Tough Times

I will accompany today's rant with photos from recent dock time outings. We've been having fairytale weather, all breezy and cool, so Brett and I have been soaking up the last dock days of summers. 

Ahem, Y'all. 

It's been a tough year for the wedding crowd. There is a surplus of couples and a shortage of materials. "No problem," I say, all chipper and optimistic, "This is my one job. I will get it done." And I have been, somewhat miraculously. The thing is, all these Covid brides have their satin panties in a bunch because they had to wait an extra year to get married. They've become whiny and entitled and I promise I'm not the only one saying this. I'm in a giant forum with heaps of Charleston's wedding vendors and the stories coming out of that chat lately...

I went to a florist friend's shop to borrow some vases and it looked like a bomb had gone off in there. She had four covid reschedules for the same weekend and one of the brides found a bone to pick and was refusing to pay. "I'm already over this season," she told me. It was only week two.

My planner friends are encountering Zillas of unprecedented proportions. "Entitled" is the word we all keep coming back to. "Oh you waited an extra year to celebrate yourself? You poor thing." At the moment I'm in a duel with one of my October brides who had a meltdown when I suggested that anemone flowers may be out of season. "They probably will be available, "I told her, "but just be prepared that we may not have many to tuck into your bouquet." She and her mom riled each other up on either end of the phone call and then told me not to order anything because they couldn't imagine getting married without anemones present. "We planned the whole wedding around having anemones!" (What about that guy you love? The marriage bit?)

I assure you they had not planned the wedding around anemones. I have the signed proposal to prove it. Anyways, they won't talk to me now. The planner has to be their messenger and they told her I was rude and uninterested and that I hate them. They tried to book another florist (I was delighted) but no one was available, so then they changed their tune. "We didn't mean to upset Laura." They still won't talk to me though. They're making me jump through a bunch of monkey hoops because apparently they can't read a description and understand it. "What does Laura mean by 'varying heights of bud vases'? We DON'T want them all the same size."

Let make matters worse. You know that whole supply chain bit? Well the country is about out of flowers. My wholesaler sent out an ominous email yesterday suggesting that any "white and/or blush" weddings "aren't going to happen." Guess who's having white and blush weddings this year? MY ENTIRE LINEUP OF BRIDES THROUGH DECEMBER! I'm having to call them one by one and ask how they feel about yellow. Purple? "I know you wanted romantic white garden-style arrangements. How do you feel about orange?" I did have a gracious bride respond positively. "No problem, it will be beautiful no matter the colors." What a lovely person.

 I haven't told the Anemone bride yet. 

In more important news, we celebrated Ellen's birthday with a gigantic barbecue supper provided by Gigs and Dave, and I made some cheesecake filled cupcakes, a best seller back in my cupcake vending days. They're called Black Bottom cupcakes and Ellen would gobble them up. This time now, as age has set in, no one wanted to take them home because everyone is worried about lardiness. I had to force them on people. I had to force cupcakes!

While we're on the subject of Ellen, she's really been nailing it lately. She let out a big breathy belch while we were signing papers in a quiet lawyers office. She was in the middle of a sentence when BUUURRP! Ellen, the lawyer, and I slowly lifted our eyes from the papers and met each other's surprised stares. Ellen put one hand on her chest and said, "Well I am shocked!" It's possibly the cutest things I've ever seen her do. She and I caught uncontainable giggles (the lawyer did too) that turned into ugly cackles as soon as we closed the door behind us and stepped into the parking lot. 

Earlier this week, she had an 11:00 phone interview and as she sat in her car (for quiet, you know) waiting for them to call, she checked the email and noticed it was 11:00 Central Time. In a panic, she sent an email apologizing for missing the interview and asking to reschedule. After she sent it, she realized she still had forty five minutes until the interview. 
"You haven't missed it..." the person wrote back. 
"Now they think I'm an idiot!" Ellen shouted. "Wait til they find out I'm pregnant. They aren't going to hire a pregnant idiot that can't tell time!"

Hayden & Jenny Get Married (Again)

A chilly but beautiful March celebration. It was certainly a treat to go to a wedding after hunkering down in our houses for a year. Jenny looked like a Disney Princess and gosh they smiled all day.

Hayden with his three brothers.

Do you remember these faces from our wedding day? What a treat. 

On the left there are Hayden's parents. Jenny's dad is in the back trying not to cry. 

