Right now it’s 31 in NJ and I’m sitting in a bath with a lovely glass of wine and a good book. That’s my IG worthy story anyway. And while it’s mostly true (there’s no wine), you don’t see the whole picture (not that you want to see a picture of me in the tub-that would be weird-but you know what I mean). Why am I in the tub, you ask? Let me tell you .... I started the afternoon taking my 11 year old daughter outside to practice lacrosse which neither she nor I have ever played or watched beside that one time in my high school gym class. I think I was pretty good, but the memory is foggy. She has middle school tryouts tmrw and I wanted her to feel at least confident going into practice that she could catch and throw. It was cold, but it will be at practice will be tmrw too so we toughed it out. We live on our family farm and our house is at the lowest point topographically speaking on the farm. It’s been raining in NJ since basically last March. We’re inundated with water. That's like 365,000 days of rain. It runs downhill, ya know... along with other stuff my dad told me about when I was watching him do plumbing work as a little girl. Oh and keep your fingers out of your mouth was another pointer he gave me. He could do and can do anything. Yesterday, my hubby was tired of plugging, unplugging, replugging and forgetting to unplug the sump pump in our crawl space. He expressed the need to “do something about this water” when it gets warmer and as a “words of affirmation” love language person, I take anything that’s not praise as a simple attack. I, while battling a toothache and a Monday and a case of “I don’t ask for help from anyone least of all my dad who works harder than any of us” snapped back as if he were attacking the entire establishment of our family farm. It was snippy and unnecessary and I apologize. I’m not sure what the reason in my psyche is that I have a hard time verbally saying, “I’m sorry”, so I find other ways. Ways which are usually strenuous and somewhat risky and usually make him say, “Why would you do that?” But, as an “acts of service” guy, I know he likes to see expressions of love. Back to the bath, it’s not relaxing and I haven’t picked up that book yet because I’m writing this! The warm water is actually excruciating on my little toes. I started the afternoon with 10 and I hope to have at least 9 of them when I’m done here.
So water needed to move. Someone needed to move it and I was the only farm girl in town today. There are a ton of “country girls”, but that’s another story and just for concerts and such. I digress... I started small by just opening a little ditch near my other daughter’s chicken coop, then I went all in. I opened the horse fence and took one step in and went up to my knee (I’m only 5’1” and the 1” is probably a lie so it’s not THAT deep but it was significant...and cold) into icy, legit icy, muddy murky I-don’t-want-to-know-what water. It seriously felt like someone hit my baby toes with hammers. But the damage was done and the ditches needed to be dug. Hubby needed to know I was sorry ... and capable of doing the work because I do things by myself. It’s what I do. I spent the next 2 hours in cold, have I mentioned very cold, icy water. Duck boots only work if you only go in to about your ankles by the way. Any deeper and the water pours in through the lace loops and the over the top. This girl needed some hip waders but I’m not sure they make them my height. The laces on my boots were frozen and forming crystals. I kid you not. It happened. Back and forth I went opening up that French drain. Maybe that’s what kept me in the game ... a French drain has to be a sexy thing, right? It was French after all. If someone would have brought me a macaron all would be well. They did not. Even the horse, good old Outlaw, whose muck I was moving out of the ditch went back into the barn and called me a damn fool. Here we are, back in the bath. It’s getting more bearable and I can wiggle my toes. They are pinking up so I think we’ll keep them all. Why does this matter and or appear on a wedding planning blog? Because of two reasons - first and foremost, as is with most things I do, it’s about marriage. When you sign up for it, you do whatever it takes to make sure the other person knows you’re truly sorry and that you’d do anything to make him/her happy. Anything it takes to make their world a better place is worth doing. Secondly, it’s about work ethic. Where was your wedding planner this afternoon? If she’s Billie from BDE, she certainly wasn’t sitting at a desk waiting for someone else to come along and do the dirty work. She saw a task that needed to be done and did not stop until literally thousands of gallons of water were flowing and countless yards - ok I estimate about 350 yards based solely on my recollection of the length of football fields - of ditches were open and de-mucked. I made that word up, but it’s a thing. All 5’1” of me by myself did that because it needed to be done. Make sure your Planner is willing to literally dig in and see the plan through. Make sure she can do it with frozen pinky toes too because that, my friends, takes grit.