ready to run: how not to panic when everything seems crazy

beachBMW_katespade

photo: Kate Spade

this is me. in my happy place. with my sweet vintage Beemer, a jaunty Kate Spade (i think i actually do have that one) and the freedom of some amazing journey sans any set schedule or responsibility ahead of me. i’ve been going here in my head a lot lately in light of a kind of insane set of circumstances and deadlines at work and a ridiculously full schedule at home, to boot. more and more often, lately i catch myself thinking about how we can sell everything and just move to the beach or wondering how globe-trotting celebrities educate their children, you know, because clearly, we are on the cusp of winning the lottery and will want to follow suit. Continue reading

my first crush

oh, how did you guess this is one of The Daily Post’s prompts?

the first real-person crush i remember must have been in maybe 5th grade? i remember hanging out with my friend Jodie a lot that summer, because she lived across the street from Ricky Whats-His-Name (5th grade was a long time ago, y’all). we all had a crush on him and i’m not entirely sure he ever spoke to any of us. he was a year or 2 older, as i recall. and like many families in Northern Virginia, his didn’t stay more than i think i a year before moving to their next post or . . . whatever.

anyhoo, that was a blip on the radar. between the years of 1977 and 1984, there were other, way more significant crushes on famous hotties.

from Saturday Night Fever to Rio, these were the posters and album covers that made me swoon. the seventies/eightiesness of it all kind of makes me cringe, but i do stand by all these guys as solid good lookers (in their day).

we’ve already had a One Direction moment in our house. i dread to think what Miss Girl will be plastering her walls with. we may have to institute a No Spy Zone for a few years while she works through it. oh, but i guess he will be stationed on the front porch with a shotgun at that point, so paper crushes will be the least of our worries . . .

behind the door

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well, The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge to share an image of a door got updated this morning literally right after i decided i would go for it and write this post. okay, so whatevs. this is more a story than a photo, anyway. it’s definitely not a great photo. nor is it a great door. the numbers hang crooked and a few cobwebs hang in the corners above it. the tiled hallway that leads to it is always covered with sand and strewn with beach bags, toys and flip flops. but it is the entrance to the place i’ve lived for the past 6 days and the place where we’ve spent a week every July for 4 years now with 2 of our best friends from Richmond and their children.

the modest little beachfront condo that lies behind this door is currently filled with a holy disasterpiece (as Miss Girl would say). there are a thousand markers, paper airplanes, towels, blankets, bathing suits and half-eaten plates of lunch scattered and piled on every surface within a 5 year old’s reach. i dread this evening’s last-night ritual of pulling our shit together (and our of every corner) in anticipation of packing the cars and evacuating at the ungodly early hour of 10:00 tomorrow morning.

but the other, more important thing this condo is filled with is memories. Continue reading