Graduation and a Terrible Bathtub Incident.

It was unseasonably warm on graduation day. 

95 degrees in the city, to be exact; hotter still under the tents they had erected on campus to shade guests which seemed specially designed to trap the sweltering heat. 

I mean it when I say I would've lasted a max of an hour with hot, cranky Finley and Ford on my hands. Seth, having parked ten blocks away and lugged them across Harlem in a stroller, managed all three hours of my impossibly lengthy graduation. I was beside myself at how long and horrific an ordeal it was, but he somehow stuck it out. (And I got to take a break from my seat for some "roll around in the grass" time.) Still. What a bunch of troopers.

We skipped the reception and went straight to my favorite Morningside Heights bar, where Finley and Ford cooled off and made a few toasts. It was an excellent, and perfectly "us," choice.

The next day we were back at it, when we celebrated our neighbor Neil's promotion (and Finley insisted on wearing sunglasses just like Mom.) May really is an insane month around here.

We had a "down" weekend to make up for it. Saturday was date day in the City. Seth took Finley to ABT Kids at the Lincoln Center in her finest dress, and she still hasn't stopped talking about the ballet.

I, on the other hand, clad in yoga pants and dark sunglasses after several days of celebrating, had visions of catching the metro to the Village with Ford for espresso at some groovy outdoor coffee place... but all he wanted to do for our date was walk up and down these stairs in Central Park. So we did that. For two hours. He's lucky he's adorable, and that he claps hilariously for himself like some kind of megalomaniac whenever he makes it to the top.

That was our big weekend adventure. Otherwise, we BBQed with friends, went shoe shopping,

did some baking (and, later, a lot of cleaning),

and chased the geese at the Nature Museum.

Also, generally acted adorable to make up for our terrible conduct at public events like Friday's promotion ceremony. (And by we, I mean these two hoodlums.)

And kicked off a new week (with Mom on leave!) at a pre-op for Ford, who is following family tradition and getting ear tubes. As per another tradition, the appointment was followed by a DFAC breakfast at which Finley graciously put cream cheese on everything. Including the bacon, the napkins, and her brother's nose. "Ford loves cream cheese," she told me.

What else are big sisters for, after all?

Monday night Seth took over so I could sneak out for more celebrating, this time with a sorority sister who's filming a show in Brooklyn. The photos of the week are the following, which he sent me while I was at an obnoxious party there. I still haven't stopped laughing. ("Gina," in Finleyspeak, is "vagina." So that was unnecessarily descriptive. But hysterical.)

Mother's Day, a rookie move, and 'murica.

They say that all good things must come to an end (although- knock on wood- they keep making wine and cheesecake) and it looks like this is really going to happen tomorrow.

Finley definitely treated it like she treats any other valuable.

But first, we celebrated Mother's Day. And even though May is an absolute hurricane of a month for us all, Seth managed to make it special. Although we did commit a classic rookie error and take the kids to brunch.

(Parents of small children are like: "nooooooo. Brunch is at naptime. You cannot enjoy brunch for roughly 8 more years. Idiots." They are correct.)

We took the kids back to our newly-discovered favorite spot, the Towne Crier Cafe, where we had had a spontaneous (thanks to Seth) Friday night date at a truly incredible dinner show by this guy we had never heard of. The raspberry chocolate torte didn't suck either. We laughed, we stayed out too late, Seth let me drink way more Tempranillo than I should have, and we remembered how much we love live music- and each other. We don't do it often, but when we have a date night we do it right.

So of course we wanted to take the kids, and Seth made reservations for Mother's Day brunch with a ukelele show. It sounded great, and it started off that way.

 Finley, as per usual, loved the music ("I ballerina" with her new Elsa doll),

Ford cracked his Dad up begging for bloody mary olives,

and somewhere between my tasty mimosa and actually getting to eat, both kids totally lost their ever loving minds. There's no reason to dwell on the details. Let's just say brunch ended up like this in the parking lot.

You win some, you lose some, and once we had recovered (and some of us had napped) we headed to the Ryans' for a Mother's Day BBQ complete with bounce house- we travel with ours now- hilarious kid dance parties, more mimosas, and a terrible pooping incident in which (maybe by way of a late Mother's Day gift?) Finley handed me the dirty diaper she had just removed from herself, and earned herself a bath.

And guns.

Oh, and football. Basically, 'murica.

Natalie and I had a real toast to the idea of an actual Mother's Day "night off" for Moms (all men having mysteriously vanished around the time of the diaper incident),

and a laugh-til-your-sides-hurt time was still had by all. I can't manage to upload the amazing kid dance party videos, but if you haven't seen them shoot me a line and I'll find a way to email or text them. They make life worth living.

Cheers! and a big HMD to everybody on this crazy roller coaster. My fondest hope for all of us is to laugh more often than we cry. Minus the baby meringue kind of tears, of course.

The Hamptons, my birthday, and trophy wife-ing.

It was Monday morning, and the Accabonac Bay glimmered in the sun. Finley and Ford munched happily on buttery croissants, and I sipped rich locally ground coffee and savored the delightful duo of feelings: "I'm done with finals!" and "I'm playing hooky on a Monday, and I have nowhere to be." Ford was cracking himself up practicing his walking barefoot in the sand, and Finley scrambled onto my lap for a snuggle. 

