The YOOP!

I used to cut across the Memorial Bridge to Rock Creek Parkway when traffic was really bad coming home from Belvoir, and I was always absurdly jealous of all the people running across it (and not sitting in traffic).  I’ve spent two years glowering at these people, and wishing I got to run across the Potomac and among the monuments on weekdays.

Well, today I did. I found the path that leads from Pentagon North Parking (where I finally scored a parking space!) and winds through LBJ Memorial Grove before hitting the Mount Vernon Trail and, eventually, the Memorial Bridge. It was just as beautiful as- if significantly more humid than- I had imagined.

As a matter of fact, other than Finley’s current two-front war against sleep and a vicious diaper rash, it’s been a pretty terrific week and change.

I scored my first weekend away sans baby and breastpump, and it was glorious. Jackie had conned me into registering for a trail race that turned out to be in the middle of nowhere, literally (the UP!) In a moment of weakness I had agreed to the crazy weekend/ race/ road trip, and it turned out to be just what the doctor ordered.

It had been a long time since I had driven on empty highways with a girlfriend, a cooler full of beer, and the windows rolled down while singing at the top of my lungs. Not to mention explored somewhere I had never been. And those things are good for the soul.

We worked our way north through Wisconsin, stopping in Green Bay to thumbs-down Lambeau Field (and Brett Favre’s Steakhouse for good measure.) We sampled cherry beer (before returning to our Michigan classic, “[Lebatt] Blue Lights,”) and gorged on cheese curds. We gutted out a slightly hungover half marathon around Grand Island and then jumped in Lake Superior to cool off. (At a chilly 42 degrees in summer, it did the trick.) We got our exercise running from mosquitos the size of Chihuahuas, and refueled with pizza and beer (and, OK, I had to taste the UP delicacy, pasties. Which were pretty tasty.) We caught up on our lives, planned vacations with our future children, lamented the couple extra pounds we were carrying since our racing days.

And Jackie indulged me and let me take a long and terrible booze-free cruise (read: crowded ferry) of the Pictured Rocks. They really are gorgeous.

As much as I hate to agree with Kid Rock, summertime in northern Michigan does not suck. Jackie and I said goodbye over our last pre-detox beer in Chicago, grateful for our girls’ weekend and vowing to plan another one as soon as we recovered. Which usually takes awhile.                               

I had really needed that, I thought to myself.

But I was thrilled to get back to my little beast.

Jayne had generously agreed to fly out to help hold down the fort while I was gone, and Finley loved her grandma time. We hated to say goodbye yesterday and can’t help wishing we lived closer to all Finley’s grandparents (also dubbed “reinforcements,” by Seth and I.)

The photo of the week comes with a hilarious quote, courtesy of Seth: “this is what happens when you leave me in charge, Amy. I buy a new slingshot for me, and 800 pairs of socks for Finley.”