2 Years and counting…

I can’t believe we’ve been married for 2 years.

2 years.

And now I’m on bridesmaid duties for my little sister!

Where does the time go? If you’d asked me 2 years ago where I thought we’d be now… it probably wouldn’t have been living in a mobile home in my parent’s garden with a sassy pomeranian. That’s just it though- we can plan all we want but it might not work out as we expect it to, and our wedding pretty much went that way too.

About 10 weeks before our wedding date my lovely Granda was diagnosed with a brain tumour – the third time in his life that he’d had cancer, and although he’d beaten it before, deep down we all knew what it meant. So the wedding was off, then it was on, then it was off, then it was on…off, on, off, on, off… and finally we sat down with Nanny and asked what we should do, because literally no-one could give us an answer. She told us Granda wouldn’t have wanted us to postpone the wedding and to go ahead, twelve short days after he passed away in the wonderful Southern Area Hospice.

The next morning was weird. All of a sudden there were no more hospital visits, no more days in the hospice, no more visitors trailing constantly through the door and we had to get into wedding mode. We had to get excited, or at least try. My plan all along had been to make a lot of things by hand myself and whilst I’d been futtering (footering? How do we spell that one?) at what I could, there was still a lot to do and it was a bit of a scramble to get to all together.

We wanted a wedding that was sparky and festive but, as per usual,  we didn’t want it to break the bank, and somehow we achieved it, despite it all. It was strange day without Granda, but we managed to enjoy it and find ways to honour his memory, including a collection for the hospice that looked after him so carefully.

My dress was a sample dress- originally a £1400 strapless fishtail that I had altered to a fit and flare with a boatneck top and sheer sleeves, and the bridesmaid dresses came from eBay, collectively costing about half the original price of my dress. I didn’t go looking for a sample sale, but I was chuffed at finding my dress that way.

The week before the wedding saw many 2am bedtimes (so much for ‘beauty sleep’ before the big day) as I sat making the crocheted flower hairpieces and assembling the bouquets for bridesmaids and flower girls from the bags of white crochet flowers my aunt had been helping me with. I wanted something unique for my bouquet so made it entirely from roses that I crocheted myself, with lace, pearls and angelina fibres woven through it- and I still love it.

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Paddy and I had gone down to our church the day before and decorated it with holly and ivy around the front steps, tea lights in jam jars decorated with silver bells on the window sills and baby’s breath sprayed with sparkling, silver glitter held on the end of each pew by a floaty white organza bow.

Our reception was held at The Mill at Ballydugan, a beautifully renovated old 18th century mill, with rustic stone walls and low wooden beams. We had little to do to get the look we wanted as they had already decorated with Christmas trees and garlands, but we made our mark with DIY centre pieces (glittery baby’s breath in a jar of diamonte and glitter water, sitting on a log slice surrounded by tea lights),  our seating plan was a 4ft tree (featuring Santa and his reindeer) and our favours were little personalised wooden decorations.

The biggest hand-made hurdle of all was the cake; with the help of a talented friend, it too was homemade. We spent 13 and a half pain-staking hours, baking, icing and decorating our wedding cake. If you take nothing else from this post, remember this: never, ever make your own wedding cake. It might seem like a good idea at the time, but nothing is worth that level of stress. And then you realise you have to transport the thing.

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Our wedding wasn’t exactly cheap as chips, but it wasn’t the £20,000-£50,000 extravaganza that weddings can be, and we still have lots of the little bits and pieces we made for the wedding floating about the house (well… mobile… you get the drift). How many brides can say they still have their wedding bouquet sitting in their living room? It was lots of hard work, stress, tears and a couple of tantrums but it was so completely worth it to say we made our day ourselves.  Strangely enough, we’re just as married, and just as happy as everyone who spent 5 times the amount we did, and we wouldn’t have had it any other way.

It was a weird, exciting, sad, happy, joy-filled, tear-filled, LOVE-filled day that we’ll always cherish.

Gillian x

P.S. If you make a charitable donation at Christmas, please consider a local hospice – they help the families through difficult times as much as they do patients.

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There’s No Place Like Home

I didn’t always like to admit it, but I’ve always been what we call a ‘home-bird’, which is ‘Norn Iron’ for someone who likes to stay in their own little neck of the woods. It must run in our family because we stay close together and like to be around each other when we can. (At least, I think so, maybe I’m just needy and they’ll tell you differently.)
I don’t often go away anywhere, and even throughout university I travelled from home to my classes, but our trip to Paris was the first time I was ever actually homesick. The night we landed I wanted my jammies, a cup of tea, my own bed and my fluffy little dog, which I did quickly get over the next day at Disneyland. (Successful ‘adulting’ at it’s finest.) I’ll not say much about the trip as I’ll likely write about it later, but when it took a near 48 hour extension due to flight cancellations, and I realised we were stranded in Paris for another 2 days, the homesickness kicked in again.
It’s not the worst place to get stranded- in fact, we pretty much landed on our feet with four-star accommodation and delicious meals. But for all our home is- a little mobile, in the middle of nowhere with a dodgy shower and no room to swing a cat (figure of speech guys, we don’t harm cats)- it’s still home, and I wanted nothing more than to be curled up in it with the heater on, my dog by my side and a proper cup of (Punjana!!) tea.
We all have our own ideas of what a home should be, and it’s slightly different for everyone. For Parisians, it’s a modern apartment, in an old building, in a cosmopolitan city – with a patisserie to grab a fresh baguette for breakfast and a busy, cobbled street 3 floors below. Whilst I can cope with it for a few days, I couldn’t ever imagine living somewhere like that, whereas for them, my home might be an eyesore, boring and just too lonely and quiet.
In the end, it doesn’t really matter what we think of each other’s homes, only that we love them. There are lots of people with a bigger, more beautiful home than mine, but there are many who also have much, much less. Tonight I’m more thankful than ever for my little corner of the County Down countryside, for my family only metres away, for proper china mugs and proper potato dinners and for my own little family in the mobile: a husband, a dog and a degu.
Gillian x