the love and happiness and beautiful chaos that she has brought into my life. A day to celebrate wonderful friends who have been there through the boys and the classes and the late nights and the tears. Love you, girl. I hope you have the best birthday ever.

I mean it.

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A Spark of Inspiration

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The best inspirations are those that jump out at you unexpectedly, surprising you with a spontaneous rush of excitement.

While reading House Beautiful this morning over organic granola and green tea, this tiny vignette whispered to me from page 112…

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And even though it took up approximately 1/20th of the full page photo it appeared in… My house will soon reap the benefits of its unexpected spark.

Interior design obsession? Well underway on this sleepy Thursday.

A Little Autumn Happy Dance

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I woke up yesterday morning at 6:15 a.m., as per usual, and came downstairs for breakfast. Now, I live with this little monster I like to call Indy, and every morning just about the time I’m ready to sit down to eat, she comes tearing down the stairs like it’s Christmas morning. She stands in front of the door, doing a little happy dance, clicking her nails on the laminate floor, until I let her outside to relieve herself on the little patch of grass between the houses.

But this particular morning when I opened the door, it was different. In the dim dawn light, the wind was blowing, the leaves were rustling, and the air was electric.

Ahhh, FALL.

By far my favorite season, I can’t wait for that first fall day every year. Toward the end of September, I get the itch for Pumpkin Spice Lattes, boots and sweaters, and football on Sundays. There is nothing like the crisp air and the changing leaves that mark the last few months of the year. And working at a university, campus comes alive again at the end of September, filled with both new students and those returning to their four-year home. Walking around, you can feel the excitement of the new school year – the chance to make yourself over, get the grade (or the girl/guy), and make this year your year.

Now, where I grew up, you can see, feel, and smell that it’s fall. On the Central Coast, not so much. My autumn giddiness was soon replaced by slight panting and fanning myself while hiking up the hill that is campus in… 87 degree weather. Go ahead, call me a spoiled brat. I know people who would kill to live where I live, which is why I’m not complaining. After all, it’s not the weather or the clothes or the apple-picking that make or break the season (although I do loves all those things like Indy loves to pee outside in the morning, and by that I mean in a happy dance-inducing kind of way), it’s the feeling that comes along with the combination of all those things. Feelings of warmth, of comfort, of home. People say spring is when love comes out in full force? Honey, I say that’s just hormones. True love comes out in autumn, when every day gets a little chillier, and all you can do to keep warm is pull your loved ones a little closer.

So until the beaches sit lonely, until I can pull my scarf a little tighter around my neck, and until Pumpkin Spice Lattes take over my go-to Starbucks order… I’ll keep my friends a little closer, hold Bill’s hand a little tighter, and call my family a little more often.

And happy-dance that fall may be just around the corner outside, but it’s already here in my cheesy little heart.

Kind of like this.

20130925-082714.jpgThis picture is the view from my father’s house on Thanksgiving morning last year…

Soon, darling. Soon.

Looking Back and Moving Forward

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Waiting for the Wedding

So I’ve been away awhile. Actually a whole summer’s worth of awhiles. A whole summer’s worth of awhiles full of, well, do(hot mess)ticating. So much has happened in the past three or four months that quite a few of the little things I love to do – like, say, blogging – got lost in the whirlwind, and I’ve spent a lot of time just trying to figure out where to start when it comes to processing and reflecting.

There are many wonderful things I can’t wait to post. So many, in fact, that I get really excited, then overwhelmed, then… oof. Lost. So I’ve decided to follow the lead of many of my favorite books and movies, and tell the stories of the Great Summer of 2013 by starting at the end before revisiting the beginning. So here it is:

I’m writing to you now as a wife (but don’t call me Mrs. Halter – that’s my mother-in-law), a professional (I just adore my job), and one of the seemingly high-brow-intellectual types with letters following my name (read: I 100% graduated from grad school, the prospective actuality of which seemed like an exercise in the careful maintenance of my sanity).

So there’s that. But look out, because I’m excited to say the rest is finally coming.

Permission

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When things get stressful and life gets crazy, sometimes what we really need to do is give ourselves permission to take care of ourselves. It’s amazing how many times I hear people (myself included) start a sentence with “I wish I could just…” and finish it with something really wonderful-sounding… and totally attainable. It seems, though, that we often create obstacles that get in the way of just doing it. Maybe it’s money. Maybe it’s time. Maybe it’s family or friends or work or obligations or life in general. For me, it’s usually a combination of all of these things, which then turns into a devastating mixture of guilt for thinking of indulging and disappointment for not doing it.

Lately, things have been stressful and life has been crazy, and all I’ve wanted to do was get out of town. I’ve wanted to get out of town, specifically, to Santa Barbara. I kept waiting for someone to suggest it, or volunteer the idea, or simply just go with me if I asked, and it wasn’t happening. I toyed with the idea of going by myself over and over, and although I have never had a problem doing anything alone, including dining at a restaurant or going to a movie, I was having a hard time justifying spending the money on gas or taking a day off to just go if it was only going to be me.

And then, a week or two ago, I got over myself. I stopped waiting for someone to take the initiative and decided to take it myself. I let money just be money, and I blocked out my calendar, and I got the hell out.

And I found more than what I had hoped for.

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If that doesn’t bring a person some peace of mind, I don’t know what will.

I came back a little bit different. I had left that Friday morning with a to-do list and major shoulder tension and come back with a lighter wallet, a more fashionable closet, and a reinforced love of home (see picture above of beautiful California coastline… sigh).

But more than that, I came home with a spirit that burned a little more fiercely and a heart that felt a little lighter. For me, those three hours in the car rocking out to Justin Timberlake and Ellie Goulding, eating that lunch at Cafe Nordstrom, and strolling around State Street felt less like a waste of valuable time, money, and effort, and more like soul-searching. And you know what? It didn’t matter that gas cost money and I had things to do at work and I got home late and had a 10K to run in the morning. It was exactly what I needed.

