Wedding Will & Won'ts: Cake in Yo Face

So when it comes to wedding cake traditions, I can't seem to find one credible-looking source that offers a comprehensive history. I find this highly irritating, seeing as how I'm very much a one-stop shopper when it comes to research.

I know. SO un-librarian of me. I blame library school and its incessant + impossible (okay impossible as in impossible to do while watching House Hunters. Still.) research assignments that made call centers and flipping burgers look appealing.

Of course, I'll spend all day helping patrons find what they need. But when it comes to my own pursuits, I have far less patience. Although all this might just be this week talking. This week has been hormonal hell.

Anyway.

A few bits and pieces concerning wedding cakes (that may or may not be legit):

In ancient Rome, marriages were sealed when the groom smashed a barley cake over the bride’s head. --Food & Think 

It is believed that this symbolized the breaking of the hymen and the dominance of the groom over the bride. --Hofers.com)

In medieval England, newlyweds smooched over a pile of buns, supposedly ensuring a prosperous future. Unmarried guests sometimes took home a little piece of cake to tuck under their pillow. -- Food & Think

One early British recipe for “Bride’s Pye” mixed cockscombs, lamb testicles, sweetbreads, oysters and (mercifully) plenty of spices. Another version called for boiled calf’s feet. -- Food & Think

In the 17th century "bride's pie" became popular, which varied from sweet breads to mince pies or even mutton pie. Within it was a glass ring which was used in a similar way to the bouquet today: whichever woman found it was meant to become the next bride. For those less affluent families, this pie might have formed the centerpiece. (Uhhh yes. That would be us. The cupcakes will be the centerpieces. And here I thought I was being all avant-garde...)  --The Telegraph

With more modern cakes, the bride and groom cut the first slice together, and feed it to each other. This symbolizes the commitment to provide for each other that the bride and groom have undertaken. --Hofers

The Groom's Cake is a tradition that was prevalent in early American ceremonies, but seems to have fallen from favor in most contemporary weddings. The groom's cake was usually dark (e.g., chocolate) to contrast with the bride's cake. The groom's cake appeared at the reception along with the wedding cake. The origin of this tradition is unclear. Some believe it was to be served by the groom, with a glass of wine, to the bridesmaids. Others believe it was to be saved and subsequently shared with friends after the honeymoon. The tradition seems to have survived primarily in the South. --Hudson Valley Weddings

The tradition of saving the top tier of the wedding cake has its roots in the late 19th century when grand cakes were baked for the occasion of the christening of a child. It was expected that the a christening would occur soon after the wedding ceremony, so the two ceremonies were often linked, as were the cakes. -- Hofers


So. In all my hasty Google-ing, I didn't find one source that could explain how or why smashing the cake in each other's faces became a semi-common practice at modern weddings. Those that mention it, all seem to point back to the breaking barley tradition. Like maybe this is a new version of that, in which the couples duke it out to determine who will have the dominance in the relationship...or to show that they are equally abusive. My guess is it started as a joke with one fun-loving couple and other couples copied until it's become kind of cliché.

In any case, I can't say today whether or not Ron and I will be totally immature or keep it classy when it comes to our cake cutting. I think it will be a game time decision, largely dependent on how much I spent on my make-up and how many drinks we've had prior to that segment of the evening.

However, I will take your votes into consideration. So if you feel strongly either way, let me know! Sometime today, tomorrow, or during the next 17+ months.

Training: This is the Life I Chose (I'm Back)

This is the life I chose.

^^Referencing a line from the rap song We Own It. Not that is hasn't been used in other rap songs or elsewhere in the world. Just felt like I should note that.^^

This -- Mornings greeted with exhaustion and sore muscles. Lonely lunch breaks followed by afternoons of sitting in dried sweat. The constant mental battle against a body that wants to quit vs. an ego that wants to go too far. -- is the life I chose.

Again.

A year ago I cautiously began my competitive comeback from my pelvic fracture. I had been running, but not racing. I wasn't sure if my hip would ever allow me to reach the level I'd achieved prior to the injury. So I timidly stuck a toe in the water, then a foot. Now I'm standing waist deep, ready to fully submerge back into an athletic lifestyle.

However, this time I've left my pride on the shore. (What was left of it after being passed by every runner on God's green earth during the Mini this year. ;)

When I entered this sport 15 years ago, I did it for fun. Then at some point, fun was replaced by winning. And being skinny.  Which made my performances ugly and my attitude even uglier. Until I hit a literal breaking point.

