Oklahoma.

My heart is so sad for Oklahoma.  The images of the complete destruction, people wandering through the streets, parents waiting and hoping to be reunited with their babies... I just cannot even begin to imagine what they're feeling right now.  

Growing up in Texas, right in the middle of Tornado Alley, my entire childhood was spent in absolute fear of having to experience one.  We practiced drills all through school (duck and cover in the hallway), the tornado sirens were tested at the fire station down the street from my house every Saturday morning at 10am (the sound of that siren gives me chills to this day), and there were many nights spent in the bathtub with my Mama, Daddy, little brother and our pets with a mattress pulled over us during tornado warnings.  I would be lying if I said the lessened threat of tornadoes was a factor that pushed me towards Boston.

The closest that I've ever come to actually being IN a tornado was in the fifth grade.  I was in Mrs. Pemberton's portable right outside of our elementary school, and the day was bright and sunny.  The school secretary came in during class and went straight to Mrs. Pemberton, whispered something, and left.  Mrs. P. turned to the class and calmly told everyone that we needed to go into the main building, and to please line up.  Nobody had any idea what was going on, and in retrospect, I think that she handled the situation perfectly.  We joined the other fourth and fifth grade classes in the main school hallway and lined up against the brick walls.  Several teachers brought out games, we were allowed to read, talk with our friends... it was very calm.  

After maybe an hour had passed, the signal came over the intercom for a tornado drill.  The teachers told everyone to get into the duck and cover position as we had practiced, that we were okay, but that there was bad weather coming our way and we needed to be safe, just in case.  I vividly remember looking out of the windows on the door and noticing that the bright, sunny weather was gone and the light outside was green.  It was the most eerie thing that I have ever in my life seen, and I know that I'll never forget that.  Terrible storms did indeed come through, but we were so lucky to only have strong winds, rain and hail.  We had to wait until our parents came to pick us up and sign us out, and that was that.  

Once we were home, my parents told me and my brother that a tornado had touched down south of our town, in Jarrell, Texas.  It was an F5, 3/4 of a mile wide, and it ripped through the town.  Driving through weeks afterwards, you could still see the path of the tornado.  

We were so lucky not to be directly affected then, but I'll never forget how big of an impact it had on our little area of Central Texas.  Everyone came together to help those who had lost everything, through donations, blood drives, manual labor help with clearing debris and then rebuilding when it came time to do so.  I'm praying today that people everywhere can come together to show the same kind of support for the people and families who have lost everything.  

spring fashion lovelies

Alleluia, spring has FINALLY arrived in Boston!  It's only, you know, May 16th and we're officially experiencing our first sunny, 80 degree day.  'Tis glorious!!  

As the cooler days dragged on through March, and April... and early May, I started to stock up on all of the fun spring fashions that I would be able to wear when it was finally appropriate to show my (blindingly pale) legs without needing tights and a heavy coat.

1. Factory pleated colorblock skirt

I'm seriously loving this skirt from J. Crew Factory.  I managed to catch it on a day when it was already marked down for final sale, plus I used a coupon code for an additional 40% off, and I ordered enough to qualify for free shipping-- cha-ching!

2. Factory garment-dyed skinny jean in "poppy"

J. Crew continued to work its online shoppers spell and convinced me that I NEEDED a pair of jeans in a particularly bright color, which is ironic considering that the part of my body I'd like to draw the LEAST amount of attention to is the one clothed in these flaming colors...)

3. Loft Striped 3/4 Sleeve Cotton Sweater

Loft and I often have a love/hate relationship:  I basically either want to spend an entire paycheck there, or I can't find a single thing to love.  When I stopped in a month or so ago during one of their big "Spring is here! Let's have a sale!" days, I couldn't help but fall head over heels for these sweaters (Teal Blast and Starburst Coral).  

They're the perfect lightweight cotton that I can for sure wear through summer (already picturing with white shorts and white skinnies) and are available in several other summery colors.  One of my big pet peeves when shopping is having to buy clothes strictly for work that aren't wearable on the weekends.  Considering I can pair these with so many bottom options and dress them up with a fun necklace or scarf, they've been in constant rotation.

3. Factory 5" chino short in "navy" and "ornament orange"

These babies were a steal of a lifetime!  J. Crew Factory ran them at $19.50 PLUS an additional 30% off coupon code so seriously-- it would have been irresponsible of me to NOT purchase them, right?  Also, the inseam is 5 inches long.  Considering I'm in my late 20s (mercy me), have a tan that is comparable to Casper's coloring, and am just now working on getting my legs back into running shape, I think that this longer inseam will be most forgiving.  Right?  Riiight...

4. Loft Resort Print Smocked Cotton Caftan

Okay, so it hasn't been QUITE warm enough to wear this cuteness, but I seriously cannot wait.  It's intended for a swimsuit cover-up, which is what I bought it to wear as, but several people commented in the reviews that it's short enough to wear with shorts as a tunic-like top as well-- genius!  The colors are so bright and cheerful, I just couldn't help myself.  I ordered it in medium/large and it fits perfectly, and isn't sheer like most cover-ups can be.

5. Old Navy Fit and Flare Tee Dress in "blue stripe"

I am legitimately living in this dress.  It's been to work, to a BBQ, to brunch... Again, it's one of my required versatile pieces that can be dressed up or down for just about anything.  The color is great, and I've received tons of compliments on it-- people are shocked when I tell them Old Navy!  It's marked down on the website now, and ON is always running some type of sale-- stock up!  There is no doubt in my mind that I'll add another color to my rotation before too long.

