Of DC dates and wish lanterns...

We were having a rare lazy Sunday morning in bed when I saw the email from my Mom. A voracious reader, she’s always giving me newspaper clippings of DC events and exhibits and new restaurants we should check out. We feel like dirtbags, because we rarely actually make it into the city for any of them, and I sometimes worry that we’ll leave DC without ever having hit up a museum or an outdoor concert or any “quintessential DC experience” under our belts besides the horrific traffic.

Moral of the story is that Mom-guilt works, and we fought off inertia and dragged ourselves downtown for some culture. And of course it was a blast. This particular event was a free Marty Stuart concert at the Museum of the American Indian (we’re both huge fans of old school country music, and I had seen him play often at much-hipper Texas venues). The show was complete with sequined jackets, old favorites, jabs at Custer, a surprise appearance by Marty’s incredible wife, acclaimed vocalist Connie Smith, and some of the most hysterical people watching we had done in a long time.

Afterwards we took ourselves out for pizza at District of π, where Seth found himself in meatball heaven, and enjoyed ambling the mostly tourist-free streets on a sunny Sunday afternoon. It was a nice reminder that there are things about DC that we really do enjoy, and that we’re lucky to live in a place where people vacation!

Our “DC date” was a lovely way to end a pretty nice week. The highlight of my workweek was combating the app-induced pregnancy doldrums (seriously, with all the depressing things and stressful must-dos they flood your inbox with!??!) with morning trips to the uncrowded and view-laden O’Club pool.

Seth has been doing a ton of shooting, and shot a match at Quantico Saturday. Afterwards, we crashed the end (because we’re no dummies) of Scott and Grace’s joint birthday party, and got to send off our own wish lantern. (Grace wished that we would have a “good baby.” And names her Abigail. Hopefully she’ll be half right.)

Oh, and we went back for our “real” 20 week ultrasound. Baby Nieman is healthy, active, and measuring large, to the delight of her father and terror of yours truly. The baby bump is (obviously) starting to show now, and have the first couple pieces of furniture in the nursery, so it’s getting more real by the day!

The photo of the week, both because we’re stoked to be heading to Alaska in two weeks (!!!) and because it’s just plain awesome, is of Missy, The World’s Greatest Fisherman. She had a banner fishing day this weekend. As in, people were actually asking if they could rub her fishing pole for good luck. Bizarre, but also pretty fabulous.

Just a Week

Believe it or not, sometimes we just have a week. A normal week, where we go to work and fight traffic and squeeze in workouts and trips to the dry cleaner and rejoice when Mom stops by the office with a calzone on a long day (and then get home so late we find ourselves eating it straight off the pan with our hands while we mumble unintelligible stories about our days.) And don't travel anywhere.

I had dinner-and-a-pedicure night with Steph, and gorged myself on mac & cheese that definitely made the top ten list at Evening Star in Del Ray. I also discovered the silver lining in the ridiculous saga of the monthlong pool overhaul (caused by a tiny, alleged shard of glass that may have been in the distant vicinity of the water) at Belvoir: the interim invitation to swim at the super sweet Officers' Club pool-with-a-view. Which looks like this:

My office also did the Army Birthday Run at Fort Myer, an incredible annual event that marks the only time all year running is allowed on the hallowed grounds of Arlington National Cemetery. This year saw 2000 Soldiers in the formation run, and will no doubt have been the highlight of my DC military experience.

Seth has been putting in a ton of range time in preparation for the President's 100, and he shot his first bullseye pistol match this weekend. (I do not have any pictures of this, of course, because Baby Nieman opted out of a trip to the range, and men apparently refuse to take selfies.) Friday night we celebrated surviving the work week over pizza and sangria, and in a rare treat were joined by the Ballesteroses and the soon-to-be-Syvertsons, who were both in town for the weekend. We had a great time getting caught up, and felt kind of like normal people out on the town for happy hour. (Even if I observed more than once that mineral water doesn't make one nearly as happy.)

The rest of our weekend consisted of a rainy Saturday (which prompted us to finally order furniture for the nursery and gave us a bye on long-overdue lawnmowing), a leisurely bike ride along the canal, and an awesome belated Father's Day barbecue at Mom & Dad's. (After years and years of living oceans away from any of my fabulous family, I still feel like pinching myself when I realize we can just invite ourselves over for dinner on Sunday!) I can't believe I didn't take a picture of Mom's blueberry pie. It was epic.

Instead, the photo of the week is Baby Nieman's already-overflowing hamper! I have a feeling that this is a warning of many, many loads of laundry in our future, and that our thinking it's cute is going to be short-lived.

