One thing I pride myself on is holiday cards. Every year, I send out 100+ cards all over the world. There’s only been a few instances with extenuating circumstances that I did not complete this task. 2021 was one of those instances.

In early December, Wilbur and I decided on a micro wedding for sometime in February. I always liked the idea of a winter wedding and thought of blues and sparkles (Frozen but make it real life). Moreover, my favorite holiday is Valentine’s Day, which is also the anniversary of our engagement. Lastly, I don’t really like the month of March.

So it was decided: February 26 would be the day Wilbur and Ashley say, “I do.”

Not two weeks later from that decision did I come down with the flu. I bounced back for a casual couple days before I was bedridden again only to find out that after 22 months of avoiding the COVID-19, even my daily green smoothies packed with ginger and turmeric (plus vaccines) could not protect me from the influx of unvaccinated tourists plaguing our town.

At that time I really thought, “This wedding is not happening.” I flew to Cleveland (after my respective quarantine…I’m not a monster) where my mom took me to a store known for evening gowns (Lisa Moran) where I found both a blue and a gold gown. I mentioned I’d envisioned blue, but in truth, the fit was unflattering and the gold was a trade up from snow princess to Snow Queen.

However, as many of you know I have anxiety. My trauma made it crippling, but if we’re being honest, I’ve had anxious tendencies most of my life.

I chose the gold dress at 5:10pm on Saturday, January 15 — ten minutes after the store closed. The clerks were as patient as could be and I suddenly blurted, “The gold!” because I needed to make a choice so these lovely women could go home.

Halfway back to my parents house, I started to freak out. Internally I thought, “I chose the dress everyone wanted me to choose.” “I wanted blue.” “I can’t even envision a gold wedding dress.” Panic ensued. My flight back to CO was scheduled just 12 hours later.

I sent one of the best emails I’ve ever written in my life to my life coach, Carrie Schaeffer, to ask if she had time for an emergency session and she responded immediately with, “yes.”

I spent most of that Saturday night crying while drafting funny, but tragic blog posts about the challenges presented to COVID-19 brides. To everyone who has ever said to a COVID-19 bride, “Isn’t it exciting you get two weddings?!” this next section is for you.

No. I understand how two weddings may seem glamorous (and by two weddings we mean a micro wedding with a ceremony and a party at a later date — aka the industry trend of pandemic/post pandemic weddings) but two weddings also means:

Quasi Double the Budget: A micro wedding is not inexpensive. Heck, say the word wedding in front of anyone and your price will double. I bet even McDonald’s dollar menu would double if you mention your fries are for a wedding.
Double the Subjection to Body Image Criticism: I admit, I was never the little girl that dreamed of her wedding day. I was too busy dreaming about where I’d travel or how I’d change the world, but I did imagine I’d look a certain way in a dress. Try trying on a bunch of dresses while you’re hella stressed out…twice.
Double the Anxiety: I already have anxiety, but come on, you put a Type A, anxious human in a situation with ever-changing variables like mask mandates, quarantine regulations and weather — it’s too much!

Every COVID-19 bride deserves a medal or a round of applause or your kindness. I didn’t even try to plan a wedding until Wilbur finally accosted me (more or less) one day in December 2021, 22 months after our engagement to ask, “Why won’t you marry me?”

Photo Credit: Eric Haugen Portraiture Location: Breckenridge Stables

So the date was set: 2.26.22 — a palindrome!

I had a dress.

Or did I?

After Dressgate, I canceled my flight, met with my life coach and went back to the store to try on both dresses again. The owner just about keeled over and said, “I thought you were all set.”

My freak out was not about the dress. It’s never about the dress. It was that the decision didn’t feel like mine.

Moreover, I was in a cycle of guilt and shame. Why? I was raised Catholic and I am a woman so it’s genetic, but more so because weddings are a social construct and industry leaders like Martha Stewart lead us to believe we should look, feel and be a certain way on our wedding day. I am a feminist; this concept goes against my values to let the man tell me how to feel or look. It’s my day, damn it! (Don’t get me wrong, Martha does a great job).

Yet, I don’t think I’m a bad feminist for wanting to look or feel my best on a monumental day. I know, I know…it’s not about the wedding, it’s about the marriage, but I still wanted to look and feel pretty. Sue me.