6. Old Navy Stretch Jersey Tank Dress in "black stripe"

Again with the dress-- get on with your stylish self, Old Navy!  I've worn this a handful of times as well, with a cardi to work and always with a belt, or else my waist looks like an Alice in Wonderland illusion with the wavy stripes.

I'm still on the hunt for a great white eyelet top for the summer, so nothing too terribly heavy or tight-- I'm all about the flowy, tunic-y top for a hot summer day.  Also a requirement: must not break the bank.  I've found a hundred and one white eyelet options for my 3 month old niece but nada for myself.  Hm, is that a sign that white eyelet no longer works for adults?  The things I ponder...

After an appointment with my Sports Medicine MD last week, I was also informed that my ol' faithful flip flops aren't going to cut it for appropriate support during my commute to/from work each day, so I think I'm finally going to bite the bullet and invest in a pair of Sperry's.  I really need the support and on rainy days in my flip flops I live in constant fear of face-planting on a slippery sidewalk.  A boat shoe should take care of that chance, right?  Plus they can definitely be matched with skirts and dresses better than a sneaker can.  A few styles I'm loving (any input is appreciated!):

Women's Audrey Slip-On Patent Boat Shoe (in navy)

Women's Bluefish 2-Eye Boat Shoe

color: sand

Women's Angelfish Slip-On Boat Shoe

color: linen oat

Happy Thursday, lovelies!

Boston, you're (now) my home.

Sunday morning brought a routine that's been absent from my weekends for quite some time.

My alarm woke me at 6am and I fumbled to the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, and strap my heart rate monitor on.  As a cup of coffee brewed, I pulled on my new Lululemon running top and laced up my ol' faithful Brooks, calling to Brian one last time that it was "REALLY time to get up."

After 5 months of pretty much zero running, I was going to run a 5k.  A few months ago, at the insistence of my friend and coworker Meridith, I agreed to sign up to run the Boston Athletic Association Distance Medley-- a 5k in April (the day before the Boston Marathon), a 10k in June, and a half in October.  While I've been working out, it certainly hasn't been with the intention of running a race, so to say that the 5k snuck up on me is a bit of an understatement.  After a lot of self-talk, both positive and negative, I came to an agreement with myself-- this was not going to be my best 5k.  It would not be my fastest race, and I honestly wasn't even sure if I would be able to run the full race (yes, that would be 3.1 mile doubts from the girl who trained to run a marathon half a year ago), BUT... I was going to try and I would give it my all.

View of the Hancock Tower, driving in to the city

Brian, my ever-faithful photographer and cheerer on-er, drove me in and walked with me through the thousands of runners to pick-up my number and race shirt, gave me a good luck kiss, and headed off to set-up further down the course.  After ten minutes or so of jumping around to keep warm (it was FREEZING), the clock struck 8am and we were off.  

As I chugged my way down Boylston Street towards the Common and around the Public Garden, I couldn't help but smile to myself and think how much I love running through downtown Boston.  We all made the curve down Newbury Street then wove over to Comm Ave and I was reminded of how much I love this street, full of old brownstones, couples walking to brunch, families sitting on their front stoops to cheer the runners on.  As we headed towards Charlesgate I looked up and saw the infamous Citgo sign ahead of me and felt a surge of energy to push myself up the last little hill.  My eyes started searching for the street that I was so looking forward to running down and then I saw it: Hereford, and as myself and the other 10+ minute milers made the turn onto that little street and a left onto Boylston, the cheering of the crowd absolutely amplified and I looked up to see the famous Boston Marathon finish line ahead of me right in the heart of Copley Square.  Not knowing what else to do, I pulled my earbuds out and let the moment soak in, and as I crossed the finish line I couldn't help but break into the biggest grin.

26.2 miles it was not, but I had run a 5k, my first race in months, without stopping and with the final step across the finish line of THE Boston Marathon.  My heart was full and happy, in a way that I think only fellow runners could understand.  My race was much smaller compared to what 27,000 runners would face the following day, but I crossed in the same spot that the most elite runners in the world would also stand, and that feeling is amazing.

A quick picture in Copley Square-- please excuse the shine.  

The finish line is behind me (you can see the tiny bit of orange right above my head).  

The Boston Public Library is directly covered by the tree on the left, and Trinity Church is on the right.

Yesterday, April 15th, was Patriot's Day here in Massachusetts.  My company observes the holiday so I had the day off, but Brian had to go in so I dropped him off at the train and proceeded with my Day of Katie, which sounds much more indulgent than it was.  I wrapped up on the couch with George, Sam, Robin and Josh while enjoying a blueberry iced coffee and delightful breakfast, courtesy of moi.  I had big plans to try out a new running path later in the afternoon but knew that I wanted to watch as much of the marathon coverage as I could.

As I sat there, sipping my coffee and watching the local news people interview the spectators and chat with runners before the race began, I felt teary.  I think that a part of it was craving that moment for myself, to be at the start of the marathon and about to endure something that you've trained so hard for, but the majority of me just felt pure excitement for every single person on that course.  Whether it was for the elite athletes racing to place with their time, or the average athlete (that would be me) lining up for their first official 26.2 miles, the excitement was THERE.  It was palpable and strong enough to have me considering going in to watch the race near Kenmore Square, walking distance from my office.  At one point I started picking up around the apartment and doing the little things that I wanted to do before the end of the day, thinking that if I was going to go in to watch the race, that I'd want it all taken care of when we came home later that evening.  