A Much-Needed Girls'/ Beach Weekend

Seth’s not much of an ocean person. If he has free time on his hands, he’d much rather head for a treestand than the beach. I, on the other hand, like the rest of the Walters family, believes absolutely in the zen-inducing, soul-cleansing power of waves. (Not that any of us turns our nose up at snow-capped mountains.) Still, post-blast especially, Seth’s aversion to the heat and difficulty walking on sand means that I’ve had to resign myself to a lot less beach time, and I definitely miss it. Between that and an insane week that involved Seth traveling and me working late (opposite schedules conspiring to make us short-fused and cranky), this weekend was much-needed and long-overdue.

We high-fived Thursday night when he got back, and Friday morning after yet another commander’s cup run (a “cross country run” on the golf course which saw some seriously slow jogging from me) and a painfully dull work picnic, I dove into the traffic melee that is northern Virginia on Fridays. Driving anywhere in the DMV on Friday makes it almost not worth it to leave for the weekend (and coming home Sunday is, I reminded myself, a close second.) Still, I was excited for beach time. Minus the chilly trip to Bar Harbor, I hadn't had a real ocean fix in almost a year. And I was way overdue on girl time.

So of course it was totally worth the long and painful drive. I got to see my law school girlfriends, who I hadn’t seen since Nicole’s wedding in Puerto Rico last May, and catch up on husbands and babies and the inexplicably still-intriguing law school gossip. They also threw me my very first shower of any kind, a hilarious, low key, pink-laden baby shower surprise, complete with cupcakes. (Nicole even made us play the baby food game.) And we spent all day Saturday doing nothing, a rarity for any of us, on the beach. Thunder-and-hail storms rolled in that evening, and we fled inside for bad TV and homemade marinara with herbs from Nicole’s garden.

And Sunday morning, we woke up to a beach sunrise and the sound of the waves. It was perfect. Good for the soul. And I didn’t even have to feel guilty about it, since it sounds like Seth had a terrific weekend going to the range, grilling elk steaks, and drinking copious amounts of beer with college friends. I got home last night in time to watch the Spurs win (both Seth and Dad were thrilled—Father’s Day win), so a terrific weekend was had by all.

Bring it on, Monday. Today we’re officially halfway to the arrival of Baby Nieman! Hard to believe. I’m cherishing every morning I can look down and still see my toes from here on out. I know I haven’t shared any “baby bump” pictures—I’m waiting until it looks like I actually have a baby in there, instead of like I just stopped going to the gym! Any day now…

Photo of the week is the master chef himself at the grill. Always a hit.

What a difference a year makes!

This picture was taken on July 1, 2013, after the 19th of Seth's 21 surgeries.
 

 

This picture was taken on Sunday. Less than a year later. 

 

A veteran of long races, longer deployments, and more than a few injuries and surgeries myself; surrounded as I am (fortunate to be) by friends and family members who matter-of-factly weather the most punishing of life's storms and accomplish things most people only read about; it is rare that I am really blown out of the water by toughness or determination or feats of athleticism or sheer grit. (That's totally unfair to the remarkable people in my life, and I officially vow to be more appropriately awed.) I also don't sing my husband's praises publicly very often, largely because so many people do it for me (and I do have to live with the man's ego, after all, which was perfectly healthy to begin with.) But this weekend, Seth checked an item off his "to conquer" list that has to be shared, and deserves reflection.

I can barely wrap my mind around the fact that a year ago he was hobbling around in an ex fix (after several devastating hardware fails), as we wondered if we would ever be done with hardware and wheelchairs and pain medication and severely limited mobility.

In the11+ months since the first picture, Seth finally lost the ex fix. Learned to walk again. Then run. Then started swimming, then biking. Lost 40 pounds of "wheelchair weight." Kicked pain meds cold turkey, and without any prompting. Worked his way through countless iterations of sockets and prosthetics and braces.

And on Sunday, he did his first triathlon.

He apparently got the idea to do one from a fellow wounded warrior. He definitely didn't get it from me. A trail runner at heart, I despise the crowds and the gear and the logistics... not to mention the terrifying possibility of a flat tire. But Seth wanted to do one, so I searched high and low for a small race with a transition area that didn't resemble Grand Central at rush hour and a race director who didn't mind giving us our own transition rack so we'd have room for our collection of legs. And Sunday morning, we headed south at an ungodly hour to Naylor's Beach Campground for a multisport morning, kicked off by a swim in the murky Rappahannock River.

It went off without a hitch. Seth knocked out the 500 meter swim like it was nothing, and made it back to the transition area after a quick change into his prepositioned shower leg. Our tires stayed inflated on the15 mile bike, Seth only had to stop and adjust his leg once, and the clip-in disasters that the overprotective prospective Dad had been predicting thankfully didn't occur (although at the end of the ride he told me sternly that this would be my last spin on a racing bike for awhile.)

I did not argue. I really do hate cycling.

