Like Ordinary Life

She discovered her reset button early on & there were not many things that bothered her all the rest of her days just because of that. Story People

I suppose you could say I’ve been restless. Yet in between life’s recent derailments, recent vacations away from the insanity of home, and trying to figure out what to do with the rest of our lives, Alex and I have made a great effort to begin living. (In whatever moments are left to live).

The comfort of the familiar shouldn’t be taken for granted. As exciting as we get at the idea of getting out of Dodge (ahem, DC Metro), we love our home. Annapolis turns out to be a pretty cool place to grow up and I forget that. Since both Alex and I have summer jobs right in Annapolis, we’ve had more opportunity to enjoy the town recently. We’ve had Happy Hours with our friends (or just us), we’ve done quite a bit of window shopping (sometimes it can be a bit painful for me), and we’ve eaten out way…. too… much. Ask my waistline. When we first lived together, we had a perfect little apartment downtown with a perfect little walk to everything we needed. The suburbs aren’t as cool. It’s harder to get downtown. I’m glad we’ve made the effort recently.

In the midst of all of our angst and unrest, it’s been good to hit reset. To look around and appreciate our home. This is our home, for now. Life’s too short to hate your home, wherever that is.

*Filed under Personal Life*

Soul searching. It’s an important part of personal growth. So I sit here, in Caribou Coffee, parked at a table beside two middle aged men speaking Italian doing precisely that. Soul searching. Now, honestly, I’m slightly distracted by the fact that two years of college Italian and two trips to Italy have paid off and I can decipher that their conversation loosely covers their extended family back in Italy, a heated divorce and college tuition. Hmmm.

I usually don’t soul search in a coffee shop. It’s interesting, really. The one place where, regardless of who you are, nobody cares that you’ve plopped your butt in front of a computer screen, in public, for hours on end. Even the public library limits your hours plugged in.

Back to soul searching.  Instinctively, I shut off, pulling into an unbreakable shell, just as a turtle does in the face of danger. I’m not one to reach out. I move inward, cope alone. Of course, this always ends in ruin. It ends in anxiety attacks, blood pressure spikes, mood swings… you get the idea.

This week I tried something different. I reached out. Granted, I waited until my anxiety levels crashed through the roof. I talked. I listened. I was honest to myself. I took deep breaths. I listened some more. I refocused.

And it worked.

I created a new mantra. Be brave, find your courage. Positive thoughts are the best medicine for depression and worry. I’m depression’s biggest critic. After all, what more is depression than a gigantic pity party, thrown by none other than yourself? And nobody wants to hang around a pity party.

It was a long week. A hard week. A week of highs and lows and rollercoaster corkscrews. You know, the part of the ride where you fly upside down, over and over again. But, I wasn’t alone. I found a voice in the words of my family. They centered my thoughts, refocused my energies and held me up.

It was a good lesson. It may not come naturally to me, the queen of hiding in my shell in the face of danger. Still, it worked. In the calming words of a phone call with my mom. In the warmth of Alex’s hand, gripping mine. In the reassuring words of my dad who reminds me that I know the right thing to do. In the text messages from my best friends.

It doesn’t matter what caused my stress and anxiety. What matters is that I learned an invaluable lesson this week. Bravery and courage come from facing troubles dead in the face. They come from owning up to your faults, your mistakes, your flaws. They come from lessons learned. This is how we soul search. This is how we grow. This is the stuff that makes us into beautiful people.

*Filed under Personal Life*

For reasons not worth boring you with, this week has been too long, too stressful and too crazy. But, it’s over and I’m pretty glad it’s finally the weekend. Here’s to a fabulous weekend-before-Independence-Day. It’s going to be a good one.

Dear closet, I’m pretty proud of you. I’ve needed a lot of cheering up this week and you’ve pulled yourself together to dress me bright and cheery. There’s something to be said for a good outfit, a big smile and a desire to be positive. It really can pull you out of the dumps.

