Maggie

Today is my dear friend Maggie’s birthday. And a pretty important birthday at that. Milestone birthdays are one thing, but today carries extra importance because of the extra important thing she’s carrying. This is her last birthday before she becomes a mom. A mom! Despite the fact that I saw her just a few weeks ago at her baby shower, I can hardly believe that she could have this little baby any day now.

When Maggie announced she was pregnant, I was totally blindsided, but not at all surprised. Since the first days of our friendship, I knew she was going to be the first one of us to have kids. Although Hannah isn’t far behind her, my predictions were correct; we’re very happily welcoming a little baby boy into the BYM family in less than a month.

A lot of things in the past nine months have gone just as I anticipated them to. Little J’s nursery is completely adorable, the baby shower was a lot of fun to plan, and Maggie is beautiful pregnant. But what I didn’t anticipate was how I am even more proud to call her one of my best friends. Throughout her entire pregnancy she has been extremely informed and vocal about her options and choices for prenatal care, labor/delivery, and raising their baby boy. I have never seen a woman go her first pregnancy the confidence that Maggie has exuded in these past nine months. Whether or not she has been panicking behind close doors, your guess is as good as mine. But I would put my money on not. She and I are the same type of Type A; we don’t panic, we plan.

So, Maggie, on this momentous birthday, I’ll hold off on congratulating you on turning another year older (my congratulations will come in the form of many, many hugs, and lets be honest probably some tears, when I see you in July). And instead, I will take this occasion to tell you that I love you, I am so proud of you, and I know you will be a great mom. You already are.

Maggie and I. Circa 2007. AKA a long, long time ago.

Happy Birthday Maggie!

Freckle.

I had five freckles removed today. Five. But I only really cared about two of them.

I say freckle even though technically it was a mole. To me a mole is something that hangs off the tip of an old witches nose. And that is certainly not what mine look like.

Just to backtrack a few steps for clarification...I had a routine dermatologist appointment this morning. The type of appointment that any freckly person, especially one with my family medical history, should have on a routine basis. This was my first time going because, like many other seemingly important tasks in my life, I like to put things off until absolutely necessary because it scares me.

I had very low expectations for how this appointment was going to go despite the fact that I was in a chipper mood, happy to get this appointment out of the way before work; plus my doctor was very nice and had lovely green eyes. But the next thing I knew, he's assembling a tray of little gauze patches, bandaids, and medical containers. I looked away when I saw a needle-like object come out of the drawer.

It wasn't quite the bloodbath, horror movie scene that I imagined it to be. In my head, I'd walk in there and they'd strap my limbs to an surgical table, then come at me with a sharpened version of a miniature melon baller. I can assure you that the real life version was a lot less dramatic than that. Just as my handsome green eyed doctor assured me, it was just a little pinch from the needle, then a little burn numbing agent, and I didn't feel the rest. I can only presume that they used a tiny scalpel to remove the freckle, but I had my eyes closed the entire time so no guarantees he didn't just use a rusty spoon.

I'll need some parental confirmation on this one, but I'm fairly certain I wasn't born with all of these freckles. So it seems like a stupid question for my doctor to ask me, "Did you spend a lot of time in the sun growing up?" No. None at all actually. I got all of these freckles from spending my childhood indoors. Of course I've spent a lot of time out in the sun. Have you looked at me? I'm perpetually pale if not a light shade of sunburn, and covered in freckles. But beyond the fact that I may have grown up pool-side, my genetics could have immediately tipped you off to the fact that I'm just freckle-prone. I have naturally blonde hair, and upon further inquisition I could tell you that my father gave me his red headed genetics and I'm surely going to end up looking like his freckle-covered-sisters when I'm older (which, just to clarify, I am totally fine with and actually looking forward to. It's nice to have such strong genes because I know precisely what I'm going to look like in 20 years and I'd be more than happy to end up with skin like either of them). But back to my main point here, the simple question he asked made it seem as if these freckles were my fault. As if they were wrong to have.

