Rain, rain, go away.....

I think it’s time that we come together as a nation and collectively decide that we stop all activities when it rains. Because, if I’m being honest, when I wake up and it’s raining – without fail – the first thing I think of is “Maybe I don’t have to go to work today.” Which I believe to be a natural and logical reaction to sky water that occurs, on average, a few times per month. (sidebar: it’s currently raining here. If it’s not currently raining in your town, tuck this blog away for a literal rainy day.)

But then the adult side of my brain (the buzzkill side) kicks in, I get out of bed, mope my way through a shower, my morning coffee, and the hassle of having to grab my umbrella on the way out the door. If there was anyone around to see it, I might just fling myself onto the floor and have a full-blown tantrum. As mature adults are prone to do.

It’s also possible that I’m a tad dramatic when it’s dreary outside. Or in my waking hours.

Nonetheless, I dare say that I’m not alone in this if I’m judging the faces on my commute accurately.  And at my previous job I used to work with a woman who – without fail – would call out sick every time it rained, complaining of a migraine or a head cold or the flu. Granted, she was the worst of the worst of humans, but it was always a Zen-like moment for me where I would realize that we really are more similar than different.

But let’s just take a few minutes to build our case, shall we? For example, the following things occur when it rains outside to all human beings*:

Your umbrella fails you. I’ve yet to meet an umbrella who hasn’t let me down. Except the Minnie Mouse umbrella I had when I was 7. But I let her down by leaving her at Colonial Williamsburg in my excitement to get my picture taken in the stocks, and if we’re being honest, I’ve never fully recovered. She had a little Minnie Mouse head as the handle and was red with white polka dots and she was the best. Also, I’ve assigned gender to an umbrella, so take all advice and opinions found on this blog with that in mind.

But other than Minnie Mouse, all other umbrellas try to attack you when they get sick of being rained on, flipping inside out and trying to blind you with one of those metal pointy sticks that makes the umbrella pop open. It’s poor engineering, if you ask me, and I don’t understand how we’ve figured out there was water on Mars and how my iPhone knows when I have a flight to catch, but I still get accosted by my own possessions every time it sprinkles.

Cars are a-holes with no manners. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve publicly curse-mumbled when I’m waiting to cross the street on the curb and a car decides that driving really fast into a deep, muddy puddle is the answer to all of life’s problems. That car can suck it, along with all of the other cars who see me standing there with mud-water on me and decide that I don’t look pathetic or wet enough.

And no, I haven’t learned to stand further back on the curb, thankyouverymuch.

Your feet get soaking wet no matter what.  I don’t care if you have those fancy Hunter rain boots that look very fashionable AND supposedly keep your feet dry – at some point, you will be walking in puddles inside your own boots/shoes. This happens more when you’re not expecting it to rain, but if it rains enough, you may as well just set up local swim lessons in your footwear because rubber does not protect you from the elements of April showers.

Or I’m buying the wrong boots. One or the other, but if the latter prevents me from complaining about the rain, I choose to wear improper attire so I can be pathetic and gain sympathy from no one when I get to work.

Ok. So I can only think of three things because only those three things happened to me this morning. But I bet there are a ton others!

Therefore, I’m opening it up: what did I miss?

Love you, Spring! Happy Wednesday!

*these things may not happen to all or most human beings. 

Conversations from Cohabitation

The other night, while watching a show where someone got stung by a jellyfish:

Me: “I’ve heard that’s awful. This is yet another reason not to ever go in the ocean.”
CB: “Yeah, getting stung hurts like nothing else.”
Me: “You say that like you’ve gotten stung before.”
CB: “Yeah, I’m sure I have.”
Me: “Wait. You’ve gotten stung by a jellyfish?”
CB: “Sure.”
Me: “Sure? You are being very casual about being stung by an ocean predator.”
CB, laughing: “I mean, it’s pretty common.”
Me: “In what universe is it common to get stung by a jellyfish?”
CB: “At the Jersey Shore it happens all the time!”
Me: “First of all, I don’t hear of it happening all the time because that’s insane. Second of all, when was it that you got stung by a jellyfish?”
CB: “I don’t know, but I’m sure I have.”
Me: “Um, I feel like you’re lying without even realizing it. Nobody is this nonchalant about getting stung by a jellyfish. I mean, I got stung by a bee once and I’ve told you that story at least a dozen times in a variety of contexts. If I got stung by a jellyfish, you’d never hear me talk about anything else.”
CB: “I know.”
Me: “But seriously. How are you just casually assuming you got stung? That’s not normal.”
CB: “I don’t know, Beck, but it’s just not a big deal. I don’t know why we’re even still talking about this.”
Me: “I will never stop bringing this up until I get to the bottom of it. Either you’re casually assuming you got stung but don’t actually remember it, which makes you a crazy person, or you did get stung and you are being so casual I’m worried what other terrible things have happened to you that you haven’t shared yet.”
CB: “This conversation is getting to the top of my list at the moment.”
Me: “So goes the story of your life.”

