With wedding related emails filling up my inbox and a list full of “to-do-closer-to-the-date’ jobs that could take us to our first anniversary, the topic of matrimony seems to be frequenting my conversations beyond anything I’d previously expected. Unfortunately so to do the opinions and unimpressed expressions of every old dame, who’s inbuilt radar has spotted my engagement ring and the sticky fingered kid hanging off it. And with every questionable-twist of the too-old to-wax-lip, my matrimony related decision-making process, comes slightly un-done and I’m left asking myself; if the decisions I’m making about our wedding, which will ultimately be the bunting draped rocket that launches us into married life, are the right ones for us?
Of course, I’m not waxing on about choosing flowers, wine, dresses etc (which are of course stupidly important, but I’m sure with enough wine will be less so on the day). I’m talking about the decisions that dictate how much, and what kind of tradition we’ll be incorporating into our marriage. This I know, is the female fiasco that plagues every slightly inclined to call herself feminist thinking bride to ever question the merits of ‘something blue’. With the very foundations of what marriage is, being passed down in a sugar almond shell, it’s up to every woman to decide just what exactly she’ll take from the woman before her, and what she’ll pass down to those that will hit the aisle in her footsteps.
Don’t get me wrong, tradition (obviously) has never been our thing. Our three children will be present at our wedding and there certainly was no bending down on one knee (I can handle surprise babies, but I think a surprise proposal would have put me out cold). We talked about getting married, as a form of mutual decision, and I practically announced to my fiancée, when I decided it was time. We openly discussed ‘the ring’ and I designed it myself. My godfather is a “bridesman”, and our daughter will be our flower girl (or err.. she’ll thud down the aisle first, and take down anyone in her way).
Don’t get me wrong, old ladies aside, marriage in this country is obviously not what it used to be. My dad isn’t expected to split with five thousand a year, and my property doesn’t instantly fall into my fiancés lap the day we get hitched. No one is expected to trade cows for my hand, (although I’m sure they wouldn’t say no to a case of beer). However, whether you like it or not, with something as age old as marriage; tradition always manages to rear its white wearing, virginity flaunting head. From small things like something borrowed something blue. To bigger, scarier things; like being given away at the altar or throwing off your maiden name, like a bride’s nightie (see what I did there?). Marriage can be as steeped with tradition or as uniquely different as you want it to be.
I feel that at the end of the day, it’s about harnessing the beast and taming it into something we’re comfortable with, something we can call our own. If we were getting married so we could buy a house, start a family and choose a dog, I think it’d be different. I think we’d be more prepared to do things the way we’re told to; but that wouldn’t be for us. I don’t need a piece of paper to tell people it’s socially acceptable for me to go fourth, procreate, and co-own a fat Labrador, I’m quite happy living in Bull terrier sharing so called sin. That’s not what marriage is about to me. It’s about taking something traditional, something that our parents did, and turning it into something new and different. Something that suits us, and that I’ll be happy to pass down to my daughter, to tweak and rearrange and make her own. It’s a way of saying; I want to spend my life with this person, on our terms, not the terms our parent’s laid out, not the terms that anyone else believes dictates the roles individuals in couples should play. But on the terms we choose for ourselves and each other, demonstrated through whatever treading or trampling of tradition is necessary.
It’s about not feeling obligated to anyone else outside of our marriage, taking into account what your families think, but having the audacity and the respect for ourselves and each other to say ‘no, that’s how you did it, but it’s not for us.’
So this is where I’m at, somewhere between the red flowers or the white, and choosing whether I want to be “given away” like something ready for the op shop. Or declaring that I give myself, not as property, but to our marriage as an equal half. If I want to wear a flouncy white marshmallow dress I can, if I want to wear a sequined mini I can do that too, but no one can tell me otherwise.
three little foxes 