End of Summer Bits

As we rounded out our summer weeks, our weather turned delightful - the kind of delightful that makes you feel suddenly capable of life’s toughest challenges, like cleaning out the workshop, getting a jump start on your taxes, or eating one less cookie after dinner because crisp air reminds you that life is worth jumping into. You should keep spry and fit. Do you think that’s why those Scandinavians are so progressive? This crisp, hopeful air? 

I have a reptilian love for the hot weather, so I’ll rarely complain about it hindering my enthusiasm, but after months in the nineties, the seventies almost tickle your skin. I’ve also noticed that this kind of Hawaiian weather can fool you into thinking that you want to do things you don’t actually want to do - like move into an bungalow in a schlubby part of town where you could afford to buy a house without needing a mortgage. Because in this weather, even 

The Hood feels picturesque and well worth the savings. “This weather is dangerous.” I told Brett, and he agreed. 

Here we are after our Triple-Decker September Birthday Blowout dinner for Lee, Mama, and Ellen.

I had my official first day as an intern at Brett’s company when he bit off a huge job in Hilton Head that first resulted in needing to book a hotel room for “just a night” and then resulted in asking his wife if she’d drive down and crawl around under the condos with him. I thought of the hundreds of hours Brett logged at ol’ Lux n’ U tearing down wedding decor at midnight, so I left Mom and Dad some pet-care instructions and barreled down the road to my first and second days as an assistant (to the) engineer. It was a dirty, slightly sweaty job up under a crumbling building from the eighties. We were measuring the piers it sat on and that required sliding around on your belly, climbing up over insulation and HVAC tubes, and doing a wispy swatting maneuver to get the cobwebs off your nose. I logged a number of hours sitting next to disturbingly motionless spiders.

Brett and I decided it would make him look unprofessional if the point-of-contact person found out I was Brett's wife, so we decided I was just an office assistant (This is true. I write a lot of Brett’s more complex or confrontational emails.) and that I volunteered to give Mr. Brett and hand in the field. On my drive down I came up with a whole backstory. Brett poached me from my family’s property management and development company. I’ve worked in Mr. Brett’s office for a little over a year now. My husband, Casey, works in IT and we have two cats. 

We were halfway through my first day, eating our lunch, when the Head Guy came over. Brett introduced me just as “Laura” and I made some comment about being glad to get out of the office. Then, when we found out the guy is originally from Syracuse, NY, Brett blew our cover by talking about our last trip up to see our friends in Rochester. The man’s eyes flicked suspiciously back over to me where I responded with a look of professional defeat. Days later, on Thursday of Brett’s “I’ll be done by Tuesday” job, he saw that guy again and was asked, “Hey, that woman that was helping you? Is she your wife?” 

So now Brett looks silly, bringing his wife to work. We are hopeful he assumes this is a family business. 

A Folly outing with friends.

In other news, I have been trying to harness- train Cam, the handicapped cat. “Handi-Cam” He is as happy about it as Brett is, which is to say they are both bothered by my intentions. Brett is horrified that a neighbor will see me “walking a cat,” while Cam maintains that when wearing the harness, he cannot move his legs. I scoot him along in the grass and he just lets all four legs drag behind him. 

He wants to be outside, mind you, but he doesn’t like the harness. So mostly we just sit out in the grass for awhile and then I carry him back in. On our most recent “lesson” he army crawled away from me, so I’ll mark that as progress. 

I'm not crazy... I feel sad about his boring life!

Mom and I recently stepped out for a day of errands together and when I jumped in her car at our rendezvous spot, she was fiddling with her shoes. “The bottom of my shoe just fell off!” and then she held it up. We laughed and laughed at this because she and I (and Grandpa Bob) notoriously wear our clothing items until they combust and the people around us think we are absurd because of it. It is very “Mom” to be wearing shoes that you can feel pebbles through. When we finished laughing I suggested we run into the store and grab some glue but Mom said it was fine. She’d carry on without the bottom. 

A couple hours later, as we walked into a consignment store, the bottom of the other shoe just dropped right off in the parking lot. Mom simply bent down, picked it up and tossed it in the trashcan by the store's front door. “Shall we?” And we stepped in to look around. She walked along, remarking that she could feel everything she stepped on, but also managed to find some cute seashell pictures to hang in a bathroom. We went in opposite directions and while I was sorting through a rack of clothes I heard Mom come up behind me, giggle and simply say, “Hey Laura?” I turned to find her stifling her laughter. 