I have always embraced my growing number of freckles from year to year and, as strange as it may sound, actually have a few favorites. But today, two of them got sliced away and put into a teeny, tiny petri dish. One, on my left shin that was just about as close to a perfect rectangle as a freckle could ever get; and the other, on the top of my right knee immediately next to another freckle of a slightly lighter shade. They were two of my favorites because my rectangular freckle was unique, unlike any others I had; and, when I was little, I would draw a smile below the pair of freckles on my knee to make it look happy, less like a pair of weird brown eyes staring up at you. Silly little reasons to be so fond of a couple of silly little spots on my legs, but nonetheless they're not there anymore and I'm kind of sad about it. The subtle throbbing of my right shin is enough of a reminder that they're not there anymore.

You'll notice that I'm really at all concerned about the reasons behind the green eyed doctor wanting to remove the freckles in the first place. I have a feeling that I have many more freckle removal appointments in my freckle covered future. So I see no point in stressing over these first few until I hear back from the dermatologists office next week.

Freckle. Freckle. Freckle. The word has lost all meaning after writing it so many times in this post. Seven tiny, little letters lost amongst the sea of shapes that form this blog post. Hopefully the five tiny, little scars that I now have will soon be lost amongst the sea of freckles that form this blond haired girl.

Washington Glow

I have lived in the Washington D.C. area for almost two years and until last night, I'd never been down to see the monuments at night. Sure, I've been down there for plenty of early morning runs; and even the occasional Sunday night sunset run. But never in the dark of night to see the monuments in all of their white-marble-illuminated-glory.

After dinner in Barrack's Row, drinks in Penn Quarter, and froyo in Chinatown (yes, we did quite a bit of walking and quite of bit of eating/drinking to go along with it) Christy, her Pilot, and I headed to the north side of the White House. Sadly, I don't have photographic evidence of what I'm about to tell you but I think Christy might - so check her blog in a few days when she does her DC recap. We were standing there in front of the White House when we saw two small, slender figures in a second floor window of the White House. They were dancing. Dancing in the window of the White House. I would bet any money that it was the President's kids. Who else would be that size and have access to a window in the residence of the White House. According to this floor plan of the WH, they were in the East Bedroom. Which totally looks like it'd be a room for Sasha or Malia.

After all that excitement, we headed towards the Washington Monument, hooked west to the WW2 Memorial, and ended at the Lincoln Memorial. Walking up the step of the Lincoln at night was incredible. Kudos to the lighting technician/designer who was in charge of lighting that monument at night. When you are walking up the steps you see the pillars, the structure, the back wall, and the statue of the President in totally different lights. The brightest, most direct light is on the President himself; and it's set up in a way that you can clearly see him extremely far away. It was very, very cool; and I high recommend that you head downtown on a nice, cool summer night and check it out for yourself.

Radio Silence, Race Training, and The Slow Melting of My Brain

Radio Silence
Hello, dear reader. It's been a dismal six months of blog posts, and for that I apologize. Since February I've averaged 8 posts a month. Lets compare that to 17 the year prior. Kind of pathetic. While I still can, I'd like to formally blame graduate school. But more on that later.

Sorry for the radio silence 95% of the time. There really is a lot of exciting stuff happening in my life that I would like to write about; there just isn't enough time or energy to get it all done. I say this, knowing perfectly well that I wasted two and half hours on Sunday afternoon watching Point Break. You have to understand how essential that was to my weekend. I couldn't have possibly done my accounting homework, or cleaned my apartment, or worked out, or called my parents, or done my laundry before that movie was over. What can I say, I am a sucker for terrible movies on TV. Especially terrible movies with Keanu Reeves. (Bonus points for me. I spelled Keanu right on the first try.) So here I am, half way through the calendar year, and I solemnly swear to write a little bit more than I have been.  

Race Training
Yes, folks. That says "race training." Just last night, on a semi-whim, I signed up for my second half marathon. With a little encouragement from my wonderful weekend house guest, I registered for the Rock 'n' Roll Philadelphia Half Marathon. (And yes, I'm still automatically typing "marathong" instead of "marathon." Not sure why my hands do that.) So here we go! I'm back into race prep mode, and I'm actually quite excited about. I had been looking at running the Woodrow Wilson Bridge Half or the Baltimore Running Festival Half (both in October), but hadn't really fallen in love with either. Philly appealed to me because I've heard it's a great, flat course; Christy is running it; and I would be done with my training and the race before my baseball road trip with Chris. I don't think that 4 days spent at 2 different ballparks is really the best way to taper before a race; so now this road trip will be my little post-race vacation.

