Another year, another TJAG Picnic

I pulled into the driveway yesterday, and a ridiculously sexy guy (a sweaty Seth Nieman, of course) was mowing my lawn. There were flowers on the table too. Lucky me. Not that he's not always terrific, but Seth does seem to know when long days and painful commutes and curtailed fun (courtesy of Baby Nieman) start to chafe. And makes up for it. (He even engineered a movie night and watched "The Other Woman" with me. If you must see it- it's pretty bad- let me know and I'll send you our copy. It is not a keeper. Seth is a champ for getting through it, even if he is running a pretty serious tab in the "picked a horrendous movie" department.) All in all, I scored in the husband department.

Plus he makes me laugh.  On one particularly long day, we picked up takeout. I was craving the momos at my favorite Nepalese place, pan-Asian food being particularly well-suited for takeout dinners. I thought Seth would pick something off the extensive menu there, since he claims not to be very picky. (A dubious claim in the ethnic food department, if you ask me.) Instead, he opted for crabcakes and shrimp from the Bethesda Crabhouse down the street, a combo not designed for takeout boxes. Our eclectic dinner looked like this. It cracked me up.

Which is a good thing, because boy, did I need support and patience and a few laughs this week. It was hard to wrap my mind around it, but it was somehow TJAG picnic week again. It sounds totally ridiculous, but my office- populated by high-powered attorneys possessed of multiple graduate degrees who manage hundreds of clients and thousands of deadlines- completely shuts down operations for a chunk of the summer every year to plan and execute one of the JAG Corps' premier annual events. The TJAG Picnic. It's not just any picnic. It requires months of planning, numerous meetings and committees, powerpoint presentations delivered in dress uniform to general officers at the Pentagon, and last year very nearly caused the nervous breakdown of a seasoned attorney who has argued death penalty cases when he found out at the last minute that the moonbounce did not have adequate insurance and the park rangers were not thrilled about the animals.

Yes, really. This year, we had one-upped ourselves and added a llama to the hugely popular germfest known as the petting zoo. But it was supposed to rain. At the last minute, Seth and I found ourselves hauling up to Fort Meade in Friday (gridlock) traffic to rent all of the tents available just in case. Of course we didn't wind up using them, and the picnic was sunny and went off without a hitch. (Well, minus the grill catching fire and some colonel's wife complaining that the cheese selection was inadequate for her Costco hamburger patty.) All things considered, it was a rousing success. Or at least we had survived another one. (Rather, I had survived. Seth had made an appearance and sipped whiskey in Solocups with the grilling committee while I served hot dogs and averted dodgeball crises and fixed the popcorn machine.) We were both in bed by 8:30pm. On a Saturday.

We got a slow start Sunday, but eventually dragged ourselves out of the house for an adventure. Overflowing with magnanimity this week, Seth had finally agreed to go to Annapolis with me. I think it's a beautiful town with a killer waterfront. He, on the other hand, has never been able to see past the presence of the offending Naval Academy. We went for a bike ride on the rails-to-trail B&A Trail, which was cool and green and uncrowded, and then it was my turn for selfless gestures. I took him to Pusser's (a favorite from my BVI days) and watched him drink painkillers (a ridiculously strong but delicious rum drink) on the waterfront while I added soda water to my glass of wine to make it last. We had a terrific evening relaxing at an outdoor table with live music, so it was well worth the watered-down sauvignon blanc

So all's well in Nieman Paradise. Baby Nieman now kicks hard enough that you can actually see my stomach move, which fascinates us sitting on the couch at night. She's apparently the size of a head of a cauliflower and weighs two pounds (Seth's bet is 2.5, of course). Hard to believe next week we'll be 7 months into this thing! I still feel terrific and get around pretty well, although I did start wearing a maternity support band when I run. It is not at all sexy, but definitely helps. Of course the quest for the perfect one had us in stitches one night, as my thorough search initially turned up this and this. Seriously, what is going on there? I somehow ran across this too. The baby (and pre-baby) industry is creative if nothing else.

The photo of the week is courtesy of the TJAG Picnic Photobooth (and a very indulgent husband, who was clearly less than thrilled with being asked to pose, complete with props.) Made for a pretty great picture though.