When we finished guffawing, she shuffled (literally) back to the car while I waited in the checkout line with her seashell pictures. 

Ever since we've gotten back from Florida, I’ve found myself deeply missing Olivia. Seeing her everyday was the best. Now she’s at school and I only see her on Sundays. She’s all long-legged and talkative and I’m disheartened by how fast its all going. I think the best word for it is crestfallen.

Loosely related, I watched a show about centenarians the other day. They're all ready to die. They had lots to say about life and young people and grief and what not, but what really struck me was how none of them looked much older than their mid-eighties. "Why, you don't look a day over 86!" It made me wonder if you get to a point of decrepitude where upon the skin has sagged as far as possible given the volume and mass within it. Sandbags finally settle somewhere, you know? The hair goes wispy. The ears go long. The bottom teeth become quite prevalent. BUT, you only look 84, so... a silver lining?

Lastly, I joined Dad for a day of his Handyman/ Problem-solving services and we wound up on a small farm in Ravenel working on what Mom calls The Crapper 2000. The organization that took Dad to Burma a few times to get clean water at the orphanage, is now working on getting a version of gas cooktops available in some small villages in Africa. They discovered a manure-based opportunity for such undertakings and ol' Popples U had to go out and troubleshoot it. 

They'd put too much water in the crap bag so the gas wasn't drifting out. While Dad tinkered with valves and tubes, I wandered the property, cooing at animals that seemed burdened by my presence. I looped back around to help Dad. It was hot and sunny, and we were in a shadeless area next to a huge bag of cow crap with off-gasing capabilities, so.

I'll zoom ahead and tell you that when we saw we were missing a part and couldn't get things moving, I suggested we just press down on the crap bag. Dad thought it was a good idea, so he held the valve while I gently laid my body upon the giant bag. Dad was looking up at me, waiting to hear or smell the farty gases, so he didn't noice that all the poo water was bubbling up and puddling around his hands. When I noticed, I yelled, "Oh no!" and Dad simply continued looking at me with a pleasant, curious look on his face. "It's getting all over your hands!" That's when he looked down to find the warm poo particles flowing between his fingers. 

His reaction was understandably elementary and I could sense that he would not appreciate my laughter. I struggled to keep it to myself. He immediately went running off towards the barn in search of soap and water. That's when I was able to indulge in my amusement. We rode the 45 minutes home, both drench in sweat and smelling like farts. A special memory for sure.

I have since checked on the status of The Crapper 2000 and it is up and running -certain to debut in Africa soon.

Beach Week

The UniBartonHauer's spent a week snacking and sitting around in Florida. Bradenton to be precise, though tiny trips to Tampa, St. Pete, and Anna Maria act as the industrious highlights of the vacation. On a family trip where we are all staying the same house, my favorite thing is always the same: watching everyone experience the trip differently given the assorted obstacles and scenarios presented. Our time in Florida was a textbook example of each family member's preferences mushed up against accommodating our newest additions; and by those I mean Nick and Liv.

For Ellen, a trip is a time to participate in something luxurious and then lay down. For Lee, relaxation is the ticket. He just needs a fishing rod and some music. Mom wants to trinket shop. Brett chooses to seek out newness, whether its a new dish to taste or a physical feat to overcome. I prefer a mixture of Lee's serenity pool and Brett's experience seeking, and Dad is most inclined to go with the flow until he gets bored. Once bored, he's quite pleased to do some reading. 

So here we all are, in one house for a full week, each seeking something slightly different. Historically, we maneuver a easy vacation dance with one or two people claiming intentions for the day and the rest latching on to whichever (or neither) seems most aligned with moods, priorities, and hungriness factors. So Mom's desire to "hit the shops" on Anna Maria Island lined up nicely with my desire to see the beautiful scenery there and Ellen's fondness for expensive locations. So us girls spent a morning there popping in and out of the overpriced stores inside of the charming, colorful buildings. 

