Category Archives: 25
There is a phrase Hugh and I use that was born of the abbreviation trend with a dash of Jersey Shore influence.
Much like The Situation’s routine of GTL ….
Hugh is an expert at GSD — he makes a list a mile long and keeps working on it, crossing things off until it’s done. If productivity is his strong suit, procrastination is mine. Thank goodness for Hugh or I might never get anything done. Well… that’s an exaggeration, but not by much.
Last night, even though my day-long caffeine high was wearing off, our apartment was GSD central.
I got home from work and did more work work.
Did loads upon loads of laundry.
Actually put the laundry away.
Cleaned up the kitchen.
Worked on some finances.
Did some more work work.
Wrote, addressed and stamped a bunch of thank you notes (and even dropped them in the mailbox).
Cleaned up the bedroom closet (that is, put all my shoes away).
Prepped some food for the rest of the week’s lunches.
Watched the Redskins’ disappointing loss.
Made it to bed by midnight.
Needless to say I am exhausted today. And needless to say, I only put a small dent in the to-do list. Still left this week — fitting in venue visits and priest meetings around baseball games and tailor appointments.
And grocery shopping.
And cleaning the bathroom.
And finishing Rebecca’s wedding details.
And uploading pictures from the last several weeks.
But the more I’m motivated to get stuff done, the more accomplished I feel when I finally get to bed. (And the more I feel okay with escaping to Blacksburg for the weekend without chores looming).
Is this what responsibility feels like?
August just went by so fast!
It all started, as most months do, on the 1st. August 1st, that is, when I started my new job (same company, new position, whole new world).
And then the month ticked away, as most months do, without me hardly knowing where the time was hurrying off to. Though I do remember pausing to make it out on the water one more time and to see two wonderful friends tie the knot. And there was an earthquake and a hurricane in there somewhere as well…
Oh yeah, and then the last weekend of the month, Hugh proposed at me.
And a few days later, we moved from two horribly unorganized apartments into one smaller one. It will forever live in my memory as the move that took forever. We drove that trailer up and down the highway, back and forth 30 or so miles, stopped at each apartment a time or two, and by the end of it we came home to our new place full of stuff we could barely stand to look at.
It started so innocently, with this little helper guy guarding my packing paper:
And this scene of chaos with furniture and bubble wrap and bridal magazines strewn about in my old place:
And then we moved for 18 hours straight, went to sleep, woke up bright and early to move some more. I of course did not take any pictures as I was busy having a mental breakdown over the sheer physics of the stuff-to-space ratio of our new place.
But eventually, things started coming along.
First and foremost, the board games got organized.
We put pictures up as we unpacked them, and I instantly fell in love with the fireplace (wood-burning!) and mantel.
And there was still stuff all over our dining room
But I had already organized the kitchen masterfully!
It has already been a wonderful place for me to cook and for Hugh to clean up and pack our lunches. It doesn’t hurt that you can see the TV from the sink.
We did end up having to shove stuff in closets this past weekend (our first normal one in the apartment) when we had a guest for two nights and hosted a game-watching for VT football Saturday.
Hugh lead the charge.
And by Saturday we had a cozy apartment for eating, beer-drinking, football-watching relaxation.
Now we just have to finish finding places for things, organize the patio we use for storage, and plan a wedding.
Meanwhile, Lily (who moved to the parents’ house to avoid the moving chaos) is living the life of luxury.
Last Tuesday we survived a rare earthquake in DC, and this weekend we braced ourselves as Hurricane Irene swept through with high winds and an incessant downpour.
So yesterday, when the sun was shining and the sky was blue, after a necessary afternoon nap, we had to take advantage of the day. Hugh and I ventured out to the batting cages at Woody’s in Reston where I proved to Hugh years ago that I haven’t lost my eye-on-the-ball talents and am not too shabby in the batters’ box.
Hugh showed everyone up in the “very fast” cage while I took blurry pictures of him and fielded compliments from on-lookers on his skill (not kidding).
And then Hugh made fun of me for looking crazy in Woodys’ helmets and complaining that the batting gloves smelled like feet.
