Weekend in review

A few photos from a lovely weekend.

A rare Friday off: we took Annie to French Creek State Park.  It's like you're driving - and driving - and it's woods everywhere, and all of the sudden is  a splash of aquamarine and a dazzling swimming pool next to the park's lake.  It was really lovely. Annie didn't think it was all that neat and simply tolerated the two of us taking her into the water.

And then, Saturday.  We walked the city with my sister Kristen and her boyfriend, Chris.  Here is Chris, Matt, and Annie at brunch spot Kanella.

And then an impromptu visit to Aunt Priscilla's new digs in the city.

And on Sunday Annie met Micah, the 3 1/2 month old son of our friends Lauren and Jesse.  I think she's playing hard to get in this photo.

A Perfect Sunday

The above four photographs are from a late afternoon walk today in Valley Forge.  We often walk this river trail .  First with Penny.  Now with baby in tow.

There's a whole lotta love in this photo.

We were gifted with leaves and leaves of basil so Matt made homemade mozzarella (on the plate), and I made a pesto with almonds we had in the freezer.

The two bath photos are from a few days ago; we've taken to give Annie baths in the sun room this past week.

My (a bit older, and so much wiser) co-worker has this saying: "Eat the meat, and spit out the bones".  She means that to absorb, chew, on the good stuff, and take the rest with a grain of salt.  It's a way to get through the utter BS of cubicle culture.  But I thought about it in a different way today as I was choosing what photographs to highlight in this entry.  This past week at work has been a a dizzying nightmare.  And I have been taking it home with me.  So I'm going to work harder - really hard - on leaving my Monday-Friday at work, and wholly absorbing my home life in that little girl, above.  Oh, and that boy, too - he's not half bad. :)   I've worked too hard to get where I am in my personal life to have a job gnaw at the edges of that beauty.

Yesterday Matt and I had a dinner out and saw his favorite comedian in the city (Paul F. Tompkins, with a surprise guest opening by John Hodgman - score!), and today we had a perfect and quiet Sunday whipping up baby food for the week (and some adult goodies for us, above) and ended the day with a riverside stroll.

So to the ugliness that was displayed to me this week: this - this - is sacred.  And you can't touch that.

(I'm already liking my new bad ass self.)

YAAAWWNNN

No one really talks about the general fatigue that accompanies Crohn’s. Now, granted, I am lazy (incredibly so, at times, as my laundry has sat on my floor for 2.5 weeks now), but ever since college I’ve felt more tired than usual. This was before I was diagnosed with Crohn’s and simply thought I have a very sensitive stomach. In the following years my symptoms worsened and could no longer be ignored, and I was diagnosed about a year after I graduated from college. But in school I recall going to my mother’s doctor – who I never had a particular fondness for (okay, my sister and I think she’s a witch) – and explaining I’d been feeling terribly sluggish and she essentially said it was in my head and to lose some weight. Lovely.

And it’s difficult to understand a disease that isn’t visible, and may even be controlled and in remission. I look fine, and recently I feel fine, but I’m often just, simply put, very tired. And I’m not talking about the exhaustion that comes along during a flare and you’re flat wiped out (but that too). I’m talking every day, excuse-me-while-I-yawn, a-good-3.5 hour-nap-in-bed-would-be-nice, how-am-I-going-to-get-through-the-workday tired.

This past week I’ve been wiped out. I come home, put on pajamas, and lay (lie? I never got that one right). I’m stressed, and thus, utterly exhausted. This blog post is not well-written: I cannot even muster the energy to pop in a witty quip! So it goes without saying I am completely excited that we’re having a big snow storm tonight. My bed is fitted with flannel sheets, I have silly glossy magazines galore, bad t.v. to catch up on, and I have all the fixin’s for potato and leek soup and homemade bread. I also just enrolled in a course to prep me for a professional certification and have 200 pages to read on labor laws and risk management this weekend. Sigh. I’m hoping the warm bread and the flannel sheets make up for it.

Have a terrific weekend, all. Snuggle with someone you love and have a cup of hot tea. Also, some delicious recipes are coming.

Zany (Z)antics at the Zoo

I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to go to the Philadelphia Zoo with two of my favorite people: Priscilla, my sister-in-law, and Matt (and, well, you know Matt). Here's a short pictorial of our day.

There are those dashing Hopkins siblings.

Me and my better half.

This baby croc was terrifying. He didn't move for a good five minutes, although his eyes followed you. Shudder.

This creature in the background was like a donkey-zebra. Matt hated it, so I made him pose with it. I really find nothing that insulting about a donkey-zebra, so I'm not sure where he gets off.

There is nothing better than a bronze (is it bronze?) statue and two willing family members to act pretend-terrified. Nothing.

