One sentence sum up of the wedding: A homemade, family effort with many friends game for a giggle—homemade love.

The Info—Photography: Lillian & Leonard (APW Sponsors) / CeremonyVenue: Cortachy Church / Officiant: Rev. Malcolm Rooney / Dinner & Ceilidh Venue: The Tractor Shed at Derachie Farm (the farm where Fiona was brought up) / Band: The Roundhouse Ceilidh Band / Cake: The amazing lighthouse cake was made and decorated by Fiona's sister & her husband (a labor of love!) / Food: All homemade by Fiona's mum and brother-in-law, with homegrown farm potatoes! / Fiona's Dress: Handmade by her mum from Vogue Pattern V2979 (Fiona's mum also made the bridesmaid dresses, flower girls' dresses and her own dress, because she is amazing) / Karl's Kilt: Handmade by Keith Scott Kiltmakers in Dundee / Karl's Jacket: Harris Tweed Shop / Cars: Two vintage minis arranged by Fiona's dad from two local minis that he'd seen around the county!

Favorite thing about the wedding: My favorite part was the preparation before the wedding, staying up to the wee small hours writing table names and copying out the shipping forecast and then listening to You Tube spoofs of the shipping forecast with my sister at 3am. Another favorite was after everyone had left the tractor shed and it was just my two brothers and sister and our other halves dancing to a random assortment from my wee brother's laptop. But my real favorite bit was the effort and preparation that everyone put in to make sure we had an amazing day.

I've gained ten pounds since my wedding. I feel like such a failure.

No stranger to the post-wedding weight gain myself, it was the last part that stopped me cold. Failure. At first I was so angry I couldn't see straight. FAILURE?! Really?! How are we allowing a society to exist in which a ten-pound weight gain amounts to failure? I wanted to reach through the computer and shake the person on the other end and say, "You aren't failing! The world is failing you!"

But then I was mostly sad. Because I remember that feeling. It happened to me when I looked in the mirror, not more than two years after my own wedding; I noticed the stretch marks that had settled on my body after a particularly grueling start to married life left me with fifty pounds of excess body mass and a chubbiness that had begun to show in my face.

For me, the change wasn't gradual. I instantly gained back the twenty pounds I'd lost before the wedding when I decided to throw away our pots and pans mid-move in anticipation of getting a new set as a registry gift. Well, the wedding came and went. And the move came and went. And we didn't get our pots and pans. So after we got married, we ate frozen pizza for three months until we could afford a new set and in the meantime basked in the glow of being newlyweds in a shiny new apartment with a newfound freedom and DVR'd episodes of Glee to catch up on.

Then we got our dog. Saddled with sleepless nights and too much overtime, our routine—which was once made up of bonding over home-cooked dinners—quickly turned to running down the street for—ready for it—fresh pizza and scarfing it down before one of us passed out on the couch from sheer exhaustion. My Christmas present that year was our one-year-later honeymoon to Mexico and an extra thirty pounds of midsection. Gee, thanks, you shouldn't have.

But it doesn't matter how I gained the weight or even how much I gained. What matters is how I felt afterwards. I'd lost and gained weight before, mostly the same twenty pounds in college, usually because I couldn't keep my hands away from the cafeteria cookies and because I didn't understand that one cookie is a serving, not seven (which is bullshit, if you ask me). But this time it was different.

Before getting married, weight gain was always just sort of an annoying challenge I had to deal with on my own, much like a bad grade on a midterm I'd then have to make up with extra credit. But this time it felt—I'm not sure—heavier? Something about weight gain after marriage made it feel almost like I'd committed a sin, like I'd done a bad thing by carrying out a self-fulfilling prophecy about letting myself go and now the whole world was disappointed in me because I'd become just another once-pretty girl who got married too young and then let herself get (what did they say about Betty on Mad Men? Too comfortable?) too comfortable.

I started feeling bad about myself. Which was weird because I didn't necessarily dislike the way I looked. Apparently I have freakishly positive body image, even when I'm fifty pounds heavier (the weight gain did make my boobs bigger). But still, I felt like I'd failed in my responsibility to be a hot wife (I know, I know, I'm rolling my eyes too). I grew up in Suburbia, I'd watched the sitcoms, I knew what people expect of women after they get married (hint: it involves Christmas sweaters, Crocs, and elastic waistbands). So in some twisted cavern of my brain, I felt like it was my job to rebel against this expectation and reclaim the definition of wife... with my body.

And I'd failed.

The scary thing is, this mode of thinking isn't actually that crazy. (OK yes, it's crazy. But it's not that surprising.) It's being pummeled into our brains day in and day out with US Weekly covers showcasing photos of elastic moms who are down to their pre-pregnancy weight before the baby even crowns; with the celebration of pre-breakdown Demi Moore, who has a daughter my age and yet looks younger than I do; with the very existence of the word MILF, for shit's sake. It's everywhere, this cultural expectation that wives and mothers need to be not only nurturing and caring, but that we also need to be universally f*ckable. Not just to our partners. But to the whole goddamn world. (Mind you this responsibility was never reinforced by Michael, who only ever asks that I be confident, because he hates how mopey self-conscious Maddie can get.)

So I understand how easy it is to feel like a failure when our bodies do what bodies do and, you know, age and stuff. Especially living in a society where it's not enough to be smart, kind, or funny (you also have to be arm candy too!), it's so easy for our whole sense of self-worth as wives to get wrapped up in something as meaningless as our dress size.

But the thing that kills me, what really breaks my heart, is what all of these cultural contradictions are doing to smart women. As smart women, we are that much more prone to feel like failures when our bodies change because we have been trained to know better than to care. I mean, that's the great double standard, isn't it? On the one hand, we are aware of the cultural importance of physical beauty in our society. And on the other, we've been educated time and again that our worth is greater than the sum of our parts. So when our bodies change in ways that we haven't signed off on, our guilt is two-fold. There is the visceral reaction to what's happening to my body (I'm uncomfortable with my appearance). And then there is the logical reaction to the visceral response (I am ashamed of the discomfort I feel about my appearance, because it is frivolous and makes me seem like less like of a confident, intelligent woman). Great, now I'm not only disappointed in how I look, but I'm also disappointed with how I feel. AWESOME.

So I think we owe it to ourselves to stop it. To stop tearing ourselves to shreds over the natural changes our bodies experience when put under stress, or through the aging process, or because we like ice cream better than frozen yogurt.