I minute later, I smelled it. The unmistakable smell of a really dirty diaper. Well damn, I thought. I had left the diaper bag some 200 meters away in the car. Rookie move. I shifted to dump Finley off my lap and investigate the culprit when I saw it. There was poop in Finley's hair. Well, maybe she had rolled in the grass and picked it up. A little panicky now, I yanked up the hem of her sweatshirt, and it was then that I noticed it was everywhere. Her pants, shirt, sweatshirt, my pants, and all over my hands. 

It was cold enough for jackets with an ocean breeze, and the water looked even colder. I didn't think I had a choice, though. Dragging both kids back to the car would just result in a bigger mess. I stripped Finley and dumped her in the bay, scrubbing at both of us while she screamed for Daddy. Between that and the highly immodest triple clothes change (naturally, Ford decided to join us in the water) in the Springs General Store parking lot later, I couldn't believe no one alerted the authorities.

That's a pretty good metaphor for our whole post-finals trip to the Hamptons. The best of times and the worst of times, and a whole lot of shrieking. 

Seth had his last AOC exercise, and I felt guilty about leaving him and skipping his graduation, which marked 4 months of burning the candle at both ends to get papers written and exercises scheduled around  his job, my work, and our two crazies. It hadn't been easy, and I was proud of him. 

But I was desperate for a celebratory getaway, and he assured me it was fine. Secretly, he must've known he was getting the better end of the deal. "Vacationing" alone with twounderthree is worth it to get to travel- my favorite- but you're always kind of on the brink of major disaster.

We mostly held it together. The season hadn't started yet in the swanky getaway spot, which meant little traffic, empty (if chilly) beaches, and (I hoped) a higher tolerance for toddlers.

The kids were mostly troopers. They played in the grass and loved the horses and alpacas at the beautiful Martha Clara Vineyard, where Finley sipped water out of a wineglass "like a big lady."

We visited every. single. playground in all three Hamptons.

We had long luxurious breakfasts at the general store,

and visited the Montauk lighthouse

and the Long Island aquarium.

We nearly got kicked out of the world's most expensive grocery store after a tussle over a cupcake.

Finley got a "fancy" makeup sample on Main Street (the Rodeo Drive of the Hamptons) and brandished it all over East Hampton

and then demanded I put it on her face, after which she pronounced her skin "radiant." No kidding.

The gorgeous remodeled barn we rented in quiet, artsy Springs was the site of more than one epic throwdown.

And despite a few tears (and "why did I think this was a good idea, again?" moments on my part), a terrific time was had by all.

I was exhausted by the time we made it home, and it was a nutty week. Graduation month is jampacked at West Point, and I only had a few weeks to knock out all of the admin. stuff we had been ignoring before starting my new job- an eleventh hour promotion to the Deputy SJA job, which although flattering, wreaked havoc on my plans to take time off.

We still managed a blowout for my 38th birthday on Wednesday. As has become my tradition, I headed to the Catskills for a long run up a mountain, and it was this year's was extra special. I had been saving Plateau Mountain for a special occasion- a mountain the Walters family had climbed 30 years ago- and it was an even more soul-cleansing and energizing adventure than I had hoped it would be. I washed it all down with a beer and a veggie burger in Woodstock, and headed home for the fancy dinner at Bear Mountain we had promised Finley for "my" birthday.

Finley got to wear her birthday crown (but of course) and a fancy dress,

and Ford got meatloaf. 

And after they went to bed, Seth and I stayed up and had a couple glasses of wine and marveled at the fact that this birthday marked five years from the night we met at a bar in Fayetteville. It's been a wild ride, and we've loved every minute. Cheers to getting better every year.

(The picture is from Seth's work's annual cruise on the Hudson, which they had graciously allowed me to crash. It was beautiful, and I'm realizing that I'm going to have a very hard time going back to work in a few weeks...! I could seriously get used to being a trophy wife.)

Speaking of which, I'm late for a Mother's Day tea at daycare. Somehow, not working turns out to be a fulltime job. My favorite photo this week is from breakfast (chocolate covered strawberries) this morning. Like all the Walters kids, I give myself a birthday week, and the celebration continues.

Finals Week.

Well, we're definitely in the thick of it, although we're starting to see light at the end of the tunnel. It's still pretty dim, but encouraging nonetheless.

After a rough all-nighter in the library, which included this adorable and heart-wrenching facetime,

I finished my thesis. We celebrated with a trip to the Captain's Table- an amazing restaurant with outdoor seating and a sandpit for kids.

We took time off this weekend for a lacross game,

a BBQ with the Trimbles,

a trip to Beacon and a new park,

and some family R&R, which mostly involved World War III over Ford's new "car." (Oh thank you, Aunt Leslye.)

Seth was a champ, and got up with kids both weekend mornings to let me catch up on sleep (not that you would know it from this priceless early morning shot),

and even made homemade waffles for the monsters. With peanut butter. I'm a little worried they'll get used to the royal treatment.

I gutted out my worst final on Monday, and am now down to two. It's starting to seem like my last round of school ever (I swear) might really be almost over...! Seth finished his last AOC paper after an all-nighter of his own, and has one more weekend exercise to go.

We will not be sorry to be done with school.

My two favorites this week are of post-bath snuggles

and how Finley dresses to go to Starbucks.