“I have mustard in my teeth.”
“Lisa, 122 days to Go!” That is the message that greeted me this morning when I logged onto our wedding organization site. It has been a whirlwind the last 2 months. It seems like yesterday that I was pulling myself up onto the dock from Lake Woodlands at North Shore Park after having managed to flip over a water bike trying to save it from being abducted by a stiff breeze. I remember thinking that I would need to postpone the question to get a dry set of clothes. Who would want to be proposed to by a barefoot guy that smells like duck waste?
As the kids and I wrangled the menagerie of watercraft onto dry land and wrestled the coolers to the picnic area I was struck by the fact that falling in a lake minutes before proposing was pretty apropos. After all, our first date ended with her ex-boyfriend stopping by “to talk” and our second date was 15 years later, followed by a 3rd date which ended with a global shutdown. No kidding. By those metrics a little putrid water in my ears was putting for eagle.
Charging ahead, with 19 weeks to go as a single man, I am starting to get nervous. Not about being a husband to Lisa. She is solid, really a gift from God. I am more excited about that today than when I walked out of the jewelry store with her ring. I’m worried about getting everything done! We have to pick the music and the readings, the appetizers and the entrees, reserve a block of rooms, and the darn tux place no longer has the style we planned on when the bridesmaids dresses were picked!
So, we carry on trying to knock tasks off the list and really, the struggle is to remember which new tasks need to be added to the list. Something in me (pride?) made me think that getting married at 39 would be simple. We aren’t spring chickens unused to the struggles of making decisions and giving people money. If anything a career in facility operations and technical services should have been good training.
Alas, there are so many details. Details are not my concern. Details are how I cede control to subordinates. Now I am the subordinate. Dang it.
Time to pack for a conference. Hard to imagine I am less than a half dozen business trips from being a head of household. Pray for us all!