But something made me sit back down.  I was riding high on my large coffee and could probably have shot energy through my fingertips, but somewhere in between scrubbing the stove and fluffing/Febreezing the couch cushions, this overwhelming sense of tired came over me, and I thought "Meh, I'll hang home and avoid the crazy crowds today."  

I've never in all of my life felt so grateful for exhaustion.

So I parked myself back on the couch and simultaneously Googled "how to qualify for Boston marathon" (liquid coffee courage) while watching the winners break the tape, the elite athletes follow closely behind, and then the normal runners-- my favorites-- start to trickle through.  

Coverage ended around 1:30, so I decided to head out and tackle my run at the park.  It was a gorgeous day-- sunny enough to warm the chilled air but not balmy by any means, so perfect running weather.  Driving back home, I felt very at peace and content.  I was thinking of all of the runners on the course and how it was such a perfect day to run a marathon.  The first thing I did when I walked in my door was check the status of the runner friends whom I was tracking.  I noticed that one, running mama Kristin, was right at Mile 25, so I figured I'd have enough time to jump in the shower and be out in time to see her "cross" the finish online.  

It was about 2:45pm.

As I stood to walk to the shower, one of Brian's cousins who works for a prominent news show in New York called me.

"Katie, do you have Jeff's phone number?"
"Sure, what's up?"

"There are reports that there was a bombing at the marathon finish line."
"... He's working at the finish line today."
"I know, I have to try and get in touch with him."

Honestly, after giving her the number, I hung up and didn't think anything of it.  Part of her job is to get informed tips before anyone else, so my thought process was "It's the BOSTON MARATHON-- nothing like that would ever happen.  I'm sure everything is fine."

Post-shower, I could hear my phone vibrating like crazy.  I knew that my mom had the day off and figured that it was likely her, calling to tell me something cute that their newly adopted cat (deemed Brother Alex by the brother and I, since Mom insists on calling it our sibling...) had done, so I ignored it and got dressed, dawdling in my room a bit.

When I picked up my phone and saw 6 missed calls from home and a screen full of text messages, I felt all of the color drain from my face.  I didn't think that that actually happened, but I can tell you-- I'm pretty sure it can happen because I went from feeling wonderful to absolutely terrified in a matter of seconds.  "Home" calling again so I answered as I changed the channel to the local news station... and there it all was.

And I lost it a little.

My first instinct was to find people.  I knew that I had runners who hadn't yet finished, and that their families and friends were waiting somewhere along the course.  I had friends working the race-- Brian's cousin's company monitors the time tracking, so he was at the finish line all day, and two coworkers were volunteering in the area.  My friend Meridith had VIP tickets to sit in the grandstands right at mile 26 to watch and cheer people through the end.  I've never felt that feeling before, of knowing that something horrendous has happened, that you have people in the middle of it, and that you have no. idea. how to find them and make sure they're okay.

Slowly, in between calling home just to have my mom and dad on the phone and bawling my eyes out, I called and texted everyone that I needed to find.

Brian's office is close to 20 minutes away from the area, so I knew that he would technically be "safe," but in that moment there was nothing that I needed to hear more than his voice on the other end of the phone, saying the words "I'm okay."  His office wasn't releasing anyone early, so he ended up staying until a little before 5pm and taking the train home.

Jeff, Brian's cousin, had been released from his position at the finish at 2:30, just 20 minutes before the explosions, and was halfway home.  

Meridith was sitting in the bleachers in between the two explosions but across the street, and made her way back to her apartment in Cambridge, courtesy of a ride offered by a stranger, around 4pm.

Caitlin and Andrew were at a friend's apartment a significant ways away from the incident but still in the city and about 2 miles away-- close, according to my own standards.  They stayed put for awhile and eventually made their way back home.  

My runner friends were stopped around Mile 25 and at least one managed to cross the alternate finish line.  She knew that her husband and one of her daughters were waiting for her at the end and she ran those last 1.2 miles knowing that an explosion had happened but having no idea where her family had ended up-- I cannot even begin to fathom that feeling (they did reunite later, healthy and safe).

For the next two hours, I couldn't move from in front of the TV-- I felt like I just couldn't absorb enough of the coverage and I didn't want to stop watching or even turn the television off.  I sat with my hair in a towel, crying, answering texts and calls from family and friends to let them know I was okay, and thank God for keeping me home and away from it all.  

At one point I decided to put Facebook to use and posted a note that Brian and I were both safe and away from downtown, and logged off.  

When I checked in two hours later, the number of messages and prayers that My People sent my way sent me into tears again.  It may sound silly, but while I always know that my loved ones love me, it's amazing to see that love on full display.  Everyone from aunts and uncles to people I graduated high school with left a comment to let me know that I was in their thoughts and prayers.  One guy, whom I've never technically been "friends" with but have known since preschool, said this: 

Good to hear. I know I don't know you well but I heard "Boston" and "marathon" and remembered your running blog/living in Boston. Didn't know whether you ran today but good that everyone is safe.

People came out of the woodwork to say that they were thinking of me and Brian, and we were lucky enough to not have been directly affected at all.  Few things have ever made me feel so blessed, so cared for, and so loved.

