Oh, Brother

Note: This is a re-post. To my readers: Even though it may appear that my brother was a heartless monster, rattling off embarrassing stories and facts about me - he was not sabotaging my relationship. He was purely being a brother. And you must remember that this blog is from MY point of view. Of course I'm going to see things in a different way! And by 'different way', I mean 'the right way.' Love you, brother!
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Think. Who knows you better than your best friend? Better than your parents? Who knows all of your faults and failings, foibles and flaws - and has them all catalogued in an anecdotal arsenal, primed and ready for a full-on assault at a moments notice? YOUR BROTHER - or, in this case - my brother.

A little background: My brother and I are 17 months apart - he is younger. Through the years we have had periods of being close - and being close to killing. Both of us bear various half moon scars on our bodies from where our nails once tore at each other, vying for the auspicious title of "Front Seat Passenger on the Way to the Orthodontist." My brother still delights in pointing out his scars that he has charted by name and date, almost the way an astronomer would keep track of stars in a galaxy: "Murphy's Inn, Boyne City, Michigan - 1987." Though my brother is younger, I've often felt that he is older, for several reasons. He is taller. He left the house and got a 'real job' long before I did. He bought a condo, later a house, and later still - another condo. He got a dog. He got married.

Last weekend, my brother and sister-in-law visited me in Chicago for a chilly weekend to take in the sights. Among them: my home, the city and the Dashing Litigator. The plan for the latter sight was for all four of us to have dinner together, then hear my friend Jim's band play, then attend a pajama party thrown by my friend Trista.

At 4:30 we are on our way to the Dashing Litigators. I am driving my roommate's car, and I am nervous. I nearly rear-end a vehicle as I am making a left hand turn - and my brother, seated beside me, nearly has a coronary at age 29. He lets out an expletive, I snap at him, and I realize this situation is very similar to when the Dashing Litigator was about to meet my parents. I am once again on edge. I turn to my brother. I plead. "Please don't say anything to embarrass me or make me look bad." He smiles back, "Carrie, come on. Don't worry about it." From the back seat, my sister-in-law reassures me, "I won't let him say anything bad, Carrie." Ok. I find myself breathing just a little bit easier.

We pull up to his house, and because of my earlier behind-the-wheel blunder, my brother has me get out of the car so he can parallel park it. I'm momentarily irked, but realize it's probably a very good call.

We are walking down the sidewalk when I see the Dashing Litigator outside with Duncan on his leash. He looks nervous, too. Once Duncan recognizes me, he ambles toward me and I scoop him up, kissing both of my boys. Introductions are made and soon we are all inside the Dashing Litigator's cozy home that is warmly lit with candles. My brother pulls out gifts that they have brought for little Duncan, (puppy shampoo, a ball that glows when bounced and a stuffed squirrel chew toy). The Dashing Litigator is hugely grateful and the puppy doesn't know what to play with first. My sister-in-law is bonding with Duncan (he is alternately nibbling her toes and the cuffs of her jeans) and my brother is asking the Dashing Litigator about the work he has done on his house. Everyone is sipping wine, relaxed, laughing, and enjoying each others' company. The Dashing Litigator takes my hand and squeezes it, and I realize, "Hey. This isn't bad at all."

Soon we are off to dinner in Bucktown. I am once again behind the wheel, and once again driving like a fifteen year old who has borrowed dad's car for the night. My brother, from the back seat this time, takes this opportunity to spout off my driving record from age 16 on, including my mastery of direction. "Carrie didn't know where our highschool was until she was a junior. She couldn't drive there if her life depended on it." Sadly, this story is true. And thankfully it is one that I had already told the Dashing Litigator. Take that, brother. The subsequent stories of near-squirrel-collisions that ended with cars in ditches, tickets, and failures to stop - only worsened my present driving abilities, psyching me out completely. And aside from nearly turning the wrong way down a one-way street and running a red light (The Dashing Litigator's fault, as he was my navigator), we arrive in one piece at Feast, and I am more than happy and relieved to hand the keys off to the valet.

