A little aloha in August

I looked over my shoulder at Seth, sprawled out in the passenger seat of our rented minivan. He was singing along with the "Mandatory Marley Hour" on the radio. Over his shoulder I could see the lush green folds of the Ko'olau Ridge and below them, the cerulean blue of the shallow edges of the ocean before they faded darker, into so many shades of blue I mentally ran out of names for them. It was hard not to relax and melt into the "island-ness" of it all.

It was good to be back in Hawaii, even without the whole Walters clan. The travel to get there is so miserable I tend to dread the trip- and had been particularly worried about this one, at 30 weeks pregnant. But we had promised to be at Mike and Marlena's wedding, and figured it would be our last long plane ride for awhile at any rate, so we sucked up the banged-up knees and sleeplessness and jet lag in the name of a "babymoon" and a little aloha.

And it was utter perfection. Well, OK, the cabin at Bellows we stayed in could've used a/c in August (and a good can of Raid anytime), and I couldn't stave off a little jealousy at Seth's evenings of Longboard Lager with friends (this seems particularly egregious at weddings, which were not meant to be enjoyed with Fresca), and we did- as always- wind up doing a ton of driving, criss-crossing the island to see people and do things at a pace most vacationers probably find incongruous with a tropical paradise. But the wedding was gorgeous, we did squeeze in an awful lot (vacationing Walters-style, I call it), and we wound up feeling insanely lucky that we had gotten to spend some downtime together and some quality time with the Bustamantes. Who were really the highlight of the trip.

Sara and Daniel were hospitable as ever, juggling their crazy schedules around ours, and we couldn't get enough of the sweet, effervescent Lehua, who was wild about her "Uncle Set." (She did save a few snuggles for me, and was beyond cute patting my stomach and su prima, but the two of them were thicker than thieves, and it was basically the most adorable thing ever.)

We didn't wind up doing as much sleeping in as we had planned on, but we did get to go ocean kayaking and Sara talked us into shark cage diving, which was pretty epic (and, hilariously, Seth's first experience with a snorkel.) Sara and I did some hiking, while Seth deep sea fished (and shore fished, and pier fished), and- because the Bustamantes really are the best tour guides around- Daniel even fished up some giant sea turtles for his second snorkeling experience. We made a pilgrimage to Teddy's Bigger Burgers, and- sadly, Missy- they whipped us at bocce. Although sunset bocce at Ala Moana park is tough to beat no matter the score.

I've left a billion things out I'm sure, having only recently survived the horrific trip back (arriving just in time for rush hour traffic!) and tackled the mountains of sandy laundry and appellate briefs waiting on this end. I'm not even ready to comprehend the yardwork that awaits... with a long weekend about to kick off, we may "think about that tomorrow," a la Scarlett O'Hara.

Suffice it to say, our August dose of Aloha was just what the doctor ordered, and- although we miss the Bustamantes a ton and wish they lived closer- are committed to our current vow not to take any more lengthy plane trips for a long, long time. The timing really couldn't be better on that.

The photo of the week is maybe my favorite one ever, of Lehua and Uncle Set at Ala Moana.

 

Oh, and in the midst of the whirlwind that has been our life lately, I almost forgot! Seth got his way (by doing all of the unpleasant legwork, for which I am eternally grateful), and Baby Nieman has a new car. A shiny Ford C Max that looks only a little Mom car-ish and gets 40-45 mpg. It was incredibly hard to say goodbye to the Escape, with 150,000 memorable miles of it and which I was actually living in when I fell in love with Seth in Colorado, but it was time. And I have to admit it's pretty nice to have air conditioning and satellite radio.

And although- in a Major Vacation Miracle- my iPhone survived a dip in the waterfall, the case and cord for the good camera were not so lucky, so those pictures will have to wait to be downloaded. The (unedited) ones from my phone are here.

Pre-vacation vacation? Yes, please.

Of course we needed a vacation... before our vacation.