The rest of the evening was just... unsettling.  The news channels started playing the same video over and over, and I reached a point where I just couldn't watch it anymore.  Brian poured me a glass of wine and I watched Rachel and Brad on Bravo and tried to zone out, for just a little bit to clear my mind.

Didn't work.  

An hour of tossing and turning finally gave way to sleep, but I must have woken up three other times throughout the night to check my phone for updates.  I was wide awake when my alarm went off at 6:15am, and today was "business as usual" for both of us in the city, so I woke up and started to go about my day.

I'm not going to lie and say that I felt awesome and confident about coming into Boston today.  I work in a largely populated area and take public transportation-- I was scared.  A part of me feels like that's the wrong emotion to have because that's what they, whoever did this, want.  They want us to feel scared and worry about the chance that this may not be over.  What if this wasn't a one-time thing and as soon as we all collect our thoughts, another incident happens?  I'm a very positive person, and I try not to dwell on the past and on the negatives, but I've never been this close to something like this before and the thought that our city has been hurt and is threatened is so scary.  

A small consolation is that it's not just me-- everyone is on edge.  Walking in to my office today, I couldn't help but notice how everyone still looked a little stunned.  A man dropped his phone by accident on my bus this morning and when it hit the floor and made a loud noise, a woman screamed.  There were lines of state police officers and National Guard soldiers lined up at my train stop, and that's a pretty unsettling sight usually... but it completely comforted me today.

This may not be my hometown, but Boston is now my home, and as scared as I am about what has happened, I am also ANGRY.  I am angry for the families who have lost loved ones.  I am angry for the victims who have suffered this horrendous tragedy and for the injuries that they've sustained.  I am angry for the spectators who came out to cheer on the runners at the part of the race when that last push means the world-- through the finish.  

Most significantly to me, I am angry for the runners.  The day of the Boston Marathon is such an amazing, celebrated day.  People come out in droves to cheer on these amazing athletes, from the fastest ultramarathoner who qualified without even trying, to the 62 year old grandmother who's running for a charity.  To be there and cheering with all of your heart is something to be experienced, a feeling that you can't quite put your finger on but that just makes you feel so content and happy and united on Marathon Monday.  

The glory and celebration of this day was robbed from the runners, and I feel for them.  How can you truly feel victorious at this accomplishment when there's such tragedy overshadowing it?  My heart goes out to every single runner, whether they crossed the finish line or not, because they deserve to feel proud and accomplished for tackling this goal and finishing as much as they could finish before they were stopped on the course.  I would pray that they do not feel guilt for wanting to feel proud of their accomplishment, because they so deserve that moment to shine, if anything to shine through all of the shadows right now.  The stories that blew my mind yesterday were of runners crossing the finish line and continuing to run to the hospitals to donate blood, or turning right back around to help the victims.  

I don't know what the purpose of this attack was.  I don't know why it happened at such a celebratory event, why it happened at the time that it did, what the terrorists aimed to accomplish.  What I do know is that the last thing that this did was push Boston apart.  If anything, this city is the strongest that I've ever seen it.  There's very much a "If you mess with one of us, you've messed with us all" kind of vibe, and that puts my mind at ease just a little bit more than it was yesterday.

The running community has come together and vowed that we will not stop running.  This will not prevent us from putting one foot in front of the other and pounding the pavement all across the city.  Is it scary to think that events like this are being targeted?  Yes.  I'm running NYC this fall and am terrified-- now a marathon has been struck and it's in Boston; what could happen in New York?

But I can't let myself think like that because I'll honestly never leave my bed.  I'm facing the world and Boston today with my faith and hope for the victims and their families, for law enforcement to find who did this, for all people who were in the area and were first responders without a thought in their mind to stop them.  

As for me, I'm going to just keep on doing what I feel like I'm meant to do- run without pause, without doubt, always with meaning, always with purpose.

Driving home from the 5k on Sunday morning-- with my medal.

Old.

During a routine stop at Target this past Friday night, I wandered over to the face products to check out a new moisturizer... and eye cream.  Hey, it's never too early to prevent, right?

So as I'm debating between L'Oreal's YouthCode line and my regular Garnier, I hear "Are you looking for something in particular?"  I turn to my right to see a young, springy blonde sales associate who is spreading the word about a lesser-known line that I've honestly never even noticed on the shelves.

I am one of those people who cannot say no to someone who's offering help, even though I really just wanted to browse in peace.  "Oh, well... I'm looking for a new night moisturizer and eye cream, but really just browsing for now.  Thanks though!"

A few minutes passed as I browsed (I'd inched my way the opposite way down the aisle) and I hear "Would you like to try a sample of one of our products?"

Now, I may like to shop alone, but I'm ALL ABOUT a free sample.  

"Okay sure, why not."
"Wonderful!  Do you mind if I ask your age?"
"I'm 27."
"Okay, let's check out the products from our anti-aging line."

What... the hell.

When did 27 become old?!  I'm not aging (yet).  I like to think I'm making good moves by prepping my skin now for what's to come down the road.  But WHAT THE HELL.  I think I subconsciously blacked out for a moment as I tried to process the fact that my age is now factored towards being of the older age.  

Am I in denial?  I know I'm not a baby anymore, and there was something admittedly a tiny bit daunting when I turned 27-- it's officially "late 20s," and although the thought of turning 30 in three years isn't scary, the thought of leaving my 20s kind of is.  