But on this trip, for the first time since both were mobile, Nick and Liv joined in on the fun. And it was fun. They were chatty and excitable. Each morning they would wake up early and commence the chattering for the day. Despite having an ample-sized living room just off the kitchen, the morning routine was for the eight of us to crowd around a small coffee table in a tiny space between the kitchen and the back door. The kids would bring their briefcases of Hot Wheels into the little space and insist on using two of the six chairs for display purposes. So we'd be leaning on walls, rotating who sat down, and otherwise just standing there because it never really occurred to us to inconvenience the children instead. I found the morning cluster ritual very funny until about the fourth day when I woke up and realized I didn't want to go squeeze into that space anymore. Additionally, the chairs were on swivels, so Liv would make me seasick every morning, swirling her chair which would bump mine and send me rotating slightly this way or that. Or she would sit in my lap to chatter about things but she doesn't sit still, so every flailing limb or enthusiastic gesture would twirl the chair just enough for a person's equilibrium to doubt their stability. The trouble is that she is so precious and this moment in time so fleeting that you don't want her to not sit in your lap and talk about her dream to be a mermaid, so you sit, feeling a little pukey, and remind yourself that this is the good stuff.
But then day four hit and I chose not to sit down. 

Nick is still but a little tike so sensitivities are quite high. He is understandably not interested in doing things like getting water or looking for Dad by himself, so escort services were required from anyone within earshot. His main driver each day though, is to do as Livvy does. Does Liv want to swim? Then Nick wants to swim. Does Liv not want to taste watermelon? Then Nick does not want to taste watermelon. Did Liv pull her arm out of her sleeve? Nick will pull his arm out of his sleeve too. My favorite part about this is that Nick is in a stage (4 years long stage) of not wanting to wear pants. So he winds up performing fairly effeminate movements in a speedo, making him frequently look like a tiny gay man with a potbelly.

Brett and I enjoyed our time in our own little bubble. He did have to work a few hours each day, so I would entertain or hide from the children, chat with mom, or do some light reading. When he was free, we'd go into Tampa for lunch, or search out authentic Floridian ice cream, or find a place that makes coffee the way he likes it. We did have grey weather with dumping rain for most of the trip, but the last two or three days we had enough sun for splashing around in the pool with the kids. We are proud to have earned top regards from the kids. ("Uncle Bretty is so tall." "Aunt Lue is silly.")

Mom and Dad did more childcare than we did but also managed to go for a date night or two, read books and magazines, and help orchestrate the Shanghai tournaments. They took the lot of us bowling on one of those rainy days which was met with great success. Liv especially enjoyed it and Lee bowled strike after strike. Nick was entertained at first but quickly lost interest so Ellen took him over to the arcade - a choice that proved to be a fatal mistake. Meanwhile Dad mistook Brett's real shoes for his bowling shoes and then howled with delight by his mistake. I had selected a particularly greasy bowling ball which made my hands sweat right from the get-go and I never recovered. The place was a little sticky and we all sat with our hands in upward turned claws when it wasn't our turn. Then we received complimentary cookies which promptly caused half of us to disregard our germ concerns and dig right in. When it was time to go, Ellen and Nick came back from the arcade with a little capsule toy from a vending machine. It was a little rubber bear in a plastic bubble with a pink lid, Liv's favorite color. Livvy's eyes glittered with interest, so they gave her fifty cents to go get her own. Well, she got the same little rubber bear but the lid to the plastic bubble was red.

When I tell you all hell broke loose...

Liv is the most cheerful, positive, sweet little person. She rarely cries. So we were shocked that this child had to be carried out of the bowling alley, and the uncontrollable sobbing over the red lid lasted the entire drive home and up the stairs into the house where it turned into a hiccupy cry, and thirty minutes after that, a perpetual pouty lip. This was the point during the trip when I noticed that Ellen and Lee were not having the calm, relaxing trip that the rest of us were. Come to think of it, Lee was spending most nights in the quiet room downstairs. You know, Ellen hasn't suggested anything that would give her time away from the kids... hmm. Are they quietly enduring the utter chaos of tending to children outside of their typical routines?

Turns out, kinda. Yeah. Ellen and Lee are such conscientious parents that they were exerting extra and unnecessary energy making sure that the kids weren't bothering the rest of us. When we realized this, we were quick to tell them to stop that. They aren't bothering us. We like spending time with them. Leave them with us and you two go do something!
They conceded to one measly dinner out together but otherwise stood solidly, taking the lashings that overstimulated children in new environments manage to wield with an intensity reserved for parents alone. They were happy little squirts, but also uprooted from the familiar routines that keep them confidently engaged in things besides Mom and Dad. They did not have their toys and beds and assorted crap - so they felt adrift in a big busy house with extra family members. They hit a tiredness wall somewhere near the end and became easily reduced to tears or whimpering. Ellen and Lee were at wits end, counting down the days to heading home again. 