Or maybe Seth had just caught the fishing bug, and I was always happy to tag along for an adventure.
Either way, we headed out Friday to explore Deep Creek Lake, a closer-to-home fisherman's paradise Seth had discovered in one of his new fishing magazines. To convince me of the need to skip out on pre-Hawaii packing and yardwork, he made reservations at a cool ski resort and took care of all the plans. And took me to dinner on the way out of town at Lucky Corner, a Vietnamese place in Frederick I had been dying to try. Who could resist?

We had a terrific weekend. We slept in and ate great. Seth caught a couple fish (and would've made Missy proud, filleting them right on the back of his pickup truck) and just generally loves driving a boat around a lake. I played trophy wife, kayaking and taking myself to brunch (nutella crepes!) and sunning myself on the boat with a book. (Seth's suggestion that I help him out by "netting" his fish was met with zero enthusiasm.)

On Sunday, of course, it poured rain. I was less than thrilled. It was a terrific reminder to myself that one should always ignore the "one more cast" plea, no matter how adorable one's husband is while making it. Because that's when the sky opens up.

Soaked to the bone, we eventually made it back home, way too late to pack or mow the lawn. So it's been a madhouse of a couple days. (Although Seth did buy himself a new fishing kayak, so we had to squeeze in time for a beautiful morning out on the Potomac breaking it in. Complete with a few disasters, but those stories will have to wait.)

Because now, once I extricate myself from work and throw a few pregnant-lady muumuus in a suitcase, we're Hawaii-bound! Hard to believe we have a dinner date with the Bustamantes tomorrow night!
(The photo of the week is our attempt at a selfie on the boat.)

Escape to "wild and wonderful" WV

There was a time in the not-so-distant past that a day or two with an out-of-town husband meant late nights catching up with girlfriends over cocktails in high heels. Tonight, however, finds Seth on the road to West Point with Ashton for the Grad Marchback, and me on the couch with a Whole Foods salad and a bottle of mineral water, wearing one of Seth's old tshirts. Which may or may not even be clean. I'd be tempted to wallow in nostalgia for my wilder days, but it is Shark Week, after all. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday evening. 

Not to mention that we had, as per usual, managed to wring every usable second of fun out of our weekend, and I am beat. We escaped the summer gridlock and heat early Fridayand headed for the cool, uncrowded green hills of West Virginia. (I had leftover yurt reservations from a girls' weekend that didn't pan out, and we had started to think in terms of our weekends of spontaneous getaways being numbered.) 

So, uncharacteristically (for me, especially), we jumped in the truck and headed for Summersville Lake without a plan or a packing list. Which meant that, of course, I ran out of clothes and we spent a lot of time hoping it wouldn't rain (it didn't) because of a dearth of dry ones. 

But it wound up being an idyllic weekend. The rain drummed softly on the roof of our dry, cozy yurt at night (I was hoping to win Seth over to mine and Missy's love affair with "camping lite"), and the days were cool and cloudy (Seth's favorite, although it didn't do much for my pre-Hawaii tan plan.) We had such a nice time trolling the lake with our rented Triumph, I forgot-mostly- to mourn my current inability to cliff dive off the beautiful sandstone cliffs or scuba dive the clear, green depths of the manmade lake. 

I played (knocked up) trophy wife for much of Saturday, stretching out catlike in the bow with my burgeoning belly on display, thumbing through "The Economist" and fetching sandwiches from the lunch I had packed. When I started to feel impossibly lazy, I took myself kayaking in the no-wake zones, enjoying the quiet solitude and glass-like water. Seth fished obsessively and had to be dragged out of the water (I made a mental note to thank Missy for the "one last cast"s), although we didn't get much but this tiny rock bass thanks to low stocking levels and (in my opinion) lethargic-looking bait. 

Still, we enjoyed each other and the downtime, and agreed that it had been a terrific and much-needed weekend getaway. And that Summersville was quite a discovery. And that- I'm a sucker- we would try our luck at Deep Creek Lake, a little closer to home, next weekend.

