Work anywhere for almost 18 years and — for better or worse — your co-workers start to feel like family. (And I’m not just talking about my husband, though I am lucky enough to work with him, too.)

Our particularly motley crew gussied up and traipsed out to the far west corner of metropolitan Phoenix on Saturday afternoon for a family wedding. Lilia got married. Standing around with cocktails, no one could remember just how long Lilia’s worked in the editorial department of Phoenix New Times, first as administrative assistant and now as an arts writer/calendar editor — we figured it’s been around five years.

I took care to sit on the other side of the aisle from my co-workers (except for Ray, of course), because I didn’t want anyone to see my cry. I knew I would. I’ve made some crappy hires in my time as an editor (including one former writer currently serving prison time — really) but I’ve made some good ones, too, and among the best is Lilia Menconi.

I’m tearing up, writing this. Lilia actually applied for a different sort of job, initially. Years ago, she worked for several months as Sophie’s nanny. I remember the day she rang the doorbell, still a college co-ed, dressed in khakis and moccasins and about a foot taller than me, rocking a casual, elegant style I haven’t seen leave her in all the years I’ve known her. I chose Lilia because we’d gone to the same high school and knew some people in common (it’s just no fun leaving your kid with a complete stranger, so I reach for connections) and I came to treasure her for her love of Sophie, her work ethic and her honesty.

“You know, I’m not a typical special needs mom,” I told her one day. I don’t remember the context of the conversation but I’ll never forget Lilia’s response: “Who is?”

Indeed. I think about that one often. (I’ve probably written about that conversation more than once on GIAPH already.)

Lilia was loving toward Sophie but never condescending, and when I’d admonish her to leave the dirty dishes in the sink she’d reply, “It’s my job to make your life easier.”

So when Lilia graduated the same month we lost our editorial assistant at New Times, it was a no-brainer — I launched a full-on campaign to convince her to come. I’m glad she did. I hope she is, too. She did a lot of shit work for all of us, that’s for sure, but along the way Lilia’s honed her skills and she’s a fine writer.

Also along the way, she met Lou. I don’t know him well, but he seems pretty groovy to me — he’s a musician, a little quirky and a lot in love with Lilia. And the guy can write. (We’re big on fishing off the company pier at New Times — Lou’s a frequent contributor to the paper.)

The wedding was absolutely lovely– DIY, full of energy and Lilia’s casual/elegant style. The bride wore moccasins.

I teared up (natch) when I saw Annabelle and Sophie’s names on the invitation; we dressed them in Lilia’s wedding colors and brought them along. I’ve never seen two little girls have such a blast. Annabelle pal-ed up with the flower girls and (literally) danced all night. (The little girls are all pictured above.) Sophie discovered the photo booth.  She also got to “party” with some of her favorite people in the world — my co-workers Paul, Rick, Michele, Claire. The list goes on. 

A highlight was sitting at dinner with Megan, who left the paper a couple years ago, but came back to be one of Lilia’s bridesmaids. Annabelle bestowed her highest compliment on Megan’s boyfriend, announcing that Oliver “looks just like a Beatle!” (he does) and Sophie snuggled up on  Megan’s lap, as content as I’ve ever seen her.

“It was perfect!” I whispered in her ear when Lilia bent down to hug me as we left — the cupcake “cake” had been eaten, the dance floor was starting to empty.

She laughed and promised to give me the inside scoop when she gets back from her honeymoon. For now, I’ll happily remember a lovely day. One of the best touches: Lilia had the genius idea of asking our colleague and friend Robrt Pela (the shopping enabler, you’ve read about him!) to marry her.

Robrt ordered himself a license (can you still get them out of the back of Rolling Stone?) and did a brilliant job. Afterward, he refused repeated requests from wedding guests who want him to perform their weddings. No way, he told them. He’s retired.

“Oh come on,” I said. “What if Sophie gets married?”

(And no, I haven’t watched “Monica and David” yet, though I do have it waiting for me on the DVR.)

“Oh all right,” he promised. “If Sophie gets married, I’ll order another license.”

I’m holding you to it, Robrt. I can’t wait.