G'Day Mate

Each year, our anniversary gift to one another has been a destination. Take two people who love to travel and get antsy when they don't have a passport (side note: four passports in as many years. Expired. Lost. New. New name.), put 'em together and you'd better believe they're planning a vacation or two. It's not much of a surprise when you book several months out, but it does make for two people ecstatic at the prospect of fall travel.

We can't WAIT to see these four thugs:

Here:

"Vacation From My PROBLEMS."

- Bob Wiley

We got away to the coast for Labor Day and boy howdy, did we ever need it. These tan lines are the first to speak of for the summer, if that's any indication.

We got a house in Newport, RI with a few other couples and thoroughly enjoyed a weekend without a schedule and heavy on the sandy beaches, rocky beaches, kabobs, lighthouses, great conversation, games, sand volleyball, friends, mansion walks, skim boarding attempts, salt water taffy and tandem bikes.Most great vacations are typically measured in number of seats and handle bars.You'll never believe it, but the tandem bike wasn't our nerdiest point of the trip. No, no - we hit that low early on when we suggested to the Wrides we play "name every country beginning with A, now B, now C... D... you get the picture" on our drive to Newport. That game got us 4/5ths of the way through a three-hour drive and probably 9/10ths of the way toward the Wrides refusing to ever be in a vehicle with us ever again.

But I suspect we weren't the only nerds in the bunch. There were more games of Acquire (The Game of Corporate Acquisitions - naturally) than I can count on both hands, where I learned to stick with my wicked geography and country-naming skills because my savvy planning and corporate conquest skills are sub-par. I'm clearly not cut out to be a titan of industry.

When we weren't amassing large fictional fortunes, we were contemplating how to spend real ones and dreaming about the day we'll own one of these. Or one of these.Or one of these. Or at least be good friends with someone who does. (Who was the ultimate Acquire champ? We're counting on you...)

A City Divided

Noah and I returned home late Monday evening after a wonderful three-day weekend (updates on that soon), and the hour left little in the way of straightening up the house and preparing for the week (I LOVE a clean house to collect my thoughts). Although, truth be told, it did leave enough in the way of a Friends episode and a bowl of mint cookies and cream.

No willpower. It's frightening.

But we managed to dodge responsibility and the folding/putting away of laundry (yawn) for one more evening when our coworker generously scored us tickets to the Mets/Marlins game last night. We hadn't spent an evening at Citi Field yet (come to think of it, we hadn't really been to Queens yet... so this was uncharted territory all around.) and I gotta say - of all the brand new Major League Baseball stadiums in New York City, I think this one is my fave.

I wish I'd taken more photos, because the inside is really neat - I loved the brick juxtaposed with the dark steel rafters and there was just a cool vibe.

But as I was declaring my love for the facilities (does that reek of a bathroom euphemism? does "reek" conjure equally unpleasant thoughts? i'm stopping...) the Mets were ho-hum on the field. I took this picture in the bottom of the 7th, Mets down by two, bases loaded, one out, David Wright up to bat (evidently a crowd favorite? i suspect because he slightly resembles Donny Osmond.) - hoping I would have an awesome grand slam story to share after I took it. But meh, nope.

My love faded further when we had to wait on two crowded platforms for two different trains in order to get home. We usually walk home from Yankee Stadium. If you've ever been to Yankee Stadium, now you're afraid for me, probably.

So I guess I'm still on the fence. Mets fan? Yankees fan?

METS - dig the digs; free tickets; giant apple; Donny Osmond lookalike.

YANKEES - home in 15; Frank Sinatra; winning.

I guess all that's left to consider is whether I look better in pinstripes or orange. I'm such a hard-core sports fan.

Lately...

The Impetus: Allison's a lot more pleasant to be around when she's been on a walk.

The Scene: Walked along 5th to the park after work. Papa Murphy's hit-the-streets with $5 pizzas and I had no dinner plan to speak of (and this was yesterday, when I didn't know yet that poor eating choices were catching up with me). So we forked over five Washingtons, walked through Central Park until we found a quiet-ish table and listened to Noah's Brett Dennen Pandora station over cold-ish pizza.

The Highlight: Hello there, east side of the park! We don't see you often... Beautiful walk and the weather was the icing on the cake.



The Impetus: Noah's always wanted to party on a aircraft carrier.

The Scene: Free movie night on the USS Intrepid. Secretly we hoped it would be on the actual deck of the ship. No dice. But we didn't mind settling for leftover hummus and tapenade, Sour Patch watermelons and great company on the pier alongside the ship while we finally understood all those jokes in Apollo 13 we didn't understand as kids.

The Highlight: Rain delay = free stadium blankets. Now that's just good PR, Bank of America.



The Impetus: Bed bug scare. (Kevin C. has a theory about a guy who worried so much about itchy scalp disease that he got an itchy scalp. Can you get so worried about bed bugs that you actually catch them?)

