Welcome (Back) to Third Grade

When my Mom picked up my brother from his first day of third grade, she watched as he climbed into the van and started to cry. "Mom," he said, "this is the worst day of my entire life. We have to memorize all the states and capitals and everything has to be written in cursive." I think third grade is underrated. Not only do you have to learn the capitals that match each state, but you have to be able to spell them both (don't act like "Connecticut" is an easy get, either). Plus, there's all the multiplication tables (which get harder when you get above the number of fingers you have. Twelves, anyone?). Then, above all, there's cursive.

Now, I've never told anyone (ok, most people) this, but cursive actually saved me in third grade. We had our first compound-word spelling test and I couldn't remember if "firefighter" was one word or two. Still can't, actually. Thank you, spell check. Thankfully, due to the all-cursive rule, I could write it where the letters connected, then mostly, but just kinda sorta erase the line linking the "e" and the "f," leaving the teacher to do what most do when quickly grading a 30-question quiz: look for the right answer.

Whew! Glad I got that off my chest, and just in time to bring my penmanship and all-around letter-crafting skills back to the forefront as I (du-du-dum) address wedding invitations.

Mom started this (I believe) with my brother's wedding. She pulled out my sixth grade calligraphy kit and started the lettering. Three days and one severe hand cramp later, she'd finished the job that would usually have cost roughly $1 per envelope. And remember, each invitation has two.

So she started telling me about how she was looking forward to addressing mine (I know. I've already submitted her for sainthood.). And for reasons I'm still not sure about, I fought that, insisting that I help. Granted, part of me wanted to make sure Mom's hand wasn't permanently gnarled from the systematic and oh, so careful lettering, but I think the other part was genuinely excited to do something for the wedding, rather than booking, organizing, or ordering.

So Mom and I split the list up, she tackling our side and I taking care of B's portion, and, you know what, it has been fun. When addressing the engagement party invitations, I found it fun to think about the people that would be getting the card. Mom upped the ante on this one, saying how it was nice to think of them opening the wedding invitation, and even saying a little prayer about them. After all, most of these people are our closest friends.

So I've been slowly working my way through B's side's list, thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts about his high school friends, the parents I met at the Atlanta engagement party, and members of B's extended family that I haven't even met yet. And, though Mom finished her entire list this weekend, I'm about a third of the way through mine already.

So yes, today I am grateful to be typing rather than carefully hand-lettering addresses, but a part of me is actually excited to get home and get back to stuffing. It's rare in life that you know something you're experiencing, whether good or bad, is finite and, more than that, you know the exact moment it will end. Engagement is one of those few times, and I'm loving the little reminders to enjoy it while it lasts.