***

Me, looking out our bedroom window at three men on a roof a few streets away.

Me: “There are more guys on the roof!”
CB, not looking: “The same roof?”
Me: “How do I know if it’s the same roof? It’s in the same general area as that one guy we saw shoveling snow off his roof a few months ago. But I don’t know if it’s the exact same house.”
CB, looking out the window: “I don’t see any guys.”
Me, pointing: “Right there!”
CB, continuing to look: “Are you hallucinating?”
Me: “Right there.”
CB, finally seeing the men: “Oh wow, how on earth did you see that far away?”
Me: “ It’s like three blocks. It’s not that far.”
CB: “What do you have, like, Superman eyesight?”
Me: “Is that a thing?”
CB: “What?”
Me: “Superman eyesight. Did he have really good eyesight or something?”
CB, looking at me in shock and disgust: “It’s Superman! He had incredible everything!”
Me: “But, like, was eyesight something that was highlighted?”
CB: “Oh my God, how do you not know who Superman is?”
Me: “Of course I know who Superman is. I just didn’t know he was known for having 20/20 vision.”
CB: “Beck, he’s Superman.”
Me: “You keep saying that like it should mean something to me. Have we met?”
CB: “I literally think you live in a bubble.”
Me: “It’s the only way I survive.”

Happy Monday, everyone!

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!

***
First of all, the Friday Wrapup frustrates CB to no end these days because I think I somehow turned the volume off on our laptop about a month ago (?) and, since then, neither of us have been able to figure out how to turn it back on. We're very high-tech in our house. But whatever, I don't even think it was me. I think it was CB and he's just blaming me because he knows I have no memory of recent (or far in the past) events.

Sorry, CB! I'll reenact the wrapup for you when we get home and it'll be even better than the original! So exciting!

***

Let's get real - this is what it sounds like when I sing along to Snoop and 50 Cent in the shower. (note to readers: this is more or less what it would sound like was it not a parody and I was reenacting it for CB later today).

***

This week's book features Betty White. But of course. Click here to check it out and peruse the rest of the sight for more reading inspiration.

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Hey guys, let's throw some love the way of the other blogs linked along my sidebar. There is some quality writing/blogging going on - something for everyone! So...check 'em out!

***

This week's video of the week is sort of sad, but then again, so goes my taste in music. However, it's sad in the most beautiful ways and sticking it out 'til the end is totally worth it, you guys!

What I know for sure is that I might not be a grown up.

So, I hate to shock you, but I’m pretty sure that I am only marginally qualified to be an adult.

You see, it occurred to me recently that I spend several moments of nearly each day wondering how on earth I have become what regular society considers grown up. I mean, let’s get real – the fact that it’s not state-mandated that I be consistently supervised by someone more adult-like is sort of a marvel, and also speaks to broader issues facing our nation today. To be fair, though, I have CB in our home to help out with things that require any semblance of patience or reading directions. But then he lets me go off to work on my own and my bosses trust me to do stuff related to my job! It’s nuts.

Also, we talk about having kids one day, which not only mildly terrifies us both, but also terrifies my wilting, geriatric eggs (thanks, science!) into being like ‘Please don’t pick me.’ Which they should know by now just makes me want to pick them out of spite.

I’m going to be a terrific mom.

But then I got to thinking: is it just me or is part of being a grown up simply pretending to be a grown up? Also, when do you start to feel like one? Do you have to sign up for a class or something or are these moments I’m experiencing on a near-daily basis just part of the grand master plan to trick kids into listening and following directions so our world doesn’t completely implode?  

Here are a few examples:

-The other day I found myself wandering around my apartment looking for my phone, even going so far as to open the refrigerator just in case (it’s been known to happen.) And after about three frantic minutes of being like “My phone ran away!”, which seemed like a pretty reasonable assumption, I realized that it was in my hand that was waving around in panic. And then I looked around and started laughing to myself like a crazy person because these are the things that will get me put into the home in fifty years when my resentful kids are sick of my “quirks."