Listen, the first two years of my marriage were horrible. They were more difficult than the year my sister passed away and more complicated than when my parents divorced. I didn't sleep, I was stressed out all the time, I was fighting with my husband—those two years could have easily broken me. I may have gained fifty pounds, but that's because my body, this incredible piece of machinery, it weathered the storm on my behalf, freeing up my brain and my soul to do the hard work of putting the pieces of my life back together. Is it easy having gained the weight? Nope. Do I still sometimes wish I hadn't? Sure. Am I beating myself up over it? No way. Because those stretch marks? I consider them my battle scars. So who gives a shit if they'll never look good in a bikini? You don't need a bikini when you've got armor. Will I feel like a sell-out if I decide eventually that I'd like to lose that weight? Nope, because I'm done having a guilty conscience about the way I feel about my body, regardless of which direction I'm leaning.

I know I'm probably reducing a very complicated issue and making it seem impossibly simplistic. I know body image and self-confidence probably can't be reconciled by simply staring at yourself in the mirror every day and telling yourself that you accept what you see. (Although, maybe it is that simple? I'm not saying you have to like it. You just have to acknowledge that it's yours and it's better to accept that than to fight it.) Yes, it can be scary and off-putting when our bodies change seemingly without our permission. And yes, it is perfectly normal to be upset when your body doesn't necessarily feel like your own anymore. But being married can be tough, and the economy sucks, so sometimes all you can do to not quit your job and murder your spouse is to throw your hands in the air and eat pizza every night until things are right again.

In the meantime, we're not doing ourselves any favors by letting our changing bodies dictate how we view our success or failure in this world. I just can't imagine anyone lying on their deathbed at 80 years old saying, "Man, I only wish I'd lost that last five pounds." What I want is for us to let ourselves off the hook for a minute and take pride in what we look like right now. Not what we looked like in high school. Or on our wedding day. Not what we'd look like if we just went to the gym each night instead of watching The Bachelor. Right. Now. Because this moment is yours. And your body is working. You heart is beating and you are breathing and that makes you a winner.

Editor's Note: I wrote this post against Meg's better judgment (not that she didn't want me to write it, but that she is gun shy about how posts about body image are discussed, even here). Weight and body image are hard topics to broach, even in a smart community like this one. Which is why this post isn't really about weight at all. It's about the way we treat our bodies when they begin to change, either through weight gain, the aging process, or other means of transformation. So I wrote a post that speaks to my specific experience, but I know that I can't speak to everyone else's specific experiences with their own bodies. What I hope is that we can have a conversation in these comments that allows us to lift each other up and that it takes a little power away from a mainstream narrative that tries to tear us down using our own insecurities. I ask that we all be respectful of each other's personal experiences, and please remember that no two bodies are ever the same, so we're all coming from a different place here.

Instagram photo of me "modeling" by Jonas Seaman (APW sponsor)

So! APW and Glö have been working together for years, to bring all of you excellent RSVP technology, paperless invites, and so much more. The founder of Glö, Taryn, is another female small business owner, which has made it particularly awesome for me to see APWers enthusiastically make her business grow and thrive. It's been a joy to see years of APW couples embrace the technology Glö offers to make you NOT want to tear your hair out managing your guest list and RSVPs (because, oh my God is that a thing no one ever warned me about...). Plus there are the excellent wedding websites Glö provides, and paper and paperless invite options. And did I mention it's affordable? Glö offers a 21 day free trial, and after that their prices are excellent (plus, Glö now offers monthly pricing plans!). You can get the Light Package (the website, with events and RSVPs) for $75 a year, and the Complete Packages with Online Stationary start at $109 a year. Compare that to what you'd spend on Save The Dates, plus invitations, plus RSVP cards, plus a website... and you'll see why tons of readers use Glö (even if they go the paper invite route as well).

But it gets better! Earlier this year, Glö and APW introduced a partnership! We rolled out wedding websites and e-invites by designers in the APW family: Kimi of A Printable Press (See her Glö designs),  Eleanor of e.m. papers (See her Glö designs), and Julie of up up creative (See her Glö designs). And, like that's not awesome enough, when you buy one of these sites through the APW + Glö Partnership page or this post, you support APW's mission as well (yippee).

But before we dive into the real meat of this post, which is discussing why many of you use Glö products and why you like them, I wanted to remind you of all the awesome things you can do with Glö (because it's not just wedding websites). With Glö, you can:

• Send Glövites: beautiful email wedding invitations, save-the-dates and even a group thank you. (Here are some examples.)
• Create a Glösite: your multi-page wedding website. You can personalize like crazy by adding photos, a countdown, fancy slideshows, videos, interactive maps, or any other widget. You can even specify which guests can view each page. And yes, now you can have the whole thing designed by an APW designer.
• Add unlimited events to your website (e.g., rehearsal dinner and reception) and select which guests are able to view each event. The website only shows the correct events to each guest, thus preventing hurt feelings. Ta-dah!
• Add unlimited RSVP questions for each event, seamlessly collect responses, and view them online or download them to a .csv file. Guests can edit RSVP responses for their entire household, preventing duplicate RSVPs. You can also update your guests’ RSVP responses online.
• Easily communicate with all or some of your guests before and after the wedding celebration using the easy messaging tool. It’s super easy to ping and remind guests to RSVP or send last minute updates.

Right? Awesome. Glö is like having a wedding invitation list personal assistant, which I'm pretty sure we all want. I mean, I for SURE wanted it. But it's not just me. Earlier this year, Taryn did a user survey, to figure out how to improve things. And while she was at it, she decided to find out why people were using Glö instead of going a more traditional wedding invitation route. Here’s what everyone had to say about why they decided to go paperless with Glö:

To Save Time And Reduce Stress

I love having everything in one happy, contained, sing-song little place—a wedding website with MULTIPLE events and RSVP questions (yes!), coordinated paperless and paper invites, privacy for my guests, and tons of customizable features to use if my little heart desires.

My favorite functionality is the RSVP and guest management. Glö has been the only way to manage my guests and RSVPs without going crazy. A close second is the ability to easily communicate with all of my guests at once via invitations, email messages, and the website itself.

It made at least one of my wedding tasks effortless. (And fun!)

To Keep It Pretty And Personal

We loved the endless design possibilities—especially being able to upload our own design. (Although we were this. close. to picking one of the incredible designs from your design partners.) Then, we had a blast filling our website with slideshows and other widgets.

To Stay Sane (And In Control)

I love that we can restrict who can see what page and events on our website. Plus I loved the ability to add an unlimited number of customizable RSVP questions.

