Chi Does ATL, VaHi Style

Some weekends are so all-consuming and happifying that you can't even begin to get a worthy-enough blog post together about them until Tuesday. Last weekend = this kind of weekend.

Katie, Sara and Maggie came in from Chicago and we had a full-on-nonstop-Atlanta weekend. We embraced the Highlands from head to toe - walking to Belly and San Fran coffee, eating at El Taco, getting drinks at Hand in Hand, shopping at Bridge and making all sorts of stops along the way. 

We rolled deep at Park Tavern for When It Rains, We Pour, because if we couldn't beat this crazy rain with our Shoot the Hooch plans, why not just join it? 

As I sat on the patio overlooking Piedmont Park, the amazing skyline and our long table of friends from so many different areas of life laughing together, my heart was full. Sometimes I don't understand why I have to live so far from so many people I love, but on Saturday afternoon, everything felt right. 

I woke up Monday morning with sore abs from laughing all weekend. I was sad to see my friends go, but felt so much peace knowing that even through all of these years apart, some friendships just continue to grow together - grow better. 

And that's pretty wonderful.

Thank you, Sara, Kate and Mag for coming to Atlanta! 

Summer's Best Kept Secret: 1Kept

I've mentioned before that I'm a real sucker for ambiance when it comes to dining. Vibe is everything. But when the food is as good as the vibe? Then we're really grooving. 

This is exactly the case at 1Kept, which opened in Buckhead this spring. My friend Casey told me about it a while ago and, blown away by her review, I decided to host a bridal shower there, sight unseen. 

The day of the event, I started to get a little nervous. Who hosts a shower without at least looking into the venue first?

I do, apparently.

Fortunately, 1Kept deserved my trusting heart. 

The food was incredible. Katie and I split the Florentine flatbread and the Buckwheat waffles. Don't even make me try and choose between the two. Because it's not a possibility. They were both amazing. 

The ambiance: my jam. You enter through a back alley and it's dimly lit (even for brunch), with tree stump tables, tufted seating and vintage typewriters hanging throughout. The only way I can adequately describe it is that it's just plain cool.

But, hands down, the best part was the service. The staff was so accommodating before and during the event. They allowed us to bring in cupcakes and champagne, and then, when we ran out (much quicker than anticipated, by the way...), they offered complimentary Prosecco. 

What more could you want?

Here's to hoping Atlanta gives 1Kept a warm welcome. Are you with me!? Let's go!

images via Thrillist

what i wish i'd said

A few weeks ago I was at dinner and as I was walking to the restroom, I noticed a very happy couple sitting nearby. They were laughing over their chips and queso - leaning in and looking into one another's twinkly love eyes. I smiled as I passed them, my heart warmed a bit.

But then, as I was washing my hands, I saw the girl come into the bathroom and, without hesitating at all, make herself throw up.  I stopped in my tracks - my heart suddenly hurting for her. I wanted to wait for her and tell her:

you don't have to do that to yourself.

But it felt invasive to wait outside her stall in a Mexican restaurant on a Friday night. Maybe it was the socially acceptable thing to do to let her be, but I haven't been able to shake her from my mind. And because I was too chicken to tell her then, what I've wanted to tell her ever since is:

You don't have to do that to yourself. You're not fat. You're perfect how you are and the way he is looking into your eyes is not because of the way you make yourself throw up after a meal, but because of what he sees deep inside you. I wish, so much, that you could see yourself the way he does.

And you know what else?

You don't have to go to the gym every day. You don't have to be a slave to the treadmill. You don't have to count your calories. Or cut carbs, either. You don't have to skip dinner on the nights you know you're going to be drinking alcohol. Or skip meals all week so you can eat more on the weekends. You don't have to take laxatives. Or do a cleanse. Or eat raw foods only or only juice.

You don't have to do any of that. Because you're so much more than a number on a scale. You're so, so much more than you give yourself credit for.

But I didn't say any of that and I pray, pray, pray someone else is saying it to her. I pray someone else is braver than me, as I walked slowly back to my table, shaken by her pain, looking at her boyfriend anxiously waiting her return.

Since I can't say it to her now, I hope if you need to hear it, you can believe it. Because I mean it.

//

Too good not to share:

An Open Apology to All of My Weight Loss Clients

When Your Mother Says She's Fat

Ugliest Girl on the Internet Gives Amazing, Godly Speech

on parents knowing everything & the plants 'round here

I've mentioned before that a very real fear of mine is: when I am a parent, will I know everything in the way my parents do? Will I know what my kids need? Will I know when to take them to the doctor and when to wait it out? Will I know there aren't monsters under the bed and the right advice to give?

I'm not sure, but I sure hope so.

A few weeks ago, when my mom helped my brothers move to Atlanta, she blew me away, as always, with her knowingness. For the most part, our house feels pretty complete to me. We still need some decorations in our living room and I need to finish my frame wall, but on the whole it doesn't feel too empty. My mom, however, saw it slightly differently. While she admitted we didn't need much, she knew we needed another pillow in our desk chair. She knew our porch needed bright cushions in the adirondacks. 

And she knew we needed flowers. 

Now, I've had a very real, very public struggle with horticulture. Most specifically at the Goodwynn.  But my mom assured me I could do this. I'm older now, you know?

And so, we planted. OK. She planted. I documented and listened to her instructions: hydrangeas need lots of water. The soil should always be moist. And if one dies, just cut it off and another one will grow back (who knew!?). And pour the water at the base of the plant slowly so it can drink it.

I told you she knew everything. 

It's been a few weeks and those babies are still alive. I know this is ridiculous, but I'm really proud. Watching them grow has been instantly gratifying. Like vacuuming or mowing the lawn. The fruit of my labor is right before my eyes! And even though there are still a whole lot of things I have to figure out, it feels great to take one more step toward my green thumb. At least in the hydrangea department.