So this time...I'm doing it to be to strong. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. And it's funny, because even though I'm currently wearing bigger shorts...I feel a hell of a lot lighter.

I mean I never thought I could ever be proud of my slowest time in any distance. But as my body recovered from a vicious strain of strep, I was able to recognize how much strength of heart and mind it took for me to finish the most painful race of my life (hands down). I could have quit. I could have walked home. But I ran through the finish. I'm proud of that.

And I didn't think that I could ever not cry after ripping a dress while putting it on (because it no longer fits). Yet now I'm able to look down at my watch, at the times from my interval session, and remind myself that the numbers on my watch have far more meaning than the numbers on my scale.

This is the life I chose. One in which being physically strong is greater than being skinny. And being mentally strong, is greater than winning.

And with that? I think it's safe to say this is no longer a comeback.

I'm back, bitches.
With my head on straight. 
Ready to be better than ever.

Training Tuesday's will be a place for new revelations found after abandoning a toxic mindset and resuming the pursuit of my best. Next week -- why I've chosen this life, again, when so many of my peers have given it up for new priorities.

Ps. Old me? This is for you:

Money Matters: Introduction

I'm not entirely sure where to begin with this series, so I'm just going to start with where I am: in debt.

Not barely getting by. Not broke. In debt.

My current net worth is almost six figures in the red. That doesn't include the portion of my student loans my parents are paying on, and does include my only asset: a 2004 Honda Civic with over 150,000 miles, squeaky brakes, and broken trunk, gas door, and RPM needle. Which is amazingly somehow worth about 5,000. However, it's not technically an asset yet since I still owe over half of what it's worth.

I don't have a house.
I don't have kids.
I don't have savings.
I don't have any clue what's in my retirement account.

What I have, is:
3 degrees (worth what I paid? debatable.)
A decade worth of mistakes
A heart heavy with regret
And a mind determined to turn things around.

Shocking, right?

Not the debt. I'm confident I'm not alone in that aspect. There are certainly plenty who are better off, but also many who have it worse. 

The insane thing is how I put my shame out there for the whole world to see. Because we live in a culture that considers it taboo to discuss personal finances. Whether you're in over your head or standing atop the tallest mountain...no one should ever know.

To an extent, I get it. I can see how what I have or don't have is nobody's damn business. I understand the complex repercussions that could stem from everyone sharing their bank statements. Yet as I type this, the US Total National Debt currently stands at: $16,787,451,118,147.

Whaaaaat. What is that? Somebody tell me we're talking Monopoly Money or something.

That's not even our total debt. That's just the sum of years worth of deficit accumulation. (Debt is what we owe others. Deficit is what we owe ourselves.)

Debt (personal, business, federal) in this country is normal. Expected, even. It wasn't always this way, and personally I think it's making us weak. Leaving us vulnerable to attacks from other countries who happen to totally despise us for a lot of reasons, but most commonly our arrogance and greed.

Don't misunderstand. I love my country. I believe we do a lot of good that we don't get enough credit for. But at the end of the day, none of that good matters if we keep poking holes in our ship. Already the cold water is creeping in past weak recession patches, and if it starts rushing we won't be helping anyone. We'll be forced to fix ourselves first. So in my opinion, we're beyond damage control. We need to throw this boat in reverse and get it back to the dock for some serious mental and moral repairs.

Right. I know. WTH am I talking about and what does it have to do with me? And my blog? 

Next Saturday, I'll turn 29. The bell lap of my 20s (in long track races, they ring a bell as the lead runner crosses the line for their final lap). By all accounts, I've run a really stupid race. But by God's grace, I've somehow managed to put myself in a position for a respectable finish.

Still, I have to earn it. If I want to cross the line and walk into my 30s with my head held high...I have to straight up gut it out. So forget pretty. Forget dignity. I didn't do the work necessary to breeze through the finish, so now I have to face the painful consequences.

So each week, on Monday's, (uuuuuuuuuugh Money Matters Monday...someone please rid me of my alliteration obsession!) I want to share details of this struggle, and hopefully ultimate triumph. I think it's worthwhile to do so, for several reasons.

1. For me. As a way to keep myself accountable and draw strength from seeing my truth stare back at me on the screen.

2. For others in a similar state. So that they might gain the courage to join me in battling back from a tangled mess of mistakes.