Photos by Anne Rhett Photography

A Big Two Days

Lux n' U finally made it around to its fifth birthday. It feels more like the twelfth or so but I'll let that slide. We threw a little celebration for friends and family and then all of those friends and family were surprised to arrive to our house only to find friends and family

"Didn't you invite your colleagues, your wholesalers, even some old clients," lots of friends and family asked me. 

"I did not," I informed them. One should only celebrate themself with the people who know that they'd never truly celebrate themself. I wanted an excuse to have a party, and this tiny milestone, accompanied with the knowledge that I hope not to make it to the next business milestone, seemed like the perfect excuse to have a charcuterie board and a good laugh that I've been pulling this off for so long. 

In the days leading up to the party, we cleaned the house with extra gusto, the way you do before people come over and you don't want them to know the dusty truth. Brett and I reveled in loss of floating dog hairs in the home and decided we should pretend to throw a party every two weeks or so, and then we could live like this full time. I also took down the Narcissistic Family Portrait display in the dining room so that I could make something jazzy and unexpected. There are all kinds of floral things that I want to make. They either involve weird shapes, unromantic colors, or creativity - things you don't find in the wedding world. I used this as my opportunity to unleash my repressed floral designer and it was truly invigorating. It confirmed my suspicions that I could be better at my job if people left me alone to do it.

Just like our wedding day, the happy smiles and well-wishes and tasty snacks blew past us in moments. The friends and family all noticed that I had used the same caterer and baker for a few of the treats. It was a selection of people from our wedding day guest list, and then they commented that I was wearing a little white top. 

"Are you just trying to relive your wedding day?" more than five people asked me. 

Yes. Wholeheartedly yes.  

The next day, I branched out of my safety bubble, got up at 5am, drove to Daniel Island, and checked in with HBO to spend the day as a background extra on a tv show that films here. There was a casting call in the newspaper, which I read with great interest because we don't really have those around here. I giggled at the thought of it and then called my friend Ellie to see if she'd do it with me. 

"I've applied three other times and they never choose me," she said, "but yeah, I'll try again." Relieved that the chances were slim, I sent in my "headshot" and measurements and shoe size, and I waited. Two hours later I got an email asking if I'd be willing to take a covid test and give them my entire Monday, no matter the hours. I immediately regretted the whole thing as I wrote back, "Sure, no problem." I filled out a bunch of forms, took two covid tests, and mulled over the inner workings of my character.

Ellie also got selected, much to her fearless delight, but they choose her for Tuesday's shoot so we wouldn't get to do it together. 

I was less interested in doing it without Ellie. They don't give you any details at all until the day before your call time. Where would I be? Would it be hot? Cold? I'm sure they'll have food, right? What can I bring with me? Where will I put my phone and wallet and keys when I'm "on set"? I had a lot of questions.  The night before, I was given a time and location to arrive, clothes to be dressed in, and the character of "movie crew."

We were shooting a scene within a scene, you see. The scene being, the characters in the show were filming a movie in the show, so we had the real crew, making things happen, and then we had the extras, dressed as crew, pretending to make things happen. 

The real crew thought it was "very cute" to watch the extras pretend to make the movie, though it did make it hard to tell who was in charge. 

Anyways, I put on my slouchiest black clothes, had a minor panic attack, and then finally buckled up and drove the 45 minutes to Daniel Island. I am ashamed of the anxiety I felt about this. I was tickled and calm about it all until I woke up that morning, and then I nearly didn't go. I understand that most people don't like "the unknown" but I was having a particularly hard time with it for something that is often described as "boring and fun" and takes absolutely no qualifications to do successfully. I have no problem with my not being brave person, but this was too much. I needed to get a grip. Moreover, I thought about all the scary things in life that I haven't come to yet and I wondered how I'll ever get through it. More on that existential crisis later.

I sat in an old conference room with all the other extras as we were assessed one by one; first by the costume department, then make-up, hair, and finally props. The costume department determined our "role" for the day. We could be camera operators, hair and make-up, stunt performers, sound people, etc. I was selected to be "2nd assistant director" which meant nothing to me but when the real crew asked what I was and I told them that, they all acted impressed and excited, because they must have forgotten that it's all fake. As the 2nd AD (thats industry lingo), the costume department loved my outfit (I was one of the only people who they didn't make change - more in this in a moment) but they really mulled over whether or not I should keep my hairband on my wrist. While the three women looked me up and down like I was a painting in a gallery, the conversation went like this:

"Hey, will you take that scrunchie off?"