Dinner is off to a lovely start. My brother picks out a bottle of wine and the laughs are non-stop. My brother and sister-in-law recount their courtship and how on their first date my brother took his now wife up for a ride in a Cessna. The Dashing Litigator ribs my brother for ruining every hope of coming up with a good first date of his own. "How can you top that?!" he asks.

Somewhere between my first and second glass of wine, my brother says, "Carrie said to me earlier, "Don't say anything to embarrass me!!" I shoot him a look that clearly says, "SHUT UP."

He continues, "Carrie told me that she hasn't farted around you, yet. Well, you should've heard her last night. Wow. Impressive."

Again I shoot him my best "SHUT UP" look. He says, "Uh oh. She's giving me a look!"

He is on a roll.

There are more embarrassing trips down memory lane - and I feel myself floundering, unable to recover. I've had 29 years experience of dishing it out and taking it with my brother - but in this moment all I can do is sit there, numbly, in shock.

The bill comes and the Dashing Litigator pays for dinner. His gesture is, as usual, generous. We are getting up from the table, and I find that I am awkward, shy, embarrassed, unable to look him in the eyes. I am noticeably quiet for the rest of the evening. An evening that includes introducing them to more of my friends at a Quinn's Uncles gig, eating rum cake that I had baked for the Dashing Litigator's birthday, and dressing up in matching jammies to attend a party where they meet more of my friends. We take a cab home, dropping the Dashing Litigator off before heading back to my place.

As I fall asleep that night, I play back the evening. I realize that I am possibly reacting in an overly sensitive way. My brother loves me, and I completely had overlooked the section of dinner conversation wherein he praised my performance in "The Who's Tommy", boasting to the Dashing Litigator that he had attended every performance of that show, bragging that he is "my biggest fan". And the part where he said how great I was, and how happy he was for me that I had found such a great guy.

The two leave to head back to Boston the next day, and after bringing some order back to my apartment, I make plans to see the Dashing Litigator, as today is his birthday.When I see him, I apologize to him for the way that I had acted the night before. That I had allowed my brother's words to embarrass me, and that I was possibly being too sensitive. It was clear the night before, that I was angry with my brother, and I was embarrassed that the illusion that we had a perfect relationship was shattered.

Again, he reassured me."Carrie, my own brother called me to wish me a happy birthday this morning, and within ten seconds he had launched into a litany of reasons why my sister was the most ridiculous person on the planet. After five minutes, I put the phone down. Carrie, no family is perfect - mine is far from it - and there is obviously a lot of love between you and your brother. That was very clear."

And I will come to realize that no family is perfect. You cannot choose your siblings or your parents. You can only choose to love them. My brother has a quick wit and huge heart. I should've just let things be, roll with the punches, premature flatulation stories and all. Eventually the Dashing Litigator will see all of this anyway, and if he chooses to run away based on some silly stories of a much younger Carrie, then he is just not meant to be.

The Dashing Litigator is holding me in his arms on his birthday, which is also the eve of a weeklong trip he will be taking to visit his family in Florida.

"My mom asks about you," he says.

This is news. His parents don't even know he has a puppy. I didn't expect that they'd know he had a girlfriend.

He continues, "When we talk on the phone, she'll ask, 'And how's Carrie?'"

I look up at him with a smile - then doubt - momentarily turning into a 14 year old. "Wait. Does she ask about your friend Carrie?"

"Nooo." he says, "My girlfriend Carrie."I am all smiles again. This is a step. And even though our styles may vastly differ (I thrust nearly my entire family upon him in under three months and blog our entire relationship - while I am only just now becoming 'known' by his family) it is enough to know that we are progressing. That this self-proclaimed private person is now sharing me with his family...it's huge. And comforting. We are getting more comfortable with each other.

And no, I have not farted in front of him...yet.