Now might be a good time to mention I’ve been managing symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress for four years and my brain works a bit differently now. (Trauma changes the shapes, sizes and functions of crucials parts of the brain…fun facts!)

So you know what I did? I re-bought the gold dress because in the end, it was the dress that made me feel comfortable (take that patriarchy) and BETTER YET….MY DRESS HAD POCKETS! The dress was also long enough that I didn’t have to wear heels (those things designed by men to make it harder for women to run away…)

If that’s not feminism integrated into the wedding industry, what is?!

So here we are, the date is set, a ceremony venue reserved and a dress re-purchased with confidence.

I got on the next United flight out of Cleveland and now believe I should fly everywhere carrying a large gown because people are much nicer.

Things started to come together but here’s where living in Summit County really starts to drive a Type-A, DC human at heart, anxious person absolutely bonkers.

It took over 13 days to get a dinner reservation and weeks to hear back from vendors. Nevermind I reached out to vendors six weeks in advance. I understand wedding timelines are triple any other major life event, but for a wedding of 12 people, I didn’t think it would be that hard. I do wonder if I had told vendors I was celebrating my 33rd birthday if they would have been more responsive and less expensive…

Patrick Murphy is now a household name and I will teach my children not to be the Patrick Murphy’s of the world. Patrick Murphy (a name that must be uttered with both first and last at all times) looks like George Washington tried too many of the menu options. He is the GM of the restaurant I chose for dinner. Food is important to me and therefore, it was important to me that our wedding dinner was delicious. However, Patrick Murphy made me want to order pizza from the place that uses cashew cheese (that’s not even pizza) because he was so unprofessional. I had a few people ask me to reconsider my feelings toward him, almost hinting I was releasing some inner bridezilla vibes, but then they met Patrick Murphy and I was vindicated and their audacious statements retracted.

As things started to come together and I started reaching out to my friends deep within the government to track down Patrick Murphy — Tell me, what five star, fine dining restaurant thinks it’s acceptable to wait over 10 days to respond to a reservation request and has voice mailbox that is full for two weeks? My therapist helped validate my frustration after a couple people tried to impolitely tell me, “It’s Summit Co, not DC,” to which I responded, “Right, that’s why I thought 72 hours was a reasonable turnaround time instead of 24.”..and I digress — things started to come together, but pulling this wedding off was a helluva an accomplishment.

COVID-19 slowed me down for a good month. I had headaches and fatigue for weeks and I already need more sleep than the average millennial.

Add in the impending news that my 20 percent work bonus for a special project would be cut and the stress got real. I took on babysitting gigs to set myself up for financial success and scheduled private events for my business Supple[Mental] Sports all the while planning a wedding, working full-time, working at the resort and trying to get back to some sense of a workout routine. (I am on hiatus from teaching yoga).

But wait, there’s more! You can’t make this stuff up.

On Thursday, February 17 around 11am, Wilbur called me in a very calm voice to note he had broken his collarbone while snowboarding and was en route to the hospital for surgery — nine days before the wedding. NINE. (Thanks Dr. Carlson for getting him in same day!)

I called my mom who then noted it was probably an appropriate time to share that my dad was also in the hospital, since Monday, February 14, in Cleveland. What is it with Boomers keeping important information confidential from their only child?

This my friends is where four years of therapy really comes in handy. I had a lot of people asking me how I was so calm.

As an anxious human, I actually have a threshold. I’m unable repair a shattered collarbone or lead the tests my dad needed. All I could do was my best.

If you’ve been wondering why I was so quiet on the whole, “we actually set a date” front, this is why. There were too many variables to manage. I felt unable to handle a bombardment of questions, even if they were out of love, only to say the wedding is off because… read all of the above.

The days leading up to the wedding post-op were no walk in the park. It was a lot to manage and I really appreciate having friends and family that stepped up the week off to help us out…and my therapist Dr. Nikki Jones (She’s certified in 28 states and works wonders, call her.)

