My youngest sister got married this weekend. Saskia was the flower girl and Leif the ring bearer. So the last week has been busy with visits to Black & Lee, searching for the perfect black headband, repairing a flower girl dress that I had put in the dress up bin, the rehearsal dinner and the big day itself.

Going through my photos yesterday, I realized I only have one picture of Alisa and Alistair. Guess I was too preoccupied with the other two girls in white dresses:



Saskia advised me that morning that her front tooth was ready to come out, and I had visions of a small stream of blood flowing down her white satin gown mid-service. But aside from Leif doing the classic pillow toss while walking down the aisle, and then holding it with his teeth during the ceremony, all went well.

My grandparents sat behind us in church, to Ariana's delight. Note the small Dora figurine which we unthinkingly permitted her to take from the van, which then became a fixture in the wedding photographs.


Taking a picture of my three kids hasn't gotten any easier over the past few years. Fortunately, I've lowered my standards.


The reception was at Minter Gardens. To my horror the kids kept offering me flowers they had picked on the grounds. At least they could name most of them.

Leif wanted to nap in the van, but he had a job to do.



Saskia had the time of her life, and since Saturday has been recounting in detail the various speeches that were made. Good thing they were tasteful.



And Ariana was her usual sweet, quiet self.



Going to a wedding used to be the equivalent of a night on the town. It's a totally different experience with three kids in tow. Pretty much the only conversation I had all day was sympathetic clucking from my aunts as I mopped up spills and tried to keep Leif from poking his finger in every cheesecake lined up on the dessert table. Thankfully, my siblings and parents happily amused the kids.

My sister Diana with her date, whom she typically drives to drink:


My ten-day-old nephew, PJ, fascinated my kids to the point that my mother exclaimed, "Oh, Martina! Look at Ariana with that baby! You have to have another one!"


Maybe that's the logic that led to my parents having six kids. A better argument might be that I should have a couple of flower girls and ring bearers in reserve for my remaining three unmarried siblings.