Here’s what happens when you are 2.5 years old, the sixth child in a large family, and you like to say bedtime prayers:

Dear God, thank you for Boo and Joel and mama and daddy and Boo and Ryley and Archie and Aidan and Sam and Boo and Junie and Archie and Aidan and daddy and mama and Joel and Ryley and Archie and Sam and Boo and mama and Aidan and Junie and daddy and Joel and Boo and Joel and Ryley and Sam and daddy and Aidan and mama and Joel and Ryley and Sam and Archie and Junie and Joel and Boo and mama and Junie and Sam and Ryley and Aidan and Tommy-Boo and Joel and Archie and daddy.

Amen.

The wedding was simple, spiritual, ecstatic. The bridesmaids chose their own black dresses. The groomsmen wore dark skinny jeans, white shirts undone, tuxedo jackets, and bare feet. It began at 7:30 pm under a dusky sky while candles swayed in large glass votives, suspended from thick branches.

Jim and Amy were sent off to their Lake Tahoe honeymoon with celebratory sparklers.

Radiant Amy:

Together:

Jim:

Lee is on Amy’s left:

Suddenly, Amy is an aunt many times over:

Archie enjoyed being at his first wedding:

The brother of the groom, my husband:

(Why am I not in any photos? I asked the same question the morning after the wedding when I realized nobody took any photos of our family, together. I really, really wanted a family portrait done while we were reasonably clean and dressed matchy-matchy. The wedding itself was the typical whirl that I never thought of it until it was much too late. Boo.)