Category Archives: My Love Story

Lazy writer, yep, sums it up

I was shocked to look at my blog and find I hadn’t written a post since April. I mean, I knew I had been slacking, but that’s the longest hiatus I’ve taken since starting my blog back in 2011. In my defense, I’ve had a lot going on.

I went on my bachelorette cruise to the Bahamas with my favorite people.

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I got married to my best friend.

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We built a house.

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Oh, and I’m working on my MBA. Plus, I’ve got that whole full-time job thing going on. So, totally lazy slacker over here. But, now that we are settling into our new home and hoping to avoid any major life changes for at least a little while, it is time to get back to it! I look forward to filling 2016 with more self-deprecating humor, foodie adventures, stories from my yoga journey, dog pictures and foster tales, and recounting my world travels.

I might pop back in for few more posts this month, but in the meantime, wishing you all a safe & happy holiday!

xoxo, Brittany

 

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Belated Birthday Post

A little over a month ago it was my birthday. This is an extremely belated birthday post, but this story has been waiting patiently in the back of my mind while I sorted my life out enough to get back to writing. The past few months have been a trying period where – in my typical fashion – I quickly uprooted any sense of routine I had established in favor of my preferred state of utter chaos. I am simply unable to merely make one big life change and then be content for a bit. Nope, I need to layer changing careers with the addition of a side business which I’m working to grow into a substantial second income, to that add getting engaged and merging households into one tiny space while already formulating a plan to move again (I’ve been in my condo for less than one year), and to finish it off, I’ve decided I’m going to add yoga instructor to my skill set and I’ve already booked a course for this fall which will consume every weekend for a month. I will have no life from September to October. None.what.so.ever. I’m learning this is how I thrive. There must be change, there must be excitement, there must be an absolutely terrifying sense that it will all fall apart. It is what keeps me awake and engaged – present and in the moment. But I digress. You wanted to hear about a birthday. 

For this past birthday Brian finally managed to surprise me, and I had my first ever surprise party. I’d always wanted a surprise party. Those people who say “I hate surprises,” well, I am NOT one of them. I love surprises. I’m infuriatingly difficult to surprise, but I love them.  Each time Brian has tried for a thoughtful surprise, the universe thwarts him. There was that time I went with a friend to get a massage and he secretly came into the spa and bought a gift card which he asked them to apply towards my service. They forgot. I called him on my way home and he kept waiting for a huge and well-deserved thank you. When it didn’t come, he finally asked, with more than a little irritation in his voice, if there had been anything waiting for me at check out. Surprise ruined. Then there was that time (at another spa mind you) he booked my surprise birthday massage and explicitly asked they not send me a confirmation email or text, but they did. Surprise ruined. Then there was that time he was going to propose, and his well-meaning buddy was on speaker phone in the car and made a comment which by itself wouldn’t have made me suspicious, but Brian’s reaction totally gave it away. The surprise wasn’t totally ruined, as he managed to play it so cool leading up to the proposal that I had talked myself out of being sure it was happening, but, you see the trend. 

This time, with a little help from my best friend Heather who kept me occupied with pedicures and wine (pause for an observation – apparently I spend a lot of time and money on massages and pedicures and it has just occurred to be I may be a bit high maintenance), he pulled it off. He gathered my favorite people for a little poolside grilling and by happenstance also made my favorite birthday meal of perfectly seasoned London broil. To top off the perfect day, we destroyed a cookie cake. And.it.was.delicious. Unfortunately the cake was consumed before I thought to snap a picture, but luckily my Uncle Chris made this beautiful cake for me later in the week when I visited my Charleston family for a second celebration. What can I say, I’m one lucky and loved girl. Happy belated birthday to me.

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The Ring

Everyone likes a good love story. Apparently I do too. This is the first time in quite some time I’ve felt words simply pouring out. No hesitation — no “a colleague might read this” or “save the whining” or just nothing. Now the words come easily. I promised you a story about a ring – my ring. Here it is.

Ever since that life-changing trip to Italy post-graduation, I’ve been obsessed with old. The ancient-er the better (yes I know that is grammatically atrocious. As a writer who knows the rules, I can break them for artistic effect.) Surrounding myself with and filling my mental photo book with old stories, old buildings, old jewelry – sigh – it just makes my heart happy. My one requirement for my engagement ring was that it be old. Some cool backstory would be a plus, but it had to be old.

Less than a month ago – about 3 weeks in fact – my ring found us.

We were on a weekend trip to Asheville (our favorite spot and likely wedding venue), and we stopped into a little antique shop. I’d kept hoping I’d come across the perfectly unique ring during one of these stops. I’d tried in Boone around our anniversary, and nothing. I’d taken a peek in Boston while on a work trip, and nothing. I looked hopefully into the sparsely filled display case on this trip, but saw little that caught my eye. In fact, I half-heartedly tried about three rings before I grudgingly asked the woman behind the counter to let me try what would become my ring. It was the last one after all. Might as well. It didn’t seem like much in the case. It was paired with a plain silver wedding band, and both were in desperate need for a cleaning. But something magical happened when I slid that dingy ring on my finger. It’s almost as if it woke up, for when I looked down I was engrossed by the sparkle. I’d never seen a ring catch the light so much. A bright luminosity fought back against years of neglect and won my heart. This was my ring. I had to have it. It was almost as if it was telling me – “Now. I’ve found you, now’s the time.”

It sounds a bit cheesy, but I swear I wonder if we’d be engaged now if it weren’t for me finding that ring. Not that it was the idea of wearing a diamond that decided me on marriage – rather I’d looked and looked and hadn’t found anything that felt right. My fear was maybe I just wasn’t really ready – wouldn’t ever be ready. Clearly my ring (and Brian of course) knew I finally was.

I was disappointed that the proprietor was unable to give us any backstory on the ring. I’d hoped for at least an age, but no luck. Brian; however, didn’t let me down (he never does), and when he took the ring to be cleaned and resized the lady at Perry’s gushed over his fabulous choice. “They stopped cutting diamonds this way in 1919,” she said – and my heart fluttered when he repeated. The setting, she continued, looked to be from about 1910 – and I was blissfully happy. What can I say? I’ve got good taste.

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And then there was that time I got engaged

I’ve long been a cynic when it comes to love and marriage. A brief lapse into a hopeful “I think I’d prefer a wedding in the mountains” was always quickly followed with a bitter “if I ever get married.” But I found a man who saw through my cynicism and knew that deep down I wanted marriage, and love, and all the romance — I was just scared. A child of divorce, I’ve always been skeptical that a marriage could last. I’ve had a gripping fear that I’d give my heart to someone and then one day, they’d just decide they didn’t want it any more. Better to be safe from potential soul-crushing heartbreak than to take the risk, right?

On our first year anniversary, Brian created a beautiful collage of our past year together. It had all our foster pups, our various races we’d run (1/2 marathon in his case, 5ks in mine), the trips to Asheville, Valentine’s flowers, etc. It was thoughtful, sweet – perfectly Brian. At the bottom of that collage he included a quote —

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It was then that I first realized Brian saw past my bullshit, past the hard exterior I’d learned to wear and into my heart. That terrified me. With my mask off I was vulnerable. And vulnerable, I could have my heart broken.

Another reason I love my husband-to-be (hope that didn’t spoil the story, it’s in the title after all) is his patience. He patiently waited for 5 more months until I figured out what he had long since understood. We fit. We were good together, and he loved me – that wasn’t going to change. And so on Friday, April 25th Brian asked, and I said yes.

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And I may be a little obsessed with my ring, I think it deserves it’s own story 🙂

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