Ah, well-- it is what it is. 

Spring Fever

There are always a handful of times throughout the year when I'm homesick for my Texas, my home, my state.  Yes, I do claim ownership and I guarantee that nearly every Texan you meet will claim the great Lone Star State as their own.  We love it individually as one independent, united "country" of dedicated people.  Dedicated to our home, of course.

Missing "home" is separate from missing my family-- a piece of my heart is always missing my people, and always will.  When I miss my Texas I miss certain, particular things about the state: the generosity of people, "y'all" scattered throughout conversations, going to the HEB or the Walmart, the thrill of high school Friday night football, and my foods: Chick-fil-a, Whataburger, and OH! the taquerias... But very rarely do I miss the weather.  A big plus about living in the northeast is actually having four seasons  to enjoy throughout the year-- the changing leaves in the fall, warm summers that cool down in the evenings, all of the snow that I would sit up and wait and pray for as a kiddo on Glenwood Drive.  Texas is pretty much two seasons: scorching heat and "winters" in the 60s, so when I moved to Boston I was pumped for all of the seasons.

However, when the snow is still wanting to play and it's mid-March in Boston, I'm missing the weather at home.  The sunsets of absolute perfections.  Warm spring mornings when you can hear the owls outside, and the warm spring evenings when the crickets arrive and settle in for the summer.  The way the clouds move across the fields when a Blue Norther blows into town.  The hot, sweltering summers when a dip in the pool and a jar of sweet tea makes it tolerable.

The fever is for spring, and I have it big time.  My pale, pale legs are needing to see the sun so very badly.  I want to throw open the windows and air the apartment out without freezing Brian to death (I still turn off the heat and open the windows when I clean, 30 degree temps outside or not).  As much as I love scarves and tights and riding boots, I am d-o-n-e DONE for this winter, thankyouverymuch.

Saturday was busybusy and the weather was getting there but still super chilly and windy.  I babysat that evening for my 3 fav boys and they were pumped for their flagfootball kickoff the next morning because there's still snow on the ground.  Since I got there around bedtime, we stayed in the basement and played a rousing game of "Doodle Dice."  

About 30 seconds after I announced it was bedtime, the boys went batshit crazy and were running around tackling each other, screaming, hysterically laughing.  Tough babysitter had to come out for a moment there, and after I'd settled them down and tucked them in, I parked myself on the couch where I noticed this glorious, humorous scene:

I hope that my future mama days reflect this exactly-- a nearly full wine rack, accessorized by a Lego truck, because mama needs the wine when she's built Lego vehicles all day long.

Sunday was gorgeous here and the first little glimpse we've had at spring.  After a workout and breakfast, courtesy of Brian, I took the afternoon for a bit of "me time" and headed out to shop for a bit and get a fresh mani and pedi.  

Driving down the highway (with the sunroof open and Mumford and Sons as my soundtrack), I couldn't help but smile and feel this overwhelming feeling of contentment.  It was one of those absolutely perfect post-winter days where the sky is so blue and cloudless and clean, the sun is shining bright and warming your skin, and everything just felt right and whole in my heart.

After browsing around Loft for an hour or so, I made my way to the checkout line with an armful of new work clothes (how unfun is THAT?) but couldn't help but see all of the perfectly springy colors around me.  It took all that I had to not add a pair of these babies to my pile:

I mean really-- the cute brightness is almost too much to handle.

I convinced myself to wait until warmer weather to buy anything that I can't immediately wear, but watch out shorts-- I'll be back for you.  

My next stop was the nail spot and I couldn't have left any happier-- my nails are Essie "Come Here" and the toes are Essie "Wife Goes On," which are basically spring perfection.  Our evening ended with a homemade chicken pot pie, requested by Brian (he starts his new job today, whoop!), wine, and a little light reading, courtesy of Ina.

After flipping through this cookbook, I want to pull a Julie and cook my way through every recipe, though I fear that would counteract my weight loss efforts pretty significantly.  Nonetheless, I bookmarked at least every other page for a recipe and CANNOT WAIT to start trying them out.

March Madness: the novel

Busy doesn't quite describe my life lately-- there legitimately are NOT enough hours in the day!  We've had something to do every weekend for the past month, and the next few days are no exception.  At least it's been a fun kind of busy, and I've been better at remembering to take pictures!

1. We spent the first weekend in March driving down to Baltimore to visit Brian's sister and brother-in-law, and of course our nephew...

Little Man

(seriously, this makes my heart so full)

and our brand new niece, Little Miss!

meet Meredith Kate, born 2/19 (one week after big brother turned 2!)

Serious baby love going on for Aunt Katie

Holy sweetness, little girl.

We had an absolute blast-- Colin is at such a fun age right now.  He has the funniest little personality and he KNOWS it, and boy will he milk that humor for all it's worth.  With little sister now in the mix, he's also testing mom and dad and pulling the whole "I'll throw a fit and then check them out from the corner of my eye to see if they're reacting."  I have to keep telling Brian he can't laugh and encourage the little guy but it's so hard, even when he's acting awful (I wonder what that says about our future parenting skills...).  