Our immediate families arrived on February 24 and met for the first time. My dad is a leprechaun and Wilbur’s dad resembles Mr. Miyagi. They are two peas in a pod who love cars, have both had heart problems and love to reminisce about Ohio in the 80’s. Their bromance was a highlight of the weekend, but not to be outdone by the puppies.

Photo Credit: Eric Haugen Portraiture - Photo includes our parents + William (not our child).

I’ve had a love of bulldogs for a while now. (Toni, skip this section. Toni is my rock star friend who has given her soul to music and fame and therefore has no space to love smushy faced hustlers). The Pyn family has three bulldogs collectively. My niece, Ruby, lives a few minutes away in Frisco and her cousins Eva and Kahlua made the trek from Florida to grace us with their presence and offer Vogue level wedding content.

Photo Credit: Eric Haugen Portraiture - Pictured: Ruby, Kahula and Eva Pyn

Beyond bromance and bulldogs was also our favorite tiny human, William. William was our ring bearer, and we are the reason his pre-school teachers are raising eyebrows…at least in February.

For those of you unaware, William is the son of my friend Soo. Soo and I met through yoga in DC and she emailed me after grad school to come visit her in Denver. A few months later, Wilbur and I moved to Colorado and as a poor unemployed post-grad, she asked if I’d like to watch her newborn, William. Fast forward four years and Soo and William have become our family away from home here in Colorado. During a toast at the wedding, we provided William with “champagne” aka ginger ale. He loved it and proceeded to ask if he could have more champagne throughout the day. Fast forward to dinner and he asked for two cocktails and a straw. The servers were impressed by this cultured four-year old who enjoyed, not one, but two mocktails. Though William recently informed me his favorite part of the wedding was his new toy.

Photo Credit: Eric Haugen Portraiture Soo and William arriving in style.

After reading all of the above, you may be wondering…did they actually get married?

YES. 744 days after Wilbur dropped to his good knee, my best friend Sofia asked Wilbur if he wanted to be my husband and tell me I’m always right for the rest of his life and he announced a definitive “YES!” while I went with the vintage, but classic response of, “I do.”

Photo Credit: Eric Haugen Portraiture | Collar Bone Surgery: Summit Orthopedics at Panorama

The ceremony was held at 1:15 (but actually started at 1:35ish) at Sapphire Point in Summit Co. Colorado. This viewpoint looks at the 10 mile range as well as Lake Dillon. There was an arch provided by Coal N Gold, it was a blue bird day, and I borrowed a fox fur coat from Soo (something borrowed). I was warm as could be while everyone else tried not to freeze on the below 20’ Fahrenheit day. No, my dad did not cry. However, his card and my mom’s card brought tears to my eyes the following day.

I felt and looked like a queen after splurging on hair and makeup…I actually dozed off during makeup because it was the one thing I did not have to manage. Makeup artists are true artists. Wilbur looked dapper in a navy suit ( with long johns underneath) and gold tie and pocket square. He was unable to button his top collar because having eight screws, four pins and a plate surgically placed to hold your collar bone together makes it difficult to wear a shirt.

I held an enormous, but absolutely beautiful bouquet made by a local female florist entrepreneur, Lady Sunshine, (check me out integrating my values into my nuptials) and all the dudes wore a very rad boutonniere with blue thistle. Apparently blue thistle in Scottish culture is good luck. I’m not Scottish, but could pass for it, so we’ll go with it.

Photo Credit: Eric Haugen Portraiture | Flowers: Lady Sunshine | Make-Up/Hair: Breckenridge Hair

Between the ceremony and dinner (yes, dinner was actually held at Patrick Murphy’s establishment because not only had I heard the food was the best in town, but backing out felt like letting him win and I had no intention to losing to man disgracing an Irish name) was a sleigh ride.

Yes, our wedding screamed Disney and I loved it. We had the clubhouse mostly to ourselves where we brought in Mimi & Pin hot chocolate and churros and then took a slow, but luxurious ride around one of Breck’s prettiest neighborhoods, the highlands, by horse. Our horses were named Siri and Alexa. If you don’t know, my mom put me on a horse at the age of three and I’m still pretty decent. She’s a way better rider, but my parents met on a ranch (Girls like horses and guys like girls was their motto) so the horses were fitting.

