Month Two

I had a phone-negligent February and I loved it. I put in minimal effort on my business Instagram, ignored snapping photos of everyday actions, and stopped texting friends. That last one is only kind of true. My conclusion is, I hate the phone.

I also started and completed a 21-day exercise regimen. That's probably a record. Because I was spending most of my time writing stories and flailing around for health purposes, I don't have much of a February report. It was hunker-down-and-meet-goals time and since that's a new concept for me, I wasn't sure how to balance my self-appointed responsibilities with my whims. I spent the month exercising my brain and my flat fanny. 
It was Foolish Fables and Flat Fanny February.

Brett continues to work from home most days and exercise in the garage most evenings. He's become addicted to sparkling water, started reading about five different books at the same time, and taken to watching construction tutorial videos on Youtube. We walk the pups and watch movies and cook dinners with strange spices to see if we stumble upon greatness. The other day I had him make up a spice blend for a pork tenderloin while blindfolded and his giggles were contagious. 

Nate and Ari joined us for a walk to Secret Beach.

Ellen and Lee moved into their brand new old house just around the corner from Brett and me. It is a six minute walk at a leisurely pace and this makes me very excited. The house is bright and airy and spacious and yes, Aunt Georgia, I'll take pictures soon. Olivia and Stono are adjusting to their new digs and Liv has started walking like a tiny drunk so the baby-proofing is on the way. 

Mom and Dad spent the bulk of this month helping Ellen move and get settled. Lee still can't pick up heavy things so it was a family effort to get furniture and appliances in-place. Ellen and I tiled the kitchen blackspash while Dad built a giant deck and Mom strategized color schemes, curtains, and rugs. It's a happy space on a quiet street and we've found ourselves gathering there just because. 

Pippa inserts herself into any and all activities. 

Right there at the end of the month we ventured off for a HonBon visit but I'll give them their own post. 

Having my head buried work things has resulted a lackluster month recap post and for that I do apologize.

I'm approximately two weeks away from finishing my book and three weeks away from my first wedding of the year. Things will pick up. 

Meanwhile, enjoy these oldies Mom found.  

A Short Story From 2016

A cop pulled us over on the way to dinner. The policeman slowly approached the driver-side window where Brett and I looked out with unbridled curiosity. Brett wasn’t speeding. The lights were on. What's the problem?

“Maybe they really do pull people over for being too sexy,” I joked. Brett was not amused. He rolled down his window.

“Evening.”

“Evening Officer,” Brett replied. The cop looked fresh out of high school.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” Officer Babyface asked.

“No Sir,” Brett said. I could tell he hesitated on the “Sir.” Who is the elder here? How does this work?

“You made this turn here without using your turn signal,” he stated pleasantly.  Even he seemed to find this offense not so offensive. “May I have your license and registration, please?” 

Brett rooted around in his pants for his wallet, fished out his drivers license and handed it to the officer. 

“I think my registration is in my glove box,” Brett said both to me and the officer. I pulled the handle to lower the glove box door and out flooded magazine clippings of attractive men of all ages. 

“What?” I hissed. I shuffled through the glossy images. A man posed by a horse. Another strutted the streets of New York. A third rested casually across leather luggage.

“The registration,” Brett reminded me, pushing the pages to the floor and reaching into the glove box.

“What’s all that?” I asked quietly. 

“From my haircut. I’ll tell you later.” Brett frantically searched the compartment for the folder with his registration. He couldn't find it. He darted back to his wallet. It wasn't there. “Check the center console,” he told me. We frantically tore apart the car. The officer wandered back to his computer, choosing to run Brett's license while we looked for the registration card. 

“Your haircut?”

“Yes!” Brett sneered, “I took those pictures in to give the girl an idea of what I wanted.” Laughter burned in my throat. 

“Because it kind of seems,” I paused, looking for the best words, “... a little gay,” and I let a giggle escape through my nose.

“I know how it looks!” We had no luck finding the registration and we didn’t know how to proceed. The officer reappeared by the window. 

“I’m sorry Officer,” Brett said, “You’ve caught me with my pants down.”

“Don’t say that!” I whisper screamed.

“I can’t find my registration.” We all shared a brief silence and then Officer Babyface elected to just give us a warning and sent us on our way. Brett and I cringed and giggled all the way home.