3. For my future children. So I have something to show them, when my words of warning fall on deaf ears.

And perhaps this is a bit of a stretch, but 4. For the greater good of my country.

One girl's blog couldn't possibly fix our nation's money problems, or the moral problems that lead to them. But it also couldn't hurt. We have to start somewhere. If I can inspire one person to take ownership of their debt and change their lifestyle...maybe they will pass it forward...and maybe, just maybe, it'll gain enough momentum to convince us all to return to the values that made the greatest generation....the greatest generation.

Next Week's Topic: How Did I Get Here? See also: Pride, Ignorance, Bad Decisions, and Good Intentions.

Sunday Praise

As a lead in to a new series starting tomorrow (Money Matters), I'm starting Sunday Praise. Basically I'm jocking an idea from one of my favorite blogs...Today's Letters and their Gratitude Lately posts.

Ron and I don't talk a lot about our faith. For the record, we are Christians. We read the bible and we believe in God. But we aren't sinless, and we didn't receive a pastoral calling. So we won't preach. Instead we do our best to follow His lead and hopefully inspire others to do so as well.

Sunday Praise is prayer in its simplest form. Random bits of gratitude. Because yes, we're thankful for freedom, health, friends, and family. Those things are hugely important, and they'll be mentioned here from time to time. But my hope is that by being more cognizant of the less obvious blessings around me...I will find it easier to fight off the mentality that has prompted the Money Matters series debuting tomorrow.

So. Today's Sunday Praise. Lately we are grateful for:


Encouraging sidewalk chalk. 

A used couch, purchased from a friend.

Now we have enough seating to invite people over!





A gifted garage-saled, up-cycled dining table. It gets used more for studying, but still. If we wanted to, we could actually eat at a table instead of on the futon.

A little bit of country in the city. Reminds us of our precious friends in Winchester, IN and also McPherson, KS. 







Mornings that include breakfast.

With "hobo toast." 

Because the sliced bread was moldy. Again.

Fun events that make us proud of our city.



Intriguing new neighbors who have strange parties in the parking lot at 11pm.

This one involved bubbles and a piñata. But no children. (These neighbors are foreign exchange we think. And it seems where they're from, you just leave your piñatas in the bushes.)









Meanwhile, in the Hallway

A short story about a silly fight. Because if you don't find enjoyment in the details of ridiculous, petty arguments...you're taking life far too seriously. Come back at midnight after half a bottle of wine and an entire row of Oreos. Better yet, go immerse yourself in Seinfeld reruns.


So. Last night.

I went to the trouble of fixing yet ANOTHER new recipe. The third one this week (huge for me). Each of which included only the freshest ingredients, a minimum of 3 pans on the stove at all times, and a whole slew of chef-y terms and tricks I had to learn on the fly.

Such as garlic clove. Thank God Ron stepped in and informed me that a clove of garlic is just a piece of that lumpy white thing you buy in the produce section. Pretty sure I was ready to mince 3 of those -- 24 cloves -- for one recipe. With the skin on.


Anyway. So Ron's out running while I'm reading and measuring and stirring and boiling and baking. And I'm super proud of myself because I've got everything all cleaned up and put away and the finished product is already in the oven before he returns. Plus I remembered the garlic bread. And I made salads and put them in the refrigerator to chill.

Basically I was a fully-functioning machine. One that probably should have quit while she was ahead.

But oh no. Instead I decided to go the last mile and spruce up the apartment while we waited for the Tortellini Spinach Bake in Creamy Lemon Sauce to finish baking.

So I step over Ron stretching on the floor about 15 times as I dust the coffee and end tables. (Mild annoyance building) Then I grab the vacuum cleaner and begin vacuuming the hallway. 

Meanwhile, Ron stands up and walks down the hallway, presumably to the bathroom to take a shower.

And I'm vacuuming, in my usual fashion. Forward, up the hallway. Then backward, down the hallway. As I'm walking (flying, in Ron's opinion) backward down the hallway I'm not paying any attention to potential roadblocks...because seriously...who gets in the way of a cleaning machine... and I ram straight into Ron.

It startles both of us. I glance back to see him hunched over in the middle of the hallway taking off his socks. The vacuum is still on, so we're yelling over the noise.

Me: Hey! Get out of the way! What the hell are you doing?


Ron: TAKING OFF MY SOCKS!

Me: Why are you taking your socks off in the hallway? Who takes their socks off in the hallway?!