The guest list household feature is great—we felt relaxed that we could indicate (in a classy way) which members of the household were invited to each event and whether a guest could bring a +1.

Our guests received their invitations immediately (no waiting around for weeks, blah!) and it’s great that we can track who has viewed the invitations.

To Stay Thrifty

Because it’s so affordable. I love that I’m not paying for stamps (or worrying about the mail not being delivered.) I feel rather smug and smart if I do say so myself.

To Go Green

I can look the giant oak tree outside my apartment in its knobby old eye each day and smile.

The bottom line is, there are as many ways and reasons to use Glö as there are people. If Glö had existed when I got married, I would have used an amazing APW designer's design (I know, I'm bending the past so that I can use things that I helped make happen in the future, and probably creating a black hole in this example, shhh...), used Glö for the websites and the amazing RSVP technology, and then sent paper invites. But others of you use it for totally different things, in totally different ways. And THAT, in sum, is what makes an amazing tool. One that we can each use in a way that works for us. So for those of you stressing about what the heck you're going to do for your invites, enjoy. Enjoy the organization, the pretty, the sanity, the thrift, the going green, or whatever it is that's right for you. Plus enjoy supporting an awesome small business owner and APW all in one go. Awesome, right?

The last time Cephas and I were in Malaysia together, my mom took us to see the wedding venue we'd booked after extended discussions about the inadvisability of holding the wedding dinner at a house in the jungle.

(Among the various benefits of a venue in the midst of luxuriant tropical jungle, there was a drawback: the place had no kitchen facilities, not even a microwave.

"What if the food gets cold?" said my mom.

The venue coordinator tried her best to be helpful: "Oh, don't worry. So long as the guests are hungry enough, they'll still eat even if it's cold.")

We'd settled on a rather more practical option that satisfied both my parents' desire for a certain amount of poshness, and our desire for somewhere unstuffy where our guests could relax and hang out. That is, a country club that offered horse riding facilities (sadly, not included in the wedding package), with some greenery, interesting architecture, a koi pond—and crucially, multiple kitchens on site.

The venue coordinator was a polite man in his thirties named Syamsuddin. He listened with immovable solemnity to my mom's description of the theme of the wedding, taking notes on a clipboard. He was attentive but not enthusiastic: he seemed to be nursing a secret sorrow.

"My daughter wants to have a nyonya-themed wedding," said my mother. "You know Peranakan? My mother is nyonya, so we want to reflect that in the style. Maybe match the flowers—I was thinking bird of paradise, tie with pandan. Nowadays everybody wants their wedding to be unique, you know?"

Syamsuddin nodded in understanding. "People feel boring with the normal way," he said. "Next month I have a wedding out there in the gardens. 200 guests. We're putting the chairs out there, an arch for the ceremony. I ask my client what back-up plan they want if it rains, they say it won't rain.

"At least your wedding is small, still easy to manage. There was one Datuk, when his daughter got married they had 2,000 guests. He held the function here, from 2 to 7 pm, let the guests come in installments. Otherwise cannot. Nowhere to fit so many people. These days there's a lot of weddings. People spend a lot."

He lapsed into thoughtful silence. I saw that the sorrow must have its out.

"My uncle, he works in the Department of Islamic Affairs," he said. "Every day he sees forty divorces coming through. Forty divorces a day! You see the celebrities, three months they're married, then they divorce." He shook his head, overwhelmed. "I don't understand. When you marry, must think. It's very serious."

My mom had been listening with growing impatience.

"Yes, yes," she said, "but what do you think about the flowers?"

I can't say Syamsuddin's advice made Cephas and I reflect very much on the perils of marriage or the risk of divorce, but it did made me think about the goodwill that attends a wedding, the kindness and interest that people will frequently show. It is a big step, but if you are lucky—particularly if you're straight, of course—people are with you. Neither of you are going into it alone.

Grim musings on divorce rates might not seem the most obvious expression of goodwill, but it is, of course. If Syamsuddin's words had scared us off he'd've had one less paying customer – perhaps no great loss considering how many weddings are still going on in the face of unencouraging odds, but still. In the circumstances, the exhortation to think seriously before getting married can only be taken as a gesture of sincerity.

Perhaps it's foolhardy of me, but I'm not afraid of divorce. I worry about a lot of things to do with our relationship, but not that. My family hasn't had any divorces (not that every marriage in it has been a beacon of trust and companionship!); Cephas' extended family has had one. Maybe that's why I don't worry about it as something real that could happen to us.

But you know, there's a lot of real things that could happen to us that I don't worry about. Illness, need, family discord. At least one of those is bound to strike us sooner or later, but this year I'm getting married. This year is a time for hope. If I've got to worry about anything, why not flowers?

This is soppy, but it makes me think of Anne of Green Gables' engagement ring: she asks for a "circlet of pearls" and her fiancé objects because pearls stand for tears.

"I'm not afraid of that. And tears can be happy as well as sad. My very happiest moments have been when I had tears in my eyes—when Marilla told me I might stay at Green Gables—when Matthew gave me the first pretty dress I ever had—when I heard that you were going to recover from the fever. So give me pearls for our troth ring, Gilbert, and I'll willingly accept the sorrow of life with its joy."

Or, as Meg says in the book:

Weddings are about hope. Weddings are hope for the future, hope for a new generation, and the hope that love and family can win over everything else.

Right now it's OK to be young and foolhardy and profligate with joy. That's what this time is for.

Photo by: Emily Takes Photos (APW Sponsor)

When my daughter Maddie asked me to write something about overcoming the loss of a fairy tale (I don't think those were her exact words), I didn't know where to start. I knew what she was looking for theoretically, but putting important experiences into words is her forte, not mine. Mine is just plain old perseverance. I make lists. I check things off the lists. It's what I do. I even make lists for other people. Ask my husband; he loves lists. He always knows what I'm looking for based on his list. Nope, no mind reading or mixed messages in our house. Just lists. Now that I think of it, my wedding vows to him were a list: Top Ten Reasons to Marry John Brooks—presented in full color—Letterman style. A big hit.

Maddie taught me about lists. It was in the wake of getting dumped—again—by someone I really loved. I was sitting at my kitchen island crying with her sister Casey consoling me when she called. Her words would change my life and how I looked at everything. She asked me if I remembered the movie Runaway Bride. I said yes. She asked me if I remembered Julia Roberts' character only eating the eggs her fiancés liked. I did. Her next few words set off a light bulb in my head—a bright one that still burns.  “Mom, you need to decide what kind of eggs you like.”