Dear Anne Arundel County Public Schools, not gonna lie. That bonus you gave us for working “in the trenches” of high need schools came at just the right time. Our soon-to-tie-the-knot relatives and friends thank you. Well, maybe not. They’re probably shaking their heads furiously and cursing you because now they have 2 more mouths to feed at $150 per plate.  Either way, we’re racking up those frequent flier miles!

Dear little Misher, Thanks for our little nap Wednesday afternoon on the couch. You are the best.

Dear hubcap, thank you for being amazing. And thank you for getting me properly drunk Tuesday night. And making me laugh… and laugh… and laugh… and fall dead asleep. It was just what I needed.

Dear mom and dad, I love you. And I realized this week that even though I’m 25 years old, you guys still know exactly how to calm me down, help me focus and turn my fears and worries into bravery and courage.

Dear arm party trend, I’m sorry for my unkind words last week. I still love you.

Actually, you are genius and I think you’re pretty cool.

Dear weekend, Let’s do this.

There is something fresh and still about Northern Michigan. The air smells clean, the soil feels alive and the sounds of nature, without fail, evoke a spiritual renewal. Alex says I am a different person when we go there. Me, the most anxiety filled person in the universe, I slow down.

Our recent road trip to Michigan was a whirlwind. We weren’t even there for one week. To be honest, we weren’t certain we would actually be going until 6 hours before we left. Our drive up took extra long thanks to a late night storm in Pittsburgh that stranded us in a hotel room for the night. All of this is without mentioning that summer vacation had barely begun (the work day hadn’t even ended). But we had people to visit and memories to make…. and my mom hasn’t looked happier.

And a group pic with my mom and Jim at their local wattering hole, Shorts Brewery, located conviently within stumbling-home-by-foot distance to their new house.

Filed under Wanderlust Life and Social Life*

So after months of reading (what seems like) every bloggers Friday’s Letters, I’m contributing. To be honest, I didn’t get it at first. But then, as I read week after week, it began to make sense… documentation of sorts on the craziest, happiest, tiniest memories from the week. Happy Friday!

Dear my trusty Oldsmobile, thank you for taking care of Alex and me on our overnight 15 hour drive down the prairielands, up and over the mountains and back home from Michigan. Your tires may be bald, I’ve neglected your cracked windshield for far too long, and you probably wish I’d change your oil. So, seeing as you had plenty of reasons to be mad at me, I’m very grateful that you didn’t do anything stupid driving through the middle of nowhere at 1am Sunday morning.

Dear summer school, I think you and I are going to be great friends. Despite the fact that you wake me up early four days a week, I’m pretty sure we’ll get along just fine. Just don’t be mad if I kill off my aquarium… because I’m bound to.

Dear Bozo, YOU’RE HOME!!! See you tonight because I love you so. :) It will be an awfully wonderful summer with you back in the States.

Photo courtesy of Jodi Miller Photography

Dear Stephers, I’m honestly pretty glad Alex and I didn’t join you on your date to Kings Dominion yesterday. I would’ve melted. BUT, I can’t wait to stomp around Annapolis tonight with you in these bad mommas.

Dear Today Show, I don’t really appreciate your schemes. Rock on, Ann Curry. I love you.

Dear Arm Party trend, let’s be honest. You look adorable and I’ve gotten rather used to stacking bracelet after bracelet on my wrist each morning. BUT… this trend isn’t computer-typing friendly. You’re lacking in the functionality department… admit it.

Dear Facebook, I did it. Are you happy now?

Dear Cards Against Humanity, Because of you, I will never be playing Apples to Apples again. That’s a big deal.

And lastly…

Dear summer, I’ve never been your biggest fan. I’d rather have “summer break” in the fall or the spring, when the weather isn’t dangerously hot. My blood doesn’t have the capability of thinning enough to enjoy this 100 degree nonsense. Please, hurry up and get a move on. I like your neighbor, autumn, the best.

After receiving a text from my dad today about the women on the tube with their great big hat boxes heading toward Wimbledon, I decided it was time to reminisce on the summer of 2006. It was a good summer. A summer of friendships and traveling pants… no, seriously, my pants traveled.