One evening Colin would not touch his dinner, so his mama said "No treats if you don't eat your supper."  We tried every trick in the book, from the airplane (after which he immediately stuck out his tongue and everything else in his mouth), firmness (he legitimately swung his arms around and, I swear, cast a spell on me.  Or swore at me in toddlerese), and reasoning (this was Brian: "Colin, here's what we're going to do.  You're going to take three bites, and then we're going to _____.  Ok?" And then a spoon was thrown.)  

Aside from the crazy toddler rage, there are moments that just melt me and remind me how much I love this little one.  One morning he was sitting on Brian's lap and I was on the floor tying his shoe.  As I was finishing, Brian subtly tapped my shoulder so I looked up and our Little Man was staring straight at me with the most content little baby smile and said "Daku Kakie" (toddlerese for: Thank you, Katie.)

And then my ovaries fluttered.

Somewhere in between fluttering ovaries and now, more frigging snow found Massachusetts.  We went to bed last Thursday evening expecting to get a few inches of the fluffy white stuff, which is fine-- I can deal with that.  Friday morning I woke up at 4:45 and got dressed to head to the gym.  When I opened the downstairs door to leave, shock occurred in two stages:

1. Fudge, that's a lot of snow!

2. Why are the fucking roads not. plowed. at. all.

The fudge was the excitement that this Texan still feels when it snows.  The fuck was the realization that nary a single plow had made its way through the streets and there was no way we could get out of our apartment complex to go to work if the roads weren't plowed.  This was not an amount of snow you could easily drive over.  When I tried to walk across the street to the gym that morning, the snow was higher than my mid-calf snow boots and it was not slowing down a bit.  Needless to say, the gym didn't happen at that moment.  I made my way back inside to email my office to let them know I would be working from home, and woke Brian up to make sure I wasn't overexaggerating how much snow seemed to be coming down.  When he blearily looked out of the window and mumbled that he would also be working from home, back into bed I climbed (remember, this was 5 mother-lovin' AM).  

When we woke up around 7:30 to log-in to our computers, the storm was still in full-force.

By the time noon rolled around, I was going snowcrazy (and needed a little breathing room from Brian), so I decided since the roads weren't plowed for me to make my way to the gym, I'd just shovel the car out for my workout.  

Holy. Hell.

This was AFTER digging the right side and back out, plus wiping down the top of the car.

And then I turned the corner to see this.  And yes-- that would be snow up to the side-view mirror on the drivers side.

After a full 45 minutes of shoveling (while the snow continued to pummel me), I sent Brian an SOS text with these pictures attached.  He came to help but still-- ENOUGH WITH THE SNOW.

The second weekend in March (as in last weekend) had me back on the road.  A cousin (on my dad's side, in Connecticut) is expecting her first baby in mid-April, and her baby shower was last Saturday.  So after driving the 7 hours to Baltimore the previous weekend, I was in the car and on the road by 9:30 Saturday morning to go back in the same general direction.  

I did not want to go.  Well, I wanted to go to the shower.  I did NOT want the drive (6 hours roundtrip) and that morning EVERYTHING went wrong.  I let myself sleep half an hour later than I'd planned and hit roadblock after roadblock from the moment my feet hit the floor AT 7AM... GOOD GRACIOUS, I should cut myself some more slack on the weekends but no... No, I was up frantically plucking my eyebrows and curling my hair and searching for tights.  

On top of that, Brian needed his car for the day so I'd rented a car, and we realized that not only was I late to pick up the car but that we'd left the cord to our GPS in Maryland. Do you know what's not helpful in Massachusetts at 9am on the day you need to go on a road trip three hours away?  A frigging cord in MARYLAND.  Cue the tears.  Macgyver Brian managed to sort through our bag o' cords (you know you have one too) and found a substitute to connect the damn Garmin to the power outlet in the car.  Once tears were shed, dried and I had a large iced tea from Dunkins, I was on my way.

And really, as much as I was dreading the time alone on the drive, I had the best. time.  BY MYSELF.  You know what you kind of treasure on occasion when you live with someone?  Time BY YOURSELF.

I memorized every word to "Suit and Tie."  Kelly and I belted how our lives would suck without you/him.  My abs got a serious in-seat workout from all of my waist-up dancing.  'Twas magical.

Gorgeous, perfect day.

I so obviously should have taken the "COOOL BUS" to Connecticut.

As long of a day as it was, it was so nice to be around the ladies in my family for an afternoon. 

my gorgeous cousin lida

The lunch and company were wonderful, I was there just long enough to justify a glass of wine before driving back, and the mama-to-be made out like a bandit with her new baby stuff.  Unfortunately I didn't get a picture with my cousin, but she's feeling great and is well on her way to adding the new little addition to their family!

Somehow the drive home flew by SO much faster and I had the fabulous boyfriend waiting to take me out to dinner, and with a quick outfit change, fresh curls, and a large glass of post-mini road trip wine, we were off to our favorite little local place.  

Now, I'd asked him earlier in the day to call and make a reservation, since we'd be getting to the restaurant around 8pm on a Saturday-- peak date night time, right?  He insisted it wouldn't be needed, so he didn't do it.  Needless to say, when we walked in and saw the wall of people, he was regretting the decision immensely.  We/I called our three dinner back-ups and they all said there was a 45 minute-1 hour wait, and boyfriend was not having it.  I personally am just fine to have a drink at the bar while waiting for a table, but he is quite insistent that when he's hungry, he's hungry and we should eat soon.  I told him I wasn't eating McDonald's for supper so he could just choose his place to batten down the hatches and deal with a wait.  We ended up at The Fours, where, upon the first sip of a Guinness, he happily settled down at the bar to chat with his arm candy (psh, right) and follow the various games.  We may not have eaten until close to 9:30, but a date night with my man is a good night in my book, period.

love him.