Casey and I then started my list. We listed every attribute I was looking for in a partner—something I had never thought about in my 38 years. These are the attributes beyond attraction. These are the ones that make for a real live lifetime union, the ones that meet the in-sickness-and-in-health standards. I was so busy trying to fulfill everyone else's criteria, I had never stopped to create my own. I had doomed myself to misery and lost fairy tales by not looking beyond nice teeth and a sense of humor. Brilliant work, Jennifer.

So, from here I will take what I have learned and share it with you in list form. It's not the same as my other bulleted lists; it's more of a numbered tutorial on survival. This is a list of what-ifs and what-to-do-ifs when the road to happiness gets rough...or turns into a Thelma and Louise kind of ride.

1. Keep on Truckin': These are the only words I remember from my first wedding—a toast aimed at my groom, delivered by a large, bearded, biker-looking dude I had never met, and who I would have feared had I met him in a secluded area. Looking back, that toast would become my unspoken mantra, not my ex-husbands. For me, that first fairy tale (yes the first— I'm a slow learner) ended abruptly. It wasn't good; waking up at age twenty-two and realizing you're not a real princess, after finding out the night before that Charming cheated on you, makes for a real dream crusher. Throw in two baby girls and one on the way in weeks and your fairy tale dreams are not just ruined; you are in the dungeon alone with your kids and a fiery dragon named What the F*ck Do I Do Now. Moments like this tend to bring clarity. If the immediate moment fails you, as it did for me, plan a family outing to the social services office to apply for welfare. Here, your babies may be offered bubble gum by a very large, braless, toothless woman wearing jeans and a laundry-bag-mesh shirt. Wait... did I mention braless? Yeah. That brings clarity. This is where I learned I didn't like Dependent Housewife Eggs. I liked College Education Eggs. So I got me some.
2. I Knew I Loved You When You Crushed that Wiffle-Ball: This should have been a warning sign. If that wasn't enough, his mom asking if he was going to wear the same wedding ring he did in his first marriage (at our engagement dinner), should have been. These weren't bad people. They were actually great people—in their own way. They were just different. Really different and from the other side of the tracks, where tact was a tool used by commoners. This roller coaster of backhanded compliments and uncomfortable dinners became secondary—wait, no—forgotten—when we faced the terminal diagnosis of our eight-year-old daughter, Stephie. Remember I told you about life wrecking fairy tales? This is what I'm talking about. This is one of those times when even the best relationships are pushed to their very limit, or even break. Ours broke. This situation was an evil, gritty test of love and respect. Hindsight says it wasn't a reduced level of love or personal abandonment; it was that people grieve differently. We learned that in grief counseling with the kids—after we separated. I learned that he didn't mean to leave me isolated with my grief. But he did. This is where I learned I didn't like Surviving Really Bad Sh*t Alone Eggs. I liked Team Eggs. So I started scouting.
3. Somebody Call 911. Yeah. It's that cliché:  So the list is made. I'm over the in-betweener guy who dumped me. I'm obviously 15 pounds lighter from love sickness and I'm tan—real tan—'cause it's summer in Maine and my friend has a boat. This was one of those summers I hoped I ran into the 'tweener so he could see how fiiiinnne I was looking from afar and hate himself for letting me get away. It happened. Yay me. And in that summer, I actually found not being in a relationship freed up a lot of time for running with Justin Timberlake while he sang "Sexy Back" to me over and over. I was in the zone. You know the one. Needless to say, I was also in therapy trying to figure out why I made the same mistakes over and over. I sat in a calm room with an odd man named Mark who wore round, red glasses and who would never let me joke about anything. Self-deprecating humor was apparently not his thing. Every time I tried it, he answered with, “Why is that funny? That's not funny.” Then, I would cry. Ultimately, his message was the same as Maddie's, just more expensive. We only met for a few months. I had learned enough from him and if I had questions in the future, I could call Mads. The last time I saw Mark, I was crying about my grief, a diagnosis of PTSD, and no one understanding me. I was tired of telling my story and was longing for someone to just know what I had been through so I could stop explaining it already. He was empathetic, but direct as usual. I don't recall his words, but I think I heard, “Let it go. You're on your own.” Whatever.

As fairy tales and fate would have it, he was wrong. Take that red, round glasses man. I bumped into a parent of one of my students at a hockey game. He was talking about renovating his house and picking out paint colors. I told him my summer job that year was interior design and that I could help if he'd like. I picked his paint colors and we talked. A lot. He was nice. I liked his dimples... but I was working on not being superficial, remember? I actually liked him a lot, but resisted liking him, because while I knew he met most of the criteria on my new list, it was unfamiliar territory to be treated so well without having to hit a wiffle ball over the neighbor's roof. I fought through it though, spending a lot of time talking myself into letting it happen—force feeding myself an Egg I Think I Might Like. Then came the deal sealer—the part that makes others refer to our story as a fairy tale or fate or something else even bigger than us.

A few months after the hockey game, we were talking on the phone about him needing tile picked out for his new bathroom. The conversation went here and there as they do. He talked about raising money to honor fellow firefighters who were killed in a fire in Charleston, and I talked a little about Stephie and fundraising events we did to raise money for scholarships in her name at the Maine College of Art. As I was talking, he was very quiet, until he finally interrupted me. With a calm, cautious voice he said, “I was there.” I was confused and trying to remember him at our fundraisers. I asked, “Which one?” He said, “No. I was there. At your house.” He was talking about the one call we had to make to 911 for Stephie. She had a massive seizure that stopped her breathing. It traumatized all of us. It was the basis for my PTSD diagnosis. He told me it just hit him at the fire station that day—he had been on Engine 8 that night and came to our house. He remembered the call. He told me how the ambulance took too long to get there because of a train blocking the road. He was right. He described my house and Stephie's room. He was there. He had no memory of me, just Stephie and Casey, who was running back and forth beside me while I did CPR on Stephie, yelling “Don't let her die, Mama! Don't let her die!” He remembered Casey's big brown eyes staring up at him while she asked to say goodbye to her sister. As he talked, I remembered his voice in the ambulance telling the driver, also named Jen, that she could slow down. “We've got her, Jen.” I could hear his voice so clearly in my head. I thought he was talking to me that night when he said Jen. His voice eased my anxiety on the way to the hospital. He and his crew brought Stephie back to us that night, long enough for her to make it to her goal—my birthday—27 days later.  The 27 days that gave us some tiny touch of serenity in our grief. She passed the day after my birthday after a bittersweet conversation about being a very good angel in heaven. She died peacefully after giving me one last smile and a roll of the eyes when I told her not to be a slacker when she was on duty up there in the clouds.