I was in a strange space during my study abroad. I was in the middle of ending a pretty long term relationship with a pretty awful he-who-must-not-be-named. For the only time in my life, I chopped my hair nice and short, making me look 5 years younger than I already did. I was a know-it-all (nothing’s changed, I know), and I know I drove everyone crazy.

Let me tell you a little bit about my study abroad group. It was 95% estrogen. Need I say more? Ok. Without further ado, from the archives of my undergrad past, the hottest summer in London’s history. Study Abroad, 2006.

If you didn’t believe me about the heat wave, check this out:

Rooming in the attic, with one window, and no air conditioning made sleeping quite an adventure. That summer I learned how to sleep on top of the covers in nothing more than my knickers. So Amy and I spent a lot of our time at Trafalger Square, cooling off in the fountain.

Every time I visit London, someone drags me to the Tower of London. Once I’m done looking at the Crown Jewels, this is about all I have left in me: (real mature, I know)

Portobello Road, Portobello Road, Street where the riches of ages are stowed. Anything and everything a chap can unload is sold off the barrow in Portobello Road.

And then there’s Abbey Road…

And while we’re on the famous locations list, Wimbledon. Arguably (by me) the best sports tournament ever.

Since we were cute, young, American girls, the security guards let us sneak into Centre Court, where we saw Venus Williams:

And then, since Pirates of the Carribbean II was opening in the UK, we saw this guy. Yummy.

And, since she was studying across the street from us, we saw her, too. Actually, we ran into her (literally, in my case, on the sidewalk) daily. (Misha Barton, I know, it’s hard to see but this picture was weeks in the making…)

The necessary Stonehenge pictures:

And my favorite statue in all of London. Peter Pan. With my lovely friend, Tiffany, who came to visit on her way back from Spain!

Because of the heat, we played hookie one day and hit up Brighton Beach.

Give Peace a Chance:

And I end on the best part of our trip, Henry, the Incredible Vacuum Cleaner. He sat up at the top of our stairs every night when Amy and I stumbled back into our room, a little too much Strongbow ingested. He looked after us because he knew more about Walkabout night clubs than we did at that time… and we loved him dearly.

Isn’t he cute?

So go on with your bad self, London. I’m ready for another Wimbledon… bring it on! Host the Olympics, you deserve it! And to the Royal Family, you simply rock. I love you. See you again, soon. Cheers.

*Filed under Wanderlust Life*

I suppose nothing about my thought process is new. I’ve contemplated these topics, and how they are interwoven into one great, big, puzzling conundrum that takes over my life for years. I believe there is no wrong answer, and there are many different paths to take, but that is the biggest trouble of all. Ultimately, when it comes down to it, we only have one life to live and what is the best way to go about living?

My ponderings and dichotomies rear their heads every time I get away. That’s the thing about the I-95 corridor: it sucks you in. It makes you believe there is no other way. Surely, it must be like that because as far as your mind can travel, you come across overpopulation, traffic, hustle and bustle, outrageous housing prices and Jones’. Oh, to keep up with the Jones’. It’s so damn hard. Especially in the humidity of 95 degree, muggy, sweat-sticks-to-your-bones summers. Who honestly enjoys that?

Surely, as my mind begins to delve deeper, always playing devil’s advocate with myself, why wouldn’t you want to live here? We have 3 international airports within a 30 minute drive. It’s a short drive to NYC, Philly, Richmond, you name it. We live and breathe our nation’s Capital. We have mountains and oceans and everything in between. We have deep-rooted, colonial history and the brick roads to prove it.

People we love live here. Our friends. Family. All keeping up with the Jones’, or trying. The desperate need and forced lifestyle of blowing all of your earnings on metro access, beltway proximity, decent schools, the right zip code, the pompousness of certain town names, and the newest and brightest shopping centers. You know what that all equals? Super-inflation, mega-traffic, depleted savings accounts, ridiculous commutes, and unfriendly communities. And what is it all for?

My theory is rather simple. Some people don’t know any better. They grew up here. Their parent’s grew up here or in a place rather similar somewhere up and down this I-95 gridlock. They went to school around here. And for all they know, this is paradise. It must be like this everywhere, and if it isn’t like this everywhere else, it mustn’t be worth living there. It’s probably crap.

