Marathon Monday

Marathon Monday in Boston is one of my favorite days of the year.  In the 5 years I have been here I have been able to either watch it from the finish line, Fenway Park or on TV in the background of the bar. This year I watched it from my couch like a total slug. 

It is the most inspiring day of the year for me, and it felt wrong to be napping sporadically while watching all these incredible people cross the finish line and cry tears of joy from their accomplishment.  Hey, I had an 11-hour layover, missed my connection and got 2 hours of sleep on the Atlanta airport floor, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Excuses, I know.

It was the first time I got to watch it in the comfort of my own home, and it had it’s perks.  Sure, the news anchors were running out of small talk (no pun intended) but watching all the runners running for their causes gave me all the feels. 

Parents who’s children are sick, or passed away. 

Veterans running for their friends who couldn’t.  

Husbands and wives running finishing the race together (and at the same time) – THE SAME TIME?  I love my hubs, but I just know that I would probably sprint at the last minute just to say I won (ha, he would do the same).

It was so uplifting, and that is why I love Patriot’s Day (Marathon Monday) in Boston.

I am not a runner, never have been.  That would be Amy’s department. However, I have always TRIED to get into it.  A handful of 5k’s, pathetic attempts of running around the park/bay near my apartment, ‘fun runs’ with random people to mingle – I never loved it.  I loved the feeling afterward, but it was never enough for me to keep it going.  What is this ‘runner’s high’ I kept hearing so much about?

There was one particular woman who’s friend was interviewed.  She had been hit by a car and had a rough road of rehab ahead.  When she was able to, she started running again – she ran at least 1 mile a day, every day.  It’s been ~ 3 years and she has stuck to that goal and it seems attainable – and she ran the marathon this year.

I was moved by all the beautiful reasons people run that I decided I need to get my butt off the couch and get into it.  People overcome so much more than we realize, and I have no excuse.  I really loved the 1-mile/day idea – and now that it’s getting warmer out, that should be feasible for me.  Or…7 miles a week, in case I feel extra ambitious on the weekend.  Hold me accountable, people.  I need motivation.

I should probably go back and DVR the Marathon to give me a little boost when I need it, but it’s typically enough to get me through to next year.

What is your motivation?  I have a lot, but a top contender would be food.  More running = more food.  Right?

Royal Obsession

I’m a quirky character, if you haven’t already figured that out.

I crochet, for one thing, which seems normal when you follow like 500 like-minded Instagram accounts, but in real life, my partner in crime Bailey is one of the few people I know who knits/crochets on the reg. I do have a friend who does cross stitch, but if we’re going to be a fiber arts snob, that is not the same thing (seriously. It’s not.).

But anyway, there’s more about me that is a little eccentric. I don’t like most fruit. I also have a strong opinion that dessert should not have fruit in it, but if you want to get super technical, I do like Swedish fish and lemon-flavored starbursts (Yes, the lemon ones. You’re now wondering if I’m a sociopath, I get it.).

I don’t care for riding bikes, not one bit, as I believe I’m better off with both feet touching the ground.

I can’t stand being late, but we’ve already examined that psychological problem in detail.

And…

I’m obsessed with the Royal Family.

It likely stems from the fantasies of being a princess that many little girls grew up with. Or that because I grew up on a farm in the heart of the U.S. versus in a CASTLE, that I’m so fascinated by a life so different than my own.

Either way, obsessed.

Remember when Will and Kate tied the knot? I convinced my friend Monica it would be a good idea to get up at 3am and watch the wedding on the treadmills at the gym. I had the nuptials streaming with my headphones in at work. And then I proceeded to watch coverage of it from the time I got home that night until I went to bed. Literally 5-6 hours of replaying things that I had already watched. Obsessed.

When Harry and Meghan got married? Same thing, but I had a kid, so I tried to convince him the horses on their carriage were fun to watch so I could maximize my news coverage instead of changing to Saturday morning cartoons.

I actually looked up flights to England to get in on the pre-wedding hype. Seriously.

Flights were cheap, lodging was the bigger issue. If you were curious.