Ron: Last time I looked you were way up there! (points to the living room) How was I supposed to know you'd come running back here! There was no warning! No back-up beeping or anything!

Me: (ranting as I resume vacuuming, moving forward to the living room and gesturing wildly with the hand that's not holding the handle) It doesn't matter! Why would you take off your socks in the hallway!

Ron unplugs my vacuum cleaner.

Silence.

He gives me his Oh shit I'm in for it look as I stare him down with my You're totally f*ckin in for it look.

Because I mean, here I am, being like the ultimate wifey, and he has the AUDACITY to take his socks off in the hallway and then UNPLUG my vacuum cleaner.

So I drop the handle and walk out the door, slamming it behind me. I hear Ron walk into the bathroom and slam the door as well.

I wasn't so angry I wanted to leave. I was just annoyed enough pretend. Plus there was a print off with the definition of heart disease sitting in the stairwell that apparently no one in our building wanted to claim or pick up for the past two weeks, so I took the opportunity to finally walk it to the dumpster.

Then I march back in, back down the hallway, and swing open the bathroom door before marching into the bedroom and opening the window so the cold air would mess up his hot shower.

He mutters something from behind the curtain, but I can't decipher it over the sound of the vacuum. I finish the living room and he's still showering, so I signal a semi-truce by shutting the bathroom door and closing the window.

As I'm retrieving our meal from the oven, Ron walks in the kitchen.

Ron: You know, unplugging the vacuum isn't the most offensive thing in the world. And why can't I take my socks off in the hallway?

Me: First of all, it's RUDE. Don't ever mess with my vacuum. Second, it doesn't make sense! You either take them off in the bedroom and put them in the hamper, or take them off in the bathroom, before you take your shower. The hallway is neither of those places. The hallway, is a thoroughfare. A highway. You don't stop on a highway.

Ron: You don't reverse on a highway either, yet there you were.

Damnit. I couldn't help but laugh. Point Ron.

 The pasta was good, by the way. Although I'll probably use a little less cayenne pepper next time. That crap is POTENT!

 

Wedding Will & Wont's: Part 1

So while I'm over here sitting on my hands, avoiding any wedding-related decisions that require cash until I've paid off every god-forsaken penny of my credit debt....

 
I've decided to compile a list of Wedding Will & Wont's.

Not to be confused with Wedding Do & Don'ts. I'm not implying our choices are the right choices. 

It's just that in the overwhelming world of weddings, there are about 178349067837205 things a girl with 2.5 years to plan can consider. Therefore in an effort to kill time, reduce stress, and avoid regrets....I'm going to spend the rest of 2013 weeding through traditions and deciding what to include and what to leave out.

Therefore, without any further ado...

Item 1 in a series of Shit We Will or Won't Do:


1. We won't have a bouquet or garter toss.

First of all, NO. I am not the least bit interested in having Ron stick his hand up my dress in front of God, our grandparents, coworkers, coaches, friends, and extended family. 

Pass. 

 

Second, it might just be me but something about wearing a garter makes me feel like a hooker. I don't want to feel like a hooker on my wedding day.

And third, let's be serious. When you wait 9 years and 11 months to tie the knot....chances are 98% of your friends are already married. And 60% of those married already have kids. Which means the pre-toss dance floor will be sparsely filled with one or two totally hammered single adults and a handful of kindergartners running around like Tasmanian devils on crack.  

 
Right. Okay. I hear you. What's a good party without at least one hilariously awkward moment? I totally agree.

But having been a hammered unhitched ogre standing amid a bunch of tiny humans, harassed until humiliated on multiple occasions....

I'm going to vote that the awkward moment take place elsewhere. Perhaps within a special closing speech given by one of Ron's crazy groomsmen. 


Instead, we will go with a relatively new tradition that I adore. The Marriage Dance. All the married couples gather on the dance floor for one slow dance. During the song, the DJ announces various milestones such as 5 years.

If you've been married less than 5 years, you have to sit down. This continues until the end of the song, when only the bride and groom and the oldest couple remain. Sweet and meaningful, right?

I mean if we're going to ostracize the singles, I'd rather do it by honoring the old married couples than making them stand in the middle of the dance floor and fight for a bouquet or garter. 


Next Week: Cake in Yo Face. Will we or won't we? 

Little Letters

Dear Fiancé,

This week we made a pact to someday fund a Chinese panda exhibit and the purchase of a baby polar bear for the Indianapolis Zoo.