You know what’s crap? Spending a quarter of a million dollars on a 3 bedroom townhome with a tiny deck for a back yard, one parking spot, and 1.5 bathrooms. It’s crap paying said mortgage knowing that there is no way you would ever raise a family in a townhome without a backyard to run wild and loose, without a driveway to hang an obligatory basketball hoop, and without a tree to build a fort. But who has 500k to buy the aforementioned American Dream?

Government employees and contractors, that’s who. Overpaid, beltway bandits who stay put because this is where the jobs are. Sadly, this American Dream is difficult to maintain for even them.

So, what in the world is a couple living on two teacher salaries doing in the Washington, DC area? Good question. I’ve got an answer for you.

We are stupid. We know better. But, this is where we grew up. This is where our friends, who are working their government and contractor jobs to cover their cost of living, have chosen to reside. We have family nearby. We’ve already surrendered to calling this place, this ugly, busy, crowded, expensive place home.

Until, we get away. I’ve spent my entire life driving the turnpikes through the absolute hideousness of Pennsylvania, the supremely boring flatlands of Ohio and up into Michigan. To the clear waters of Lake Michigan. To the friendly Midwestern accents that great you at every corner. To where “rush hour” is having to wait through one light cycle in the middle of town. No, this has always been home to me.

And so, as we are driving back to our overpriced townhouse, to see Baci and Misha because we miss them dearly, Alex asks me something I thought I’d never live to hear.

“Do you want to move to Michigan?”

“I’ve always wanted to move to Michigan.” Duh.

And our conversation begins. The most common cause of divorce among marriages? Stress about finances. Every single argument, stress, and hiccup Alex and I have in our relationship is directly related to money. Working too long, too hard to make more of it. Being stressed to the point where we need to spend it in order to relax (in the form of everything from happy hours to massages to weekend getaways). Then, the guilt and remorse of realizing that we spent money we couldn’t really afford to spend. Never having enough of it, and knowing that we will never make enough money to keep up with the Jones’ here in DC. But, because that’s what you do in DC, you spend your money on an overpriced lifestyle, we do it. Hamsters on a wheel; around and around we run.

We know that if we choose to stay here, there will be sacrifices. For example, the rate things are going, we will never be able to afford to take our children to Disney World. We won’t be able to afford to take our kids on a plane, let alone travel in the sense that makes them worldly, with vacations around the country and Europe. We won’t be able to offer them too much money for college. And playing sports will require a chokehold on our spending money. We’ll have credit card debt, because, let’s face it, our paychecks won’t cover it. But look at everything we get in return. (I’m being sarcastic, here).

So there’s that. The ultimate, impossible to digest, heartbreaking truth of the matter. If we decide to stay here, living off of the I-95 corridor, we will never have a family. Because we refuse to raise a family under the above circumstances.

Leading me full circle to my great, overarching concern. Ultimately, when it comes down to it, we only have one life to live and what is the best way to go about living? I care more about raising a family, the right way, than I do having the social hierarchy status of living the Mid-Atlantic nightmare of the nation’s Capital… childless.  We’re better off searching for a more affordable American Dream.

*Filed under Personal Life*

It was a real downer in the memory department. The glitz and glamour of a childhood memory squashed to smithereens. The sunsoaked laughter and rippling waves upon the shore blown apart by reality. Some things are better left in childhood memoryland, not revisited.

Last week while visiting my mom in northern Michigan, Alex and I were trying to plan a trip of sorts for our last day. With great enthusiasm and happy-memory filled exuberance, I suggested we go to Sleeping Bear. Well, in case you’ve been living under a rock for the past year, this is Sleeping Bear:

