9/30/17

Rooftop tacos.

One warmer-than-usual September evening, Blake set out for tacos and I set out for a view. We met at Salvation Taco in Midtown for drinks, for warm breezes, for the sounds of Manhattan from above. The kind of night that's saturated with reasons to breathe deep, appreciate right here and right now.

9/25/17

The last days of summer.

*we had a weekend speckled with loss - two family friends that left us within a day of each other, leaving behind a legacy of selflessness and goodness. birthday voicemails every year, without fail. a little wooden train that Hugo adores. to have lived such a big life - to put an ache in so many hearts - is about the most beautiful thing I can think of at the moment. 
*and there were smaller things, too: a trip to the book sale, a bouquet of dahlias for the counter, long talks with friends, holding babies in the church nursery, hours at the beach with my boy while his dad was away for work. we celebrated my dad's birthday, too, and the homecoming of my brother's newborn. and in the wee hours of this morning, Blake settled into the bed next to me for the first time in a week. my mind keeps turning over the word "gratitude". for all of it: the joys and the aches.

9/21/17

Fair weekend.

The fair is serious business in this town, and we're all about it. We headed down on Friday night, and again with family on Sunday. The parade was in between, and we sat on the curb as dutiful suburbanites, keeping an eye out for "siren trucks" and waving flags. Almost all of the time, I just love this place.

9/18/17

Playground party.

We spent Saturday afternoon in the city, celebrating the first birthdays of some of my dearest friends' babies. We shared pink and blue cupcakes, chased a certain two-year-old away from the fountains and sandbox, and lived in denial of the fact that two members of our little group (going on 7 years of friendship!) will be leaving us so very soon. I can't look at the photo of us girls without getting teary-eyed, and I find myself harboring a bit of bitterness against Vancouver and Alabama for taking our friends away. I'm kidding, but only kind of.

Before heading home, we made a stop for all the necessities: dinner at one of our favorite spots, blooms at a nearby bodega, H&H bagels for Sunday morning.

9/14/17

Potty training.

A snapshot of how things are going. We're breaking all of the rules and taking it slow, but we've had more successes than accidents over here, so I think we're doing alright...

9/10/17

The last of summer.

While I was off last week, we spent most mornings at the beach. We collected shells, had our run of the playgrounds and went jogging with sea breezes behind us. This past season was a crazy one for us, and I can't say I'd relive it. But here we are with fall in sight, and we're doing our best to soak up the last bits of goodness from a summer that passed us by in a blink.

9/5/17

A week off.

I took this week off to spend time with Hugo, catch up with friends, escape the hustle after a string of long months, get lost in a book, commit time to a few personal projects - potty training among them (wish us luck). 

We reversed roles and took Blake to the train this morning. With his office move to New Haven, he's just a short walk from the station, and the commute doubled as an excuse to bring Hugo to see the trains. My heart swelled and nearly burst in the span of 3 minutes - watching Hugo's face as the train pulled in, holding his small hand in mine, seeing Blake wave from the window as he sped off. 

I have spent time doing more glamorous things, but the simple and purposeful have been kinder to me, to us. 

9/1/17

The two of us.

Meeting for Mexican after long days of work - just him and me. Holding hands, and remembering when we used to do that more often (toddlers tend to occupy). Having uninterrupted conversation. And while I much prefer morning to evening, nighttime in Manhattan is another thing entirely. Nights in Manhattan have invited us in with soft breezes and flickering lights and a glass of wine, basket of chips at the door.