Matt doing some nefarious with a hippo statue. (It's funny how all my photos are of statues and not real, live, animals.)

Pretend-milking a pretend cow. Obviously.

Gettin' frisky with the aforementioned pretend cow.

Well, well, well....the sign says, "Goat and Sheep Clubhouse: No Humans Please!" I see how it is. I'm lookin' at YOU, white goat. Elitist.

A giraffe is how I see myself in the animal world. You know, tall, elegant, regal, a lady...NO LAUGHING!

Nothin' like some frisky tribal paintings on the way to see the rhinos.

Speaking of risque...

One with the fish

When it's a rainy, stinkin' hot day, what else is there to do except go to the aquarium?

Just look at him. My husband. One day the future father of my children. Pure manly perfection, I tell you. Here he is waiting to get into the "4-D" Planet Earth/Spongebob feature. 4-D because water annoyingly squirts at you throughout the show. It was lovely.

You know. Just your average fun in the gift shop.

This is a very rare breed of sea life. (I cannot vouch for accuracy.)



This is the entrance to the "Virtual Shark Cage". Basically, it was a room that shook a bit and has a video of a shark coming at you, just like you were underwater in a shark cage. This is a real overheard exchange: Man in front of us to boy working "the cage": "Is it scary?" Employee: "No, sir. It's mainly for small children." The man, still fearful, then proceeded to hedge his bets and left. This is when Matt and I gleefully took his spot in line. Anything for "small children" is right up our alley.

This is me and some hot diver I met at the snark bar when Matt was preoccupied with the jellyfish tank (see below). Ignore my new boyfriend's plasticity and stiffness, please.

Now this is the good stuff...

Matt saw this, paused, took a deep breath, and said with awe in his voice, "This is beautiful." NO JOKE!

Uh....about 15 minutes?

The hippos were eating some watermelon. It looked very refreshing.

Matt: "It's your move, sharky..."

You know, it's just Nemo. Just residin' in Camden, NJ.

He actually said, "I'm going to put my head in that and you can take my picture!" NO JOKE.

This is just Matt softly caressing a shark.

Mock fear + huge jaws = great photo opp.

Perfect Sundays

Sunday is a double-edged sword; Monday looms but Sunday mornings just whisper, "Stay in a bed a little longer" and, "Who cares that you just got syrup on the comforter?" Every Sunday Matt or I makes the other breakfast. Matt is the pancake and waffle aficionado, and can make a mean omelet, flipping it in the skillet like those men at the omelet stations at fancy brunches. I tend toward scrambled eggs and muffins (it's hard to mess up either). Sometimes we make a bagel or donut run. Sunday mornings are not meant for cutting calories.

With food on our laps, and magazines and books strewn (and invariably the laptop out), we watch CBS' Sunday Morning. I love this show in all its old-timey delighfulness, especially because the host, Charles Osgood, wears bow ties and sometimes plays the piano: need I say more? (For those who haven't seen it, no, it's not in the vain of those wretched primetime "news" shows like Dateline. It's a hundred times more intelligent, thoughtful, and focuses more on the arts and culture.)

So Penny gets her breakfast kibble and licks the syrup off our plates after we're done eating (this morning we had summery blueberry pancakes and then polished an additional pint of them while clicking through the political round tables of Face the Nation, This Week, and Meet the Press). Recently, Matt has been doing countless house projects, so he usually gets up and leaves me to the NYT's "Celebrations" page (this is where the Times profiles engaged and recently married couples - it's a hoot comprised of Rockefellers and doctors' daughters - I wholeheartedly endorse viewing the video feature).

Right now Matt is sealing our driveway. I'm not sure what this entails, as we just had it paved last year. Now, after spending a small fortune on paving it, we have to seal it. The good thing is that I don't have to help (and yes, I offered, and yes, it was rather meekly, but regardless he said no. I did ask why he declined and he said the following, "You'll do it wrong and it will start a fight.") Nevermind I am reasonably intelligent and able-bodied - he thinks I do everything "wrong" (which is semi-true because I like to cut corners on everything, which means if you ask me to clean the bedroom, all the junk will go under the bed, and if you ask me to paint a room, I'll consider one coat good and done), so I just hold my tongue (for once) because it gets me out of the manual labor. Sometimes he asks what I've been doing all day (reading and watching Netflix, which he is keenly aware of), but I say something I always hear on made-for-tv movies, like, "I've been working to keep this house and family together, Matt!" Nevermind our family consists of just us and the dog, and my version of cleaning is hiding questionable items.

So happy Sunday to you - whether you're slathering sealant on the driveway or sweeping dust balls under the bed.