Kristin Williams Balla

This past week, the cookie ends of our Oreo consisted of Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day. Those two would naturally be splendid enough by themselves, but the cream in the center (December 27th) was the jubilant wedding of our 24-year-old son Brent and his lovely bride Tara.

Sometimes Oreos can seem just too sweet, you know? But not this time. It was all delicious – at least in the moments when I wasn’t too frazzled to appreciate it.

On Christmas Eve morning I picked up Ashley at Devereux. This was her first home visit since she entered Brooke Glenn Hospital on November 1st. It was like we were each resurfacing after spending a long, long time in some other reality (or lack thereof).

I was so happy to see her and I was so happy to feel so happy about seeing her. We drove together in the rain, listening to Christmas music and wearing smiles on our faces. I could feel mine and see hers, so I know of what I speak! We picked up Attila’s sister Palma (otherwise known as Hugi to us) at the airport and headed home to begin our very special week.

We do it all on Christmas Eve. That way the kids can spend a guilt-free Christmas Day with their in-laws, and we can just chill.  It works.

On Christmas Eve Attila always makes duck, pork & cabbage, beef paprikash, and lecho. I am not referring to a lascivious old man here, but rather a dish that is made from sliced sausage, tomato, onion and peppers in gorgeous hues of yellow, orange, red and green. He makes his famous never-from-a-box mashed potatoes, sliced cucumbers smothered in sour cream and paprika, cauliflower soup (to die for!) and kifli. He is our own personal Chef Extraordinaire.

First we gather in the living room. Declan is in charge of reading the scriptures which tell of the birth of our Lord. We sing Christmas carols between each reading. The  cacophony that rises to the nine-foot ceiling and beyond, is our way of being obedient to the Bible’s  instructions to “make a joyful noise.”

Next, someone is asked to bless the meal (and some pray they won’t be asked) and then we dig in. Attila cooks enough for a homeless shelter so there are always plenty of leftovers. Fourteen of us managed to sort-of-fit around our dining room table this year. We are loud, raucous and completely lacking in any decorum (except for Hugi who is generally very well-behaved). We do have fun. We do that for sure!

After dinner the entire group made the short trek to our church, where Leigha had the role of an angel/narrator in the children’s musical. I guess she might be getting too old for this because she was annoyed by her halo and kept crossing her arms, while wearing a look of blatant irritation on her face. Boy, does teenage agony radiate long distances, or what? We could feel it in the balcony. This is what puberty does to the formerly delightful little girl angels!

After church our kids got into comfy clothes. This is when we usually take the annual picture of each person (or family group) holding their stocking in their lap while sitting in front of the Christmas tree. I have been doing that every year since about 1988. This year we actually took the shots before church, while everyone was still dressed appropriately.

Passing around a stick of pepperoni and a knife (while opening presents) is a family tradition handed down from my Dad from my own childhood Christmases. We had pepperoni (with requisite knife) and prayed that little Jayden wouldn’t take possession of it when we weren’t paying attention. We had only one incident and they were able to sew the finger back on at the hospital. :-}

I took full command of a partially full bottle of sparkling cider and planted myself in a comfortable corner of a couch. The kids ate kifli and whatever goodies they discovered in their stockings. Yes, I still fill stockings for my adult children. I know it is a sickness I inherited from my mother. I know that it must end! But when? Someday it must be stopped. I will not fill stockings for six kids, six spouses and fifteen grandchildren!

It was late when the kids headed into the night – Lyryn, Jesse and Jayden just have to walk to the end of the block to get home. Declan and Katie had a five-minute drive to their townhouse. Brent and Tara  began their journey to Allentown where they celebrated Christmas the next day with Tara’s family.  

Friday afternoon Attila and I were preparing for the wedding rehearsal/dinner. I was drying my nails by doing a bad impression of a child with autism, when Attila entered the room looking forlorn. I guess I wasn’t paying close enough attention because at first I could not determine the source of his distress. Attila had been shaving and the shaver guide fell off. Before he realized this, he had shaved a highway across one heavily bearded cheek. He had no choice but to shave both sides to even them out! He said that he felt naked and exposed after that. Others later told him that he actually looks younger this way. Since he is a man with almost zero vanity (he didn’t get that gene) he was not consoled by the compliments. I am sure that before he knows it he will return to his previous Neanderthal Man state.

Saturday dawned drizzly and gray, gray, gray. We were all grateful that it was not cold enough to be actually snowing. On my son’s wedding day, messy, messy snow (which I normally love) would make it difficult for people who were traveling from all over. 

I went to Aldus Jackson to get my third up-do in my life. Three down, three to go? I only go through this torture for my children’s weddings. I get too hot and sweaty when I dance like a spastic wild woman at the reception, so an up-do is an absolute must. 

