The Horse, the Bull, and the Bump

While ago I was flipping--no, scrolling--through an album of pictures from my son Teebo's wedding, a momentous occasion in our family life that took place nearly fourteen months ago.  Granted, the bride was beautiful, and the groom was dashing--but, as might be the case with any self-respecting Googie, I was most struck by the pictures of Sooby and Pooh.  I am pretty sure there has never been a flower girl/ring bearer combo quite like them.

For one thing, I can't recall another wedding where the child attendants were quite this young.  At barely three, Sooby had her own ideas about the flower girl's job, and it did not involve an elegant, ladylike negotiation of the aisle while daintily sprinkling flower petals at her feet.  Oh, no. 

The flower girl, you see, is more like a horse who gallops down the aisle, splashing petals in sporadic bunches until she reaches the bridal party.  At that point she suddenly reins herself in, allowing inertia to dispense the remaining flora in a clump that would make any horse proud. 

When this elicits laughter from the spectators, Sooby turns around quickly, surprised that the church pews are suddenly full when they were practically empty at the rehearsal.  Her eyes grow large with disbelief as she mouths the word "Wow!" before her mother emerges from the line of bridesmaids to grab her halter and look for the nearest hitching post.

All eyes return to the back of the sanctuary, where Pooh makes his appearance in the doorway with the ring pillow.  (Luckily, these are fake rings that are sewn to the pillow--someone was thinking ahead here.)  At not quite eighteen months old, Pooh is definitely the wild card in this wedding processional.  Nevertheless, Pooh's daddy sets him down, hands him the pillow, and prompts, "Go give this to Uncle Teebo."  At this point, I perceive a collective holding of breath, including my own.  After all, just how much can you expect from a ring bearer wearing a diaper?

Pooh lowers his head like a bull preparing to charge the matador.  Then, those tiny little legs scamper down the aisle straight toward the groom, who reaches out to grab the pillow just as Pooh wheels around and runs right back toward the back door.  Pass complete.  First down.  However, apparently worn out by the play, Pooh decides to lie down across the aisle near the back of the sanctuary, effectively blocking any gain of yardage the bride and her father are hoping for.  Thankfully, a watchful spectator emerges from the sidelines to remove the object of interference, and the ceremony continues downfield.

Baby Bootsie also attended this wedding (in a somewhat more clandestine fashion) as a bump protruding beneath the empire waistline of her mother's navy blue bridesmaid dress.  As her mother sang a solo, Bootsie helped out by rendering her diaphragm unusable.  So much for the correct breathing techniques Cookie learned in her voice lessons; the name of this game was survival.

I am glad to report that everyone involved did indeed survive, and that, come spring, the newlyweds of that day are expecting a little horse, bull, or bump of their own.  Sooby, Pooh, and Bootsie have prepared them well.  

As for me, I look forward to celebrating Bootsie's first birthday in a few weeks and Pooh's third later this winter.  Then about the time the last snow is melting and the dogwoods are thinking about blooming, I will depend on them all to show their new cousin how the ropes work here at Googie's.