The Breakfast Bribe

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I’ve been having this problem lately. Somehow I ended up in an unhealthy relationship with my snooze button. I don’t remember it starting with a first date, but now we meet five or six times each morning.

This new boyfriend in my life has been wrecking havoc on my ability to get ready for the day and arrive at work with a fully-functioning (and properly caffeinated) brain.

So last night, I took matters into my own hands. In a drastic effort to break up with my snooze button, I promised myself I would take myself to Peet’s Coffee & Tea for breakfast if I didn’t hit snooze at all this morning.

After first experiencing Peet’s on a trip to San Francisco last fall, I have been obsessed with their vanilla lattes (as I am all vanilla lattes) and fresh oatmeal. With dried blueberries, almonds and brown sugar, their oatmeal is to die for and I’m a huge fan.

When my alarm went off this morning, I thought of breakfast and kicking my day off the right way and for once, I popped out of bed like a daisy. Breakfast was delicious and it was amazing to have extra time in the morning instead of rushing around.

Needless to say, the breakfast bribe worked. Now, hopefully I don’t have to bribe myself everyday.

Here’s to no more snooze buttons!

Three Reasons to Celebrate

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Given that post-grad life isn’t quite as glamorous as I had imagined as a disillusioned college kid, I like to celebrate the little things each week. This week I’ve got quite a bit to be happy about including:

1. I made my first college loan payment. With two months to go in my “grace period”, I decided to bite the bullet and start chipping away at the gross things called student loans. Not going to lie, it feels pretty good.

2. I ran. I used to run a lot but working full-time and sleeping enough to have the energy to work full-time have pretty much consumed my schedule and I’ve been struggling with finding ways to get exercise in. I’ve started running again right after work which has actually been pretty successful so far.

3. AppleFest. Every year in my itsy bitsy little hometown, we have this thing called AppleFest. Live music, amazing local goodies and bunches of people come together to celebrate Autumn essentially. I love the fresh apple cider and pumpkin-flavored everything that you can find there. I haven’t been able to attend the last few years because of college commitments so this year, I’m extra excited to be able to go.

What are you all celebrating this week?

Home is Where the Heart Breaks

Home-is-where-the-Heart-isI know you’ve heard it. That catchy, sentimental phrase that’s emblazoned on white picket-fence décor everywhere – Home is Where the Heart Is. For almost 20 years, it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, it really did.

But now, I disagree. What or where do you consider home? I was born in the small town of Bevis (pronounced BEEE-vis in case you’re wondering) but moved to Hilton Head Island mid-grade school. I once lived in the hilly no-man’s land of Morrow, Ohio before moving to the antique gift shop city that is Lebanon. I moved to Central Ohio for college, and still live in Columbus now. I consider myself a Cincinnati native and a Columbus dweller but really, I’m a conglomeration of every place, city and state I once considered home.

For me, home is where my family is. It’s where I went to grade school (all three of them). It’s the pool I had swim team practice in every day on the island and my favorite Hilton Head restaurant, Amigo’s Café and Cantina. It’s the halls of my high school and the antique downtown streets of small town, Ohio. It’s the loud boisterous atmosphere of an Ohio State game in the Shoe and it’s the broken pavement I once broke my hand on. It’s the island trails I use to take early morning bike rides on with my dad and the dip behind the plate at the old softball field where I learned to catch for my southpaw sister. It’s my big girl apartment that I come home to now and it’s the bunk bed at my parents’ house that I share with my younger sister. It’s my boyfriend’s apartment where we’ve cooked dinners together and his family’s home in Cleveland where I’ve spent countless weekends. If home is where the heart is, then my heart is broken. Into a lot of pieces.

Not that this is a bad thing. I’m pretty happy with the places I’ve been so far. But so just we’re clear, home isn’t where the heart IS, it’s where the heart BREAKS.

I hope your heart’s broken, too.