And before it made national news as Good Morning America’s Most Beautiful Place in America, it lived in a corner of my mind reserved for the happiest, shiniest memories from being a kid. The memory glistened in summer sunlight, the waves of Lake Michigan crashing below as I stood atop a gigantic sand dune. I run to catch up with my feet as my body tumbles down the side of the steep dune, laughing and carrying on until I reach the bottom and splash effortlessly into the water. Then, I trudge slowly back up the dune, careful and with several rests, to the tip top of the dune to do it all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Well, apparently I have altered this happy moment of my past greatly because this is not what Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes are. And poor Alex had to actively participate in my sad realization last week. In reality, it is not one, steep sand dune that takes you to the glorious waters of Lake Michigan but dozens of steep sand dunes. As you begin your journey, you cannot see Lake Michigan at the summit of the dune. Or the next. Forget about it. You’ll have to ascend dune after dune, trudging along in the unforgiving heat without any respite of shade (these are sand dunes, after all). And finally, after climbing uphill, dune after dune for a miserable eternity of 45 minutes, you will see Lake Michigan in the distance. The distance. Did you catch that? Up and down, up and down you climb, each time hoping that the summit will surprise you with the water down below, but my joyous memories deceive me and we continue along, conserving our water because guess what? Once we make it to the Lake, we’ll still have to climb back. Uphill, both ways.

What were my parents thinking? Or, better yet, What kind of kid actually remembers this as a HAPPY memory?

We made it. It is gorgeous. Lake Michigan has the glistening splendor of natural remarkable beauty. We had our picnic, rehydrated and worked on our sunburns. The gentle breeze calmed our muscles and the cool, refreshing water never before looked so clear. It truly is the most beautiful place in America. But it is too damn hard to get here.

Off we went into the Sahara Desert of America once again, fighting off heat exhaustion, blisters and dehydration. When we finally made it to the last hill, where we could see the parking lot down at the bottom, I began to realize the distortion of my memory. Sure, I ran happily down a dune. But Lake Michigan wasn’t at the bottom. It must’ve been the solace of an air conditioned car, ready to take me  away. Yes, this must be the real memory.

And next time, we’re taking a dune buggy.

We’ve only just begun. In the background, that’s a tiny little lake on the other side of the parking lot. Ahead of us are several dunes. We have no reason to be smiling…

Hiking a little further into the middle of nowhere…

Every hilltop had the magical power of making us think that maybe, just maybe, it would be our last.

Until finally, we saw Lake Michigan… so. far. away.

And then, about 20 long, terrible minutes later, I cried out in serious relief when we saw this:

Welcome to Lake Michigan, you made it across the sand dunes!

Yes, it’s beautiful. The most beautiful place in America! But you’ve already forgotten our car is an hour hike back, uphill both ways, in sand. I suppose it’s like a hazing ritual. Now, Alex has become a true Michigander. He’s survived Sleeping Bear. And forget the dune buggy, the next time I want to catch some rays on Lake Michigan, I’m doing it from the comfort of our cottage, where it’s a short walk down the steps to the beach:

*Filed under Social Life and Personal Life*

When I turned 21, my dad’s advice was threefold: “Stick to the clear stuff, find one or two choice beverages to order, and take the pain killer before you go to bed.” Simple, rational, and timeless thoughts.  He’s always been one to offer trustworthy advice and valid opinions. On the other side of my rebellious teenage years, I try to listen. Sometimes I don’t exactly like what he has to say, but dad usually knows best….

I’ve learned quite a few valuable lessons from him over the years: how to travel (which he does for work more often than not), the importance of coffee, how to successfully make it down a ski slope without wiping out, how to drive like a bat out of hell (safely, I promise) and most importantly, how to boogie board. Yes, there, I said it. Boogie board.

I’ve taught him a few things, too. Namely: beer pong.

He’s been a pretty cool dad, I’ve gotta say.

And, since you are probably wondering why in the world I titled this post what I did, this is my dad at work:

What a geek.

So, in honor of Father’s Day, and in honor of the man who is always on the go (he’s on plane to London as we speak, on Father’s Day), Happy Dad’s Day! We love you, big guy.