After hanging up the phone that night and crying for another few hours—I was a little overwhelmed. It was weird to me that he was there. I was happy, relieved, and freaked out all at the same time. I got what I asked for. That was weird. Then, I thought further and bigger. Maybe my fairy tale and road to the Good Egg I now call my husband was being paved all along—maybe my path was just a crooked, bumpy gravel road. Perhaps life offered me the lessons on that road that I needed to care for and cherish a real love so it would not be trivialized, under-appreciated, or wasted. I don't know. Sometimes I think it may have just taken a little help from above—yes, I'm talking to you, Stephie—to land me in the right castle with the right Prince. But why over think it or try to figure out the hows and the whys, right?

I should go. It's date night and there are a couple of dimples calling my name.

Jen and John's wedding photo from their personal collection

Turns out, I've REALLY been missing wedding graduate posts (and I'm sure I'm not the only one, so if you've been pondering it for forever, now is the time to submit yours). Because Francie's post hit me in the gut and reminded me why weddings are so powerful. (Powerful enough that I like thinking about them all these years after mine.) It's not because they're pretty, and oddly, not even because of the love, exactly. They are endlessly fascinating to me because they are about two people going through a powerful moment of transition and learning something from it. As Francie says, "A wedding, like a marriage, is not about bringing things under control." It's about something else entirely. Let's discuss.

Just after Matthew and I got engaged, we spent five days at a silent meditation retreat, together, but not together. We slept in separate buildings, didn’t speak at all, but would see each other during the day, on the other side of the meditation hall or during meals.

It was a perfect way to let everything settle—the hugeness of what we were about to do, the intention I wanted to set for our married life. And, of course, it was a fabulous opportunity to contemplate various techniques for making enough lasagna for a hundred people all by myself. Let me tell you, when there are five days of silence and a wedding to plan, I know how to keep myself occupied.

I am a planner. I love to make lists and spreadsheets, and I love thinking through details until they are settled, resolved, and mostly under control. This served me well for much of our wedding planning and really, much of my life. We did figure out where to find enough lasagna for one hundred people on the cheap, even if I wasn’t the one who made it (hint: Whole Foods!).

We found a spectacular farm willing to host us and a whole crew of friends who camped out. I thought through every tiny aspect of the day and the weekend, list making, supplies stocking, project managing. But here’s the thing that I learned slowly through this process. A wedding, like a marriage, is not about bringing things under control.

From the beginning, we wanted the ceremony to be the most important part of the wedding (followed in close second by a throwdown dance party). We both felt strongly about this, believing in the importance of ritual and wanting our community to participate in a ceremony that felt like a genuine expression of our intentions. But the thing is, just what that ceremony would look like was an open question. I found myself wishing that we were Christian or Jewish or belonging to any sort of established religion. Then, I thought, it would be easier to connect to a tradition that spoke to us and to make our wedding about something bigger than ourselves.

It’s not that our lives have lacked any kind of religious tradition. It’s just that we have yet to settle on our own. Matthew’s parents are devout Christians, actively involved in their church, and my parents were Buddhists for many years. Matthew has considered himself a Buddhist since I met him, and I’m an in-betweener, wary of labels, noncommittal, skeptical at times, and inspired at others. There was something about getting married, though, that made me feel like we needed to settle on a particular kind of spirituality that fit the both of us. And there was something about the ceremony that seemed to embody all of this. It wasn’t just about saying our vows; it was about defining our spiritual life together.

Needless to say, my spreadsheet-list-making-planning skills did not prove to be as useful in this domain of wedding planning. I struggled to even express why it all felt so hard and so confusing and basically awkward. There were lots of long, emotional conversations, endless combing of the internet for Buddhist-inspired wedding ceremony ideas. We would come up with a plan that seemed alright, and then it would suddenly strike me as totally inauthentic and stiff and just not me. Up until the rehearsal, I felt this nagging sense of anxiety that I wouldn’t feel totally myself at this moment that felt so pivotal.

In retrospect, this whole agonizing process was about embracing the fact that getting married is one giant leap into the unknown. It’s not about figuring it all out, or defining our future in specific terms.

On our wedding day, as I walked in to the garden where all of our friends and family were waiting, my mom squeezed my hand and reminded me to be present. I remember the vividness of the trees against the blue sky, the smell of the flowers, the breeze. Beyond that, the details are slippery. I don’t remember what the officiant said as he introduced the ceremony, but I remember the feeling of listening, holding Matthew’s hand, letting it all fall into place.

Here we were, surrounded by so many people we love, in this garden, on this day, committing to the wide-open mystery of the rest of our lives together. Our friends read poems, and my sister sang. We made offerings on a homemade shrine to the six Paramitas, as is the Buddhist tradition, and read vows that we had written to each other.

To close the ceremony, the officiant threw rice and chanted the Four Immeasurables:

May all beings enjoy happiness and the causes of happiness.
May all beings be free from suffering and the root of suffering.
May we not be separated from the great happiness devoid of suffering.
May we dwell in the great equanimity free from passion, aggression and ignorance.

The gong rang three times and hung in the air until the garden was quiet, then we walked up the aisle to the opening chords of one of my favorite Bruce Springsteen songs. And later that night we had the greatest dance party of my life, under a full moon.

Five months in to our married life, we still don’t know what religion we are. I don’t think we ever will. We still have juicy, complicated, and sometimes emotional conversations about it. I think we always will. That’s the point, right?

The Info—Photography: Patrick Haywood as well as friends & family/ Venue: Green Oaks Creek Farm

Erika and I, like many readers of APW, slid gently into engagement rather than in one momentous display. First came discussions about whether either of us was even in favor of marriage (previously, we were both firmly opposed—funny how finding the right person changes your mind on that subject). We discussed conceptual children and what became very real plans to move across the country. There is still some disagreement between us whether I asked her to take her name (her contention) or if she beat me to the punch (which is the clear memory that I have) but not long after we decided to get married, before we even announced it to the world, we knew I'd be taking her last name. It wasn't a very fraught decision. I know it's supposed to be a big deal for the husband to take the wife's name, but for us it just wasn't. We wanted to share a name to symbolize that we were a family together, and since we'd both come of age in pretty strong queer communities, we knew we didn't have to abide by anyone's rules but the ones we made for ourselves. We didn't really get any push back from the people in our lives, and while my parents were a little reticent at first, they recognized that there wasn't any reason I shouldn't take Erika's name other than “tradition.”