The Scene: Sorting through each piece of clothing, one article at a time. Checking pockets, tags, folds, cuffs before sealing in bags, washing and running on high for 90 minutes. Scrubbing base boards and crevices with rubbing alcohol.

The Highlight: We learned we don't actually have bed bugs. Just the never-ending, always-looming, potential threat of bed bugs.

The Honeymoon's Over.

Nope, not the lovin' each other stage (ask anyone who rolls their eyes when we share earbuds and laugh together at This American Life on the commute home or any of our coworkers who hear an indavertent, "k - thanks, sweetie" when we hang up).

I'm talkin' about a little thing called the losing weight without trying stage.

When we moved to the city, we went from avid gym rats to well, subway rats. And at first - the one mile round trip to the grocery store and the hauling of milk cartons and laundry detergent up and down 8th Ave pretty much did the trick. The jeans still fit. The smaller jeans fit.

After fighting nature (farmer's build... it's in my genes) my entire life, for the first time ever I wasn't trying and the inches were dropping.

I still enjoy a great run now and then and I always take the stairs and I did raise caucasian participation at the rec center's free aerobics classes by 100%, but an actual schedule or plan to break a sweat is shoddy at best.

To top it all off, my sweet tooth has been in high gear, and without the extra pounds to guilt me out of it, I indulged. And indulged.

I knew it was too good to be true and I knew it couldn't last.

Today, it quit lasting.

That's right - shocker. A non-existent workout routine and an overly-existent love affair with Breyer's ice cream (the PEACH? Oh my gosh.) and for some reason the nylons took a little extra tug this morning.

I feel like I suddenly woke up and this don't try=lose weight situation I thought was so awesome actually sheds its hair all over the bathroom and doesn't wake up wearing make-up anymore.

The One Where Allison Rambles About Guests and Child-Rearing...

After Jesse's visit for the 4th, the front door just kept on revolving. I think this is one of my favorite aspects of this NYC experience.

July brought three more sets of visitors and one ridiculously adorable 2-year old to the Riley home.

Though I don't know we actually get to claim "hosts" to Tim and Kurt (but it was a lovely 15 minutes, sorry I never actually saw you again) and really, we just kept Kurt and Dani (I did NOT notice until just now there were two Kurts in the lineup) up until an unholy hour in our futile attempts to be social between meetings (please come back; we're more fun than this, I swear). So we managed zero photos and/or photo opps with the pairs.

But we got Danina (almost like Dani - this is getting spooky) and Brandon for an entire 4 days, and we had the camera in tow.

During their visit, Danina made a new best friend:

A man in a flag leotard front flipped over Danina and four strangers:

Brandon, infamous for causing scenes, causes a scene by trying to carry a suspicious bag into Yankee stadium; security was summoned:

The Yankees creamed the A's:

Noah found his namesake on the cathedral on 110th: We checked out one of our favorite campuses in NYC:

Noah stole a kiss at the High Line while my chin looked a little Leno-esque:
And they made us Sunday dinner, which means they can stay forever.

During Brandanina's visit, we also managed to babysit one incredibly easy-going, adorable 2-year old. And it took all four of us to do it.

Not because the kid was tough at all (in fact, we suspect there may have been a mild sedative in the apple juice, because truly, are kids normally this chill?). Quite the contrary, it's because I am still a little unsure as to how parents actually accomplish tasks. Superhumans, I think.

Because what do you do if one of you plays the organ and the other has to keep stepping out of the chapel for church duties? Well, leave her on the pew with Thatchers, of course. And who picks her up from nursery when one of you has a public affairs meeting and the other has ward clerk responsibilities? The Thatchers, of course. So now I'm convinced we need a good 4:1 ratio of adults to kids to make this happen.

Of course, three minutes of clear thinking tells me - dude, just take her to the meeting. But why is that not my natural inclination? Do I have a dormant gene somewhere that inhibits rational care-for-your-young thought?

Little T. - little did you know while we were splashing in puddles at Central Park after a summertime downpour and keeping you occupied with the camera feature on the phone while we ducked for cover during said storm, I was seriously pondering how on EARTH I'm going to ever keep one of you alive.

Okay, alive is probably a gross overstatement. But future Riley kids - please accept my sincerest apologies in advance for forgetting you in nursery. And while I'm at it, I should warn you - the house probably won't always be clean.

Narcissist.

My older sister caught me singing in the mirror once when I was about ten.

She made fun of me, because - hello! That's hilarious.

But it did leave just the tiniest emotional scar, and now I'm reticent to spend too much time gazing at my reflection in public restrooms for fear of a repeat Ace of Base/hairbrush experience.

I'm glad, though, that I seized a quiet moment in the ladies room this morning for a closer inspection.

Because I noticed the oatmeal in my hair.

Allison+Mirror: 1. Oatmeal: 0.