GOATS!
emmysnacks
I like cooking, wine and reading. I'm always on the look out for new recipes and books to read. Husband and I are having a baby in January! If you want to know anything else, just ask.
.02 seconds later Cam was flat in his back in the yard.
Pup was begging so I told her to Go Lie Down. Now she’s pouting in the guest room and I feel bad. Jerk.
Cam was not very impressed with his first Red Sox game.
Breakfast for the Beefcake!
Not exactly how this truck is supposed to be used.
We had plans to go to the zoo in Boston today, but obviously that didn’t happen. We went to the park in the suburbs instead.
Cam’s still too little for the playground (my opinion, not his), so we played on the grass and Cam gave sticks to every dog we saw, whether they wanted one or not.
My mother just asked my brother and I if we think our father is sexy.
Please excuse me while I vom everywhere.
Yesterday was the first time in 4 years that I haven’t gone into Boston to watch the Red Sox game, and cheer on the marathon runners. It’s the first time in TEN years that Matt hasn’t been there. And we both REALLY wanted to be there. We had tickets to the Red Sox game. My mom was coming to watch Cam. She was even planning on spending the night in case we felt, um, a little “under the weather” when we got home from a day of drinking. I was beyond excited. There is nothing better than having a drink in hand at 8am, watching your favorite baseball team, then leaving the game after (hopefully a winner) to cheer the marathoner’s over the finish line. Patriot’s Day in Boston is hands own my favorite holiday ever.
This year, we couldn’t go. Our friends ddn’t have childcare and Matt was swamped at work, so even though I had childcare and was all set to go, it just wasn’t go to happen. To say I was devastated is an understatement. I called my mom and told her not to come. She said she had planned on coming to see Cam, and was coming anyway. Let the annoyance set in.
I spent yesterday legit pouting and feeling sorry for myself. “Poor me, for ONCE, I have a babysitter, but have nowhere to go.” “How hard would it have been for Matt and our friends to clear their schedules? We do this EVERY YEAR!”
I took my mom to an antique shop while she was here. We had a good time, and when I went to purchase my unique find, I noticed that the radio was on. Strange. They were reporting a tragedy, and I offhandedly asked the high school girl working, what had happened, I expected her to say something terrible happened in a foreign country I had barely heard of, not the city 45 minutes up the road, that I was supposed to be in.
My heart and my mind still cannot process what happened. We had friends that were right there, and thankfully, they are ok. We should have been there too.
My sister ( a missionary), called to make sure we weren’t there, and then told us that God had a “purpose and a plan” for us, and that’s why Matt and I weren’t there. I wanted to ask if that meant that God had had a plan for that sweet eight-year-old boy to be there instead of me, but didn’t have the heart to argue at a moment like that.
My heart is broken for the city I love. My favorite holiday will forever be changed. That being said, I will be bringing my baby to a Red Sox game on May 12th and introducing him to the city that his parents love so much.
I know that this bombing was meant to scare us away, but we are not going to let it. We love Boston, we love the Boston Marathon, and we love the Red Sox. Nothing will scare us away from the city we love.
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.”- MLK Jr
I’m going though all my posts and looking for a specific picture right now, and realizing how much I need to get active on tumblr again. I had completely forgotten that I hid my pregnancy from the bar I worked at (1 day a week) until I was 20 weeks pregnant. (If I knew how to reblog myself, I would insert awesome pic of me hiding my baby bump here.)Way to go me!
If nothing else, I need to start posting again just so I can document things, since my brain has turned to mush.