*Filed under Personal Life*

My husband recently finished a marathon of extra hours. We’re talking 13 hour days, 5 days a week, followed by 3-5 hours on Saturday and Sunday. What does that translate to? Dinners alone, Golden Girls, and just when I’m finally beginning to doze off, Baci begins to talk out the window, a car door shuts and the doorknob shakes on the front door. With every ounce of energy I can muster, I stay awake for awhile with Alex as he finally has an opportunity to decompress from another long day. I ultimately fall asleep on the job, waking up to “Tina, go to bed.” But I tried my hardest, night after night, to give him just a little bit of home time.

Last Saturday was his first full day off work since his birthday in May. Smart decision or not, we took the opportunity to drive down to Veritas for their outdoor concert. As three-year old Wine Club members, we’ve neglected our free benefits of membership. Namely, the Starry Nights concert series. Virgins to the concert series, we arrived with two chairs and nothing else. Let me tell you a little bit about Starry Nights.

People bring everything from tables and chairs to picnic baskets and coolers to centerpieces and candlelabras. Setting up camp in a sea of thousands, they proudly display their elaborate cheese platters, their fancy-pants baskets, silver flatwear and proscutto wrapped goodness. As far as the eyes can see, the people watching is superb. Romantic date nights, intoxicated groups of close friends, little tikes dancing in front of the stage, and, of course, us. Completely and utterly in awe of what Starry Nights really is. It’s so much better.

We had a fabulous night. We drank a little too much wine with too little water, we made friends with a group of Lynchburg, 20-somethings who taught me a few new iPhone secrets, we watched the sunset and the crackling embers of a gigantic bon fire, enjoyed little kids without having to worry about them (this is a teacher’s dream) and ended the night in the quiet of the tasting room, slouched on the leather couch, waiting out the sea of people shuffling back to their cars. We reconnected over the little bit of r&r, the wealth of rich memories, and the magic that Veritas has always brought to our relationship. We were able to be us. No overworked, exhausted bodies sitting in front of the television, attempting to be us. We were finally, for once in our chaotic lives, us again.

And it was, sincerely, a starry night.

Welp, 8 months ago this view looked a lot different…

And here, too…

Amazing memories here with our friends and family… the location of our wedding reception. Walking into this room illicits the most incredible emotions for me.

Now that’s a lot of empty wine bottles…. don’t worry, we shared them with our newfound friends.

Closing up shop after a wild, long night.

We’ll be back, soon enough. We can’t seem to stay away. Until then, we’ll remember our recent starry night.

Wedding images courtesy of Jodi Miller Photography.

*Filed under Married Life and Social Life*

At the corner of Cayuga and Bridge, I sit with a sundried tomato quiche and an iced espresso. A mixture of rhythmic CSNY and thick midwestern, slow-town conversation fill my background void. The rush of the espresso machine turns on and off, on and off as Moka fills with regulars. The air is cool and crisp, the rays of the sun beating down on the early morning with patterns of good morning. My five minute walk across town refreshed my body, with gentle reminders of early morning walks to class through the dew and mist of Shenandoah back at JMU years ago. Despite my break from the reality of overpopulation, beltway rage and the grim frowns of commuters and beach goers on rt. 50, I type. I have much to write, little time and little patience as the air warms to a perfect, no humidity point of 75, Torch Lake glistens in the daylight, clear as glass, and Northern Michigan wakens with a friendly reminder that life goes on outside of Washington, DC. And it goes on well.

*Filed under Personal Life and Wanderlust Life*

I’ve been living in a dumb world. When I needed gas, I drove around helplessly for miles hoping gas would drop a cent or two when I reached the next station. I carried road maps in my car for every state east of the Mississippi- and I’d give you a dirty look if you asked me why I didn’t have a GPS. Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest were a way to unwind for an hour at home on my laptop after a day of work. I didn’t know when emails came in, only how much new mail was in my inbox when I logged on every morning. And if you were lucky enough to get a quick response, it’s because my butt was right in front of my screen. If I received a check, I drove to the bank to deposit it in person. I revelled at the mystery of Instagram and I turned green with envy when I saw video recordings on my friend’s phone.

After asking for an iPhone for two consecutive birthdays and three consecutive Christmas’s, I ultimately renigged on my request. Every single time. It’s not that I didn’t want an iPhone. My dreams of being a part of the smart phone nation were always alive and well. It’s that I could always talk myself out of it. I didn’t need an iPhone.

