Iowa: mawwiage, that dweam within a dweam.

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We made plans quickly, coordinating the ceremony date with my mom & stepdad who were planning to be in Iowa for other reasons. We needed two witnesses who could testify that we’re not sisters or criminals or married to other people and they were more than happy to attend. I selected a judge from the list provided by the Clerk of Courts based on two criteria: that she be a woman (our commitment ceremony had been performed by a man), and that her last name closely resemble a word that would make me giggle to no end.

So goes the story of how we were matched with “Judge Ovary”.

In the week leading up to the trip, I did all the typical girly things one does before her wedding, like getting highlights & layers and shopping for dresses with mom, all activities that are monumentally out of character for me. I tried on e-v-e-r-y  s-i-n-g-l-e  d-r-e-s-s in the greater metro area, and settled on one I thought I loved until my dear mother called it ”matronly”. I bought it anyway. In the end, it  became my back-up dress because  I found THE DRESS on clearance, rescuing it from a stampede of sweaty dress fiends at Boston Store. I dashed home to try it on for Jenn, feeling like a princess as I twirled and swooned in the full-length mirror when, upon watching me twirl and swoon, my beloved pointed out that the dress gapes in the bosom area like a geriatric kangaroo pouch whenever I squat. Silly, sweaty, bedraggled me had forgotten to perform the squat test in the dressing room. I decided to wear it anyway.

We left for Iowa bright and early, driving half an hour behind my parents, my mom and I calling each other every twenty minutes to squeal over things we’d passed along the way, like signs for the Cave of the Mounds and Dickeyville. Six hours of this and it’s a wonder Jenn didn’t kick me out of the car, we arrived in Des Moines.

First stop, the Clerk of Courts to pick up our marriage license. We couldn’t believe how easy it was, how no one batted an eye. It took 60 seconds at most. The lady with the papers even congratulated us.

 

Next stop, the bathroom which, from the way my mom described it before we entered, possessed the magical, transformative powers of a spa in the Hamptons.  (It had four stalls, a mirror, some sinks, and a window.) We entered as beer-on-the-patio girls and emerged as skyline merlot ladies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once ready, we drove across town to the courthouse where our ceremony with Judge Ovary would take place. We read the map upside down and spent fifteen minutes driving around lost, giving our pre-marriage relationship one final test before making it official. Here we are saying sweet things to each other as we rush to make it on time. Doesn’t my dress look good when I’m not squatting in it?

At last we arrived in the courtroom. This room did not disappoint as a polar complement to the elegant setting of our 2007 commitment ceremony, right down to the peeling paint and styrofoam cups. We met Judge Ovary and wasted no time moving on with the proceedings. The message she read as officiant was quite beautiful, although I don’t remember a word of it now. Then came the important part.

Judge Ovary: “Do you, Erika, take Jenn to be your lawfully wedded spouse?”

Erika:  “Yes!!” (I really enjoy getting married.)

Judge Ovary: [turning to Jenn] ”Do you, Erika, take Jenn to be your lawfully wedded spouse?”

Um, yeah. So, technically, I married Jenn twice and she didn’t marry me at all. We didn’t want to interrupt Judge Ovary’s flow, so Jenn said a polite and, in comparison to my response, contained “I do” and I settled for laughing hysterically on the inside for the remainder of the ceremony.

We exchanged vows which, you can see, enraptured Judge Ovary. Mine even included a Princess Bride quote! I think she’s reviewing her electric bill.

We exchanged rings, the same rings we’ve been wearing for two years, and before I could pause to absorb the moment, we were pronounced, by the authority vested in Judge Ovary and the State of Iowa, a married couple!

We kissed, we signed, we posed –

we waited for my mom and stepdad to stop crying –

and, just like that, completely unbeknownst to the crazy, hate sign wavers of the world, everything that’s real to us became public record, valid, and proven.

It feels different being married, being actually married. It’s liberation and elation. It’s safe, it’s secure. It’s family and it’s home.

It’s a deep breath let go.

And while, as far as I know, our marriage hasn’t changed anyone else’s relationship for worse, it sure has changed mine for better.

Thank you, Iowa.

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