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April 5, 2025

The moment that you start to wonder

if you deserve better, you do

March

The first part of March 1998 was pretty joyous. My parents still had grave worries and concerns, but they were being much more outwardly supportive and enthusiastic than they were the first time I arrived home with a ring on my finger.

My mom and I shopped for fabric and patterns for the bridesmaids, picked out wedding invitations and finalized the print run for the invitations. We settled on a pretty reception hall that would cater and handle decorations (we hoped this would be a suitable compromise for Matthew's father who wanted us to book the Governor’s mansion). We secured a block of hotel rooms and created an activity list for out of town guests that included a ride up the tram at Snowbird in lieu of a glass-bottomed gondola.

Meanwhile, I was also fitting in support for my friend Sheelagh's upcoming nuptials. I picked out fabric for my own Maid of Honor dress, sewed the dress, threw her a bridal shower, and went with her to finish registering for gifts.

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