"Sure," I said, slipping it off my wrist and tucking it into my pocket.

"Wait," one said.

"What," the girls all said to each other.

"In real life, she'd have the scrunchie."

"Well that's true. We're all wearing them now." Then everyone looked at everyone's wrists. I pulled the hairband out of my pocket and put it back around my wrist. Everyone looked at the scrunchie, and then back at me, up and down, and then back at the scrunchie.

"I don't know, normally we take those off."

"But on a movie set, people aren't dressed like movie characters." There was silence.

"Yeah, it's like, if this was real life, we'd have scrunchies on," the ditziest one said.

"Yeah, set people have hairbands." More studied silence.

In the end, I got to keep my scrunchie. Then they debated if my brown boots were too "bright brown" before they sent me back to the conference room to wait for makeup. I was one of few that didn't have to change because all the other girls came in dressed to be discovered. Even though there was an entire email sent to us about the dark, loose clothing that film crew wear ("Please wear dark, very casual clothes. Below are some photo examples...") girls arrived in short black dresses and Fall boots. Scarves, hats, etc. One girl arrived in a crop top. Another girl did wear black pants and a tight black t-shirt but her giant fake boobs stuck out way too far so they put a bulky knit sweater overtop of her outfit. Crop top girl was given a full sized shirt and an apron to wear, while the girls in dresses were put in long pants and jackets. The men were easier of course, because they could just dress like themselves, but a few older men were chosen to be "producers" and they were put in nice button-downs and slacks. One man was called back three times to change the color of his polo. The costume girls couldn't make a decision. 

The hair and make-up girls looked and me and then waved their hands and went on to the next person. While I was initially flattered, later that day a make-up girl passed me in the hall and told me to reapply my lipstick. I told her I wasn't wearing any and she said, "You mean you went out on set... like that?" 

That balanced things out again.

Meanwhile, in the conference room, the extras were quiet. A mix of sleep and uncertainty filled the air. After hair and make-up, you were allowed to go to craft services for breakfast but I was too nervous to eat. Meanwhile, I had befriended Tom, a fifty-something Korean man who was endearingly oblivious to the rules and was also exhilarated by all the hubbub. He and his wife have just retired and are on a mission to have new experiences. "So today I signed up to be in a movie!" he declared. "It actually a show," someone told him. 

"Is it?" he asked, "I've never heard of it." 

He was hunting out breakfast when they told us about the scene we were shooting. "Today we're shooting a stunt scene...not a big shoot today...we'll be working with these three actors, etc."

Minutes later Tom came back and said, "I wonder what the scene is about."

Just before they called us to set, Tom and I were sent to the prop department. I was given a walkie-talkie, a headset with a bunch of chords that ran in and out of my clothes, and some extra batteries clipped to my belt. I looked very official. Meanwhile, Tom was outright laughing as they clipped wires to his belt and gave him a utility vest. He was so tickled and excited. Even though there was a strict "no pictures" policy, Tom handed me his phone with the camera already pulled up, and then motioned for me to take his picture. I hesitated as the prop people watched us.

"Take it," he said, "for my family. They will love this."

I did it quickly and then the prop people told us not to do it again. Tom was unfazed while I was apologetic.

Tom was somehow always goofing off somewhere when the crew would come in with instructions. He'd come back into the conference room and everyone would be packing up stuff. His eyes would light up and he'd run over to ask what was going on.

"They need the camera and sound guys on set," I'd tell him. 

"Oh wow," he'd say as he sat back down in his chair.

"You're the boom operator," I'd remind him.

"What that?"

"That's sound. You need to go."

"Me?"

"Yeah!"

"Now?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh boy!" and then he'd scamper off.

As the 2nd AD, my job was to march through the set as though I was very busy. There was a 20 yard stretch through the "crew" that I must have walked back and forth 60 times. In one scene, I was the only one walking and everyone else was still, so I really hated that. They had me start my walk slightly off set, so when we reset between shots, I could see the playback footage that the real crew were watching and thats when I discovered that I walk like a girl. Like a girlie girl. I was transfixed. "Is that what I look like when I walk?" I said out loud to no one. I became determined to walk "cooler", the way you imagine you look walking down the street in a leather jacket. They'd yell "Action!" and I'd march through the set and then loop back to start and watch the monitors. The walk got worse and worse. 