I am very glad that Christy is just on the verge of moving to DC, because I need her to whip my ass into shape. It's going to be a long, hot summer here on the East Coast; but I need to man up and get on with my training. It all begins tomorrow when I'm requesting that she drag my tired, lifeless body around the metropolitan DC area for 5+ miles tomorrow morning. Wish me luck. I have 85 days to be ready for my second half marathon. I hope it's enough.

The Slow Melting of My Brain
Up until last night at 5:45 p.m., I really liked my accounting class. It is my final class of my graduate program, and the professor is great. I'm not trying to be an accountant, or even work directly with finance; just have a better, more complete, understanding of how these things work in the book world, and beyond. That was all until last night when I handed in an assignment. An assignment which I thought I had a pretty good grasp on. He took one look at it, and with nothing more than the expression on his face, told me that I didn't have a pretty good grasp on it. I spent the next 15 minutes before class started basically staring at it, trying to fathom what else I could do to change the answer. I had no idea. Frustrating beyond all belief. I spent the next three hours of class floating between day dreaming, taking notes, and just zoning out. One could argue that id I had spent the entire time taking note, I'd have a better grasp of the material. But, my friends, that was simply not possible at that point in the night. I was exhausted and totally distraught over my sheer lack of understanding of basic accounting principals. Never put me in charge of your finances. Never.

Just three more weeks of class. Just three more weeks of class. Just three more weeks of class. Ever.

Breakfast for Lunch

After a hectic morning where I didn't get much done, I'm going to spend the next few hours relaxing, catching up on some reading, and munching on my breakfast for lunch.

2 eggs

2 tbsp almond milk

1/2 tsp cinnamon

1/2 tsp almond extract

3 pieces of whole grain bread

grill on medium/high for 3-4 minutes per side

I only wish I had strawberries.

Happy Saturday :)

The Jetty

Hello, summer. I think you're officially here now, and I'm sure glad to see you.

Yesterday afternoon, Nicole and I headed out to see our good friend Corey play a set at The Jetty. It's a dock bar/restaurant just a quick hour drive from DC. And possibly my new favorite place to go watch Corey's shows. It's indoor/outdoor with a huge bar and attached dock. You can literally dock your boat at the restaurant. I'm in love with this concept. Only problem being, I don't own a boat. Nor do I know anyone who owns a boat. 

Now accepting applications for friends with boats.

For the record, I don't actually prefer fruit in my beer. But they just kept brining me oranges. 

After Corey's set, we got a table ont he dock and ordered some food. I haven't done crabs like this since I was a little kid. It is a hell of a lot of work to get the meat out of those spiky shells, but there is something very rewarding about pounding your food with a wooden mallet.

The afternoon kind of got away from us, and by the time we got in the car to head back to DC it was sunset. We were just on the edge of the Bay Bridge when the sun dropped below the horizon. Beautiful day on the water, and if I didn't have so much d@mn student loan debt, I'd be boat shopping right now.

Happy Sunday.

Travel Traditions

Just this afternoon, I booked yet another flight from DCA to MKE. Despite the drain on my bank account, it is very easy to admit that my heart flutters a little when I get that confirmation e-mail telling me that I get to pack up my suitcase and zip across the country. I hesitate to call them vacations, because to me it is just going home. They're often no more than long weekends, but I cherish them and I spend the whole flight back to DC trying to cement the memories in my mind, just enough to carry me through to the next trip.

Since I moved out to the East Coast in August 2010, I have flown a lot more frequently than ever before in my life. Between holidays, graduations, weddings, and now BYM Babies, I end up making a trip back to Milwaukee quite often.  And I certainly don’t mind it at all.

