I sit in the front pew of the church feeding the baby, jiggling her so she won't cry, and holding my camera ready to push the record button. I'm not a multi-tasker. I cannot rub my tummy and scratch my head at the same time. The wedding is already fifteen minutes late in starting. The organist is repeating her selections and glancing towards the back of the church... looking for a sign of life.
The photographer, who is also my husband (Gary) goes downstairs to see what's taking them so long. When I left downstairs fifteen minutes earlier the girls were half dressed and Marissa sat with half-a-head of curls while her stylist kneeled beside of her with a lock of hair held tight to the curling iron waiting for another to set. Jake raced back and forth through the rooms, looking for something to get into.
Gary returns with the news that they are almost ready. It seems Jake dropped the ring down the steps... tink.. tink.. tink... His mom and dad laugh, three rows back, hearing the news. It's so... Jake.
Soon the wedding begins. My daughter marries the father of her two children... and they are officially family.