-I have no problem eating an entire sleeve of Girl Scout Cookies while binge-watching old episodes of a show I’ve already seen just because I can. Which I must admit is a pretty awesome bi-product of adulthood, but also sort of maybe negates what an adult is? To be fair, I don’t have good boundaries with food and so I typically just don’t have stuff I like in the house. Otherwise, I’ll literally eat until my stomach hurts and then CB is like “No seriously, one human person shouldn’t consume that much non-food in one sitting.” And then I get mad at him for letting me eat an entire bag of jelly beans because he knows I can’t stop on my own. 

This is more or less how I
feel at any given moment in a day.

Not surprisingly, these are similar conversations I used to have with my parents when they’d find wrappers strategically hidden under my bed because I was bored-eating while reading the Babysitters Club series out loud to my pretend classroom. What?

-Even though I’ve been performing the act of shaving my legs for more than two decades now, I am physically unable to not cut myself on that one spot behind my knee and also on the side of my ankle. Was there a class on shaving that I missed? Are these parts of your bodies that, for evolutionary reasons, should be fuzzy to, like, keep me warm? Because I’m pretty sure the skin that exists in those two spots is baby skin that keeps having to grow in every week or two when I’m like “Oh, I’ve totally got this” and then a little trickle of blood runs down my leg and I’m like “I do not have this” and curse in the shower and then wince as the hot water hits the cut. And then do that exact same thing the following week. Am I doing shaving wrong? Isn’t this something that should’ve kicked in by now? 

-I have pretend conversations with Oprah in the mirror. Like, I’ll be doing my hair in the morning as I get ready for work, and in the middle of blow-drying I’ll start to imagine what sorts of questions she would ask me if I were a celebrity. I mean, it gets involved, you guys.  

Until I realize that, um, grown-ups don’t play pretend? Also, I’m completely making this one up unless you guys can relate. In which case, I’ve got the answer to her patented “What do you know for sure?” question nailed, if you need tips. 

***

So is it just me, or is this just part of being a grown-up? Does anyone feel like an adult out there? 

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

Throwback Monday is a thing, right?

I'm writing a blog for Wednesday that will be legit, but in the meantime, here's a throwback from last summer.

Last week we were standing on our balcony watching the sunset. The sky was a gorgeous pinkish purple and the sun was bright orange, far too bright to actually look at.

CB: “Why are you turning the other way?”
Me: “Because the sun is too bright, I can’t look directly at it.”
CB: “But it’s a sunset. You’re supposed to, you know, watch the sun actually setting.”
Me: “Right…but do people actually do that? Like, I can watch in the vicinity of the sunset, but I can’t actually watch the sun setting because then I will be blind.”
CB: “Really? It doesn’t bother me at all.”
Me: “Are you looking directly at it?”
CB: “Yeah, that’s what you do when you watch a sunset.”
Me: “But you’re not supposed to look directly at the sun! Didn’t you learn that in, like, first grade?”
CB: “I don’t think that applies to sunsets.”
Me: “Um, I think it applies to the SUN, so yeah, it applies to sunsets. Oh my God, stop looking directly at it! You’re going to burn your corneas!”
CB: “Wow, I’m glad I called you out here to look at the sunset with me. This is really relaxing and romantic.”
Me: “It’s eye safety! That’s no joking matter!”
CB: “I love you,  too.”

***

While watching CB squinting to read the text on the tv screen, this conversation happened:

Me: “You really should get your eyes checked.”
CB: “Why?”
Me: “Because you have bad eye site.”
CB: “No, I just don’t see as well as you.”
Me, staring at him.
CB: “Plus, I wasn’t squinting just then to see the tv, I was thinking.”
Me: “Ok.”

Pause

Me: “Maybe you don’t have good eye site because you can stare directly at the sun without looking away? I believe you may have burned your retinas.”
CB, laughing: “It’s possible.”
Me: “Or that you’re just blinded by my beauty on a daily basis.”
CB: “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

Pause.

CB: “Sometimes I wish it would have been my hearing that would go and not my eye site…”
Me: “That makes sense.”

***

Groaning and holding my stomach after dinner.

Me: “Why don’t I have portion control when it comes to dinner?”
CB: “I do not know.”
Me: “Ooooooh…I’m so full.”
CB: “I actually didn’t think you ate very much tonight.”
Me: “I know, right? But my stomach is really bothering me. I’m sensitive.”
CB: “You are.”
Me: “I’m a delicate flower.”
CB: “Yep, with crazy petals.”

Pause.