I love our big, unique dreams. 

*~*~*~*~*


Dear Vacation,

Please hurry. I need a time out. And a balcony garden.

*~*~*~*~*


Dear Facebook, 

Sorry for whining so much lately. I get a little freaked out when my running goes from hero to zero a relatively short time frame. First I think it's anemia. And then my thyroid. And then a figment of my spazzed out imagination. Like....are these symptoms real? Or are they just appearing because I read about them on WebMD?

Penicillin FTW. I hope.

 











*~*~*~*~*


Dear Lo-Carb Monster Energy, 

Way to underwhelm me. I want my 2 bucks back. 

*~*~*~*~*

Dear Little Boy who scooted right up next to my chair during storytime, and quietly put your tiny hand in mine,

Your sweetness slayed me.

*~*~*~*~*


Dear Preschool Class who pretended not to notice when I cried during the welcome song,

I'm sorry I kept my head down as we stomped our feet together, we stomped our feet together, we stomped our feet together...because it's fun to do -- rather than looking out and making silly faces at you. I was exhausted and frustrated and for some reason your usual over-the-top huggy lovey welcome made me cry. So I sat down, took a deep breath and started the song...and immediately began to cry again. So I hid my face. Afraid to look up. I thought you might want answers, and I might have to leave the room to compose myself. But when the song was over and I lifted my head I saw 27 sets of concerned little eyes, but 27 silent little mouths. 

You are compassionate and wise beyond your years little ones. Thank you. 

  
*~*~*~*~*

Dear Dr. Frederick, 
 
Someday, we will have sweet little ones of our own. Just not nine months from now. And praise Jesus for that! I mean we could swing if it we had to....but I'd prefer to not think of my child as an accidental blessing.

Little Letters concept originated from this awesome blog.

Let's Hear it for the Boys

Let's Hear it for the Boys



Who made good choices.

Who grew into men.

With sharp minds and big hearts and eyes on bright futures.
Whose hopes and dreams don't revolve around material things.

Let's hear it for those men. Real men. Good men.
Who put friends and family on the same shelf as self, if not higher.

Who like to have fun, but make sure their work is done first.
And know when to stop before things get reckless.

Who bring a whole new meaning to the term gold-digging.
One that has absolutely nothing to do with money.


Cheers to those sought after specimens this weekend. ;)


*And to the women who give it their best.
But are ultimately smart (and courageous) enough
To walk away, when staying feels more like settling.

Lyrics Here.

Letters:: Bridesmaid Wrap-Up

Dear Fiance,

I have 10 bridesmaids.

When I say that out loud, most people gasp or laugh or tell me to rethink my decision. But not you. Because you know how much they mean to me, and how integral they have been in making me the kind of woman you want to marry.

So you never complain when I say I'll be home late because I'm meeting the girls for yogurt. Or I'll be gone all Saturday afternoon, checking out a new winery. Because you recognize I don't need yogurt. Or heaven knows any more wine. I need them. On random weeknights and every 5th Saturday and on December 6th, 2014. Standing beside me in an overwhelming display of beauty, and significance.

Not every man would get that, but you do. Thank you.

xo
Me



Ps. Yeah I know, sometimes you're just glad to have me out of your hair for a few hours. ;) But there are weeks, occasionally months, when it seems like all we've been doing is running in opposite directions. I know you'd rather I stay in, yet you still see me to the door with a guilt trip-less Have fun, be careful...see you in a little bit. Those are the moments I appreciate so much. When I can walk away feeling very loved, and understood.



*~*~*


Dear Mom,

When I started dating, you told me to hold on to my girlfriends. You said I should always make time for them, no matter how head over heels I may be for a boy, because they will love and support me in ways that he can't.

You were right.

Yeah I'm gonna go ahead and say that again, on behalf of my arrogant young adult self who often rolled her eyes and ignored your hard-earned advice: You were right. 



*~*~*


Dear Bridesmaids,

One more thing. I'm going to need you all to dye your hair gray (to match the color scheme), fake bake until you're the exact color of a Dorito, and buy brand new MAC make-up in shades of silver just for my Big Day. Okay? Good.

Sincerely,
Kidding

#NotABridezilla

Monday Funday

Also known as, Pinterest's Got Jokes.
Also known as, I got to work 30 minutes early.

Midwest

Face I make when someone doesn't answer my phone call. 

This would be Ron and our dog.

That was my last day of grad school.