Tomorrow starts the third trimester! Crazy to think about. We had stopped on our way to WV Friday for pizza and a beer at the Blue Mountain Brewery in Afton, a place we had last been to- and loved- when we were first dating, when I first moved to Charlottesville and not long before Seth left for Afghanistan. We couldn't help but marvel at how far our lives had come since that September afternoon just two (two!?!) years ago, and raise a glass to our good fortune. We could never have imagined... but feel lucky indeed. If you make a toast this week, join us in celebrating life's unexpected- but unimaginably wonderful- twists and turns. May your lives be as full of surprise adventures as ours.

The photo of the week should be called "recipe for a perfect day."

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.

The Worst Part About being Pregnant Is...

I tossed and turned and checked the time on my cell phone again. 2am, and still no word from Seth. It's not that I was worried. I couldn't help it- I was annoyed. And jealous. And generally disagreeable.

And there you have it. The only real downside of being pregnant I've discovered so far, once you get used to shorter runs, resign yourself to ten months without turkey sandwiches, and remind yourself that hot yoga is no fun in the summer anyway. Those are all incredibly minor sacrifices, and I am grateful to the universe every day that they've been the worst of it (particularly in light of the horror stories that continue to show up in my inbox, courtesy of the "helpful" baby apps.)

It's my Mom's fault, really, and in the grand scheme of things she did pretty well too. Having raised four kids devoted to reading, travel, conservation, personal fitness, healthy eating, and universal kindness, she passed on to all of us only one really ugly personality trait: we hate- and I mean, really hate, to the depth of our souls- for anybody to have fun without us.

I've spent most of my adult life trying to overcome this flaw, with mixed success. But pregnancy has proven to be the source of major backsliding. As much as I want for Seth to not have to suffer alongside me for ten months- that being totally unnecessary from a rational perspective- sometimes the unfairness of it all takes over, and sulking ensues, my magnanimous offers to entertain myself while he gets to stay out late and drink beer and smoke the occasional cigarette notwithstanding. Particularly when reminded of the year plus that I skipped nights out with friends to be with him while he recovered at Walter Reed. But that's just a no-win road to go down.

It had been a rough couple weeks in the "fair" department, at any rate. Seth went from the beer-soaked West Point golf tournament to Alaska (which I enjoyed immensely but had to content myself with small tastes of microbrews and early bedtimes and long walks rather than sea kayaking or trail running) to the National Rifle Match at Camp Perry (too loud and lead-filled for unborn babies, but also liberally sprinkled with  beer drinking) to a weekend that included a terrifically boozy (for him- I nursed a diet Coke, and a guilty one at that) summer Jason Aldean concert and an all-nighter of a bachelor party. And now it was only Tuesday, and his "one beer (which you can't have because of the baby) after the soccer game (which you won't be able to attend because of work)" had turned into who knows how many, and I had fallen asleep by myself on the couch with Crystal Light and awful reruns again.

I wasn't mad about that, really. Prior to the inception of Baby Nieman, our "one beer" turned into a late night more often than not, so I definitely got it. It was just starting to get old, being stuck solo on the couch. There are terrific things about being pregnant, don't get me wrong, but all the fluttery kicks and ultrasound heartbeats in the world don't erase the occasional longing to be partners in crime with my husband again, instead of the dutiful, absentee, stay-at-home, early-to-bed wife. (Who does, yes, keep herself entertained by baking homemade muffins sometimes, but has not yet resorted to scrapbooking or knitting. Yet.)


Sporadic insensitivity to this situation and spotty night-out texting aside, Seth has been terrific about pregnancy throughout. He never misses an opportunity to tell me he's grateful and/or proud of me, brags about his daughter to anyone who will listen, and continues to read everything he can get his hands on about pregnancy and parenting.  As partial penance, no doubt, for his summer of solo fun, he spent all day Saturday putting together baby furniture for the nursery (a frustrating, complicated, and lengthy process, which I cannot imagine was fun with a post-concert hangover), and stayed up half the night Sunday finally cleaning up the Superfund site formerly known as the man cave and garage and organizing his new fishing tackle (courtesy of Missy!), just because he knew the mess was driving me nuts. (Not to mention the fact that his drunken serenades at the concert were completely adorable and caused me to fall more in love with him than ever.)