I binge watched The Crown, and watched every documentary on the family that Netflix has to offer. Queen Elizabeth is the epitome of boss bitch and I love her for it. Her elegance? Perfection. Her steadfast rule? Legendary. The perfected side eye of disapproval?

YASSSS QUEEN.

So, as you can imagine, waiting around for Harry’s royal spawn has started to get very exciting.

Girl or boy? Will it have red hair? Meghan’s smile? Harry’s care free personality? How many names will they get? SO MANY THINGS TO WONDER ABOUT.

Not a blanket for Harry and Meghan, but a baby blanket nonetheless. They’ve likely got a million already made for them in silk and cashmere, so I’ll just continue making mine for charity and call it a day. 😊

The moral of the story is if I seem distracted this month, this is one of the reasons why.

And for real, Netflix, when do we get a release date for The Crown’s third season?

-Amy

Apocalytic Crochet

I often joke about how, if the apocalypse happens, crochet is the one useful skill that will allow me to stay in one of the tribes/gangs that will likely form as chaos reigns. 

People have to stay clothed and warm, right? So as long as there’s a JoAnn’s or Micheal’s to loot, things should be pretty dandy for my family. 

I also make pretty sweet photo books online, in case the apocalypse (or my post-apocalyptic group of people I’m recruited into) requires an official historian. 

What else? What else? 

Is that it? 

Perhaps. But I feel pretty confident with those two things. 

It feels like I’ve been working on this blanket forever. It’s not even a slow pattern- I’m just being slow.

Sure, I will very much depend on others for everything. Like food. I am a pretty miserable cook for the most part and I’m terrible at trying to figure out the ripeness of an avocado. 

And I’ll definitely look to others to help carry my things when we decide it’s time to pick up and move elsewhere. My back isn’t what it used to be and I’ve never been known to travel light. 

I have no sense of direction, nor am I good at remembering how to get anywhere without a GPS, so once all the phone batteries are dead, I’m not going to be a great guide. 

To be fair, even with the GPS I’m mediocre at best. 

But like I said earlier, I’m sure the fiber arts will save me from being totally abandoned by everyone else. 

Heading up north for a hunting trip? Let me just make you an oversized wool blanket for your journey (the weight of it also provides a calming effect). 

Heading south for the winter? Here’s a nice double crochet wrap- a perfect loose stitch for a cool summer night by the campfire. 

Looking to create some camaraderie with the troops? Matching crocheted head and wrist bands in your tribe colors! 

Expecting a baby but all of the baby stores have been raided and burned down? Custom knitted blankets and pillowcases by yours truly!

Now I just have to learn how to spin my own yarn for when all the craft stores are emptied and destroyed… 

What will your post apocalyptic skill be? 

-Amy

Woolapalooza

My new favorite website is Knitters Review that has a list of knit related events broken down by month, for the year of 2019.  Every month, I browse to see what is going on and flag things that are within an hour drive of Boston.  Luckily for me, last Saturday was Woolapalooza and I had no plans –  The site highlighted “Drumlin Farm’s new spring babies” –  and how it is “the perfect setting to delight in all things sheep” – I had to go.

Drumlin Farm is only about 30-min away from Boston, and it was one of the warmest day’s we’ve had this year.  Any chance I can get out of the city and go on a farm, I take it.  It was so quiet, and peaceful, aside from all the screaming children (there were a lot of them).  I didn’t care, the farm animals in their element were enough to keep me occupied for at least 1.5 hours.  Just look at this little guy!

He was only 3 days old.  Most of the baby sheep were born within the week and my heart couldn’t take the cuteness. 

Baby goats weren’t too shabby 🙂

They had a couple different stations around the farm, including a sheep shearing demos which I wish I didn’t witness.  This guy didn’t have an electric sheer, it was old school, and it was scary.  Either way, he knew what he was doing, and the sheep were very calm (not sedated, I asked).  I couldn’t help but think they were getting nicked, but I tried not to think about it.  

Wool galore!

There were hands-on activities for the kids to spin the yarn and a handful of people spinning their own:

Aside from the precious farm babies, they had a sheep herding area with sheep dogs which was a big hit.  The only sheep herding I’ve seen was from Brokeback Mountain, so I was impressed to say the least. 

