It's a wedding, and we'll cry if we want to

The bride

My sister, Linda, got married last weekend. She's my little sister. She's an attorney. She lives in Shreveport. She's my only full sibling. Her husband's name - Lord, is that strange to say - is Jack.

I was six when she was born. I very clearly remember my mother showing her to me and saying, "Remember how you asked for a baby sister? Here she is!" I remember very clearly saying, "No, I asked for a puppy." And I had.

Sisters. Please take note that we are the same height.

We haven't always gotten along. She has a knack for pushing my buttons. I have a knack for overreacting. She insists I'm short while she's tall. She makes fun of the fact that I once served as veep of a "Fawlty Towers" fan club. Don't laugh. Despite it all, I'm glad I got a baby sister instead of a puppy. I'm glad I got to make her Mickey Mouse pancakes on Saturday mornings, watch endless episodes of "Designing Women" with her and go to the movies with her. Even if I most definitely did not ask for a baby sister.

The morning of my wedding, my mother - who isn't a big drinker - handed me glass after glass of mimosas. She either wanted to calm me down or she was scared I would bolt. The morning of my sister's wedding, my mother handed Linda a bottle of champagne and a box of disposable champagne glasses. She didn't even cut the stuff with orange juice. In fairness to my mother, my sister is more high strung than I am. I'm the calm one in the family. If you know me well, you should open your eyes wide in horror at that thought.

Grandmother and Linda

Linda got her hair done, put on her gown and hung out in the bride's room downing champagne and eating chicken nuggets. She was a beautiful bride. She lounged on the floor in a pool of sparkly white satin. Suddenly, she sat up and said, "Is Grandmother stopping by before going into the church?"

My grandmother is our only living grandmother. Our grandfather is the only grandfather we've ever known. They are the rock in our family. They made sure we all went to college. They are generous with love, advice and compliments. Their grandchildren adore them.

Linda and Jack

A few years ago, Grandmother was diagnosed with advanced cancer. I drove to the hospital to sit with my grandfather while the doctors did the surgery that discovered the cancer. I remember standing stoicly in the waiting room while everyone cried around me. I just knew she would beat it. I had unwavering faith. What I didn't realize was that the cancer treatment would make it difficult for her to walk. She's in constant pain. If there's anyone who doesn't deserve a life that like, it's Grandmother. She is the most selfless, kindest person ever. Ever.

The minute my sister saw our grandmother in the bride's room, she burst into tears. No worries. Her mascara was waterproof. Our grandmother stood there, looking a little bemused by the tears. What this, for me? Our grandfather looked like he was on the verge of crying as well. We're not a family that gushes about our love for each other. We don't end every conversation with an "I love you." But we're not immune to the sentiment of big occasions.

Not a puppy but I'll keep her

I was assigned a reading for the wedding. I swapped with another girl for a shorter reading. My eyes were dry as I stepped up to the microphone. I got through the first sentence and burst into tears. I looked toward my sister who had a "WTH" expression on her face and looked back down at the piece of paper in front of me. I got out a few words and then gave in to the hysterics, sobbing uncontrollably while my mother kicked herself for not medicating me with champagne. I fled back to my pew. I kept the reading, though. If you were there and wondered how it ended, give me a call.

I had very personal reasons for getting as upset as I did. They involve my parents' divorce and my mother's struggles as a single parent with two young girls. My Dad was involved, but he wasn't there around the clock. It was usually just me, Linda and Mom. So often, it felt like it was the three of us against the world. Those years seem miles away. I never thought I'd miss them, but I do at times. Now we're all settled and happy. Linda's wedding brought it full circle. It's no longer just the three of us. I couldn't be happier about the fuller circle. I love my stepfather, my brothers, my husband and my brother-in-law. But it would be nice to step into a time machine from time to time and whisk back to the days when we were just three.

Paging the IT girl

Most of the time, I'm a political reporter. Then there are the days I double as an IT person for people who are even more clueless than I am about computers. It makes me feel like a goddess.
The other day, a coworker not yet on Twitter decided Friday was the day. He was joining Twitter. He set aside several hours for what he just knew would be a long, involved installation process. Then he asked me for help. He was up and running within five minutes. It's not that I know all the shortcuts. It's just a really simple process.
My husband excels at breaking his computer. Really, his employer shouldn't give him a computer. He's better off with a notepad and pencil. The world is better off with him just having a notepad and pencil. I'm better off with him just having a notepad and pencil - especially when I'm slouched in my red chair, watching "The Real Housewives" reunion, sipping a glass of chilled white wine and I hear the plaintive plea from the other room. "Um, can you come here for a minute?" It's never a minute. Never, ever, ever.
One night I went into the home office. He was seated at his computer with that stricken look on his face. Somehow, he'd hit something that popped up a window at the bottom of his emails. He wanted to know how to fix it. Here's my approach to IT problems: I hover my mouse over things and click until I stumble across the fix. My husband wants me to TELL him how to fix things so he'll LEARN. "Just tell me," he always says in an exasperated tone. No matter how often I tell him I'm uncertain how to fix it without a little exploratory clicking, he doesn't believe me.
Luckily, though, this was a problem I'd encountered before on my husband's computer (although what he's hitting still escapes me) so I could tell him to click the "X" at the top righthand corner of the offending box. As I've told him at least a million times before. He summons that box like Aladdin summons a genie. He just can't remember how to get the genie back in the bottle.
Mr. G. used to call the IT department at his workplace when he encountered problems. Then they got caller ID and stopped taking his calls. He's asked if he can call the IT department at my workplace. I refuse to hand over the number so they'll continue to answer my calls.
I don't really blame IT for ignoring my husband's calls. I overheard one of those phone calls.
Mr. G. : "Um, yeah, I've got a box on my screen. How do I get rid of it?"
PAUSE
Mr. G.: "It's a box."
PAUSE
Mr. G.: "What's in it? I don't know. It's a box. Just TELL me how to get rid of it."
PAUSE
Mr. G.: "I'm looking (for one whole second). I don't see an 'x'"
LONG PAUSE
Mr. G. "I. Just. Want. To. Get. Rid. Of. The. Box."
So it's all on my shoulders. It's a big job. I'm convinced that Mr. G. could innocently set off North Korea's nuclear weapons simply by pushing a few buttons on his computer. Then he'll ask me to TELL him how to fix it so he'll LEARN.
The other day, I came home to the news that we're taking a work trip. My husband has to go to a conference, and I get to tag along. As I was working out in my head the logistics of working Bailey into the trip (can't leave Boo-Boo at home!) and sorting through possible sightseeing excursions, I heard my husband say, "This will be great. You'll be right there if I have any computer problems."