On Sunday, my oldest son married his lovely Jane and I was not there.

My first-born child, the boy who tried to exit my uterus three months early, who caused me to go on bed rest just long enough to grow him into a nearly 10-pound behemoth and grow my own addiction to The People’s Court, and whose very large mass broke my tailbone during delivery, and whose young doctor misunderstood the difference between stitching my episiotomy and stitching close my anus, and whose overall departure left my nether regions so traumatized I was unable to sit for a month afterwards and had to nurse on my side like a mama pig.  That son.

This was a planned elopement. Not the ladder-up-to-the-window sneaking-off kind of elopement but a desire for shared solitude to be followed by a family celebration back home.

My husband and I thought the plan suited their personalities. Plus, it’s so romantic and sacred. My parents did the same thing over fifty years ago.

Then, their day came and they excitedly texted a photo from Yosemite and I cried. I wished I could have been there. 

When I called my mom, she said, “Well, I guess your father and I started something, didn’t we. But at least you got a photo. Your poor grandmother got a telegram and that was it.”

Don't misunderstand me. We are very happy! I was especially thrilled to hear that a small herd of deer followed them in Yosemite as they walked in their finery. My husband and I were visited by a bunch of deer on our wedding day as well. So, a good omen. 

And the tears are mostly happy and just a smidge sad. I was taken by surprise by how much I wanted to be with them. Like getting caught in an unexpected summer rain shower that comes and goes quickly and everything is a little more nourished and green afterwards. 

Speaking of the weather, on to the party! It’s going to be in the backyard so I have sent out daily pleas to our higher being with the reminder that my name, Mithra, means God of Sun. Not rain. Not drizzle. Sun.

I so enjoyed sitting down with Jane last winter, sketching out the details of a garden party . Now we are in the midst of planting, weeding, trimming, in preparation. I remember planning my wedding and how much I loved all the details -- especially the flowers and the invitations. 

Nick and Jane's invitation came from Minted, of course. They have been my source for holiday cards and invitations for the last five years. I never imagined ordering wedding invites online but Minted has the process down to a near science. Jane and I worked on the phrasing, getting ideas from the hundreds of samples on Minted's website. Customizing the design went smooth as silk. When the Minted box arrived, I rushed for the camera. I love this company, partly because the founder is a badass Iranian woman, and partly because they support independent designers. 

Just so you know, this post is sponsored by Minted, and I would like to apologize to Minted for writing about episiotomies and anuses in their sponsored post. But they are in the business of wedding and birth announcements. I think they know what they’re getting themselves into. And really, is there an expiration date on a good birth story?

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