We all took turns cooking dinner and the leftovers amassed with all the necessary kid-food (fruit, yogurt, applesauce, cheese, etc, etc) to create a fridge jam packed full of things that none of us wanted to eat or throw out. On the last night, we had a fridge-clean-out dinner, which resulted in finding coleslaw and baked beans from the night we arrived a week ago, that had been pushed to the deep recesses of the fridge. Dad placed these items on the dinner table as though it wouldn't be a threat to health and safety. When we balked at the idea, he maintained that it was fine and we shouldn't throw it away. Mom discreetly removed the items from the table when Dad left to heat up the nub of a baguette from who knows when. 

Brett watched as more and more creepy, old eats made their way to the table; smashed berries the kids had coughed on, one roasted bell pepper from four nights ago, the pale pink ends of watermelon half submerged in their juices, the dregs of a bag of tortilla chips, two broccoli florets. While there was a collective amused distain for the selection, we ate it, because we don't throw food away. Brett, who comes from a family that will chuck half a perfectly good ham just because they've had their fill, gazed at the display and then lifted his eyes to look at me and said simply, "I see where you get it."

I found this as validating as I did amusing because I catch him throwing out perfectly good food at least twice each week and I chastise him every time. "This is perfectly fine. Why would you throw it out?"
"I don't want to eat anymore of it."
"What's that go to do with it? You paid for it."
"So?"
"So you have to eat it."

Trip highlights include:
-Watching both squirts become increasingly proficient swimmers. (Nick can hold his breath for ages. It's awful to watch. He wanted me to drag him to the bottom of the pool so he could sit just down there. "Absolutely not, Nikki!")

-Watching Brett experience the Union family listening to The Sound Of Music soundtrack. (He was not impressed.)

-The whole family went to an enormous crap-focused, broken down flea market where I saw a dozen roosters packed into a tiny cage together and it completely ruined my morning. Everyone thought it was sad, mind you, but I took it the hardest. Dad wholeheartedly supported my thought to buy them all and bring them to a sanctuary. Brett said nothing but stood tensely next to us while I worked out supply and demand for roosters in western Florida. Later, when I admitted that buying them would only boost the industry, Dad became enlivened by my next suggestion of him causing a scene while I set them free.

-Listening to Lee talk in his Brooklyn chain-smokers accent.

-A particularly gruesome Nick meltdown while waiting to eat at a restaurant. This resulted in Lee wordlessly grabbing both children, getting into the car and going home. (Not funny to him or Ellen at the time but a retrospectively hilarious dad-move.) (Ellen and Lee anticipated the meltdown approximately two minutes before it began, while both kids were still happy, giving them enough time to take the kids outside, do some quick strategizing and already have Livvy walking towards the car before Nick broke loose. I was thoroughly impressed.)

-Nick getting excited about fishing with his dad.

I liked the cozy rainstorms and the messy kitchen and the exciting trees that grow down there. As always, I enjoyed the cheap shots from Dad, the one-liners from Brett, and getting even tiny moments to chat with Ellen. On our drive home, Brett foolishly asked Mom about her family history and she talked for so long that it had Dad in stitches. "Oh, and I'll tell you this..." She went on and on and on. Even when we pointed out that she'd been talking for hours, she still had things to say. 

Here's a sweet photo of Ellen riding back to the house with us on the night that Lee evacuated the kids from the restaurant in the nick of time. 

And then Dad let out a hearty belch.

We're all glad to be home. 

Especially Ellen and Lee.

The Hot Weather Chronicles

This time last summer I was in the thick of inner turmoil. There was no eating nutritious meals or enjoying the twinkly twilight time before the sun goes down, oh no. I was too squeamish to participate in life. A few times recently the anxiety monster that lives in my brain has said, "This weather reminds me, aren't we supposed to be panicked? Yes, yes I think so. It was dinnertime wasn't it, when we'd take on a sense of impending doom?" 