We then made our way onto Breck’s Main Street…on a Saturday…a risky move for locals. We snagged free parking (I pride myself on never paying for parking) and then made our way to Rootstalk, where I glared a hole through Patrick Murphy’s soul, called his bluff and sat our group of 12 right down...in the middle of the restaurant because for reasons we cannot understand, he refused to give us the semi-private tables in a corner. He also refused to accomodate a wheelchair and is thus the scum of the earth, but I’m in therapy to move forward.

The food was PHENOMENAL. Truly, I am a pasta snob and the rigatoni had the perfect sauce to noodle ratio. Everyone’s main dish was fantastic. The cocktails (and mocktails) were wonderful and the service (outside of Patrick Murphy) was great!

We brought in our own cake, a chantilly cake from Whole Foods that was made special order because yours truly has a nut allergy. I think we’re the first people to ever actually save money by shopping at Whole Foods. Wilbur and I had our first date at Whole Foods so it was fitting that if I was unable to land Whole Foods as a wedding sponsor, we’d at least have their cake. It was delicious. Our cake topper was also pretty stellar as it was a hand cut carving of a heart with a chair lift — ironically made and shipped from Ukraine just weeks before the Russian invasion so our wedding incidentally supported the underdog. Take that Putin!

Photo Credit: Eric Haugen Photography | Cake: Whole Foods | topper: Ordered from Ukraine

We capped the night off with handmade gift bags created by Cheryl (my mom) who went above and beyond in the decor department. Gifts included custom ceramic mugs that read, “Ashley & Wilbur” and, “The Adventure Begins…” (Hey, I had to buy into some of the industry trends) and homemade high altitude chocolate chip cookies that Wilbur spent the last three years perfecting.

Photo Credit: Eric Haugen Portraiture | Gift Bags: Handcrafted by Cheryl Hughes (AKA MOB)

Before we turned in, our photographer Eric (Sofia’s husband) humored us with a final photoshoot in Breck’s Blue River Plaza, the same place Wilbur dropped to his good knee 744 days ago, to take magical photos under the twinkle lights.

Photo Credit: Soo Loftus Pictured: Eric Haugen (wedding photographer/lucky man) and Sofia Bilkadi, best friend and officiant/ most fabulous woman on Earth.

We were in bed by 9pm and headed to brunch by 11am the next day at Arapahoe Cafe. Post nourishment, Wilbur and I made our way through Sunday traffic to get some rest in the city that never sleeps: Las Vegas.

Where else does one go if you’re unable swim and participate in activities? Somewhere with good food and entertainment. We stayed at Nobu Hotel, which is in Caesars Palace, and our new home boy, Haisell upgraded us to a grand master suite, which included, but was not limited to, a Japanese toilet with a heated seat. Talk about sitting in the lap of luxury!

Sadly, we did not win that new house money and I actually ended up $80 in the hole, but hey worse things have happened.

We hope you forgive us for the exclusion of this illustrious experience and more so hope you’ll join us to celebrate in-person at a later date, probably in Chicago, maybe Cleveland probably with Portillo’s hot dogs or catered by my cousin Michael (or both).

We do not have a registry yet. We currently reside in a small, but insanely cool apartment in Breck that is somewhere between a one-bedroom and studio. We simply lack the space for some of the things we may need in this next chapter like a second set of sheets, an air fryer, actual walls or an immersion blender. A registry will become available once a party date is set. Some of you have asked to send cash money instead and hey, cash is king. We both use Venmo if you prefer to send $$ instead of waiting for a party invitation (circa summer 2023?)

For now, Wilbur and I are based in Breckenridge where his collar bone is slowly fusing back from four pieces to one while binging Yellowstone, and exploring ambidextrous career opportunities.

I launched Supple[Mental] Sports and am taking on clients, building the brand, and the business while still working at Breck Film, a local arts non-profit, as their Director of Marketing and Business Development. Please consider this a shameless plug to hire me or at least like us on Facebook and follow us on Instagram.

We are stoked on this next chapter and thank you all for your support leading up to this day.

Officially Pyned Down,

Ashley Hughes & Wilbur Pyn IV

A glimpse into the day.

Pyned Down: Our Adventure to the Altar* Full Version