CB: “Do you want a Tums?”
Me: “Do we have Tums?”
CB: “I actually don’t think we do.”
Me: “Um…then no.”

While I’m still holding my stomach and looking sad, CB walks into the bathroom and comes out with a Pepcid tablet.

CB: “Here, take this.”
Me: “What’s that?”
CB: “Well, it says it’s for heartburn and acid indigestion. Do you have acid indigestion?”
Me: “I don’t know, do I? I don’t know what that feels like. Is that what this feels like?”
CB: “I don’t know, just take it.”
Me: “It won’t hurt me?”
CB: “Well, either it’ll help or it won’t, but if it doesn’t, what’s it going to do, make your stomach hurt?”
Me: “Good point.”

CB hands me the tablet.

CB: “It’ll taste a little chalky.”
Me: “Ew, I don’t want to eat something chalky!”
CB: “Well, it won’t taste good. It’s not candy.”
Me: “Ooooh, they should invent tablets that taste like candy!”
CB: “Well, it’s cherry flavored, so they tried.”

Five minutes later I’m lying on the couch reading and happened to glance over at the Pepcid bottle on the table.

Me: “Oh my God! The expiration date is from July 2011! It might kill me!”
CB, laughing: “No, it won’t kill you. It’ll just maybe not work.”
Me: “Did you know?”
CB: “Know what? That you’re crazy? Yes.”
Me: “No! That it was expired.”
CB: “No, but I’m sure that’s just a suggested sell date.”
Me: “Um, it says ‘EXPIRATION DATE.’ I’m pretty sure that means it expires.”
CB: “Well, does your stomach feel better?”
Me: “Actually yeah, a little.”
CB: “Then this conversation didn’t need to happen.”
Me: Story of your life.”

Happy Monday, everyone! 

Friday Wrapup

It's that time again! Let's get to it.

***

A lot of you may have already seen this, but I think it's safe to say I wish this flight attendant was on all of my flights!

***

Before the book of the week, I just wanted to acknowledge the passing of Gabriel García Márquez. He wrote one of my favorite books ("One Hundred Years of Solitude" - which other members of my family have been like 'Um, that took me one hundred years to read.' But whatever.)

And now.....

BOOK OF THE WEEK. This is a book that, according to the review, could be read in a day, which always puts it up at the top of my list (and is beautifully written, winner of the Man Booker Prize, yadda yadda). Click here and check it out and browse around the rest of the site for more great recommendations!

Also, I'm reading a book at the moment that was touted as the UK's version of "Bossypants." Stay tuned!

***

And now, the Video of the Week! Because I heart Coldplay. The End.

Conversations from cohabitation (and texting)

After getting off the subway the other day, I sent this text to CB:

Me: I just saw a couple go through the PATH turnstiles holding hands over the turnstile. Thank you for never making me hold your hand while going through a turnstile. That would make us the worst.
CB: I love you for not wanting me to hold your hand through a turnstile. This is why we work.
Me: Indeed. We're MFEO.
CB: Conversation over. 

***

And this morning, this text conversation happened with a friend:

Mary: Are Ice T and Coco still together? I figured you would know since you are neighbors.
Me: I love that you know what to come to me with. Yep!
Mary: That is good!
Me: Speaking of which, did you see that Tori and Dean have a new reality show where they're in therapy trying to save their marriage after he cheated? As a human, I feel dirty, but as me I have already set my DVR.
Mary: Don't be mad, but I don't like her/them.
Me: How are we friends? I can't believe I never knew you didn't like Tori Spelling. It's like not knowing that you hate chocolate or something else I'd assume you'd like right along with me.
Mary: You gonna be ok??
Me: I mean, I suppose I’ll get over it. It’s like I never knew you at all.
Mary: I mean…I don’t hate her. I find her annoying in a big-eyed kinda way. Hated her character on 90210.
Me: Yeah, that’s a legit reason, big eyes and everything. And I seriously hated Donna Martin. Even though I love my Donna Martin Graduates t-shirt. I’m a mystery. I’m glad we had this little talk. We’re obviously very important people with big jobs and lives. 

Happy Wednesday everyone!

I was away and I'm a bad blogger

...but I'll be posting tomorrow, so stay tuned!

Friday Wrapup

My hair is noticeably puffier, which means it must be getting warmer/more humid. Thanks, spring! I've missed you. Let's get to it.

***

I know this guy bugs some people but I laugh out loud every time I watch one of these.