For me, vacation starts as soon as the plane’s wheels leave the ground. It’s such a sigh of relief at that point because from then on there are, relatively, few things that can derail me from getting to Wisconsin ontime. By this point I could have already missed the bus, been delayed on the Metro, gotten held up in the long security line, and had a flight delay (among other things). But (thankfully) more often than not the stars align and I’m able to go from my apartment building to my parent’s front door in under four hours.

I have found that I like early flights. Like, first thing in the morning flights. Before the airport is packed and security is a mess. The flight crews are fresher, and there's far less of a chance of a flight delay. I don't mind getting up at 4:30 in the morning if it means I can be drinking coffee on my parents back porch by 9 a.m. 

When I get to the airport I try to breeze through security and get to the gate in time to grab airport breakfast. It's normally some generic variety of bagel sandwich, maybe a banana, but always orange juice. I'm sure it's all in my head, but I drink orange juice when I travel to get some more my vitamin C; which is supposed to stop you from getting sick (which people tend to do after traveling), but at this point that whole sentence sounds like a series of old wives tales. Regardless, I always get orange juice at the airport. It's just what I do.

Generally, the airports themselves are not very exciting.  If you've ever been in the Reagan National Airport Terminal A, you'll know that it's about as nice as the inside of an old shoe box. I try to get to the airport as late as possible because the airport is so pathetic. But every once in a while I'll have a connecting flight, like I did last week in Detroit. They have a massive and, dare I say, beautiful airport with an underground tunnel connecting the two main terminals. The lighting changes as you walk through the tunnel and they play music similar to what I imagine the inside of a German discotheque is like.

I've really gotten the hang of traveling, and one day I hope to be in able to afford actual vacations in addition to my trips back to Milwaukee. I am looking forward to my trips this summer; even after two years, it is really hard living so far away from the people I love.  And while I love being back in Wisconsin, nothing beats getting back to my Virginia apartment on Sunday night and finding this fuzzy face, very happy to see me.

Happy travels.

And baby makes five...

I am currently in the midst of laundry, dinner, and general recovery from a whirlwind weekend trip, but wanted to share a few photos from my weekend. On Friday morning I hopped on a plane and headed back to Wisconsin for Maggie's baby shower. (Make sure to click her name and check out her blog. She just posted pictures of her adorable nursery. Seriously, it's so cute I could live there. I'd even curl up in the crib if I had to.)

Maggie and her husband Nate. Seriously, how adorable is my pregnant best friend?!

Ange, Hannah and I headed to La Crosse early Saturday morning to help Maggie's mom and mother-in-law set up. Maggie's mother-in-law was kind enough to host the shower in the "party room" of their condo building. It was the perfect space, so the girls and I got to decorating. We made a balloon arch for the back wall, using this tutorial, and I think it turned out fantastic. It was a great focal point for the room. I am quite proud of us, because to be totally honest, there was a point when the room was full of balloons and I was tangled in fishing line that I didn't think it was going to come together.

 The rest was just a few streamers here and there, but everything really came together. I'll be honest, I love streamers. They're so simple and festive.

 The grandmas-to-be ordered a cake from Firefly Bakery in La Crosse (I can't find a website, otherwise I'd link to it), and it was a-mazing. Chocolate cake with a raspberry filling. Yum. And how cute is the fondant bear? Just perfect.

We played some of the usual baby shower games and Maggie opened all the fantastic presents, overall it was a beautiful day and I was so happy to be able to fly home for it. I love my friends and I'd hitch hike home if it meant I could be with them for a even just a weekend.

So here we all are. At Maggie's baby shower. Because Maggie is having a baby. I just need to keep saying to myself like that because soon enough that little baby will be here. It's crazy to think that the next time I see her (in July for my post-grad school vacation) she will be holding her little baby boy.

Wait. What was that? Let's look at that one one more time.

That's right folks. The BYM is havin baby number two! When Ange and I got to Hannah's house late Friday night she very quickly announced that she was pregnant. Surprise! (Honest truth, I saw the bump right away. I've known this girl for six years and never once has her stomach touched her shirt. Never. Damn skinny people. But the real give away was the boobs. Nice work, H, that baby is already doin wonders for ya ;) )

I'll be heading home to throw baby shower number two at the end of the summer. 

I better get planning :)