Sunday while he slept in, I escaped for a massage and a Balducci's run with Jess, who was on her own for the first time since her husband Flip was blown up almost two years before, and even sipped a brunch mimosa. It wasn't a bad weekend, all in all, and Seth and I both had to admit that as much as we enjoy being on the go, sometimes you need to stay home and reset and not eat out and clean and mow the damned yard. All of which we congratulated ourselves for knocking out, after a couple of long weeks of neglecting our home and our sleep schedules.

Monday night I even scored a sub-60 minute commute, and we had taco night and an early bedtime. We really felt like we were living the dream then.

Even after his late night last night, the Dad of the Year made it to our 26 week appointment this morning, and everything is right on track. No ultrasound this time, so he didn't get to gloat about how big she is, but we did get to hear a strong, regular heartbeat, and confirm that it's OK that I'm not in "beached whale" territory on the weight gain chart and that I probably do not have gestational diabetes. (Cheesecake all 'round!)

I also got to go to dermatology with Seth, which was a treat as I find myself feeling a bit out of touch with his medical progress these days, now that we've fully escaped the clutches of Walter Reed. He's been going in to have botox and laser hair removal done on his right leg, in hopes that it will cut back on the sweating inside his liner and improve his prosthetic performance and fit. He's also agreed to participate in a study as the first amputee to get a more permanent treatment called miraDry (using lasers and microwaves, usually done on underarms in cases of excessive sweating.) We're excited to see how it works for him, and his first treatment seems to have gone pretty well, although it'll be months before he can have the whole thing done (and, due to swelling, treating the portion of his leg that fits inside his socket will require some recovery time.)

That's all our news at the moment, and I'm coming up short in the "photo of the week" department to boot. I'm going with this one I took of taco night, because it was a nice night, and because I'm hungry.

Oh, and there's a cool story about Seth's shooting here: 

http://www.dvidshub.net/video/349645/53rd-annual-rifle-championship-shooting-forward 

Alaskan Adventure

I was way overdue for an epic adventure, having spent all last summer without one, and as always, Alaska delivered. Or rather, Missy did. She is the World's Greatest Fisherman, after all, and this time I had people in tow with attention spans long enough for more than a cast or two. (The absolute max for yours truly.)

It was Seth (and his parents') first trip to The Last Frontier, plus summer in Alaska is magical, so we wanted to squeeze in a whirlwind tour around some quality salmon fishing. (Well, let's be honest, we really can't help that "vacation 'til you drop" thing, what with our Walters upbringing.) And a whirlwind it was. We went "glamping" in Seward, invaded Brittany's for bocce and (Missy's) birthday fun, checked out half the glaciers in Alaska, discovered the insanely amazing Alaska Marine Highway and Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center, and road-tripped to Valdez. I was also conned into stops at both Cabela's AND Bass Pro, both new additions to the Anchorage shopping scene, and reminded myself that no trip with Seth Nieman is complete without such a predictable diversion.

 
Missy, previously the World's Greatest Fisherman (with the keychain to prove it) became the World's Greatest Fishing Guide, rustling up a carload of tackle, analyzing tides and moon phases with Seth, "house mousing" fish after flopping fish, showing off her filleting (and disgusting fishhead-bonking) skills, and participating in the Most Epic Fish Save Ever.

Seth, who is good at literally everything, was of course a natural salmon fisherman, and before long was trading knot-tying insults with Missy.
 
According to nearly everyone on the plane headed home, the salmon weren't doing much "running" this week, but the Niemans all landed some, and we grilled them up for dinner.
(Fine. I had a veggie burger. But the fresh salmon seemed to be a hit.)
 
I get bored after about three minutes of fishing and was less than thrilled that the presence of Baby Nieman severely limited my ice climbing and sea kayaking adventures (not to mention microbrew consumption), but- armed with the bear spray Seth insisted I carry everywhere- I got in some beautiful hikes while the dedicated anglers fought off mosquitoes and fishing crowds. Missy and I also hiked to the hand tram in Girdwood, which I have been dying to check out, and it was as cool as advertised, requiring significant elbow grease to inch across the gorge below.