Scattered throughout the farm were a couple of vendors with their homemade items (yarn, hats, rugs, etc.).  I wish I would have bought some of their yarn, but to be quite honest, that real stuff is way too itchy for my taste and I had no idea what I would make out of it.   

My favorite part was being with the animals in the barn because 1. I couldn’t smell anything (I was fighting a cold all week, so the smell didn’t scare me) and 2. The baby sheep – my new top 3 favorite animal – so presh.

More Old Lady Musings

My partner in crime posted last week about how she went out for St. Patrick’s Day, but felt a little old. 

I had a good laugh with her because we happened to go out on that Sunday for drinks, but it just randomly happened to be the day my mother-in-law could watch Henry for a few hours. And we chose an extremely non-irish bar so we could keep away from the crowds. 
We don’t like sharing space with strangers. Or new people. 
I’m not really sure why we even bothered going out at all. Because afterwards, we complained about the bar tab and how we should have just had a few drinks at home. 
Which is how I know I’m old. 

Or should I know I’m old because of my hobbies?

I also know I’m old because I get my annual skin screening and had an in-depth conversation with the doctor about Retin-A. 
We’re well past the “make sure you wear sunscreen and moisturize” days and have entered the “Retin-A will need to be used soon to maintain where you’re at and maybe you want to consider lasering off those red spots you’ve developed over the last year?”.
And in related news, my knees have cracked since I was pregnant and I’m also starting physical therapy for lower back pain due to slight arthritis in my lumbar area. ARTHRITIS.    
It’s always been fun to joke about being an old lady trapped in a young person’s body, but at what point do I become an old lady trapped in an old lady’s body? (also known as “just old”). 
To be honest, I’m not really sure the point of this post other than just me having a desire to complain about the inevitable destruction of my youth. 
Ironic, given I’ve watched more cartoons in the last year than I have in the previous decade. 
But that’s ok. With the getting older comes other things. Like having an adult beverage whenever I want. Or skipping making my bed. Or not doing the laundry because I’d prefer to zone out on Netflix after a long day. 

Or crocheting, because, you know…

I guess it’s just a little bit of give and take. 
And I’ll take the option where I can have prosecco with brunch any time over having to stick with milk or juice.

Old Lady Status Confirmed, St. Patrick’s Weekend Edition:

St. Patrick’s Day is one of my favorite holidays. I’m Irish, I love day-drinking, I love parades, and I love green things. With each passing year, I find myself starting earlier and ending earlier, because hey, I must work the next day and I cannot deal with the Monday fuzzies that come after a long day of raging as if I still have the stamina.

The weekend began on Friday night, casting on a new green beanie that I tasked myself to finish before Sunday’s parade. It was that moment I was reminded just how old lady I am.

Ten reasons why I feel 90:

#1: My Friday night was a rager, I spent it frogging my knit beanie because I was practicing the dandelion stitch – the struggle.

Saturday, we went skiing with some friends at Pats Peak – It was a 40-degree day and the runs were a little slushy, but it will likely be our last trip of the season, so it had to be done. I don’t typically challenge myself on the slopes, until I’ve had at least 3 beers. Guinness’ is just what I needed. Post-lunch ski run was a short one, and my last. No one was hurt, and I was quite impressed with my form as I bolted down the mountain at 30 mph – swerving every which way screaming “yikes” on my way down.

Saturday night we went out to dinner/drinks with some friends at a restaurant in the neighborhood. It was a great time, with great peeps, and it’s when my old lady tendencies really kicked in.

#2 – I made the mistake of laying down to watch Friday. The hubs had to scrape me off the couch to go to dinner. I can’t help it, I love Ice Cube.

#3 – I cannot tolerate lines or waiting in them, especially at 7pm. Luckily, we had a reservation and walking by 40+ people standing in line was so rewarding. Suckers. Reservations, always.

After dinner we scoped out a spot by the bar that would hold 14ish people – victory! I was monitoring the waves of people coming in and out, and plotted our take-over.

#4 – I was scoping out a spot to stand by the bar where people would not bump into me for at least an hour. Give me my space or SOS to you.

