As regular readers know, I’ve been struggling with registry ennui. A registry was right for us (it isn’t for everyone!) since it was going to let our family members help us celebrate in a way that made them happy, but I just couldn’t get my arms around it. Getting new and fancy stuff didn’t feel quite right to me.
Then last week, I decided to take a trip to the store we are registered at on my own. I started wandering around, picking things up, thinking about them. And then, of course, I started getting chatty with the salespeople, because that’s just how I roll. Suddenly questions were piling out of my mouth – questions I never expected to ask.
“How sturdy are these plates? Because you know kids, they drop things.”
“I like this toaster, it seems solidly built. Will it last? Does it come in a four slice model, so the whole family isn’t waiting on toast?”
“Tell me about these pots. Will we take them with us to the retirement home?”
“This table cloth – is it big enough for the extended family at the holidays?”
And then I got it. The registry has nothing to do with the wedding. Our great-aunts and grandmothers are on to something when they insist that you register so they know what pots you want. The registry is not about the wedding, the registry is about the marriage. For us, we hope that means a long life with a passel of kids, a ton of family gatherings, and lots of cooking. So for us, that’s what a registry is about – letting our friends and loved ones build that home for us. The registry is like a barn raising.
Do we have dishes now? We do. They look just fine, but we got them when we were young and poor, and if you look cross eyed at them they break. Not great for a lifetime with kids. I’m still figuring out what to do with our old dishes. I’m thinking we might give them to a battered women’s shelter. I worked at a shelter years ago, and I know those women need some dishes.
And of course, we’re still registering for goats.
