Who am I again?

But, there’s still one thing that lingers, one thing that I haven’t gotten done (beside mailing out my addressed and sealed thank you cards, oops), and that’s figuring out what to do with my last name. I signed my marriage certificate Megan Stecker. Let’s all just take a minute to really roll that around in our mouths. Megan. Stecker. It’s got the same first letters as Stout, but feels so absolutely foreign when paired with my name.

In the blink of an eye.

Oh, hi, fall. You’re here already? Pretty sure I just blinked my left eye and it was the 4th of July, so where the heck did you come from? Maybe if I blink my right eye tomorrow will be Christmas? I’m guessing this will probably happen regardless of whether I blink an eye, take a nap or click my ruby shoes together. Time flies when you’re having fun, er, are busy.

Wedding Bell Anxiety.

But, none of this beats the anxiety that my Dad is experiencing. Not only is he worried about how I’m getting down the aisle, how he’s getting down the aisle, who’s pushing the wheel chair and whether or not he’ll stand up… he’s dreaming about it too. Not any dream, mind you. A dream, that I believe, would be haunting for any man. It went a little something like this:

Let them eat cake.

Let’s talk cake here for a second. I love cake. There are a lot of people out there that don’t really care for cake (ahem, my father) and would much rather settle of a DQ ice cream cone. I am not one of them. Me + cake = heavenly love forever. So as I mentioned earlier that we were going to be doing cake tastings I was nothing but ecstatic about the venture. Think this through with me, free cake, lots of flavors of cake, free, I get to try them. Um, hello, why have I not thought of this before?