It was very cold on set. Even the men were chilly so that tells you something. It was in fact a stunt scene so we watched a real stunt guy fall four stories out of a window many times. It was hard to watch, as you don't usually see human bodies falling through open air, but it was neat to see how calculated and precise the fall was. All the women on set would gasp and hold their breath. All the men wanted to try jumping out the window.

There was really tasty food there as well. There were the hot meals you needed to eat and then there was a giant counter with every junk food snack you could imagine, all up for grabs any time. I loved watching the real crew busily accomplishing things and cutting up with each other. When they'd finish a shot from one angle, all the crew would descend onto the set like busy ants on a hill, and they'd twist things and crank stuff, and carry things, cling clang, thump! And when they all scampered out again, it was a whole new setting. 

I'm almost done with this report, I promise. 

Even though most often the background extras spend most of their day sitting in the waiting room, we got lucky and only had to sit for 45 minutes two or three times that day. It was a 12 hour day and I was always either hungry or needed to go to the bathroom. The second big shot of the day had me walk my same stretch but this time I had to carry two stacked Starbucks cups and a croissant in a napkin. This sounds simple but it was a test of balance (the way I had to weave around famous actors and all) and my hands got progressively more sweaty. I was worried I'd drop the coffee at the feet of Hollywood's near-elite. I was so close to them I coulda kissed 'em. All of my new Extra friends would silently cheer when I made through the set and out the other side. They'd all laugh at me juggling the cups and make comments about getting my steps in for the day. They all seemed to have easier jobs that kept them pretending to be busy in place. A few of them had jobs where they got to sit down - those were the real winners of the day. One Extra was chosen to be in the scene. They gave her a few lines and one of those folding canvas Hollywood chairs. The rest of us Extra's were a divided house. Half were jealous, and the other half were so glad it wasn't them. There was a surprising number of shy people that were certainly not looking for their big break. 

Towards the end of the day, Tom got bored and wanted to go home. "I didn't know we were just going to shoot the same thing over and over and over. All this for a single scene? It's too much." At some point he decided to try to lightly brush the lead actor with his fuzzy boom as he walked by. I couldn't see him from where I was standing but it was a real testament to how not-seriously Tom was taking things. "I might just have to go home," Tom said. "What do you think happens if I just leave?"

We were dismissed shortly after that, so Tom got to keep his pay for the day. We all turned in our props and visited the snack bar one more time on the way out. 

When I came home, I felt that the experience was a net neutral, because it doesn't add up to anything really. Then Brett, with his optimism and pragmatic outlook, suggested that I should be pleased that I tried something new, met people I liked, learned a little about filming, had the opportunity to do something so unique(ish), and will get to see my young self on a tv show when I'm an old lady. He's probably right but it still felt like a long day to be uncomfortable. As time has passed, I'm quite pleased that I did it. But don't tell Brett that he's got the right outlook.

Ellie went for her day as an extra, and she was out in the hot sun for 14 hours. They were shooting a Fall scene so she had on a thick sweater and had to cozy up with her boyfriend (another sweaty extra) on a park bench. Seeing as she's married to a woman and all, we all found this extra funny. She was in a scene with my favorite character on the show (her name is Judy), and Ellie said she (Judy) was so funny that she (Ellie) had a really hard time not laughing. Instead of getting frustrated, Judy was amused by Ellie's amusement. That's what you want to hear about a famous person.

Sticky Things

I was sprawled across the porch sofa, reading essays on animal rights. My legs dangled over the arm of the couch while my head was propped up with two pillows. The weather was warm but a balmy breeze tickled my hair as I breathed in the heady scent of summer. Brett was working in the garage, clanging metal together, or whatever he does in there. I turned to the next page of my book with great anticipation when suddenly, something cool and damp clapped down over one side of my face. My left eye saw only darkness as I registered the wet hand of a deranged killer grabbing for his next victim. I let out a loud, guttural scream. The kind of scream our caveman ancestors reserved for an attack on their rocky villages. I've never made such a sound before. I reached up to push away the sticky hand and run for it, and as I scooped across my eye, I felt no resistance. As I adjusted to the light, I saw my wet attacker flying through the air. 

Brett came running from the garage, all puffed up the way guys do when they're fixing to partake in a physical altercation. My attacker fell to my feet. I looked up at Brett as he ran towards me. Both our eyes wide with concern. I looked down. My assailant hopped in frantic circles as it looked for a place to hide. 