The THIRD weekend in March, our Littles made the trip to Boston with their mama and daddy-- yes friends, that's an 8 hour car ride with an active toddler and a two week old newborn.  We ended up staying at Brian's parents house all weekend so we could spend as much time with the babes as possible, and it worked out... pretty well.  The crib is in the room that M&R sleep in, so they put Colin's pack-n-play in our room.  This was fine and dandy until Colin threw up right before bedtime on Friday night and Meg told me to listen for "a very distinct wet cough" which would almost positively be immediately followed by more sickness.

Y'all.  I don't think I slept a solid hour that night (a peek into my future with babies, perhaps?)-- every single rustle, whine, dream-cry, and anything resembling a cough had me perched at the end of the bed, peering into the dang pack-n-play to see if he was okay.  When he woke up bright-eyed and cheerful at 7am, I pulled him into bed with us, found Thomas on YouTube, handed my phone over to Brian to monitor him and headed to the shower.  Repeat again Saturday night and Sunday night.  In all honesty, I love this little man so much, I didn't mind it at all.  

yep, he's my favorite.

Ryan (Brian's BIL) and I are the cooks of the family and decided to have a corned beef and cabbage cook-off on Saturday night.  While he made a traditional boiled dinner, I roasted my corned beef and made garlic mashed red potatoes.  At the end we forgot it was a challenge and ate a little of everything, but the verdict from all was that the boiled dinner is definitely more traditional, but the roasted corned beef definitely makes for a better next day sandwich.  

The wine came out (may I just mention that I love Brian's grandmother, DeeDee, with all of my heart.  She will sip her wine with the best of us, and is the baby whisperer.  She has spunk and it just adds to the perfection that is DeeDee.  She's about the next best thing I can think of to my own MaMaw) and Brian's mom had happened to record Justin Timberlake on Jimmy Fallon all week, and his SNL.  Because NSYNC was the prime time for me, Meghan and Bridget, we proceeded to sing and dance through the living room song after song.  I feel like I may have revealed embarrassing information about my past life when NSYNC rocked my world, but I can't be sure.  However, I can absolutely confirm that you may not hear a teenybopper song for years, but the minute that you do, every frigging dance move comes right back to you (DDDDirrrty Pop, y'all!).  Brian finally called my night and we headed to bed.

Sunday was St. Patricks Day!!  It is honestly one of my favorite holidays, and I have the best memories growing up and celebrating with my Daddy (and Mama and brother of course, but Daddy takes the cake with his celebratory moves for The Day of The Irish).  The Quiet Man was always on TV, corned beef and cabbage on the stove, and his obnoxious, knitted pompom hat (green with pompoms the color of the Irish flag) was on his head.  

We woke up that morning, made huge cups of Irish coffee, and I threw together corned beef hash for everyone.  Scituate is called "The Irish Riviera" and you can't throw a stone without hitting a McCarthy, Donnelly, or a boy named Sean/Shawn/Shaun.  Since there's such a big population of my fellow lads and lassies, there's an annual St. Patrick's parade through the town!  Brian's parents live on a culdesac right on the parade routes, so tons of friends and family meet at the house, we pregame a bit, then walk 30 seconds to the end of the street to watch.  

katie and katie!

It is sublime.

Brian's dad had Colin on his shoulders for most of the parade so I stayed back and rolled Meredith in her stroller for the entire time so Meg and Ryan could take pictures of Colin and have fun with him.  I may have pretended (in my head, not outloud) that she was mine and played Mommy for an hour.  I may have also had had 1 or 3 adult beverages by that point (no worries, baby girl snoozed away in her tomb-like covered stroller through the fire truck sirens and bagpipes).  

Post-parade we all headed back to the house for snacks, more beverages, and my Irish carbomb cupcakes.  Guinness in the cupcake batter, Jameson in the chocolate ganache filling, Baileys in the whipped icing.  These were a mother of an effort, but so. tasty.

We spent the rest of the afternoon doing a whole lotta nothing.  Well, everyone else did.  I spent my time doing this:

girlfriend knocked out like this for over two hours.

absolutely love this picture.  he's still not all that sure what to do with a newborn... but he's learning.

So that's been our March in a nutshell.  It takes me forever to blog because the thought of uploading all of the pictures is overwhelming, but I'd really like to get back to having my blog as a way for my family and friends at home to keep up with me.  It may be the venti Skinny Cinn. Dolce Latte that I just inhaled, but I'm feeling pumped to be back in the blogging world!

Chasing the fairytale.

Regardless of today being a holiday and the third day of my lovely long weekend, I was in a funk.  Not for the entire day, and as of now I've shaken it, but still... I was rocking the moodiness for a good part of the afternoon.  

I woke up and watched the Season 3 finale of Downton (holy lover, what the heck Julian Fellowes?!  Dare I say believe in a fairytale ending every now and then?), then made breakfast for me and Brian.  Somewhere between debating getting in the shower and catching up on the DVR, the wave of blah came over me.  I know exactly what caused it, what's prompting it.