I even got Moose’s Tooth pizza. And Tony got his rum and cokes. And we all enjoyed ice cream on the hottest day ever in Valdez. We majorly lucked out on the weather, and even saw a grizzly bear.

All in all, a terrific time was had by all.
Or, as Missy and I preferred to think of it, "we nailed it."
 
I took about a million pictures, and they're here (phone pictures):
https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos?tab=mq#photos/115033664787271164277/albums/6038006013549808625
... and here (pictures from the new- read "Baby Nieman's"- camera):
https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos?tab=mq#photos/115033664787271164277/albums/6038607702366233505
 
Photo of the vacation was, of course, this one. No "one that got away" stories here!!

 But this one's not bad either.

An in-town (and fabulous) Fourth

You hear the jokes all the time, about how men revert to "frat boy living," living in filth and subsisting on cold pizza, while their wives are out of town. And yet, Seth's out of town (allegedly golfing but most likely just drinking beer at the Army Football Club's annual golf tournament at West Point) and last night found me sitting in front of the TV in my underwear, dining on frozen yogurt and ignoring two loads of unfolded laundry. I shamelessly blamed the baby, but reflected that perhaps that's not a gender-specific rule of thumb.

But I skipped all the good stuff. Last weekend was the fourth of July! One of my very favorite holidays. Maybe my favorite. And for once we were home, having decided that our usual whirlwind schedule plus the upcoming golf tournament and Alaska trip demanded that we stick around. (Also, Seth wanted to shoot an NRA match at Quantico.) I was a little bummed, since the only thing more sacred to me than America's birthday is the principle of squeezing every last second out of a long weekend (usually by going somewhere fabulous), but as usual things worked out just as they were supposed to, and it was a lovely, much-needed "rest in place" weekend. We spent all day on the fourth at home, making homemade apple pie (me, in observance of a Walters family tradition) and smoking all sorts of meats. Seth even busted out the turkey frier.

We also finally pulled out the new (super nice) croquet set from Mom and Dad (also a Walters holiday tradition.) Guess who won his first croquet game?

Neither of us really wanted to fight traffic and crowds to see the DC fireworks, but it's a "must-do while you live here" thing, so we dragged outselves to Fort Myer, which turned out to be a genius plan. We had prime seating (a spot reserved for us on the lawn by MG Thomas, pursuant to- apparently- a hilarious local custom of all the generals on Fort Myer being ordered to save seats on the field by their wives). The view looking down over the National Mall was magnificent, if impossible to justify with photos.

The rest of the weekend was just as nice. Saturday Seth had to go register for the shooting match, so we went exploring down south, and finally checked out Prince William Forest Park, a terrific- if hilly- place for a bike ride. We also discovered an amazing Belgian place (named, unfortunately, "Cock and Bowl," in historic Occoquan on the way back.) They had Delirium! And real Belgian pommes frites.

We decided that lead and loud noises might not be terrific for family members weighing only about a pound, so while Seth spent the rest of the weekend shooting his match, Baby Nieman and I embarked on our own adventures. Sunday we went hiking in Shenandoah with Mom & Dad, and Monday found us paddleboarding on the Chesapeake Bay. The baby was a real trooper (a love of fresh air and exercise seems to be a genetic trait), and I remain grateful that she lets me get out and stay active at almost six months! (And has begun kicking to let me know when she's hungry. Possibly also attributable to genetics.)

Monday night before we headed back to work, Seth and I even got in another dinner date- this time in Baltimore after he had gotten a little taste of my daily commute, missing Aaron's birthday cocktails entirely thanks to horrendous traffic. I, on the other hand, made it on time but smelled like baywater, having taken a little spill on the paddleboarding adventure. The Alexanders were probably thrilled. The veggie wrap at Nick's Fish House- go figure- left a little to be desired, but the view was phenomenal, and we toasted the sunset and Independence Day and well-spent weekends at home from the deck.

I realize that this makes us seem a little food-obsessed, but the photo of the week is our plate after we devoured our Belgian waffle Saturday, because it made me laugh. The waffle (turtle, meaning drowning in caramel and chocolate and whipped cream, thanks to Seth) obviously didn't suck.