"What happened!" Brett asked, "Are you ok?"
I sat curled in an upright ball on the sofa, humiliated by the scream. "It was a frog," I said shamefully.
Brett immediately depuffed and then became politely irritated with me. "You scared me," he said. "That sound you made..."
"Well it scared me! It leapt over my eye onto my face. It was sticky." I could hear the childishness as I spoke. "I thought it was a person!"

Brett looked at me blankly and then sauntered back to the garage without saying anything. I had to go inside to wash toad residue from my face. We never spoke of the outburst again.

All dogs like to sit like this, right?

Unrelated, I am 21,000 words into the writing of my first novel. It's a love story, which is odd for me. I don't read love stories or romance novels, or even many fiction books for that matter. So the main point there is, I don't know what I'm doing. A couple weeks ago I read The Notebook to see how a well received romance novel reads and I found it a little corny and embarrassing. The concept isn't lost on me but something about predicability and cliches cancel out the good bits. Which I guess is why I don't read romance novels. 

What's been interesting about writing a love story is that I can't make it sound very intellectual. The things I read and think about, and sometimes even how I speak, are filled with philosophical questions, introspective considerations, and artsy metaphorical ideas. But when I sit to work on this book, it comes out rather juvenile. Since I don't like cliches I've been on a mission to make it "real." I don't want sticky flowery doe-eyes and cupcakes.  I want the indecision and doubt, and the sick to your stomach with excitement and hopelessness of falling in love. Cause that's the real stuff. So when I write my character's inner monologue, it comes out just like people think and talk - which is with very basic human logic. Which makes for a book that I feel like anyone could write. Which makes me feel like a shallow writer. Of course no one falls in love in a dignified way (that would spoil the fun of it), but I was hoping to infuse meaty thoughts into a story everyone knows.

Maybe there is a reason that romance novels are not regarded for the writing per se. 
Maybe falling in love just isn't all that intelligent. 

Travel: or Plans to Stay Home

Brett and I are thinking about quitting our jobs. I've already closed booking for after June of next year. We don't have a real plan yet but I'll tell you how it all happened. 

A couple times each year I ask Brett if he wants to take a month off work to travel. He gets enough vacation to do that but we feel like he should save a week in case of plagues and pandemics. And each time I ask this, we loop around to realizing it's not he best use of "our" time. On occasions where I'm looking to be dramatic, I'll point out that our marriage has caused me to have to rearrange my preferred method of living. (That's quitting odd jobs to spend the summers in other countries.) "I've changed my life for you!" I'll sneer with a grin, because we both know I don't really mean it. 

A couple months ago, Brett came home from an outing with Dad and said, "Let's take a year off to travel." I had Expedia pulled up within seconds. We spent a week mulling over a path to follow along the globe. We wondered what we'd do with the dogs, and the house, and how much money would it cost. When I came up with a schedule that chased the Spring weather around the world, Brett's enthusiasm shifted. 

"I don't want to be on vacation for a year," he said. "Not a snooty, high faultin', privileged year of travel."
"Pardon?" I asked, closing out tabs of Italian summer homes. "What else is there? Taking a year off to travel is privileged. But we can sleep on park benches if you'd like. You know I'd love the savings."

"It's got to mean something or lead to something," he replied.

It took Brett another few weeks to work out his feelings. (Men.) He has come to realize that he is less interested in a "gap year" and more interested in closing one chapter and starting another. He wants to move to Europe or do humanitarian work in sad sack countries. He wants to wander from place to place doing helpful things and if he finds a place he likes, he'll just stay there. 

I very much support this kind of aimless seeking of peace or purpose. It's what I've always wanted but couldn't muster the courage to do. We surprised ourselves by switching roles and I began asking all of the burdensome logistical questions. Are the dogs coming? What about Covid? Are you worried about your parents needing extra help in the next few years? 

Of course, I've always pretended that I want live in another country. The farthest I ever got was Savannah, which hardly counts, and people who fancy themselves fancy act like I'm a bumpkin that's never crossed the bridge into the next town. But I eventually realized that I just want to be wherever my people are... but they aren't really up to much so a little time away couldn't hurt. Right? Maybe being wherever my person is would be alright too.
We've looked at volunteer programs all over, but they aren't quite right. They're too temporary and topical. We decided that perhaps we should cut it down to six months and do a few Work Away programs in-between trekking to places we've always wanted to go. 