The whole process was complicated by neither of us using our birth names in our day-to-day lives. Her “last name” was her professional last name (she's an actor), which she hadn't yet gotten around to legally changing. This was another reason for me to take her name; Erika had already established a professional identity under that name. For her, that name was her brand. If that been the only issue, we could have just selected her stage name for both of us when we signed the marriage license. But I had been using a different first name for over twenty years (anyone who learned my legal first name tended to be baffled by how wrong it was for me), so clearly, this was an opportunity for us to get all our names changed in one fell swoop. I would change my entire name, first and last, and when we married she would “take” her own professional name.

In California, at least, changing your name through the courts (which I had to do because I was changing my first name as well as my last) is a fairly involved and somewhat expensive process. I got advice from a transwoman I work with, but she'd done it years ago with assistance from the transgender law center, and so some of her experience was glossed over and out of date. In June I filled out the numerous forms. I paid a lawyer to look them over and was glad I did; as with any legal document there was plenty to get wrong. Another $400 and a month later I had a court date, then two months more, to give time to publish my name change for six weeks in a local weekly (another $100). (As late as 2007, this was the only way a man in California could take his wife's name; at over $600 dollars vs. $80, one could see why it would get challenged under the equal protection clause). However, as I was changing both my given name and my surname, that victory for equality in the California court system did not, alas, help me.

The court date in October was anticlimactic. “This is your old name? This is your new name? Did I pronounce it right? Great, you're done.” By now we were solidly into wedding planning; we'd decided on a reception venue and were deciding on menus, preparing to send out invitations. We finalized a date, I got fitted for a fancy suit, and Erika asked, “What do you think will be different when we're married? How will you feel?”

“Like this,” I said. “I don't think anything will change.” It came up more in the succeeding weeks. I felt like we had a solid commitment, that the wedding was just a party attached to some legal niceties. What could be different? There was clearly a disconnect over this between us, but I couldn't understand it.

I don't remember when, exactly, I figured it out, but it was near the end of December. Everything I'd done to change my name I'd done without Erika. Names have a lot of power, so much of one's identity is wrapped up in a name, and all those things that a person frets about when they change their name in a marriage, I'd already done. I'd signed papers and had a little ceremony, no matter how prosaic, and had done it without my wife by my side. Erika was still standing on the other side of that divide, and she was there without me.

Fortunately, it wasn't hard to come back over. For starters, all the shared anxiety over our impending event was actually a great bond. Moreover, as much as I felt like I'd already changed over, I was wrong. A wedding is different. The ceremony is incredibly powerful, more overwhelming than I could have known. I cried like a baby. I still tear up to think of it now. That party where you cavort around and drink champagne and eat with people who are there to celebrate this impossible leap with you is more than just a party. To come home and hold your new wife in your arms is completely different than holding her the night before. I'd taken Erika's name, and with it a part of her, a part of her identity, but until I stood up and said my vows I wasn't truly married, no matter how blasé I'd felt before.

After it's all done, it doesn't really make any difference to the world at large. Our rules and promises are still for us, and we don't care what anyone else thinks; indeed, keeping separate names would be more likely to garner comments, would be more noticeable, now and in the future, than my taking her name. As my best friend pointed out, taking Erika's name isn't really any kind of feminist statement, it's still buying into the normative experience with a minor change. Feminism and a willingness to buck tradition allow for the choice, but one of us is still subsuming some aspect of our identity in the other. Strangers will assume we follow the standard narrative, and anyone we care about will understand.

What would I have done differently? What advice do I have for myself almost a year ago? Take her with you to the courthouse. Yes, it will be inconvenient. It may take longer, since you have to sync up your schedules to choose dates when both of you can put off other commitments. But for pre-wedding Tristan, and anyone else making this kind of change in your life, I say make sure that your spouse-to-be is there with you. Frankly, it's good advice going forward too. Look out for those important markers, those life changes, and no matter how banal the process is, make your partner a partner. When you change, change together.

Photo of Erika & Tristan's Wedding by: LittleBat Photography (APW Sponsor)

One of the best parts of my job (damn it! I'm always saying that!) is watching young businesses get their start and grow, thanks in large part to the APW community. Because really, it's the best (and I know you guys love it, too). So I'm delighted to give you an update on JayLee Photography out of Seattle, shooting in Arizona (and anywhere you'll take them for the cost of a plane ticket). They joined APW as sponsors back in December, and since then y'all have embraced them and made their business better. I love that.

JayLee Photography is made up of a young married couple, Josh and Ali, who are building a business and their lives together. Since they just got hitched (almost a year ago now!) they totally get who you are and what you're going through. They want to give you no-nonsense service with serious artistry. Plus, they're affordable. Their basic, no frills (but 10 hours of shooting with two photographers!) wedding package starts at $2,500, because they want to work with you.

But mostly, I'm really excited about their simple, no-nonsense artistic philosophy. Josh told me that this is the core of what they're trying to do, "We are the little black dress of wedding photography. We try to be innovative and current while still producing photos that are long-lasting. We strive for fresh, vibrant, awesome, unique and beautiful photos above 'cool for now' ones. We personally don’t believe in overdone coloration or overused pre-sets, excessive tilt-shift, or light trails during a slow dance. We push ourselves to create contemporary photos without doing what’s popular with photographers that season. We are so nerdy that we get inspiration for how to frame a shot while watching movies, looking at fashion magazines, and going to the museum." And you know my deep love of the not-too-trendy, just seriously good wedding photograph.

But really, enough of me talking about JayLee Photography. I really want to let Josh and Ali talk about their own work, and well, really about what's happened with you guys over the last few months:

So us+apw has really equalled a lot of great stuff since our last ad. The pain of living in a place (Hello Seattle) where weddings seem so bloody seasonal is that we haven't had the joy of shooting an APW wedding yet, but we have met and shot e-sessions with lots of APW couples, and we're all swoony over them. We've found the most genuine and wonderful connections with everyone who's spotted us on APW and have been pleasantly floored to find couples wading the wedding planning waters with such joy and level heads.