Livvy

Yesterday was Olivia's first birthday. She carried on as usual but she also got to have a little cake. In my mind, Liv should be at least six by now. Ages have passed and the little goblin can't even walk or say hello. 
Waiting for self-sufficiency is completely exhausting. She also doesn't prefer me to her mother or grandmother, which really burns me up. They're always busy cooing at how cute she is but I'm the only one working to instill life lessons. She should appreciate me more. 

Olivia is a serious little munchkin. She maintains a stone-faced expression except when Lee comes around. She laughs at Lee. Little sober Olivia will stare into your soul and then snap out of it seemingly appalled by what she found in there. Attempts to make her smile or to delight her little spirit are lost on her pint-size faced and instead she reads you for ulterior motives. 

A year with an adjunct baby has taught me how not necessarily cuddly they are. Liv does not like to be held. She is in exploration mode and must break free of any love-based shackles. She scoots around and stands up and then her tiny knees ooze back into a bend and she plops down on the floor and darts off towards the dog bowl or the harsh chemicals under the kitchen sink. 

Despite my best attempts, Olivia is unimpressed with me. She is suspicious and contemplative. She must be able to sense bumbling goobers. My need to be liked by everyone has come to standstill. Forget those other people. What do you mean I'm not her favorite?  She has made me bitter, you see. How am I supposed to live with this one-sided love.

Facts about Olivia

- Enjoys Cheerios and books about aquatic animals
- Is completely unburdened by bulky outfits and costumes
- Is afraid of Uncle Brett's long hair

- Loves dogs

- Hates the car seat

Tumbleweaves

Mornings look different these days compared to how they looked back when I wrote this post. Brett and I may or may not get up at the same time and I likely won't eat breakfast unless Brett wants breakfast badly enough to make it himself. The pups sleep in these days and Brett tries to get an hour of reading in before he goes into the sunny room to clock in. But one morning ritual has withstood the test of quarantine. Brett and I still have our coffee chats about any and everything before we start our day. Admittedly, some mornings I sleep through coffee hour or Brett's book is too good to put down. These are the new luxuries of having nowhere to be so it's easy to let them slide. But most mornings we choose a chair and settle in to discuss the day ahead, the blunders of the day before, politics, cuisine, weird dreams, dogs, etc. 

This morning we both discovered that we had school dreams which led us to tales of high school heros and bullies and general idiots. Brett went to a private prep school in Charlotte called Country Day. The local public school kids and subsequent arch-rivals called it Country Gay. Brett told me about a friend who had some high ranking in the class who went to Stanford and then became a Navy Seal. I told him how we had so many girl fights in school that there were tumbleweeds of hair weaves in most of the hallways. Tumbleweaves. 

Brett graduated with 108 kids who all headed off to esteemed colleges and universities. I graduated in a class of 240 who's destinations could be grouped into tech school, state school, or straight to the construction site. My two hour drive to college in Savannah was one of the more farfetched fates. Only six us left the state. Dream big, kids.

Brett played lacrosse. He won't tell you but he was quite good at it, though it took such a distance to get those long legs to reach their max acceleration that Brett was described as "the sloth"- a player that was "deceptively slow." One time, Brett got knocked in the head and had a concussion. Unbeknownst to anyone else, the play continued and while all the other players ran across the field, Brett woke up and staggered around and ran the wrong way and tripped over his feet. His coach yelled, "Eisenhauer! Get your thumb out of your ass!"

Meanwhile I had a brief stint as a flag twirler. I didn't want to do it but one of Ellen's bossy friends needed people to go to tryouts - something about the school only renewing the flag twirling team if a certain number of people were interested. I agreed to go to tryouts but I would not join the team. Well I'll tell ya, I was born to twirl. My command of the flag was astounding. I could toss it, flip it, roll it across the back of my hand and then whip'er back with a flap flap flap in a grand crescendo of ostentation. Unfortunately I made the team, so I politely attended a few practices and then bowed out before the first football game performance. Everyone knew the flag twirling girls were bimbos. It was only the beginning of their long careers with poles.

Here is Big Tan Lu and her petite blonde friends in 2007.

And here is little Shaved-head Brett in 2006.

In 2006 Brett and his Dad actually came to Charleston to go to Jump Little Children's last concert in a tiny theater downtown. Ari and I were also at that concert, probably just a few rows over, and Brett and I like to think about just how close we were to our spouses without knowing it.