Wedding Bells in Arizona

A sideways picture of Arizona.

My cousin Mariah and Aunt Jane strolling down the aisle.

Our groovy Grandma Eunie.

This past weekend, Chris and I traveled to Scottsdale, Arizona for my cousin Mariah’s wedding. I have a very small family (only four cousins total), and missing one of their weddings is simply impossible for me. So to Scottsdale we went, which is actually a shorter flight than going to Seattle. And let's face it--the weather is infinitely better. The resort we stayed at was gorgeous and reminded me a lot of where we stayed in Hawaii a couple years ago. Well, except for the cacti and lack of an ocean—an observation that led me to sing “Oceanfront Property in Arizona” throughout the weekend. Unfortunately for all Arizonans, our first trip to this dry, sunny state has set the bar impossibly high for any other future trip there. After spending day 1 lounging by the pool and bar (hey, you can get virgin daiquiris that actually taste good!), we went to the groom’s family’s home for the rehearsal dinner, which was fun and very Arizona-y. Chris’s pants (which I swore were too short to begin with) got an unfortunate rip right in the arse, which made him comically paranoid throughout the evening. For the time being, his shirt covered the rip, but any movement—especially sitting—threatened to make the gash worse. My sweet cousin Liesl offered up her cardigan to Chris to tie around his waist if the tear worsened, while I, oh-so supportively, found the entire episode vastly entertaining. The next day, after the requisite morning of pool lounging, we gussied up for the wedding, which took place at a golf club in Scottsdale. We got there early for the family photos, only to lose 98% of the men to the locker room where the end of the UW/Notre Dame football game was playing. Eventually they all came out, their heads hung, muttering that UW lost. They posed and smiled for the necessary pictures, and then someone declared that the game—somehow—had gone into overtime. And again, the male half of the wedding disappeared. Finally, they emerged for the last time, declaring a definite loss. The actual wedding was perfect. Mariah was one of those rare brides who, as she walked down the aisle, had an utterly unforgettable look on her face. The ceremony, which took place outdoors at sunset, was beautiful and flawless, even though I had to elbow my dad to shut up when he booed—yes, booed—at a comment the minister made about OSU and ASU games. I guess that’s what Mariah got for inviting, well, family. The reception was loads of fun and a truly happy celebration of Mariah and her now-husband, Scott. Chris danced his tail off with me, seeing as how he had two previous weddings to make up dancing for: my cousin Diedre’s, which he couldn’t attend, and my brother’s, during which he had had to make an emergency beer run. Even Grandma made it onto the dance floor, but my uncle insisted that Liesl dance right near her to prevent any falls or broken hips. Sunday was laid back. Most people returned to Seattle or wherever else they had come from, but we had decided to stay a day longer to delay the return to reality. After dropping Chris off at a brewery to watch the Patriots game, followed by the Seahawks game, Mums and I hit a nearby maternity store, which culminated with me in tears in the dressing room crying, “Why doesn’t anything fit me?!” (I think I was tired. I mean, even I think that was an overreaction. Still, I plan to write a strongly worded letter to Motherhood Maternity when I get a chance.) The rest of the day was spent (shock) by the pool, topped off with some local Mexican food for dinner. All in all, a very nice trip. It was also the last vacation that Chris and I will ever have as a child-free couple. Translation: This was our last vacation for a really, really long time.