And I've had to do my best to ignore the monster's calls. It's going well, thank you, but disadvantageous at times. Instead, I've been enjoying the hot weather season - an attempt to make up for last year. I've been in the creek, in the garden, in the pool, in my new oversized office chair, and frequently in bed during the heat of the day taking a nap to power-up for a wild evening of watching tv when it's still a little blue outside. That feels wrong, doesn't it? My favorite is a post-dinner walk around the neighborhood. Something about it feels very adulty. 

Since last summer's withering of body and spirit, I've put on weight in new, inconvenient locations. What was once hard is now soft and what was soft has fallen down. I don't understand what happened and why it happened so suddenly. Is this yet another level of degeneration for the mentally insane? Just when your mind gets better your body tags itself in? Or, worse, perimenopause. I often smell cigarette smoke, have itchy ears, and create night sweats that could irrigate a small lawn, and I feel like if I don't tell people about it I'll have to endure the demise of my only body on my own, and that thought genuinely frightens me. So now I abide by "if you see something, say something" and Brett is almost done feigning sympathy. 

Now, the office chair. I'm thrilled about it. It is extra wide and slightly more deep so that one may sit in it in a variety of unsupported ways; upon one's ankles, Indian style, or in an upright cannonball position. I have long lamented the standardized human chair because who finds it comfortable to sit with their legs at 90˚ and their feet flat on the floor? Sincerely? I can hold that pose for five minutes before my feet long to be elevated. I almost purchased what's called "a cross-legged meditation chair" but I felt mild embarrassment about how stupid they look. I then considered a kneeling chair, thought better of the age of my knees and settled on what is effectively an office chair you would find in the Big and Tall section at store for pre-teens. It's pale blue and fuzzy. Brett tried it out for a while and got jealous, so I'm definitely onto something. 

As for my birthday, we did burgers on the grill and then bobbed in the creek:

And later had a family dinner at one of my favorite spots. Lee's dinner came with a side of fries that were so good we ordered some for the table, and Mom even found one of the chefs and told him how great those fries were. Interestingly I'm sure, my favorite french fries in all the town are located at a restaurant across the street from this one, so now I feel torn and delighted. When I need fries, I'll know exactly where go. We will park the car, make our way up the road, and only then, when we stand directly between the two restaurants, will I choose chunky sweet potato to the right or herby regular to the left. The spontaneity. The anticipation! Which one will she choose?

In cat news, Nora has decided to revoke the curtesy she was extending towards the disabled cat in our home. She is now being rude to both me and Cam, though she happily tolerates Brett. Ferguson is over all of it and just wants snacks and cuddles. Cam is usually drunk and just wants someone to play with.

Oh! Also, he escaped on the fourth of July and spent the night out setting off fireworks and vandalizing personal property. I worried the celebratory bombing would scare him too far away and he would get lost and then eaten by a predator who spotted his jimmy-legs from miles away, but he was in the driveway in the morning, just happy to be alive.

My garden meanwhile, is nearing its most productive state as well as what looks like the beginning of the end. There are lots of colors and tiny edibles in there but there are also some yellowing leaves, droopy stems, and an occasional self-implosion. The heirloom tomato and the bell pepper plant, who sat across the aisle from each other, participated in an early morning shinju last month and now their little empty plots remind me that I wasn't good enough for them. The tomato plants however, are as tall as Brett and just as busy.

Currently growing in the yard:

Tomatoes

Eggplants

Cucamelons

Bramble berry

Scuppernongs

Figs

Persimmons

Basil

Parsley

Dill

And a single pomegranate on a tree planted too far into the shade. We're really rooting for it. 

And then there was the fourth of July. There was a Guy/Union family gathering with the usual summer fare. The centerpiece was Dad's "yard art" to celebrate America. Later he added some American flags.

 

A mere 48 hours later, Brett and I were over at Jeff's house celebrating Julian's 10th birthday. How did that happen? He was just five!
Highlights include a wonderful taco dinner, all four boys sporting their new cuban-linked chains, and a water stain that has developed on the ceiling over the dining room table that is remarkably phallic. When I noticed it and pointed all four boys (and their mother) burst out laughing. I got tickled at the idea of an important gathering taking place there while that is just up there on the ceiling. What if their pastor came over? 

