Picnic Week

It drives me absolutely nuts that Seth refuses to share the gym with me. We have a beautiful home gym with ridiculously expensive workout equipment in it, and we both love to work out. After pounding the roads pre-dawn all week, I consider it the height of luxury to sleep in on a weekend morning and then enjoy a leisurely workout in my own house. Especially now that the Woodway is up and running-- I swear it feels like you’re running on butter. Or maybe silk. Anyway, I hate that I don’t get to cheer on Seth’s progress in the gym anymore now that I’m no longer on the school schedule, and every weekend I beg him for a gym date. Inexplicably, still no dice. The man who ran a half marathon with me on what was basically our second date would now rather subsist on tofu and watch Lifetime than share space with me while I’m on the treadmill. Don’t get me wrong, I have no desire to share my regular workouts or lose out on the solitude of Friday long runs, but I had long harbored a daydream of being the cute newlywed couple swatting each other on the butt with towels between sets on Sundays. I finally gave up on it this weekend and snarled through a quick turn on the spin bike while Seth watched ESPN.

Still, it’s a minor annoyance, and I’m otherwise pretty lucky. Seth put up with a ridiculously cranky wife all week, as I juggled the upcoming end of month filings with the absurdity that had become the TJAG Picnic. I came home late every night, alternately bummed out by an afternoon reviewing casefiles on child exploitation, and stressed out because the miniature pony had lost its transportation and the bounce house company had insufficient insurance. The picnic planning had basically shut down operations- although not due dates- at DAD, and this stuff was nowhere near as funny as it sounded. By Thursday we were in crisis mode and I was considering the possibility of cargo strapping farm animals to the back of Seth’s truck. Friday we spent an entire day cleaning up a public park in preparation for the big event. I was thrilled to learn that, at the ripe old rank of field grade, I was still somehow not exempt from scrubbing public toilets. 

Seth was a champ about it all,  and tried not to laugh at our ridiculous dinner conversations about the park's prohibition on tiki torches and water ballons (which- just for this week- even took precedence over updates on his new leg and cool vacuum socket), and even came to the picnic after he went shooting Saturday morning. (I was insanely jealous of this outing, as the luau-themed decorating started at 0730, along with the roasting on an entire hog, head and all.) He socialized with boring lawyers, told me I looked lovely in my- yes, really- grass skirt, and managed to avoid beating anyone’s children. Which was tougher than it sounded, since Vince and I got stuck running the sno cone station, and by the time Seth arrived some of the little monsters were on round five.

I’ve literally never worked so hard in my life. Hordes of children screaming for more syrupy treats threatened to overwhelm us, the beer taps leaked and meant that we smelled like the floor of a filthy bar all day, and I almost punched a woman who pulled a soda out of a bucket of ice and waited in a long line to inform me angrily that it wasn’t cold enough. There were no food or bathroom breaks. Perhaps fortunately, I never even made it outside to check on the petting zoo (which was apparently a hit.) Seth took me for dinner and beer on the way home (I was still covered in sno cone syrup and remnants of BBQ cleanup), and after a couple hours at the Irish Inn with he and his friend DJ, I dragged home wondering why I had stayed out so late. I looked at my watch as I face-planted onto the couch: 8:30! What a day.

 

Sunday we recovered. The husband of the year, after skipping out on our workout date, redeemed himself with a spectacular brunch and mimosas at one of our favorites places in Palisades. We went suit shopping for next weekend's wedding in Minneapolis, and I made a Trader Joe’s run and did yardwork with my parents and grilled crabcakes for some surprise dinner guests (some friends of Seth’s who were passing through.) It was a pretty nice Sunday, even if it definitely felt like a short weekend after Saturday’s chaos. Still, the picnic was over and Labor Day was just around the corner.

I’m looking forward to the long weekend and getting away for a bit. We're overdue for an out of town adventure that doesn't involve moving trucks.

Seth, of course, is counting down to hunting season. If the daily Cabela's packages that arrive at the house are any indication, that is.

Photo of the week, by unanimous vote, is the first pour of the picnic, which occured at 9:23 a.m. Saturday.