Terms of Endearment

My father calls me "Care Bear" and has done so ever since the 1982 heyday of the popular plush toy with the varying cute designs on it's belly. My mom, sister, and I all call each other "Bia" and nobody can quite agree on how this began. My theory is that it originally derived from my little sister who - when in a moment of provocation from moi - started to call me a "Beeyatch" (which most know is simply an urbanized and hip way of calling someone a "Bitch") but because she did not want to get into trouble for saying such a word, stopped herself at "Beeeyah-". Somewhere along the way this very nasty name became a loving term of endearment. In fact, I use the word 'Bia' more than I do 'mom'. I call my brother "Manzier" which is a spin-off of a Seinfeld episode wherein Kramer, George and Mr. Costanza are trying to come up with a brassiere for men: The Bro or The Manzier. Even my closest friends have terms of endearments attached to their names by the addition of a simple possessive pronoun: my. My friend Julie is "majulie" and my friend Brooke is "mabrooke". All of these loving petnames evolved inasmuch as the relationships themselves have evolved, and are reminders of how dear each of these people are to me.

And though I've never had problems coming up with or incorporating terms of endearment for friends or family, it has always been difficult for me to use them in my dating life. Words like "sweetheart" or "honey" feel foolish and foreign coming out of my mouth, and don't even get me started on the word "baby". Perhaps it's that I've not had practice at it. My past relationships were so brief that terms of endearment never entered the picture. I once dated a guy that called me "Sweetface". And then after we broke up and I spoke with him he called me "Kiddo". My how things can change.

From nearly the beginning, the Dashing Litigator and I have been calling each other 'lovey' in our emails and aloud. Though when it is mentioned in the latter form, it is always said in the Thurston Howell III "Giligan's Island" kind of way. It is a very silly and goofy term of endearment and always said in a haughty, putting-on-airs kind of way.

We've also started changing the adjectives in our nicknames. He has, on days, been The Darling Litigator, the Drunk Litigator, the Drowsy Litigator and the Duracell Litigator. While I have been The Charismatic Actress, the Cavalier Actress, the Clumsy Actress and the Caring Actress.

About a month ago, I was staying over at the Dashing Litigator's and was battling what were the beginning symptoms of a cold. I was in that scratchy, hard-to-swallow phase which was also making it hard to sleep. At one point in the middle of the night I coughed and winced aloud in pain. The Dashing Litigator was roused from his sleep and said, "Are you ok, baby?" I nodded silently and tried to get back to sleep. But there it was: baby. In the dark I laid there shocked and pleasantly thrilled.

In the coming days he'd begin to incorporate honey into his every day vocabulary with me. It sounded lovely and natural and made me feel warm and hugged.

Good morning, honey.

What's that, honey?

Hi honey.

What do you think, honey?

But I had a hard time saying it back. And I began to wonder what was wrong with me. I certainly had the mushy feelings to go along with the mushy words. What then, was my problem? I rationalized that it must be because the Dashing Litigator has had more long-term relationships than I have. Certainly when you're in a relationship that lasts three years the honeys, babys and sweethearts come as naturally as breathing. When you're only with someone for two months, that's barely enough time to feel natural saying their 'actual' name.

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The Dashing Litigator and I are out to dinner and staring at each other with googly eyes over our pasta. He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "Hi honey." He says. I smile. "Hi." He lets go of my hand and focuses on his pasta, stabbing at it and twisting the noodles with his fork. "I need to stop doing that, " he says.

Doing what?

"Calling you 'honey'. I'm realizing that I do it all the time. I'm starting to annoy myself."

I put my own fork down and put a hand on his arm. "Please don't stop. I have an entire lifetime of 'honeys' that I need to catch up on."

He smiles. "Well me, too. Even though I may have had more lengthy relationships than you have, they've all been seriously lacking in the 'honey' department. So you see, I too, have a lifetime of 'honeys' to catch up on.

Let's not waste anymore time then. Alright, honey?

A Pup-date

As I sit down to compose this latest post, I am still wearing yesterday's clothes - pink velveteen pants that have been nibbled here and there and a sweater that has been intermittently pulled apart by tiny sharp puppy claws. I have a small bite mark on my pinky finger, (the Dashing Litigator has a tiny scratch near his left eye), I am sleep deprived and oh so deliriously happy.

