Incest, in a completely sweet and adorable kind of way

On Sunday, Liam made it up to Mallory by finally agreeing to play what she wanted to play. And what she wanted to play was getting married.

Mallory arranged all the details of the wedding herself. She wore her best dress, her favourite necklace, a bracelet and one of her Rapunzel doll's artificial hair extensions in her hair. (She also refused to let me brush her hair and since the wedding occurred around 10 a.m., she has a nice case of bedhead going on.)

She also picked out the ring Liam would give her (one of her costume rings) and chose Liam's 'good shirt'. Liam got to choose his own bottoms. Liam's other contribution to the whole thing was that he drew Mallory a bouquet to carry. I find it funny that he put the flowers in a vase of water, but he has not been to many weddings in his lifetime, so the bouquet concept is still a little foreign to him.

Mallory arranged chairs all through the house, and most of them were occupied by her dolls. Mom and dad got pretty much back-row seats. I did have a good vantage point to see Mallory coming down the aisle:

 But I was pretty far away from where the vows were exchanged. That happened on a couple of kitchen chairs that Mallory had tucked into a corner of the living room. Here Liam is, putting a ring on it:

After the wedding, Mallory requested Bruno Mars, so we all danced to "Marry You" on repeat about ten times in a row, and ate pretend cookies and drank pretend pink lemonade (Mallory does not like the real stuff.)

And after it all, she made Liam a lovely thank-you card. There's a picture of the two of them in their wedding clothes on the back.

This was all quite hysterical to watch. It was awesome of Liam to go along with his little sister's idea and to be a good sport about it all (wearing what she wanted, etc.) It was super awesome of him to contribute the flowers. It was sweet to see Mallory get so excited about the event. She clearly has weddings on the brain these days.

And when the real deal comes, twenty or so years from now, I in no way expect to get off so scot-free as to think that lemonade and cookies will suffice.