The run was the tough part, and not just because the heat of the day had arrived. After all the trips to the prosthetist and trial runs with various "fixes," the running leg is still just not where it needs to be (and in fact requires every-mile liner drying and adjustment, while the highly-touted IDEO brace leaves Seth's shin a raw, bloody mess.) Still, he dragged himself through the hot, uncomfortable 5k, tugging at his liner and giving terse, monosyllabic responses to my attempts at cheerful conversation. It was not the most fun we've ever had, but was, for me at least, an important reminder that Seth may make it look easy, but it's not. It hurts, and it's hard, and it never really stops feeling unfair, and sometimes you just want to quit.

But I'm so lucky to be married to a guy who never has and never will. 

We crossed the finish line together, Seth with a towel wrapped around his bleeding leg, and took this picture to commemmorate our first family triathlon. (Baby Nieman having performed magnificently.) We're a pretty good team, the three of us.

A triathlon of any length, for any person with two legs, is nothing to sneeze at. I couldn't be prouder of Seth. For setting such a goal in the first place, and then for checking it off like it was all in a morning's work, less than a year after ridding himself of the draconian ex fix.

We toasted ourselves, and the last year, with a hard-earned beer after the race. It really is amazing what a difference a year makes, and we couldn't be happier to be where we're at.

The picture of the week, however, is of one of the few things that never does seem to change, and I have a soft spot for that too. The North Face Endurance Challenge has become an annual ritual for the Taylor fam and I, and it's still refreshingly untouched by the big crowds and overcommercialization that characterize most races these days.This is Scott and Grace and I, hanging out on my first year not running (and what may be Grace's last year at the face painting booth!)

A Few of My Favorite Things

One of my favorite things in the world is to share gym time with Seth. We have totally opposite schedules, so it doesn't happen very often. These days sometimes I get to enjoy my second favorite thing though, which is to hear him in the gym as I'm running out the door, singing along to the Eagles at the top of his lungs from the rower. It never fails to make my day.

Last night I discovered a decent recipe for whole wheat/ egg white crepes, too (of course Seth insisted on dessert crepes to go with his healthy ones), and Monday we got up and rode bikes together along the canal before work. If I can manage to grab a half glass of wine with Michelle one night, and Seth and I actually get to sleep in Saturday morning, I'm going to dub this "a few of my favorite things" week. Straight out of the Sound of Music.

Last week was not bad either. We scheduled our 20 week ultrasound a little early by accident (in our working-people attempt to consolidate Walter Reed trips), so we "get" to spend another morning on the 6th floor later this month, but it was still pretty cool to see Baby Nieman moving around. Last time, the heartbeat was the big thrill. This time, we loved seeing her wave her tiny fists (not to mention her healthy organs and solid growth rate.)

I dragged Seth to my office's organization day/ summer farewell shindig (inexplicably and possibly illegally) at the horse track. Seth had a great time betting on horses and drinking beer, and I reminded him probably twelve times that it would be my turn to have fun while he has babysitting duty soon enough. Still, not a bad Friday at the office.

Afterwards, we headed for the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania, for the last day of turkey season. Before I met Seth, I'm pretty sure I didn't even know there was a spring turkey season. Now, he had managed to make me feel insanely guilty that I had selected for our anniversary weekend destination one of the only places in Maine you can't shoot turkeys. This was my penance, and I was a reasonably good sport about the ridiculously early wakeup and a day with strangers at a hunting lodge (Seth having "forgotten," suspiciously, that hunting was permitted all day in Pennsylvania instead of ending at noon, which is the norm.) I fished up a leaky paddleboat, though, and went for a nice run in the mountains, so all was not lost.

And Sunday, I got my wish for a day at home, finally! We hadn't been home in so long our backyard was starting to look like a jungle, the laundry was threatening to stage a coup, and my remarkable restraint about the piles of paperwork and hunting paraphernalia that Seth accumulates downstairs at an astounding rate was wearing a little thin. We worked from sunup until long after sundown (well, I took a break for a beautiful run along the Potomac and brunch in Old Town with Rebecca and Steph), and were ridiculously pleased to be able to relax in our no-longer-a- Superfund-site house at the end of it. Sometimes you really do just need a reset day.

Of course, the new week found a film crew tracking dirt into the clean living room and floodlights on until all hours of the night... but Seth got his interview knocked out for Rob's documentary (http://www.nonemoreamerican.com/), so all in all that made us feel pretty accomplished too. Plus it was an excuse to order pizza.

It was a busy week, and I had forgotten that we had planned to celebrate my friend Ranj's last week at work at the White House with an insider tour of the West Wing. Good thing she reminded us, because it was super cool (regular visitors only get to tour the East Wing) and we had a great time.

We don't venture into the city very often, so we took full advantage of the trip and followed up the tour with date night at a Cuban restaurant, where Seth enjoyed the rum and I stuffed myself with truly excellent pineapple guacamole. It's crazy, but we're starting to realize that "just us" date nights have an upcoming expiration date (at least for awhile), so we're enjoying them while we can.

I had to pick this one for "photo of the week." It's me with my earnings from my one-and-only horse betting experience. I stuck with $2 bets, and wound up twenty cents up. I figured Tony would be proud.