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This week's book is "The Boys in the Boat" by Daniel James Brown. I am reading this book after reading the review if for no other reason than the comparison to Laura Hillenbrand, who wrote "Seabiscut" and "Unbroken," which is one of my all-time favorite books (and blogged about!) So click here to check it out and browse around for other inspiration!

***

Um, I can't believe CB and I didn't think of this. And also that I don't have those shoes sort of breaks my heart.

I should also mention that I'd probably volunteer to miss my own wedding to go to this one. (j/k CB!)

http://vimeo.com/majordiamond/bosswedding

***

And now, the video of the week! I apologize ahead of time to CB and my dad who, every time I highlight the National anywhere in my life, they're like 'Seriously, are you depressed? Is there something we need to talk about?'

I can't help it. I love dark, depressing music. It balances me.

Happy Friday! (on that note)

I'm Famous! And sweaty.

I don’t know about you, but when I’m working out and having my alternate-universe thoughts about living in Beyonce’s dreamy, kind of sexy-time-these-days-filled world, I lose track of the time and the day and specifically what I look like. Which is helpful, because I sort of look like a swamp monster who’s emerged from the lagoon (that’s where they live, right?) after years below the surface and everyone’s like “That girl does not own a brush and/or has too many sweat glands on her body.”

Anyway, it’s useful to live in my world at these specific moments because you are immune to looks and questioning side-glances while also getting a killer workout and listening to Drake sing to Mrs. Carter. It’s win/win all around.  

Until, of course, someone breaks the Bliss Bubble and talks to you at the gym and you’re like “Aw snap, people can see me.” (full disclosure: I’ve never actually said the out loud words “Aw Snap.”) Which is exactly what happened to me yesterday. And it was incredible.

First of all, I go to the gym at the same time – give or take five minutes – every single work day of my life. It’s what flexible and breezy people do who need structure in their lives so they don’t crumble before you. And I’ve been doing this for about three years now, seeing the same 40 or so folks each day, some of whom I think use the gym to check their emails while fake-lifting weights and lay on the stretching mats to comfortably play Candy Crush (note to us all: this is why we’re an obese nation.)

But mainly, we’re all there for the same reason: to wear cute workout outfits and burn calories. Which is why I wear my Friendapalooza shirts about every other day with whatever shorts are the least dirty.

So yesterday, while hopping off the treadmill, a woman I’d not seen in my gym routine world before, approached me as I was sweat-walking over to do some circuit training (do I sound like Jillian Michaels? Goal achieved.)

And then this happened:

Gym Woman: “Excuse me…”
Me: “Yes?”
GW: “Does your shirt say ‘Friendapalooza’?”
Me, laughing awkwardly: “Oh…yeah…why?”
GW: “I know this sounds weird, but do you by chance write a blog?”
Me, hearing buzzing from happiness in my ears: “Yes….”
GW, excitedly: “Stories About My Underpants?!”
Me, looking around for Ashton Kutcher to pop out from behind the bushes (I know there aren’t bushes in the gym, just go with me on this): “….yes…..”
GW: “Oh my God! I read you every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday!”
Me, losing all sense of reality at the realization that I’m completely famous now: “Really? That’s crazy! How do you even know about it?”
GW: “A friend of mine sent it to me when you wrote about that time you sang at the boy when you were younger and we though it was so funny. I’ve been reading ever since!”
Me: “Oh my God that’s crazy! Who’s your friend?”
GW: “INSERT NAME OF FRIEND HERE” (admittedly, I don’t remember it).
Me: “Wow, I don’t know her either…” (in-my-head-thought: I’m famous to one person!)

And then some other things were said that I honestly don’t remember. Except she did ask to see my ring and then complimented CB. And CALLED him CB, which totally told me she was a fan because she didn’t even know his real name! Which is awesome.

Of course, I emailed CB right away and I’m pretty sure the subject line was “I’m famous.”

Sidebar: I’ve become unbearable to live with now that I have new-found fame. I have begun demanding that we only have blue M&M’s in my trailer at all times and only white roses, not red, or I totally won’t perform!

Anyway, it was pretty much one of the coolest things that has ever happened to me – I’m even going to go so far as to say that it’ll likely overshadow the birth of our first-born, and pretty sure CB would agree. However, my peg was brought back down to the first notch when I gleefully bounced into the locker room and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was like “Oh crap. That’s what you looked like when you were discovered.”  

It’s good to stay humble.

So, if you’re reading this, Girl at the Gym Yesterday – thank you for making my day. And reading this blog! And now I suggest that each of you forward this blog onto a friend so I can be approached at the supermarket, in the women’s public restroom at work, and on the subway. I’ll be the girl wearing my rotation of Friendapalooza shirts from now on to make me easier to identify.