#5 – Bathrooms at bars these days are like a mini soap opera. Has it always been that way? I do not remember being so open with my problems to strangers. Carissa, (if you are reading this), I agree with Ashley…Jonathan really isn’t worth it. I know it was his birthday, but you shouldn’t have texted him – he’s a total jerk and you deserve better.

#6 – Every guy in that bar looked like a member of One Direction, but shorter.

#7 – Sunday, we woke up at 9am and went to brunch at a bar down the street. They opened at 10am and you better believe we were there at 9:55 to secure a seat at the bar. I’m always prompt.

#8 – The perfect seat is the one on the end (by the waitress station), where there is only one person who has the option to sit next to you – hubs. The fewer people reaching over me to order their espresso martinis, the better.

Of course, I stuffed my face with a heavy breakfast that was way too much for 10am. I was trying to get a good base that would last. I could have sat there all day sipping bloody marys, I wish I could have.

#9 – (received the bar bill) <inner monologue>: “OMG. What have we done? Was it worth it? No. I should have stayed in, I’m too poor for this. How do people do this every weekend? I could have bought 8 large pizzas, or groceries for the week. It’s okay, it’s only money, I can always make more. It’s not okay.”

Connor McGregor was in the parade and that was the ONE thing we wanted to see. That, and the people watching, which never disappoints. We didn’t see him (apparently, he didn’t do the whole parade), but we did see lots of shenanigans on the streets afterward. Jabroniville.

#10 – Before returning to our apt, I insisted that we walk through the carnage, and to appreciate the fact of “thank God that’s not me” – “oh that poor girl” “did you see that girl’s pants..did she just? Omg!” – “I hope no one gets hit by a car” – “is that guy peeing or puking?”

It’s you’re** get it together meme makers.

Some key takeaways and highlights:

  • Fire department rescued a guy off the roof. He jumped from the roof next door and couldn’t get back.
  • Always bring an extra pair of jeans for your friend – because even adults have accidents (yes, it was gross).
  • People were literally hanging of their windows and no one died, and that is what matters.

How did you spend your St. Pat’s day weekend?

~Bailey

It’s Hard Out There for a Toddler

On a typical day, my husband has already picked up Henry from daycare well before I get home. So when I walk in the door, the dog comes running and I can hear a “mama!!!” from somewhere inside the house. I get about 20 seconds to lose the work bag and winter coat before Henry rams into me at full speed for a big hug.

He’s a good hugger. Not a cuddler. But his hugs are pretty top notch. 

Henry is not at all impressed with his mother’s talents. Nor does he care I was working hard to get this done for a new best friend he hasn’t met yet.

However, the other night was a little different. The same exclamation of “mama!” happened and I walked around the corner to see him climbing the stairs to get to me. He got to the top. Stood up. Looked at me. And started to cry. And then proceeded to slowly cry walk toward me until he just collapsed into my arms. 
It’s amazing how much that can hurt one’s heart.
My husband said he had been having fun literally until that exact moment. This has happened a few times, in various ways, so I tried not to overthink it. And I had obviously googled it in the past. #helicoptermom
From what various discussion boards and mommy sites, it seems kids sometimes do the same things adults do. After working hard to keep himself together all day, following rules and being surrounded by other kids, coming home and being exhausted and within an hour of bedtime… we were all finally there and Henry felt like it was as safe time to just let loose. 

Done! I’ve become obsessed with less traditional colors being used for baby blankets.

I feel ya, bro. 
I really do. I wish I could say it gets easier. But that seems like a lie. Because I definitely have those days where I come home upset or exhausted from a deadline that has made me physically sick. Even though I love my job, it’s fair to still require a place where I feel comfortable enough to decompress and not get judged for it. 
It’s also one of the reasons why my husband can tell the difference between my normal resting knit face and my “OMG do not even think of coming near me or looking in my general direction” knit face. He gets me. 
Henry clearly doesn’t knit/crochet due to the lack of required dexterity at this point in his life, but he and I still share a few things that make us feel better after a long day: 
1. a good hug
2. a long bath
3. a good story
4. snacks on snacks on snacks
And when he turns 21, perhaps he can add wine to that list. 

I know I have.
What’s your go-to after a long day? 

-Amy