Today, at 27 and three months old, I feel behind the curve.  Big things are happening to friends and family, and I can't help but (semi-selfishly) feel like I'm being left behind.  Girls younger than me are getting engaged, babies are being born, couples are getting married, houses are being bought... and I want that.  All of that.  I know that it will come in time, that I'm not technically "old," that when the time is right things will fall into place blah blah blah.  

Believe me, I've come leaps and bounds from where I was when I first moved to Boston.  Growing up in Texas raised me with the mindset of "the younger the better"-- I'd always been convinced that I would meet my future husband in college, be married by 22, have babies by 23, and be a mom of 3 or 4 before I was 30.  I would be a stay-at-home mom and we would have the perfect dog and live in the perfect house and I would be on the Junior League and life would all just be... perfect.

Fast-forward to the wisdom of 27 years and a culture shock.  

I know that I would not have been prepared to be a wife and mom at 23 years old.  I'm sure that if my life had fallen into place a different way then I certainly would have prepared myself and felt blessed and happy, but now that I'm out of the daily picture of that lifestyle, I cannot help but think "What's the RUSH?"  Will I be able to bring more to the table as a wife at the age I am now than I would have been at the inexperienced age of 23?  I think yes.  In my own relationship, there's been a sense of maturity that has grown between us as a couple and that has definitely come with age and experience and I think the ups and downs of living in the real world together, not just through dorm rooms and lectures, builds you as an individual, which only makes you stronger as half of a couple.  Ten years ago, I would have thought that getting married in my late 20s meant I was on my way to spinsterhood, but my how the tables have turned.

I admittedly have baby fever and swoon over teeny outfits and want to snuggle little ones just that extra second longer, and I absolutely cannot wait to be a mom.  But honestly, there are still times when we babysit our nephew and at the end of the day it is NICE to send him back to mom and dad.  I would still love to be a stay-at-home mom but now realize that would mean doing some kind of work out of my home and not just stopping work completely, at least in the early years of being a mom.  For as long as I can remember I've just wanted to be a mom-- I never had the big ambitious career goals of running a company or having multiple degrees to my name.  I've always known that I would work in a job that makes me happy and then take the next step towards having babies, and that part I can't wait for.  I have friends that had babies younger and they're amazing, wonderful, exceptional mamas, and I respect them so much.  Regardless, I know that that wasn't in my plan for a reason.  

It took me a long time, longer than most, to really figure myself out and figure out what I wanted.  Once you've figured out yourself and your partner and are able to remove the selfish wants and needs from your equation, I feel like that's the time for a baby.  Right now, I still feel a little selfish with my time, and I wouldn't trade the past 5 years for anything-- I certainly wouldn't have had the experiences that I've had with a family of my own.  I know that I've had a chance to live a life that I wouldn't have had if I didn't take the chance that I did and move to Boston, and I certainly wouldn't have met Brian.  As much as I may say all of this, there are still times that I want it to be MY time to shine (there's the selfishness again).  Everyone deserves a chance to be in the spotlight for something amazing, and today I felt a very pity-party feeling of it's my turn, I want something to happen for me, I want something to happen for us.  

Like many ladies in relationships with The One, I can't wait to get engaged.  We've certainly talked about it and I know it will happen soon, but the waiting game is a BITCH.  Despite all of my ranting to friends of "For the love, can it just HAPPEN already?!" if we were to have been a younger married couple, I honestly don't know if it would have been in our cards to make it in the long run.  

We've been dating 5 1/2 years now and in that time we have learned the good, bad, and ugly about each other. The dirty, gritty things that you need to know about someone to truly know them as a person.  We've been together through amazing experiences and heartbreaking circumstances.  We've laughed until we cried and fought until there were no words.  We spent our first two years long distance (he went to school in upstate NY, I was in Boston) and as challenging as that time was, it laid the best foundation for our relationship.  You can't be 6 hours away from someone and see them only on long weekends and holidays without trust, communication, compromise and a fucking LOT of determination and love.  It was so hard, but it made the time that we had together during those two years so much more valued, and the reunion once we were both graduated a million times better because we knew we could actually look together towards what lay ahead for us.  

At the end of the day, I know that Brian knows me better and loves me more than anyone.  He knows that I love to cook and will always volunteer to bring more than I should and will cry and stress out but produce something amazing to take to a party or get-together; that I'll watch Sleepless in Seattle whenever I see it on TV; that Hallmark commercials and stray animals in movies will make me cry; that I love his nephew like he's my own blood; that I really want to be Sandra Bullock's BFF; that my family and his family are my most important people.  He also knows the other side: my faults, the things that drive him up the wall, things that can be compromised and worked on and the other things that are just a part of me (I'm always going to cry too easily.  I'm never going to like when you scare me.  Your socks in the middle of the floor are always going to piss me off just a little.  Okay, a lot.)  For all of my good and bad, he loves me and shows me that he loves me, and I feel so lucky for that.

Yes, patience is a virtue, and one that I'm not so great at observing.  Obviously, this is something I need to work on.  The next time that I get in a funk at times when it seems like everyone is moving forward and I'm just a little left in the dust, I'll remind myself that everything is worth the wait.  In the end my own fairytale will happen, and it will be perfect because it is mine, because it is ours.

In the meantime, I will be so happy for the new baby our family will welcome this week.

For the cousins who adopted a shelter pup today.

For my best friend and her husband who've decided to start a family.

For everything in my life that IS going according to plan.  A plan different than the one I've always imagined for myself, but MY own plan.