Do me a favor. Close your eyes, and wherever you are, take a few deep breaths. Check in with yourself. Finish this sentence: “I wish I could just _______.” I don’t care what your answer is. I don’t care if it is reasonable or outrageous or absolutely 100% ridiculous. I don’t care what other people or your insecurities or your inner critic tell you. Give yourself permission to just go out and do it for no one but yourself. You deserve it.

And I do too.

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We’re worth it.

Operation DIY-saster

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One of the best things by far about wedding planning is having an excuse to surround myself with beautiful things. In the past few months, I’ve learned about everything from cakes flavors and dessert bar styling to interior design and antique furniture to graphic design and fancy papers. Now, maybe that doesn’t sound that great to you, but for a girl who has spent the last few years stifling jealousy upon entering a perfectly styled home and longing for time or reasons or excuses to start stretching my decorating/entertaining/beyond muscles, this is exciting stuff. I mean, seriously. I would spend my all-day-every-days scouring lifestyle blogs and Crate&Barrel shelves and wedding magazines if I could. Don’t even get me started on Pinterest. (Swoon.)

However, in my quest to master all things domestic, I think it has become pretty obvious that despite my best intentions, I never quite hit it on the head. But give me a weekend, some amazing sidekicks (what’s up, Mom and Sister-in-Law!), and an ridiculously crafty wedding-related to-do list, and you can be sure that I will knock your socks off with my enthusiasm. You wouldn’t believe the gorgeous inspiration I picked up and the DIY-mishaps got myself into while enjoying a visit from my adorable mama and my uber-talented sister-in-law Amy.

We kicked off the weekends with cupcakes, of course. I love trying new flavors from our baker Breanne from SeaBreeze Cupcakes. These are her “24 Carrot” and “Lemon Drop” flavors.

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One of the highlights of the whole weekend was the result of  referral I received from our amazing wedding coordinator Danae Pearce of Danae Grace Events, who recommended that we check out Embellish Vintage Rentals located in Nipomo, CA. The place is a GOLDMINE. Here are a few snapshots of the beautiful antique and vintage objects available to rent for any special occasion, as well as the breathtaking barn that serves as a drop-dead gorgeous wedding venue.

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A collection of antique clocks caught my eye! Love the two on either end of the front row.

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Glitter signs in French, adorable tins, and some glam golden candelabras. Can’t think of much else a girl could need.

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Rustic meets glam. Yes, please.

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This wall collage of gold mirrors WILL be recreated in my bedroom someday.

We also spent most of Friday night and Saturday organizing our thoughts and narrowing down our DIY projects for wedding decor. This meant a lot of craft store/thrift store/fabric store shopping and about a gazillion questions fired my way requiring me to pull every ounce of my creativity out of nowhere. By Saturday night we had a collection of craft items that would cause Martha Stewart to swoon…

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…and me to pour myself a drink.

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I’m both overwhelmed to have so many projects to finish and excited to have an excuse to do things like this.

If you’d like to participate, I’ll be taking bets on how much of a disaster my good intentions will generate.

❤

Sticks and Twigs

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A few weeks ago, while Bill and I were snagging a rare moment together eating a late afternoon snack at the dining room table, our roommate Emily came downstairs. Now, having been in a graduate program with a strong cohort model (read: every.single.class.together) with Emily AND living with her since September, I know when she’s a little nervous. As opinionated and strong as women come, the tip-off is generally a subtle look on her face and an endearing quiver in her voice. However, at this particular moment, no warning was given as she bolted down the stairs on a mission, sat herself right down at the table, and blurted “Ihavesomethingtotellyou. I’mmovinginwithBen”.

Ben is her boyfriend. Girlfriend didn’t even pause for dramatic effect.

It took a minute to process what she had just said. Once said processing finally engaged, two emotions went through me. The first was pure excitement and happiness for her, especially after watching their whole relationship spark and take shape over the past year or so. The second, however, was a little crushed. Emily was an awesome roommate. The day we got the idea in our heads was a year prior while writing graduate-level research papers and drinking beers (yes, simultaneously) at her kitchen table, and we realized that we were spending a good amount of time bitching about the exact same pet peeves and irritating behaviors of past/current roommates. I’m pretty sure I’m the one who laughed and said, “Seriously, we should just live together.” She laughed. I laughed again. Insert tentative glances at each other to see if the other was serious or if we were just crazy. She moved in September 3rd.

Our wine and chocolate nights, impromptu dinner parties, and compulsive venting sessions are over. I am definitely going to miss her.

But it was more than that too. If Emily moved out, Bill and I were faced with a few choices. We could get a new roommate, which seems the exact opposite of desirable two and a half months before our impending nuptials and starting our life together. Or we could try and finagle a way to keep it just us. We opted for the latter, at least for the time being.

So we’re trying to make it work financially, which hasn’t been the most stress-free issue inserted into my world, but it’s totally worth it. Now it’s just us. We have started our nest. At the current moment that nest is a giant disaster – really more of a smattering of sticks and twigs we’ve both been collecting in our separate lives until we found each other. It’s cluttered, disheveled, and has no decorating scheme. We have cabinets stuffed to the brim from pre-roommate-evacuation times, and since Tuesday night, we now also have rooms and closets and refrigerator shelves that are stark and 100% empty.

I’m both excited and intimidated to have such a big creative project ahead of me. A WHOLE house. For us. To start our lives together. Slowly but surely, we will begin piecing our sticks and twigs together, with the hopes of it all eventually resembling a nest. Er, home.

Our home.

How fabulous.