Anne M. Plant is a recent widow with two young daughters, 13 and 8, who traded her E! entourage lifestyle in Los Angeles for stability and structure in a small town on The Peninsula of Southeastern Virginia. The former Air Force Intelligence Officer stationed at the Pentagon during Desert Storm, morphed Director of Product Development for an LA design firm, now finds herself an urban transplant in a provincial enclave. Writing with pseudonyms, she shares the story, of her lovely sister and Army officer brother-in-law who were "living with three children of their own": a girl who's 13, a boy who's 10 and baby Binkles, one, who have taken in the shell-shocked Anne and her two daughters. It's Operation Brady Bunch and it's high adventure.
Hard choices are clear and easy when you don't have to make them. Death forced me to choose between living in the glamorous buzz of LA and planting deep proverbial seeds in provincial VA. Honestly, if you really had a choice, what would you chose?
On a Saturday I sold the remnants of my life, the estate salesman took 30%. That's okay; he was very nice about it. Besides, the stuff really was the remnants, not the heart nor the soul of all that had come before. Mr. Plant and I had been together for more than sixteen years. As was said at his memorial service, he was the "real James Bond" and had sipped my heart from his elegant martini glass. A lot had happened in the nine months since his early autumn death to steel my resolve in following through on the decision I had made for myself and most of all, my daughters. My mission was clear and my friends and my church had been supportive beyond expectation. I was not drug through the loss of my husband, I was carried.
Still, on the day of the sale I was not quite prepared to see that lady carry out the porcelain Tiffany cat. It had been a wedding present and honestly, I never really liked it as I consider statuary and crystal as "shit to dust." Mr. Plant had had a small collection of STD among many other nice things. But that particular trinket had been a gift in celebration of our "lifelong" union. Now it was being carried out unwittingly past its original owner, covetously cradled under the arm of a doughy grey sixty five year old woman with a respirator tube clinging beneath her nostrils. Somewhere in me I felt sick.
Regardless, I stayed focused. This was but one of the many major tasks to complete before moving to Virginia to live with my sister and her family. The idea of merging the families came about when I was too stunned to really consider moving out of Los Angeles. We lived in a lovely area. I worked in a tony high rise with a too-good-to-be-true-boss and coworkers. As Director of Product Development in consumer goods, it was a fashion house without the sniping and the Devil didn't work there. We constantly strove to keep up with national trends tapping newspapers, websites and alpha dogs in the target markets for fresh product ideas. It was current, ever changing and creative. I loved my job. The girls were in the very best schools. Just giving up a spot at one of those elite educational institutions caused me serious pause. I held tight to the grief counselor's directive of avoiding any more drastic change in my children's life. Though I posted the guidon for my children, the concept was equally comforting to me. I was also dedicated to preserving what my husband had tried so hard to provide in securing the opportunities of an elite education and irreplaceable world perspective. I began putting in place the downsized options to keep the children in the schools, us in the area and move me further up the pay scale. Friends came to my aid, which is truly a rarity in LA when you have little to offer in return -- and though tight, it was possible to stay within our current circle.
Meanwhile, my sister and brother-in-law were watching Flip this House. The feature home was an 890 square foot fixer upper with dead grass and a six foot fence capped with barbed wire somewhere in Central LA. The home was selling for $340,000. "$340,000?!!! $340,000 for that?! That's it. Annie has got to get out of LA!" exclaimed my brother-in-law. Thus the idea of Operation Brady Bunch was hatched, presented over Thanksgiving, discussed over Christmas and confirmed after February's successful Recon Virginia. We traveled to their small town on The Peninsula of southeastern Virginia to scout out the area. During Recon Virginia we visited the local schools, tested out the maximum capacity of the 2.5 bathrooms with eight people (including two teenage girls) and decided we could make it.
In fact, more than just make it, we all felt we could deeply benefit. My daughters were now fatherless. Having a stressed out mother, a fast-pace lifestyle and a "nanny" shuttling everywhere in between is not really the best environment for a blooming thirteen year old and her little sister -- no matter how elite the experience. An intact family with a happy stay-at-home mom and an involved male role model is a foundational experience that frankly, money can't buy. Inversely, for them, as part of the US Army there is a real possibility that my brother-in-law could get called-up to Iraq. The truth is that, as a Soldier, he hopes he does. He's ready to serve. Should this possibility become a reality, it would be my honor to be there for my sister until he comes home. Besides, both she and I think it would be very cool to have a wife. How great will it be to walk down to the kitchen and someone else has already unloaded the dishwasher? Or has dinner on the table? Or folds the laundry or can pick up the kids? Or do just about anything without being told -- and no whining! Though some of these things were already being done for me, a wife doesn't suddenly call you from El Salvador to tell you she's not coming in today. And, she does all this because she honestly loves you. 24/7.
Since the decision in February to move from LA to VA in June, we have had conference calls between the two families nearly every Sunday. The agenda is set by Uncle Foxy and everyone must be present and paying attention on the line. No computers, Gameboys or TV. The first portion of the call involves everyone. We discuss things such as school, extra-curricular activities, house rules and respecting each other. Once we have discussed general topics and the kids have had a chance to ask any questions -- no matter how tangential or odd -- they are summarily dismissed and the adults discuss "secret stuff". This usually involves clarifying behavior expectations, potential areas of concern and financial considerations. Sometimes we just laugh at the high drama of so many people living under one roof. We are all so hopeful and dedicated to what tomorrow brings. I'll keep you posted.