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.