Many years ago, before we were married, Matt and I were involved in running a local youth group. Today we attended the wedding of one of the young men from that group (I resisted the urge to call him a boy, especially since he was beyond being called a boy – even back then). It’s been many years since we’ve seen him, given that Matt and I have spent the majority of this century in England, so it was a real blessing to see first hand the man he’s become. His new bride is a very lucky woman indeed. And though we don’t know her at all that well I have no doubt in saying that he’s also a very lucky man. I’d be willing to bet everything I own (except my secret stash of chocolate) that they’ll live a very happy and loved-up life together.
So if you happen to read this at some point, Ryan, congratulations again. We’re both so very happy for you.
Anyway… while we were haphazardly preparing to go (as you do with two young children, and why you end up wearing sketchers to the wedding because you leave your proper shoes sitting by the front door) I explained to Jaedon that we were going to a very special party so he needed to go pick out some special clothes to wear to the party. He disappeared for a few quiet minutes, then reappeared in his chosen outfit. Of which he was very proud of course, patting the collars down as if to dust off the imaginary dust or lint.
Now, don’t let the word ‘collars’ mislead you. When we arrived at the venue I managed to sneak in a few shots of him in his outfit – who am I to argue with how the word special is defined in the mind of a three-and-a-bit year old. 
Yes, I did let him go to the wedding dressed in a Thomas rugby top and a pair of his swimming shorts, teamed with his favourite boots and bright blue socks which, mercifully, he actually let me push down. It was a combination of not having the time to argue with him, and being able to see the ever so sweet and innocently funny side of it. He was right. His outfit was very special indeed. And it endeared him to the older generation at the back of the church, who otherwise would have tut-tutted him as he picked the flower arrangements from the side of the pews and proceeded to kick them down the aisle (much like a very flat rugby ball) during the signing of the register. That’s gotta make a mother proud…
At least one of our children has got some sense of style though (perhaps because her mother dresses her) – I wonder if this is a look of disdain as Jaedon blithely marches past her on his way down the steps. She looks quite the little lady in comparison.
I often wish I was three years old again, and could get away with doing, or wearing, something simply because it made me happy. I wouldn’t have to think about what others thought of me. And everyone older than me would look at me with a knowing look in their eye, silently agreeing that they’d be doing the same thing in another time, in another place.