In fact, isn’t a cell phone just a way to make a simple call from wherever you are? A phone isn’t supposed to be your connection to social media 24-7, an endless pit of Angry Birds and Words With Friends, and a high megapixel camera with a 1080p screen. That sounds more like a toy.

So, opportunity after opportunity passed and I resolved to keep my dumb phone for as long as I could hold out. At this point, it became war.  Of course I knew I’d love an iPhone. But here’s the scary truth- the moment I bought an iPhone, I would always need it. The same way we can no longer resort back to simply having home phones, no cell phones. We will always need a cell phone. So I held out. To prove a point. To make it known that life in the dumb world without a data package and a measely 1 megapixel camera served me just fine. And, I lived by my mantra, “For my birthday this year, Alex is getting me an iPhone.” The problem? My weak, consumeristic soul was tired of waiting and September 29th felt just as far away as it did back in December when I last decided not to get an iPhone 4s for Christmas.

I conceded last night. At Verizon, with a terribly pushy sales associate who couldn’t have been any older than myself, I did it. But, after three years of bantering back and forth in my mind, I knew what I was doing. “I want the 16 gig, 4s, in black.” “Are you sure? Blah blah, sales pitch, upgrade, blah, blah.” “No, 16 gig, 4s, black. That’s it. Thank you.”

And you know what? I’ve had it for exactly 24 hours and I couldn’t be happier that I waited until now to own it. Holding out for so long, I grew to appreciate the dumb life I lived. I do not need a crazy bright “flashlight” on the back of my phone or a GasBuddy to tell me where the cheapest gas is. I liked it better when I did one, great email sweep every morning. There’s no need for a GPS, because, let’s face it, I’ve got an internal compass. And, to be honest, Siri is completely unnecessary.

At the same time, I love it. I can’t live without it. It’s incredible. Everyone should have one. Welcome to the dark side. There’s no turning back.

Goodbye, old, reliable phone. Hello, multipurpose toy with a built-in phone. It’s prettier, after all.

*Filed under Personal Life*

Things have been anything but relaxing lately. Alex has worked 3 weeks straight without a single day off. On the other side of our tornadoes and thunderstorms type of Friday evening, we’ve tried desperately to find a few hours for each other this weekend… and, a good beer. Last night took us no further than the couch, watching Beauty and the Beast like two giddy seven year-olds. So, tonight we vowed to make it a bit further than the living room. Date night. It’s been awhile since we’ve had one of those. Sometimes that is all you need to make a crazy, hectic weekend feel like it was actually relaxing. And there’s no better place to have date night in this gorgeous weather than our favorite Annapolis roof.

so many choices… and he’s not even halfway done his first!

the cheapest Allagash in Annapolis- makes me a happy girl.

a stack of gifts and memories… (minus my new, white kjp rope, although, still a gift)

best place to watch the storm roll in? rooftop.

*Filed under Social Life and Married Life*

“Hugs.” The room is dark, lights off to calm their wild bodies, teetering from foot to foot, eager to leave. One by one, I give each little one a squeeze prior to gently nudging their little bodies out the door to go home for the summer. One more year down, one more group of students moving on.

This was my favorite class. I’m going to miss them. I had the strongest personalities, the greatest variety of strengths and weaknesses and the most fun. Every year there are a few you know you’ll never forget. I had a full class of those kids this year.

Still, I can only be sentimental for so long. After six quick days packing and cleaning at work, it will be summer vacation. As much as I despise the unbearable heat and humidity of summer, I equally love the long days, fresh tomatoes, linen sundresses, evening thunderstorms and a good barbeque. I’ll complain daily about the temperature, scratch my mosquito bites to a pulp and curse the burning steering wheel every time I get in my car, but I’m grateful for the change of seasons and, like every summer, I’ll make the best of it.

Memorial Day weekend truly was a great beginning to the summer. Filled with margaritas, good food, friends, sun and house projects, it was exactly what I needed to prepare for the dog days ahead.

*Filed under Personal Life*