Nothing goes as planned.

They say people make plans and G-d laughs.

Earlier today I planned to get my nails done, do some grocery shopping — let’s be honest, we’re all being invaded this weekend. Instead, I wrote my column. Then my computer crashed, and I’m writing it again. What can you do?

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We make plans anyway, we move forward.

We hope things are every bit as fabulous as we dreamed.

We met with the caterer Sunday with my parents in the backyard of where we will be holding our much-anticipated affair.

I know it seems like I don’t consider Joel’s opinion, but our plans are infused with his kind of unselfconscious fun. What we’re having, Ladies, is a backyard barbecue.

For starters, different color tomatoes stacked with puff pastry and drizzled with balsamic vinegar — summery and light.

For dinner, we’re having a buffet of hotdogs, hamburgers, skirt steak, grilled vegetables and salads. We’re trying to keep everyone cool and refreshed.

Oh, the bar! The bar will have white and red wines, self-served lemonade, limeade, ice water, mojitos and frozen daiquiris. I feel 10 degrees cooler just thinking about it.

It’s going to be good.

I know the caterer is good — and then there’s the party planner, Spencer.

Spencer is my sister Zoë’s friend who studied design at the University of Maryland. Our wedding will be his first paid even but I liked his enthusiasm and put-togetherness.

He wants to fill the trees on the property with white lights. Can you imagine how brilliant? It’ll be incandescent.

And then there’s the tent — a white, high-poled tent, the kind with peaks like meringue. I want to fill it with white chairs and linens — that way, Spencer said, the flowers will really pop.

It’s going to cost a fortune. I’m a little embarrassed, actually.

But then I tell myself that I didn’t pick my parents. None of us do. And this is just how they do things. If their tradition were to put on a wedding in a VFW hall I would never hold that against them.

So, how can I hold good fortune against them either?

I can’t. But I worry. Is it worth it? Is all of this stress and money worth it?

I asked a childhood friend of mine that. She reached out to me on Facebook to tell me she knew what I was going through. Her experiences resonated like my own. I asked her if it was worth it — and I meant it.

I don’t know.

I imagine our family, friends and Rabbis wandering around the yard of a family we love. I imagine everyone smiling and laughing, our friends dancing, my nephews playing — and I imagine our parents. I imagine them feeling that complicated emotion of pride, joy and a pang of knowledge that time’s passing — a feeling rolled up into the Yiddish word nachas.

That would make it worth it.

Here’s hoping we can pull it off!!!

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