Our favorite story so far is from this lovely couple from Arizona who wrote us saying they connected with us, our principles, and photos, and they really wanted us there for their wedding. They are having this three-day shindig that is a huge family reunion (or union, in the case of families finally meeting for the first time) that will culminate in their wedding on the last day. The "venue" is a camp ground in northern Arizona and the ceremony is going to have some really awesome cultural elements to it. We immediately fell in love with them and checked our calendar to find we had already booked a wedding the day before in Seattle. A Friday Seattle wedding and a Saturday Arizona wedding seemed plausible but the risk of flight cancellations and delays was really weighing on us, so we had a Skype date with them to "meet" and talk about that little issue. Then they dropped the bomb that made our hearts grow three sizes: "Well, if you're late, you're late, and we'll wait 'til you get there. We're not really hung up on the minutia of the day. We know it'll be a great one, but we've already had a lot of great days together and we're going to have tons more, so sticking to a schedule is the least of our worries."

And that really solidified how we have come to know the APW family. Each couple we've met and/or booked has had this beautiful view of the place of their wedding in the context of their marriage and we couldn't be happier to call them clients (and friends. Seriously. Our calendar is half-full of coffee/drink/dinner dates with them, totally unrelated to wedding planning. It's awesome). We are so excited to be with them for their weddings and get to document all that lovin'. They are all just so rad.

So let's talk basics: We're about three weeks away from our one-year anniversary (woah) and decided we want to do something to commemorate and remember each year. So we picked photos (too easy?). Each year we are documenting where we are, what we've done, and who we've become with a little anniversary shoot. While we'd love to ambitiously talk each of our couples into doing the same, we think that at the very least, they should want to continue documenting their love story after their wedding has passed… because really, that's just the start, right? So to any APW couple that books ANY of our new packages we will be throwing in an "anniversary session" to snapshot their love story in the year after their marriage. (Editors note: of course I love this...) Also, we're still offering our "travel for the cost of airfare" and "free travel to Phoenix" promotions. Oh, and we're still throwing in "bringing tons of awesome" at no charge.

So, perfect, right? If you're in Seattle, or Arizona, or just want to buy Josh and Ali a plane ticket, all that fresh young JayLee Photography energy could be yours. They love you, you love them, they're on fire growing their portfolio, and they totally want to take your picture after you're married. How perfect is that. And also, if you want to get to know them better (of course you do), you can tune into their JayLee M.O. posts on their blog, where, "We take a lot of fun/controversial/useful stances on a lot of stuff wedding—and photo—related." Rad. I predict friendships, pretty photos, and magic.

One of our biggest dilemmas is what to do about a Wedding Gift List. My fiancé and I have always thought that writing a list of 'wants' and demanding stuff is completely opposed to our shared values. None of our family and friends are wealthy, and when we're asking people to travel to the middle of nowhere for our wedding (mid-Wales—might as well be the moon for most people!) it seems pretty cheeky to then demand that they spend £50 on a casserole dish.

However, producing a gift list seems to be the expected thing to do (in the UK, at least; might be different in the States?). Our parents have said that a gift list actually reduces a lot of stress for our guests and also ensures that we don't get any unwanted presents, which I suppose means less waste.

We do not want to ask for money, and the only other alternatives I can think of are either saying 'no gifts' or asking people to donate to a charity of our choice. This seems like a sensible option, but I think many of our guests would like to give us something that we can cherish and use in our new family.

Perhaps this is a fairly minor concern, given some of the massive issues you deal with on this site! It does, however, feel important to get right, so that we also make sure that present giving is as easy (and cheap) as it can be for all our family and friends. Any thoughts or experiences from Team Practical and readers would be great!

Thank you,

Emma

Dear Emma,

Your parents are right! While at one time it would’ve seemed odd (or even rude) to pick out a list of items for your guests to buy you, these days, registries (what “gift lists” are called in the States) are meant to help your guests. No one wants you to end up with six green blenders (especially if you already have a blender and your kitchen is yellow). I understand your well-meant concern for your guests' wallets, but honey, they're grown-ups. They get to decide how much they do or don't spend on you. For many of us married old-heads (especially those who were once young and poor ourselves), it's a treat and a privilege to spend a chunk of cash helping our friends get started in their marriage. The best you can do is choose a selection of things you need in many price ranges and then let them give what they like. Even if you don't have a registry, chances are that your friends are going to be generous to you.

Of course, your guests have the option of foregoing the registry if they don’t like it, but many of them may find it helpful in knowing what you need and how they can help. As Meg has written before, creating a registry allows your friends and family to help build the home around your marriage. That’s a pretty nice thought, right? And you may find that you’ll remember those friends and family members later when you use those everyday objects—the whisk from Aunt Sue and the ironing board from your college roommate. By allowing your friends to give you gifts, you allow them to tangibly help build your future and create special memories to attach to ordinary things. Making a list of things you need only makes that gift-giving process easier for them!

*****

This seems like a silly question to ask, given some of the big problems and deep insights that often come up in this column, but here goes: What should we do with wedding gifts we don't like? They all have sentimental value as tokens of our loved ones' good wishes, but our small apartment just doesn't fit several pieces of art that are not our style, not to mention all the sentimental tchotchkes that are cute or pretty but that we have no place to put. Some of the more practical things I might return or regift—picture frames, far too many pie plates—but the art, or the silly little things with our names on them really feel like things we should keep, even though they don't at all go with our decor and we wouldn't have space for them, if they did. I also have a memory of my mom indicating a wedding gift she had received decades earlier and saying "I thought that was such a dumb gift when we first got it, but it's meant more and more to me through the years," which makes me worry that if we do get rid of anything, we'll regret it in the future. Will it be the appliances and dishes that I love so much now that seem boring in twenty years while the more unusual and personalized gifts, while not my style, come to be more meaningful? Even if so, what does that mean for my limited storage and display space now?

-Apartment Won't Fit Useless Loot

Dear AWFUL,

Again with you guys minimizing the gift questions! Gifts are important, people! Especially when you have limited apartment space and a lot of generous friends.

Those picture frames and pie plates that you’re willing to re-gift are no less special than the tacky art or knick-knacks, are they? Right. So why the hesitation in parting with these certain things? Because they have your name on them? My high school gym shorts had my name sharpied on the inside. It didn’t make them more precious, I can tell you that.

If you have a spare bit of space in a closet, under a bed, or behind a sofa, consider stacking all of these wonderfully thoughtful but terribly tacky gifts together, out of sight. Next time you move or spring clean or are looking for an extra laundry quarter, you may happen upon them with more of an objective perspective. Or, speaking of your mother, put them in a box marked "wedding gifts" and stick them in her garage, to find later. Sometimes we need space from objects before we can really assess if they’re meaningful or not. If I give myself a year or so, I often have an easier time sorting what to keep and what to throw out.