My perky hair-artist created a formidable architectural wonder with only six pounds of hair spray, 71 bobby pins (yes, I counted) and a flair for hair. When the job was done, it actually looked pretty good! I also knew that it would reqire a nuclear warhead to take it down.

I received lots of compliments, but of course we all know that people  lie at weddings. It is the law. And I know the truth about myself and it doesn’t scare me. When dressed in a fancy evening gown, wearing actual jewelry, with my hair festively piled on top of my head, I really do make a pretty decent transvestite. I have the broad shoulders and big bones for the job, but of course, I could use a lot more makeup!

The wedding was beautiful. I guess most weddings are, but when it is the wedding of your own child every moment of it seems deeper, brighter, more intense, less real, more authentic. You know what I mean?

After being escorted down the aisle, Tara’s mom Denise and I headed up to the pulpit to light the individual candles which would then be used to light the unity candle. Upon arrival at our aforementioned destination, we discovered that there was nothing with which to light the candles. We both patted gingerly around the lovely floral arrangement. Nothing. I turned to Denise and quietly asked, “Would you like to dance with me?” Being a wonderful sport, she agreed. We did a slow dance t0gether and the crowd roared.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the wife of a groomsmen racing toward the back of the church. She returned with a propane lighter. That was providential since I was considering the pros and cons of starting a game of “Truth or Dare” in order to keep the congregation fully engaged while we waited. :-}

The propane lighter was successful lighting my candle but was obstinate for Denise, so she just lit her candle from mine. We hugged, then  held hands as we returned to our seats grinning.

Our darling ring-bearer (14-month-0ld grandson Jayden) made it down the aisle in his mother Lyryn’s arms, without having any kind of massive meltdown or anything. He’s too adorable! He loves people – and the more, the better. After his fabulous wedding debut, he was whisked away to a much-needed nap in the church nursery. 

The pastor entered down the side aisle with Brent and his groomsmen. We all stood as Tara and her dad filled the doorway in the back of the church. Tara was stunning. Her wonderful father Larry cried all the way down  the aisle – just like my Daddy did at my wedding. I turned to watch Brent watch his almost-bride approach. This is never a good idea unless you travel with several packages of pocket tissues. I do. The look on Brent’s face was priceless as he let his own tears fall.  

Brent and Tara wrote their own vows. My tears were semi-torrential  when they shared them. Absolutely beautiful. The entire ceremony glorified God, which was a blessing in itself.

There was more laughter when Tara was asked if she would “take this man” and she responded with an enthusiastic, “Absolutely!” More chuckles when Brent lifted Tara off her feet (or did she leap?) during the kiss (es?). There was no rain coming down while we blew bubbles at the newlyweds as they ran through the human tunnel of love.  

The reception was held at The Farmhouse which is part of People’s Light and Theater in Malvern. It is a lovely setting and the food was awesome. Everything was just beautiful.

Brent’s best man was my sweet Attila. He will openly tell you that it was one of the greatest honors of his life. When Attila got up to do the toast he reached into his pocket, brought out an actual piece of  toast, handed it to Brent and said, “Here’s your toast.”! 

I hadn’t seen this coming. We all laughed. I later learned that the piece of toast given to Brent was from the 4th try. The first piece disappeared when Leigha ate it, the second one burned, and the third piece broke in half.

Attila spoke of how eleven-year-old Brent worked all summer by his side doing renovation jobs with him. His only “pay” was a hoagie for lunch. That was enough for worker-bee-Brent, who would one day have his own construction business. Attila told us how all the clients wanted to “keep Brent” because he cleaned up so well after Attila.  

Attila went on to mention that he used to videotape weddings for other people and once or twice a father was the best man. He thought to himself how incredible he would feel if that ever happened to him – and then it did. He was thrilled. Both ”toasts” were wonderful.

After the maid-of-honor toast, Ashley was given the microphone. She had written a beautiful letter to Brent and Tara, which she read aloud. She made many of us cry. I am so proud her and so pleased with  how well she is doing now.

For the Mother and Groom dance we had a surprise in store. Brent had made a CD that combined “Mama” (Boyz to Men) with some crazy hip hop song I never heard before. When the slow dance kicked into overdrive the place went nuts. Brent had the first solo and I had the second solo. I thought I was going to pass out as a result of the non-stop movement and wild gyrations I came up with. I was relieved when we returned to the slow song at the end. I suspect that some day I will see this silliness on YouTube, or in a theater near you. Some people assumed I had hit the bar a few too many times. They never believe me when I tell them that I don’t drink. At all. Oh well.

If you would like to see pictures from the wedding you can go to http://blog.hofferphotography.com.