In the years and distant months leading up to the day, we confidently tell ourselves and everyone that “Oh, the weather is going to be just perfect!” As time passes and the number of months until the day decreases, our confidence starts to show cracks but we still say, “Today is beautiful. Today is gorgeous. This is what the weather for our day will be like, too” while the other says, “Yes, but today is a touch too hot. It will be just like this, but a few degrees cooler.” We speak with that confidence in our voices, but it gradually becomes more of a plea than a statement.

As the day draws even nearer and the reality of it becomes solid instead of a faint, distant light, we become more desperate. “The weather is going to be perfect. Yes. Right. Right? It’s going to be perfect, right? What if it… no, no, that won’t happen.” The R-word becomes forbidden, as if merely uttering it will summon great rainclouds. During these stressful times, rainclouds work much the same way as Lord Voldemort.. or Those-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. (Dancing is also forbidden, on the off-chance the interpretative happy dance over finishing the favors turns out to be an unintentional rain dance.)

the average probability of rain for June 18 in Grand Rapids, Michigan / image via WeatherSpark

And then it’s T-Minus 10 days. You know what that means. The forecast now officially includes the Wedding Day in its projection. Dun-dun-dunnnnnn.

I am not the first to talk about this infamous 10-day projected forecast, and I am far from being the last. Mrs. Sloth went so far as to avoid looking altogether. I didn’t even consider that as one of my options. I may have done well with controlling my registry stalking, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to summon an ounce of self-control when it came to the forecast. So I checked the weather. Every day. Numerous times a day. Fully well knowing it was inaccurate that far in advance, but clinging to the information nonetheless. I’m rather fortunate the forecast was stable in those early days, otherwise I’m sure I’d have been foaming at the mouth like a rabid squirrel much sooner. Still, as we counted down the days, we found the chance of precipitation increasing… then stabilizing, then increasing. It went from 20% to 30% to 60-70%. I didn’t like those odds. But this was still Michigan weather we were talking about.

I’m not sure if everyone says this regardless of what state their from, but those who live in Michigan often joke about the sporadic nature of our weather. I have often had the air conditioning and the heat on in the same day. I have seen summer sunshine, hail, torrential downpour, rainbows, clear skies, and snow all within an hour of one another (I thought the world was ending). What says isn’t necessarily what goes. I held this knowledge closely in the forefront of my mind every time I checked for an update, only to read 60% THUNDERstorms. Not drizzle. Not mist. Not showers. But full-on thunder. My confidence was starting to give way to panic. Was I going to end up looking like Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin on my wedding day?

image via FilmoFilia

No. We had a contingency plan. We had our back-up church reserved, and a basic plan of attack if we had to use it. But when the church coordinator called to hear our decision the evening before, we bravely told them we wouldn’t need the church and we were “going for it.” With that 70% chance. These Buntings have balls.

At rehearsal dinner, we announced this balls-y determination to continue as planned to everyone. Our Pastor told us not to worry, he “put in an order with the Big Guy.” Haha, awesome. We’ll take it.

The morning of, I checked the forecast. Still 60-70% chance. Still thunderstorms. All proposed to start at 4pm, right when our ceremony was to start. Up until 4pm, the forecast was lovely. But at 4pm… when I would be walking down the aisle… Thunderstorms. SCREW IT WE’RE DOING IT ANYWAY.

Mrs. Meerkat knew I was terrified of the thought of torrential downpour and thunder on our day, and being the absolute sweetheart that she is, drove all the way out to the salon where we had our hair done to drop off the cutest pair of rain galoshes and umbrella for me, just in case. Bless that woman. (And in the frenzy we don’t even have photographic evidence of this… I am ashamed.)

I got a few more nervous updates from the weather, but after I had my hair and make-up done, I stopped checking. I stopped asking. I stopped caring. I think I must have known it would turn out alright, because the skies were still clear, the air was wonderfully summery, and it just didn’t feel like it was going to pull a freak-thunderstorm on us. Everything was already going so well that it only felt natural the weather would go well, too. This naivety may have been idiotic in hindsight, but I had complete faith.

All those times we exchanged “the weather is going to be perfect”s with one another leading up to the wedding… we had no way of knowing it but we weren’t lying. The weather really was perfect. All day long… not a single raindrop in sight. Absolutely perfect. Blue skies, sunshine, slight breeze, and birds singing perfect.

Looks like our order was fulfilled, after all.

Follow the adventure:

• We had a fluffing party and rehearsed.
• I woke up and got ready with my girls.
• I step into the prettiest white dress I’ll ever wear.
• Mr. Bunting recounts getting ready at the Man Cave.