Making Things Official
There's something very sobering about seeing your name printed on a marriage license.
We walked over to the Arlington County Courthouse this morning to take care of all outstanding legal matters pertaining to the wedding.
Back in January, we asked our good friend Dari if he would officiate our wedding. In Arlington County, ordinary citizens can be sworn in by a representative of the court to perform a single marriage ceremony. The process: Applicants submit a petition to the court requesting the legal authority to officiate a wedding, along with a copy of a court order for the judge to sign. (The clerk's office gave us an example petition and order on which to base our own paperwork.) Once the petition is approved, the court mails the signed order to the prospective officiant. Then the officiant returns to the county clerk's office to take an oath and pay a bond, which will be returned when the signed marriage license is turned in after the wedding.
We really liked the idea of having a close friend officiate our wedding rather than a minister or justice of the peace that didn't really know us. And Rob and I have known Dari about as long as we've known each other: The three of us started jobs at George Washington University right around the same time back in 2003, and in that time our friendship has evolved from lunch break commiseration to weekly outings to Kabob Bazaar and viewings of The Office.
So today we made an early-morning visit to the Clerk of the Court's office to have Dari sworn in -- as well as procure our marriage license. Everything went pretty quickly, and we left the office within 20 minutes, legally powered officiant and unsigned marriage certificate in hand. Out of everything we've done so far -- the invitations, the rings, the wedding dress -- seeing our names printed together on a marriage license has come closest to impressing upon me the "realness" of this thing we're undertaking. It's official, and it's happening soon. Still, I felt a glimmer of giddiness cut through the momentary sobriety. The big day's only three weeks away, and I can't wait.