I think I was impatiently waiting for someone to get out of my favorite cage, the slow softball pitch (I said I could hit, I didn’t say I wanted a challenge). Look at this professional [blurry] stance:
I got really intense as I started hitting line drives up the [imaginary] left field line.
When we’d both hit twice and I was sufficiently grossed out by Hugh’s batting gloves, we headed back to the car so that we could make it to Manassas in time to have dinner with my parents (and borrow their truck for our move this week!). While I was sitting half inside the car changing out of my sneaks and into my sandals, Hugh suggested that we take a walk to “see what’s in the woods over there.”
Sure, Hugh. Whatever you want to do.
There, we were actually surprised to find grills, picnic tables and this old camp site complete with a triangle for summoning the cowboys to dinner.
And a path leading to who knows where.
And while I was poking around, investigating the area, Hugh said
I turned around to find him on his knee, reaching into his pocket and shock set in as he recited a modified version of the speech he’d prepared (he admitted to having forgotten most of it in the moment, understandably so), which ended with
Will you marry me?
I was in shock, I think I said “oh my gosh, really?!” a few thousand times before Hugh reminded me to answer him.
I of course said, Yes.
Before the whirlwind of calling family and friends began, we spent some time reveling in the excitement and each other, and I asked Hugh a few times if he was sure.
He of course said, Yes.
True to form, before we left I had to take some self-timer photos to commemorate the moment and the spot in the woods behind Woody’s batting cages where we decided to take on a pretty significant adventure together.
We celebrated over a home-cooked dinner and a bottle of champagne with my parents.
It was perfect.
PS: Who wouldn’t want to marry this?!
Approximately two months ago, Hugh signed us up for a 10K happening in DC on July 31st. Having never been a runner or having any interest in running, I saw the two months of preparation as a challenge that may result in any combination of injury, shame and complete failure.
I had doubts when I was running one mile every other morning in about 13 minutes and feeling the burn the rest of the day.
I still had some doubts after my first real set-back inspired my first really successful run.
I first felt truly confident when I finally passed the four mile mark with a month left before the race.
And when I finally ran over five miles just days before the race, I was still teetering between I can totally do this and Something’s definitely going to go wrong.
But Sunday morning came and I was cool as a cucumber. I got up before the sun, got dressed, pulled my hair into a tight enough ponytail, laced up my sneaks and headed to Hugh’s for pre-race breakfast.
Some water, some debate over whether to have coffee or not, and some peanut butter toast later we were driving across the Key Bridge and hunting for parking.
We were so early that we checked in, stashed our new shirts back in the car, milled around scavenging for freebies (including some vitacoco, which we were thankful for since there was pre-race water but no cups to drink it out of ) and did some light stretching mixed with a little sitting/yawning.
Whoever was working the mic had everyone corraled at the start line, did some talking about various charities, played a recording of Mariah Carey singing the national anthem, and while pretty much everyone was still disorganized and unsuspecting, he yelled GO.
So we ran. We passed some people and some people passed us. We got in our groove — rather, my groove that Hugh so graciously slows down to accommodate — and settled into a slightly-
faster-than-usual pace as we made our way along the C&O Canal Towpath. I felt great the whole time. No annoying cramps and no onset of exhaustion. My knee pain didn’t kick in until the last mile or so. We just trucked along, chatting about nonsense, mentally chanting slow and steady when someone who’d charged in front of us had to stop to walk.
And after crossing the finish line amid cheers from a group of strangers — race volunteers and other participants — we high-fived to the accomplishment of both of our 10K goals:
- Finish the race.
- Run the whole thing. No walking.
And we achieved both our goals within an hour and eight minutes, looking red, sweaty, and incredibly attractive.
Tired, happy and starving, we dragged our sweaty disgusting selves to Jessie & Troy’s for showers before sitting down to a massive brunch.
There was champagne involved. With a side of orange juice.
So I’ve checked ‘run a 10K’ off the life list, and it feels pretty good. Maybe I’ll run a longer race next. That’s a maybe.
I’m not running at all this week. That’s a definite.