How does that old saying go for young families going to a wedding? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue that you can strangle yourself with for forgetting to never, ever bring your kids to a wedding? A classic blue noose perhaps? An elegant, but strong, silk blue tie? Maybe, if all else fails, a nearby bit of blue extension cord?
Wedding season is here again. My little family has already taken one in this year and we forgot the one fundamental lesson we learned during last year's wedding season: don't bring the family!
As a guest at many weddings both before and after I had kids, I've learned the rhythms of the day in each situation. To let you know how I arrived at the conclusion that you should never bring kids to a wedding, here's a sampling of what those blessed days are like when experienced with and without the kids.
Arrival, without kids: Weddings are often held at beautiful places like beaches, galleries, golf courses or fancy churches. Those quiet, exciting few moments before a ceremony begins are a perfect time to drink in all the exquisite scenery and cleavage on display (for brevity's sake, let's call it cleavery).
Arrival, with kids: Weddings are usually held in death traps like beaches, galleries, golf courses or churches. As other guests are enjoying the cleavery, parents of young children are soaked with sweat, chasing the kids around trying to keep them from jumping in the ocean, getting run over by a golf cart, playing Frisbee with a Renoir or filling their sippy cup with holy water.
Ceremony, without kids: If it's a couple that you really like, you watch with a sincere smile and misty eyes as they make the ultimate commitment to each other. If it's your wife's old college roommate that you've only met twice and couldn't care less about, you continue to enjoy the cleavery while silently critiquing the couple's choice of priest, hairstyles, psalm, dress, and, most likely, spouse.
Ceremony, with kids: Silently play with trains. Say "shhh" 1,225 times. Apologize to everyone around you every 30 seconds. Try not to laugh too much when, as the groom is about to place the ring on the bride's finger, your kid very loudly asks you "what smells like fart?"
Pre-meal, without kids: Begin drinking. Catch up with old friends and make new ones. Continue drinking.
Pre-meal, with kids: Watch as your starving children rapidly descend into utter madness as the hours roll by with no dinner in sight. Quickly give in and feed them whatever is available, usually a healthy combination of popcorn, jellybeans, cola, 12-year-old crackers from your wife's purse, prosciutto and dirt. Clean up vomit.
The meal, without kids: Gorge yourself on wine and buffet. If it's a vegan wedding, gorge yourself on wine. Become louder, funnier, more charming with each glass. Entertain tablemates with your inappropriate joke about the bird-loving plastic surgeon (punchline: "But Mrs. Schnelling, that's why they call it a titmouse").
The meal, with kids: Slam bits of food into your mouth like an enraged warthog while trying to get your kids to eat something, any damn thing, on their plates. Instantly become somehow covered in gravy. Interact with tablemates through flying bits of prime rib and apologetic grunts. Suffer your second breakdown of the last half hour, yell "screw it!" and just let your kids eat all the jellybeans they want.
Speeches, without kids: Watch the slideshow, which will consist of photo after photo of the bride and groom as kids riding bikes, camping, or, potentially, riding bikes while camping. Stare at your empty wine glass during the inevitable moment when the bride's brothers start to get creepy. Get a drink. Listen to the bride's father speak/cry for 45 minutes.
Speeches, with kids: Go for a walk with the kids (note: this is the only time where having the kids there makes for a better experience). Cake, without kids: Mmmm, fondant. Cake, with kids: Spend 30 minutes in a bathroom stall getting your kids - who are totally freaking out - into their pyjamas. Finally calm them down and head back to the table, only to find half-eaten pieces of cake strewn about. Chase the kids around as they go instantly back into crazy mode, eating their weight in leftover fondant. Little known fact: fondant is the French word for Styrofoam.
Dance party, without kids: Dance your ass off. Hopefully make out with someone. Probably black out at some point. Wake up feeling like you have the worst hangover ever. Tell yourself "never again," knowing full well you don't mean it.
Dance party, with kids: Quietly nod along to "Thriller" as you drive home, dead sober. Wake up feeling like you have the worst hangover ever. Tell yourself "never again." Mean it. Google "sugar poisoning." Go hug your kids.