Back To Normal

Now that everyone is home and settled in, I can continue with my everyday dulldrums reporting. Dad scampers around town. Ellen and Lee wrangle children. Mom and I look for a purpose in life. Brett taps away at his keyboard and spontaneously leaps through the living room to excite Pippa and scare off Ferguson. Brett has decided that Ferguson doesn't bring anything to the table.
We've had a couple Sunday Dinners, one much needed rainstorm, and Nick received a harrowing haircut from his mother. A true right of passage in childhood.

Here is a grainy photo of the UniBartonHauers after a Top-Golf birthday celebration for Papa U. Popples U isn't a big fan of his birthday. We find this absurd, because what a human to celebrate, you know? But he doesn't want to make a big deal of things, so we all played it cool this year and did some family golfing. This was Ellen's first experience wielding a golf club and my first experience watching Lee's sense of competition. As the less experienced players, it was fun for us girls to watch the fellas really whacking the balls with masculine intention.

 

Watching the very tense Champions League final. 

Ellie's Etsy shop has made it through the busy season, so my precise packing practices are no longer required. I have enjoyed spending time over at their house when it has not been polished the way we do when friends come over. They always have spotless floors and few knickknacks laying around, but not in real life. In real life they don't fold their couch blankets or wipe down the island after breakfast. Its nice to be reminded that we are all slovenly when left to our own devices. 

Look at that rainbow!

I do have pet and occupational news but I don't have time to type it right now. We've had a bustling few weeks with lots of moving parts and I haven't had time to sit and consider them for storytelling purposes. I know everyone says time goes faster as you age and it's no joke. I didn't really even realize it's June already. I thought maybe it was April.

As you may know, it's World Cup season so we've had the tv on constantly, which is particularly luxurious in the daytime. You feel like you're breaking a rule. It's been fun to have the TV on while Brett and I are in our offices and when we hear the announcers' voices get loud, we both come rushing into the living room to watch the replay. I've always thought soccer was a fun sport to watch, but since hooking up with EisenEars who tells me the back-stories of all the players, well I always fall in love with them and then can't look away. What lovable (and sometimes loath-able) characters. 
I understand why you might watch other sports if you were rooting for a particular human.

We've been just standing here a lot lately.

My last tidbit for now: When I was working over at the pet shelter, there was one dog in particular that I adored. He is big, strong and has "scary" eyes, so no one ever wanted to meet him or take him for a doggy-day-out. Most of the staff assumed he was difficult because he was surrendered to the shelter for growling at a kid that would come mess with his food bowl. So sure, maybe he's not great with kids, but that's no reason to treat him like a risky, bad-apple.
I like a big meaty dog, so I went out in the yard and wrestled with him right away, and that's how I found out that he loves really high bouncing bouncy balls and ticklish belly rubs. He is THE sweetest and I would sit in the yard with him during my breaks and he'd just snuggle up next to me. 

The whole time I was there, only two people wanted to meet him and even though both of them said they'd come back to get him, they never did. It sincerely crushed me both times. As the shelter got more and more crowded, I worried about him being sent to the county shelter (where you only get so many weeks) to clear space for puppies and "more desirable" dogs. I'll tell you that I spent a lot of time advocating for him. Everyone on staff heard my plea, so when I left earlier this year, I had to hope that they'd keep giving him a fair chance. 

Today, after eleven months, bored and overlooked in the shelter, my sweet baby boy Jasper was adopted - and my coworkers made sure to send me this picture of him headed out to start his next chapter. 

I love this dog and I love those women. It made my whole day.

The Big Italian Wedding

The long-awaited destination wedding of Uncle Tootie and Aunt Hea-Hea finally arrived, and all the friends and family members (and about half of Folly Beach's food and beverage staff) packed their bags and made their way to Sorrento. Aunt Georgia and I (and Brett) stayed home on pet and plant patrol, so the details I have about the trek have been gathered from brief text messages and occasional Facetime calls from Ellen. The consensus from the Union family is that it is the nicest wedding they've ever been to. Everyone looked and did great. I hear there were a couple days of partying on either side of the wedding day. Jordan, Margie, Uncle Dave, and Lee stayed up until the wee hours of each morning, huddled around a tiny table on the patio, surrounded by bougainvillea and lemon trees. The house they stayed in had an exciting garden. I believe this is my precious foursome standing in it - note Mom's purse that seems to have been hurled into the yard in an effort to keep it out of the photo.

The following are the beautiful photos I seemingly received in real time. Dad's photo updates in particular made me feel like I was included in all the fun. I was at Ellie's house packing her Etsy orders as the photos came in and I kept running from my duties to show her my precious family. I was just SO excited for everyone. 