Your mom is right—you may be surprised at what little trinkets have gained value to you over time. But, if you purge these things, I can pretty much guarantee you won’t miss them. There won’t be some day in ten years when you wistfully remember that portrait of Fluffy that Cousin Fred had commissioned. While the items you keep may gain value, the ones you ditch probably won’t be missed. If you're on the fence about anything, keep it and see how you feel about it later (see: above, behind the couch or in Mom's basement). This goes double for anything that isn't really your style but is high quality or conversely, anything that's just flat-out weird (weird tends to just get more fun with age). Anything that smacks of ugly or tacky, pass right on.

That said, keep in mind why these gifts are meaningful—because of the people who gave them, when and why. If this ceramic figurine of a bride is the only thing that Great-Great Grandma has ever given you, sure. Consider keeping it to remember Great-Great Grandma. But chances are that each of these loved ones probably have given you other gifts. Maybe even ones that suit your taste a bit better. I'd think it'd be better to remember them with nice things rather than tacky ones. As far as your wedding day, I can bet you’ve got plenty of mementos, photos and memories to savor without holding onto the ugly ones. When it comes down to it, your friends gave you these things to enjoy. If you’re not enjoying them, there’s no guilt or heartache in moving on. (You just may not want to let your friends know that you did.)

*****

One of my beloved college friends is getting married in six weeks and I am eager to send her a wedding gift. I ordered her shower gift off her registry happily and was excited to pick out something for her wedding from one of her three registries. My boyfriend and I popped over to her website to check it out but we were disappointed to see that most of the registry had been completed already. What is protocol here? I love putting together gift baskets and making them very personal—but as a person in the wedding industry who just saw her sister get married, I feel a little disrespectful going rogue (off registry). I get the importance of a registry, but there is virtually nothing there. Do I buy from the remnants of their registry, or do I do my own thing? As a never-been-Bride, how much does it frustrate the bride to receive gifts she hadn't asked for?
Thank you!
G.

Dear G.,

Some folks really are quick on the registry trigger, aren’t they? Lucky for you, this is a good friend and you can pick a gift the way you would at any other holiday or birthday—using what you know about her to pick something she’d like! Remember, the registry is just to cover the basic necessities of newlyweds and to make sure they don’t get doubles (or triples) of any one thing. Now that the spatulas and frying pans are all bought, you get to have a little fun in picking out a gift! Exciting.

You mentioned a sweet gift basket; that sounds like a great idea! Using what you know about your friend and her partner, you can pull together a few things for a great movie night in, or maybe some spirits and cocktail mixers, or some fancy foods for them to taste. The point is that the registry isn’t meant to confine! It’s just the starting point. You have free reign in giving your friend a terrific gift to celebrate her marriage.

*****

Team Practical, how have you handled wedding gifts (both your own and for others)? Did you create a registry for your guests? Did you trash ugly but well-meant art? Dish!

Photo by APW sponsor Lauren McGlynn Photography

If you would like to ask Team Practical a question please don't be shy! You can email Liz at: askteampractical [at] apracticalwedding [dot] com.  If you would prefer to not be named, anonymous questions are also accepted.  Though it really makes our day when you come up with a clever sign-off!

It's possible that I've never had a news article show up as often in my Twitter feed with a desperate plea for APW discussion than the recent New York Times article about joint finances called, "In Marriage, the Unseen Bottom Line." The comments were mostly in the vein of, "This article makes me livid, but hey! They quoted Caitlin Moran!"

As most of you know, I'm a long time (feminist) advocate of pooling your financial resources (see: marriage as mini-socialism). But this article, the couples that were pooling their financial resources scared the shit out of me. I suddenly understood people's reticence to pool resources. Because yes, if pooling family resources meant that I couldn't spend money without my partner's say-so, or that I ceded all personal responsibility for knowing the nature of our finances (this is dangerous stuff, women of the world, whether you pool your finances or not), you bet I'd think it was anti-feminist to pool finances. Here are some key quotes:

A completely unscientific snap poll of 44 girlfriends in Europe and the United States — all highly educated, in their 30s and in relationships, most with children and a job — showed that 41 pooled at least some money with their partners. Dissecting what constitutes joint spending makes for an intriguing study in gender equality: Milk and diapers rarely cause disputes. But what about postnatal yoga? Or haircuts, invariably more expensive for women than men?

I asked Paul, Rachel’s husband, why he felt that shoes (and, it turns out, makeup and clothes! What am I doing wrong?) should be paid for by the joint account. “There are so many explicit and implicit requirements on how a woman should look,” he said. You shouldn’t be punished financially for being female, he said. Caitlin Moran, author of the best-selling “How to Be a Woman,” called it a tax on being a woman.

When women have children and one parent, still usually the mother, sacrifices at least some earnings to maternity leave or part-time work or a less ambitious career, the notion of equality would seem to demand that both parents pool their (often different) incomes and decide on an identical spending allowance. But in my mini-survey, 30 of the 41 women with joint accounts preferred keeping their (often lower) salaries in a personal account and paying a pro-rated amount into the family pool in order to enjoy some unscrutinized spending. “I know that a lot of my spending is frivolous, and I couldn’t defend it if you shoved a spreadsheet in my face.” 

But if the women spend the money, the guys control it. Only one of the friends I interviewed is in charge of family finances ... What it is with us liberated women? We took care of our financial affairs when we were single. Why do we give up control when a man shows up? “It’s boring,” groaned one French friend — a banker, no less — echoing many others. “I’m rubbish at math,” said another. It’s just a division of labor, suggested a third. “He is finance minister, and I am minister of culture and entertainment.” —Read the Whole Article

But with all of my reservations about the Jimmy Cho shopping on the sly, out-of-control-of-the-family-finances way that women were portrayed in the article, I felt that some of the questions that the piece was asking were key. For those of us who do pool finances, how do we deal with what comes out of a joint account? How do we deal with the fact that it is, in fact, more expensive to be a woman? (My hair and clothes just cost more, and as such, hair and clothes come from our joint account. We attempt to make up for the inequality in the world here at home.) I tend to think that the way we manage our finances points to our real values and the real way that we are treating each other. Are we treating each other with respect and care, or are we mirroring the inequalities of the world in our homes? And why on earth do women not know how much the family has in the bank?

For me, the real question becomes, how can we fully support each other, while still maintaining our independence? Because I won't lie. It deeply saddens me that women who are staying home part- or full-time caring for children are living on less, because they can't figure out another way to let their partner give them some damn autonomy over their spending.

Let's discuss.

Photo: Jennah betting on the Kentucky Derby in her wedding dress by Zachary Hunt Photography (APW sponsor)