Ah, I feel so refreshed from my six-month hiatus. Don't you?
I wish I could tell you that I've gotten so much done. I'm the best bride ever. I am so well organized. But here's the reality of the situation: Planning a wedding is so incredibly stressful for me that 90 percent of the time, I just shut down. I make plans to do something simple--make a few phone calls, spray paint a wine bottle--and when I get home after eight measly hours of reading patient guides (over. and over. and over. and over. and advance directives. what?), I get overwhelmed with the prospect of talking to another human or squatting in the garage for five minutes and I give up. I sit down on the couch, turn on HGTV, and think of how wonderful it would've been if we just eloped and bought a fixer upper.
And that's how my logic works, ladies and gentlemen.
So obviously I've been avoiding talking to Jason about what to do with his/my/our last name. It's been a (mostly playful and teasing) point of contention in the past, but we've always ended on a "okay, we'll see" kind of vibe. Which is cool, except now we really had to figure it out and I wasn't sure what I wanted and society has been putting a lot of pressure on me lately and I really wasn't digging it. OKAY? Geez.
When I was a tween/teen up until about 20, I adored the idea of taking a man's last name. I had two rules: 1) his name had to be higher in the alphabet than man, and 2) it had to be shorter. Polish names are long and hard to pronounce, and I wanted so badly to not have to spell out and repeat my last name to every stranger who asked me for it. Or get embarrassed when a teacher stumbled through "Skibinski" like it was a dead language. I, like many other 13-year-old girls, etched the names of potential suitors on the back pages of spiral notebooks in a cursive-like grandeur. And although I hate to admit it, most of them generic white dude last names. What can I say? I like me some Whigs.
But after 20, something changed. Or rather, something clicked. I earned promotions and management opportunities and realized that this, actually, is what I wanted. I didn't want to be a part of another name's legacy. I wanted to make my own. I want to make my own. I want people to get chided for not knowing how to pronounce my name like I get chided for not knowing how to pronounce the streets in Little Rock. Or the word "hammock." Or "Oregon." But that's beside the point.
Flash forward to now, and I face quite the dilemma. How do I reconcile these two conflicting ideals? I am expected by "normal American society" to continue with my cursive doodles and become Kim Yates. Yet I have this new-found urge protect this consonant-laden name that I've come to love. So I came up with a few options, ran them by Jason, and here's what went down:
The Good Ol' Hyphenation Approach (Skibinski-Yates)
Jason's reaction: "I will not get married. That is awful. No." Also: "Plus, What if a hyphenated person marries a hyphenated person? It just gets messy." Also: "Plus, it's hard to read the names on the back of sports uniforms."
This is the man I chose to marry. These are his priorities.
The Laura Ingalls Wilder Approach (Skibinski Yates)
Jason's reaction: First, super opposed. Then, "Well if we have kids (writer's note: we're not), will their last name be Yates? Yes? Well I guess that's acceptable."
In all honesty, I really don't dig this. I've heard of the "maiden name as the middle name" and it's just not for me. The cadence of Laura's name is so nice and flowy; mine sounds like an irate Slavic man.
The Melting Pot Approach (Yateski)
Jason's reaction: "Buddy, I really don't want to change my last name. I like Yates."
This one breaks my heart. I begged for this. For months. I told a lot of my friends and family, and most of them agreed (or just laughed, but I count that as agreement). I urged some of our mutual friends to warm him up to the idea. I thought it was a great. We are getting married; what kind of wordsmith wouldn't want to create a new word that is uniquely ours to describe our life together? Plus, he lucks out! He gets his WHOLE LAST NAME. I just want to add two letters to make less, well, Whiggy. And he won't do it. It makes me so sad. I may have cried about it once.
But, I mean, could I blame him? It costs an absurd amount of time and money and effort to change your last name on legal documents, credit cards, IDs, and the like. And from what I've read, it sounds like a gigantic pain in the ass. Why should I make him change his last name when I don't even want to do it myself?
*light bulb illuminates overhead*
And that is how I decided to keep my last name. I'm sure some of my friends and family members aren't too fond of the idea, but whatever; I'm not marrying them. Just because I'm choosing not to swap Skibinski for a generic white dude name doesn't mean I care about my generic white dude any less. (Jason's totally going to dig all the nice things I've said about him in this post. I can feel it.)
I've just found my place in the alphabet, and I really, really like it.