I never got a clear photo of Alston and Halee but those will be coming.

Meanwhile on James Island, I kept myself busy creating my first in-ground garden. I went to Alston's everyday to feed his cats, Carolyn's every couple days to water plants, Ellen's house to let in the cleaners, and Mom and Dad's house to move some cars around. Those jobs mixed with my Etsy packing efforts kept me entirely busy the whole time my family was gone. I barely had time to lament their absence. 

Marcia kept Nick and Liv for the week and then brought them back into town in time for Livvy's Kindergarten graduation, and then I took over the babysitting until Ellen and Lee came home that night. I had to entertain them for just six hours - a mere moment of their lifetimes - but I felt every minute of that six hours because I am not accustomed to the lacking mental stimulation of such undertakings. I love those kids - would take a bullet for them - but gracious watching them for an afternoon is dull. You're really trapped and cooped because leaving the house is too much trouble. So there you sit, in a slightly damp spot on the sofa, while both of them talk at you at the same time. Nick threw a tiny tantrum each time I wouldn't let him eat candy, and I couldn't get either of them to eat a real dinner. Neither of them wanted to wear anything except their underwear and Nick understandably became frustrated when he lacked the dexterity and brain-power of Liv, so then there would be more crying. I'd thought ahead and brought some really big cardboard with me and that did a great job keeping them busy for a while. 

What I did enjoy about the experience was watching Liv manipulate Nick. She is entirely in charge and when things don't go her way because of Nick, she comes up with clever but cruel ways to make him do right. "Well Nick, if you're not going to do it, I might have to take away that toy I gave you last week." Even when they played out make-believe scenarios, it was really just Liv telling Nick what to do. "You're a dog, so you barked when you saw the bad guys... bark Nick." and then Nick would bark. "But you miss your Mommy so you started to cry... you have to cry Nikki." So he would play cry. 
"Why are you walking? You're a dog, they crawl."
I think we all can see how this relationship will work until the end of time.

Other tidbits: Bubbs and I have moved into our favorite season - porch season. We have a magical, nearly year-round breeze in our yard, so we just about live on the porch all summer long. It's my all-time-favorite thing. 

Cameron, the surviving kitten from the Cameron and Barkley pair, has taken to butt-scratches and suddenly understands the benefits of the house-cat life. He has recently begun stepping inside to inspect things for an hour or so before darting back out into known safety. He loves to dine in the threshold between outside and in, and will alert you to desires for pet and scratches. Brett tells me we can't have a third cat but I frequently catch him trying to lure Cameron into the house. Mostly Cam hangs out on the porch or watches me flounder around in the new garden. He's a chatty little guy - makes both of us laugh.

Recent Internal Musings and A Photo Update

Why do we like nuts in our desserts after 35? What's that about? I remember deep bewilderment as a kid when I saw adults put walnuts in their brownies. Why would you sully perfection? I get it now, and I don't understand why. 

Here's a photo from Halee's bridal shower earlier this month. Gigs and Dave put together the most beautiful, cheerful, lemon-themed celebration in preparation for the Big Italian Wedding. Just moments before this picture was taken I accidentally dumped my drink down Mom's back. It's Margie's fault - she hit my arm. I stand by it!

Why do men put their wallet and their keys in their pockets as soon as they wake up in the morning, even when they have no plans to go anywhere? Every morning I watch from my pillow as Brett pulls on his britches and slips a wallet into his back pocket, keys in the front, only to go make a cup of coffee and sit at his desk. Sometimes he takes the wallet out of his pocket and puts it on the table next to his desk, but usually not. The wallet comes out of his pants pocket after dinner, sometimes even later, like bedtime. It just rides around in there all day for no reason. The keys come and go throughout the day - which is why he usually can't find them. He also keeps a knife in his pants all day, and while that makes more sense to me than the wallet, it's significantly more uncomfortable. I know this because I get jabbed with it anytime I sit next to him or give him a hug. Being that he works from home, there is an abundance of knives and scissors (and saws and yard utensils) at arms length at any moment, so I don't understand why you would keep a real live knife in your pants. I know lots of dudes carry things in their pockets all day, but my dad has always kept his crap in a bowl by the door for when he needs to leave the home-base of inventory, and that just seems much more sensible.  

