When the kids and I arrived at the farm the day of the wedding, I got out of the car and the farmer said, “You’re wearing black?”
My son went to the hen house to collect eggs. The farm cats love eating raw eggs, but on a farm, you only feed the cats scraps. My son saw a chance for an exception. He said to the farmer, “Since it’s your wedding day, can we give the cats an egg to celebrate?”
We dressed the boys.
My son said, “People don’t dress up on farms.”
I said, “They do for weddings.”
And then I tucked his shirt in for the twenty-sixth time.
The four of us were more than half of the guests at the wedding. My youngest son said: “Where is everyone?”
I said, “The important thing is that I have the three people here who I love the most.”
And he said, “Who?”
When the boys noticed the free-form nature of the ceremony, they spontaneously added their own touch: A lively rendition of the Sh’ma and a tear-jerker rendition of “You are My Sunshine.” Then the boys gave us the rings.
The after-party was kisses, a rope swing, and mattresses left over from moving out the farmer’s stuff to make room for all of us.
It took only twenty minutes for the farmer to lose his wedding ring. But it seemed okay: I love this picture because one thing I love about him is that he’s always looking for something.
And I think I am that way, too.