I will not be wearing a garter, since it’s not really appropriate to the whole Renaissance theme. And since the bouquet I’ll be carrying will be a dozen long-stemmed roses, chances are high that if I threw it, I’d likely stab someone in the eye with it – not the festive sort of thing one expects to have happen to one of the single women clamoring for the bridal bouquet.

So, we’ll be throwing dragons instead. My mom tracked down two of the Ty Beanie Baby zodiac dragons, and she and I have great plans to decorate them as bride and groom. There is a teeny plastic sword for the groom, and the bride will have a scrap from my own veil, and a more bride-ly bouquet of flowers (so that if she were to toss it at her own group of single dragonesses, their eyes would all be quite safe).

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Not much time left now. Richard and I have started greeting each other with the number of days left. It’s hard sometimes to believe that it’s really this close. My mom’s barrage of wedding-related email has dwindled to little one-liners. “There has to be *something* we’re forgetting, right?” When I whined to my dad via Instant Message that I was bored, he suggested I try to come up with more ideas for things for us to get ready for the wedding. I suggested ice sculptures. He wisely ignored me.

We’ve been dragging people over for fittings. Friday night this week will be a ‘dress rehearsal’ for everyone in the area, complete with boots, tights, swords, belts, and any other accessories. I’m hoping to get home in time to see it, and maybe even bring a camera. Richard’s best man will be there, to make sure that between the two of them, at least one knows how to button up Richard’s vest, and attach the swords, and adjust the boots.

We’ve got all the gifts for the bridal party. We’ve got the rings. I’m crossing my fingers that Richard’s scabbard arrives soon. I’m holding my breath that the flower girl (18 months – yeah, I know it’s young) will be okay with walking down the aisle. I’m hoping that my nephew finally decides that his ring bearer outfit really isn’t as evil as he thought it was at the last fitting and will be willing to wear it (he’ll be so cute as a jester!).

Sit and wait. That’s all we can do. “Remember when it used to be a year?” Richard asks me sometimes. Somehow the time seems to have passed far faster than the next three weeks threaten.

Soon. I can’t wait!