Here I snuck a picture of this cute guest-lecturer that gave me a personal presentation on high-severity situations, critical security emergencies, and assorted safety assessment hubbub when it comes to structural failure after natural disasters. Brett is teaching a course on this soon and I have the distinct pleasure of being the practice audience. 

(That's only lightly sarcastic. I don't really mind, but it does make me sleepy.)

Isn't it wild that humans routinely wander into restaurants we've never heard of and let people we've never met make food for us, and then we just eat it? I only had this thought last month when Brett and I spotted a taco spot we've never noticed. We had gone Downtown to get ice cream for dinner but when we saw the taco place we said, "If we eat a taco first, we can pretend that's dinner and then we will have earned the ice cream." as well as, "I could go for a taco!" So Pips and I waited outside while Brett went into get 'dinner'. 
I unfurled the paper wrapper and peered into what was the only "vegetarian" taco on their menu. It looked...wet. "So what is it?" I asked Brett as he took a bite of his easily identifiable pulled pork. 
"It said onions... and potatoes... I can't really remember." 

I ate it, because that's what people do, but I never noticed any potatoes and it had an overall flavor to it that can be best describe as 'verdant.' My brain whispered a gentle suggestion of food poisoning, just so I could be aware that any doom I might experience would be self-inflicted. This is when it occurred to me that we all just trust people to do right in their kitchens. I said as much to Brett who momentarily reassessed his taco and said, "Yeah. It is crazy," and then inhaled his final bite.

We both had stomachaches all night and we don't know whether to blame the tacos or the ice cream. My vote is the wet grass taco.

Brett says I sit and lay in "crash victim" positions. I didn't get it until I saw this.

Is the sky as high as the ocean is deep and our lives are just a smear of butter between two slices of bread?

Mom and Dad left for a brief Honbon Reunion (HonUnion) so Beans and I got some quality time. Her enthusiasm about life had me in stitches. I've never met a dog so earnest.

In other news, it has become delightful outside with the caveat of the drifting yellow dust that irritates throats, eyes, and nasal passages. Small price, if you ask me. Brett has been in a duel with the pollen, neither of them ever gaining ground on the other, leaving both parties in a state of malaise and ennui. Brett gurgles and hacks, but to no tangible effect. The pollen gets wiped away only to return a few days later. We know the pollen will lose the war but at the moment, the battle is at a stalemate. 

The flowers are blooming and the pups are out frolicking in the neighborhood. I have been enjoying the annual "I didn't know you lived here" experience, when all of the neighbors without dogs or exercise regimens come out of their houses to enjoy the nice weather for a few weeks before it gets too hot. Then they will all recoil back into their homes and we won't really see them again until next Spring, leading us to spot them through our windows and say, "Who is that? I've never seen them before." 

I've been helping Ellie frame and pack her Etsy orders as she prepares for a trip to Ireland. April and May are busy months for her shop so she's working ahead to clear out the orders before she leaves. I go over and pack for four or five hours three days a week, and still never make it to the end of the orders for the day. Last week, I clocked in and found this. Am I lucky or what?

In celebration of his 60th birthday, our favorite neighbors Jim and Kim (the ones who helped me chase the pig I bought off Craigslist) had a big, backyard celebration. That party proved that turning 60 doesn't have to be any different from turning 20. There were oysters and hotdogs, cake and beer, beer-pong and piñatas - all the classics of young person celebrations. Jim disappeared into the house and came back out giggling in his dress blues. (They were a little tight.) His friends were rowdy partiers and two of Jim's sons arrived with their own entourages. And while Brett and I left around 10, the party raged on. When we saw Jim the next morning, he had a black-eye and a huge grin. "I think it's awesome," he said, "Who gets a black eye at thier 60th birthday party?" He told us he ran into some furniture, but when Kim joined the conversation she said, "What did you tell them happened to your eye?"

Here we are with the two of them.... long before Jim took a tumble going to the bathroom. 

I spent most of my party time talking at our across-the-street-neighbors. I say talking at because they are such polite listeners that you can't really tell if they want you to leave them alone or not. Additionally, Nick there on the left, kept egging me on by asking questions and being engaged in my rantings, so I couldn't exactly stop and run off. 

But when they left for the night, Brett said, "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to you." and Mrs. Cassandra said, "Don't worry, Laura talked for the both of you."