You’re welcome, world.

Happy Wednesday! 

Matching and almost losing your underpants at the Lincoln Memorial: A Step-by-Step Guide

As serendipity would have it, we’d planned to be out of town this weekend with some friends in our nation’s capital, which I must say is a great way to distract yourself from a quiet, kitty-free apartment for a few days. So, we made our way down to DC for what we assumed would be more low-key, kid-appropriate fun since we were traveling with eight adults and five children between the ages of 9 years old and 3 months. I mean, we’re a little older, wiser, more mature now, and so we were basically planning on seeing monuments and educating ourselves on fun, historical quotes about war. You know, setting a really good example for the impressionable minds of the youth among us.

But then we got together and gave the kids junk food and drank lots of wine and ended up wearing matching, glow-in-the-dark t-shirts all the way to the Lincoln Memorial. Exactly as we all remember family vacations from our childhoods, right? 

To be fair, we’re a good time and those kids love us. Also, when we get together we sometimes like to match and call it “Friendapalooza.” However, we typically have actual Friendapalooza t-shirts made for the occasion (obviously), but since this was sort of impromptu and involving children, I think we thought for a minute that we weren’t us and wouldn’t need to match.

We were so wrong.

Now, I must admit that there are some in the group who, on the surface, appear to be against matching.

He clearly got over it.

Shockingly, Courtney and I didn't listen to them and so, by the time we got out of the Air and Space Museum, we were like “Wait, we’re not matching. How did this happen?” And we started bartering.

Also, when I say “we,” I mean “Courtney,” since I went to two t-shirt stands and was like “How much are the awesome, glow-in-the-dark tshirts with moustaches and sunglasses?” and the guy was like “Eight dollars.” And then I attempted to do math for 12 people (the three month old got a pass) and got tired and went back to the group and was like “I think eight dollars sounds like a lot of money to spend on something only two of us want.”

Likely where we began scheming.

They agreed and begged us to keep walking and so Courtney was like “Let me handle this.”

Again, it’s possible that we dragged her nine year old with us for the cute factor, and she proceeded to get 12 t-shirts for six dollars a pop. Also, theoretically she was about to get the kids' t-shirts for five dollars, but when the guy was like “Yeah, I don’t think I can go that low” and Court was about to bring her power of negotiation, I was like “Ok! No problem! We’ll take them all for the same price.”

Cut to five minutes later, 12 t-shirts in-hand:

Courtney: “Um, next time don’t interrupt me when I’m negotiating. It doesn’t help to be on his side when I’m trying to save four whole dollars.”
Me: “But I felt bad.”
Courtney: “And that’s why you were about to spend eight dollars on a three dollar t-shirt.”
Me: “But they’re the best.”
Courtney: “They really are.”
Me: “Everyone else is going to be so excited!”

Cut to three minutes later when we started handing them out to the rest of the gang: 

Matthew, age 3: “Becky, I don’t want this t-shirt. Take it back.”
Me: “But it’s awesome!”
Matthew: “No thank you.”
Me: “Put it on.” 

(future Mother of the Year?)

And then this happened.

However, as happens with most interactions concerning me, by the end of our afternoon, on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, every single person in our group was invested in how exactly my underpants had found themselves planted firmly against my upper thigh and not, you know, where underpants should be.

Matt: “There is something called ‘elastic’ that goes in underpants. You should try that.”
Courtney: “If you make me touch your weird underpants line one more time, we’re not friends anymore.”
Beth: “I feel like this topic is discussed a lot for one person. Seriously, you are wearing the wrong size.”
Mike: “How is this a thing that happens to you all the time?”
CB: “Is it too late to run?”

(answer: yes. Shhh, don’t tell him.)

Ahhhh, friendship. Just what the doctor ordered.

Happy Monday, everyone!

Friday Wrapup (kind of)

Let's get to it.

This is not going to be our typical wrap-up, but it DOES include a video, and so I think that counts.

As some of you know, we had to say goodbye to our little guy, Oliver, yesterday morning. It was the absolute hardest thing I've ever had to do, but it was definitely the right thing and he was a stoic through it all, purring all the way.

So, in honor of our lil' bud, below is a video from exactly one month ago, on his birthday, when he was in his happy place - playing with his new bday gift and laying in the sunshine. Does it get any better than that?

Enjoy your weekend, everyone, and I'll be back at you on Monday!