So that would all loosely start after my June wedding next year. But then we remembered about the Foreign Service. (This is sounding more convoluted as I write it.) We punched Brett's qualifications into the government website that lists the needed diplomats. He breezed right on through for an engineering position but there aren't any available right now - so he's on a waitlist of some kind. Maybe we're waiting on that. Maybe we're waiting on Brett to realize what he wants out of his suggestion to take year off in the first place. 

I'll happily leave superficial weddings in the dust. They're all so uninspiring and vacuous. And repetitive. And meaningless. 

People like me. 

A Lively August

There was a minute there where most of Dad's family was in town for a visit. I haven't gotten to see all of those cousins in quite some time and what a thrill it was to look at their sweet Union faces. All of Dene and Michael's kids are in college now (which just doesn't seem right) and it was neat to see them turning into adult versions of the kids I remember. They're all like real people suddenly. 

I particularly enjoyed hearing about Uncle Michael's strange rearing tactics, now that the kids are old enough to reflect on such matters. These are the juicy things you don't get to hear about for the first twenty years. I wish they all lived closer.

Buddy also enjoyed all of the extra company and activity. 

Brett finished our big smooth dining room table. We elected not to cut it to size because we like the slab so much. We carried it into the house, Brett did a little strategic jimmying, and then we stood back to marvel. It's too big for the room, but we still can't bring ourselves to cut it. Instead, we turn sideways to squeeze by when needed. We think it's worth it. 

We now eat dinner at a table like a real family. Brett eats all three of his meals at the table most days. We put it straight to work with a celebratory dinner party and then I moved into one end of it with my books and papers and laptop, while Brett spread out his latest construction plans for work on the other end and it turned out we needed all eight feet of it. 

At last weekend's wedding, Mom and I got stuck in the rain while we made this tropical arch display. Mom had the great idea to wrap up in towels we found by the hotel pool but we both felt foolish out there; decorating in a storm like everything was fine. 

It stopped raining in time for the ceremony. 

I have a good number of "succulent" weddings each year, and after those parties I take all of the disregarded succulents that the bride just had to have and I toss them into a few wooden planters to give them the illusion that I will be tending to them. I know they are trendy and "low-maintenance" but I can't keep succulents alive. I think they are fussy and unreasonable. The succulent death toll in this house must be close to one hundred. In March, I moved the succulent coffins to one side of the house under a tree and by golly the little squirts are growing. One of them has even flowered. 

As for the girls, Grace has been thoroughly enjoying her summer and requesting extra cuddles from me in the morning. Brett and I have wondered if she has early onset dementia. 

Pippa has been able to decrease her medicine to a much lower dose and this has resulted in a slight upswing of her bad mood. With a little effort, we can get her excited to play for a few minutes but that's about it. I miss my happy loving girl. She got a good report from the vet this past Friday, so we can drop her dosage one more time and if she can hold a healthy platelet count for a few weeks, she may be able to move to medicine that doesn't make her so grumpy.

She no longer wants to cuddle with me and when I pull her up to snuggle, she gives me her butt.

After weeks of toiling and procrastinating, I finally translated the newspaper man's musings into a cheeky article about the beaches here in town. You can read it here. 

Meanwhile, at the Barton household, Covid has struck. Stricken? Lee went down first, Liv followed, and Ellen brought up the rear. They are all on the up and up now. Livvy was only sick for one day and Lee is just about back to normal. Ellen is still breathing like fatty but yesterday she decided she turned a corner. We haven't seen any of them since they tested positive. I did drop off groceries for them one day and Ellen stood lugubriously in the glass door like a creature in a zoo exhibit. 

We've got a few fun things coming up as I readjust to working on a weekly basis. I've enjoyed a full month of aimless wallowing. I'll tell you what sorts of things I've been thinking about in my next post. 

It's A Boy!

Ellen and Lee are stoked to announce Nicholas Russell Barton (name not confirmed) coming February 19, 2022 (date not confirmed).

Wish you could have heard the meltdown that took place the night before Ellen found out. It was a truly epic cataclysm of emotion. I did my best to console the inconsolable and then the next morning she showed up grinning from ear to ear. 

Ellen and Lee are bedside themselves about it. Lee's preparing for his new fishing buddy. Ellen is preparing for nonstop action. Olivia is entirely indifferent.