Duncan has arrived.

All week we had been anticipating this big day. Friday at work we sent each other "T minus" emails counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until Duncan was 'home'.

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It is early on Saturday, and I bake a loaf of banana nut bread, writing "Duncan" across it in black icing, and trimming it with chocolate frosting. Later, when I get the call from the Dashing Litigator that he is home - and hear the proof positive puppy yelps in the background - I quickly grab my things and head out the door.

The Dashing Litigator is in the house on the phone and his best friend is sitting out on the porch with Duncan on his leash when I arrive. It is he who introduces me to the pup. This pup that is barely a foot long, made of chocolately velvet and with the palest grey/blue eyes I've ever seen. Much like my first encounter with his owner, it is love at first sight.

In a matter of moments I have dumped my bag and the loaf of bread in the house and have an 8 week old puppy climbing into my lap. Not a bad way to spend a rainy Saturday afternoon. The best friend leaves and soon the Dashing Litigator and I are left to care for this very adorable puppy by ourselves. This puppy that is sleeping and snoring softly against my cheek. The Dashing Litigator finds the disposable camera that I've brought and begins putting it to use, capturing each adorable moment.

What follows is an entire 24 hours of such moments. Some captured on film, but most held in my mind and in my heart:

- The Dashing Litigator teaching his dog to follow him throughout the house- watching his large frame being trailed by the awkward ambling of a puppy who has not yet grown into his oversized paws.

- Observing the magical power of the words "Go Pee!" and the shared joyous excitement over a puppy-sized bowel movement.

- The hesitation to leave the crying puppy alone for two hours in his crate while we (selfishly?) went to Greek town for dinner.

- Being on our first real date in over a week - and feeling our connection with each other grow even deeper as we reveal things that we love about each other.

- Arriving home to find Duncan awake and dry and very happy to see us.

- Cuddling on the couch flanked by two very tired boys who have had a very big day. Duncan dozing with his head on my right shoulder, and the Dashing Litigator dozing with his head on my left. While I smile in the middle, silently knowing that this is heaven to me.

- Waking up at 2:30am to puppy yelps and all three of us taking that opportunity to 'Go Pee'.

- Waking up at 4am to more puppy yelps and the pungent smack-you-in-the-face smell of puppy pee pee and puppy poo poo.

- The Dashing Litigator cleaning up a messy Duncan in the kitchen sink, while I clean out his cage. Both fully embracing these duties with more laughter and I-can't-believe-we're-doing-this than annoyance.

- Waking up to find the Dashing Litigator asleep with a pillow on his kitchen floor beside his sleeping and caged puppy, who had finally stopped crying.

- The undeniable maternal and paternal instincts that have kicked in for both of us with the arrival of this precious Duncan.

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The Dashing Litigator is terrified. He has never had a pet before, let alone an 8 week old puppy. He is flying without a net, asking me questions at every turn, trusting my judgment. When he drops me off to head back home to his Duncan, I can see doubt all over his face. I turn to him, "You are doing all the right things. You just need to commit to this and be confident. Be as confident as you are when you walk into the courtroom. You can do this. Trust yourself. You're going to be ok."

He smiles and thanks me, kisses me, then drives home. And it occurs to me that the doubt and lack of confidence the Dashing Litigator is feeling about Duncan is the same that I had been feeling with regards to this relationship. I have never been in a relationship that latest longer than 2 months, and here we are in week 11. I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm terrified as well.

And it occurs to me that this puppy is barely 8 weeks old. We have been dating longer than Duncan has been alive. Already he is becoming aware of the Dashing Litigator as someone important to him, following him around, obeying him dutifully. And as was made evident by the number of times he crawled into my lap and fell asleep - he's realizing I am important, too.

This 8 week old puppy is too young to have ever known us apart. He only knows us together. And it is my prayer that he'll know us this way for a long, long time.