43 Days, Tall Black Boots, and a Week of Happy Tears

HAPPY SUNDAY!

I made it through another week!!!

And honestly, I feel like I deserve one of those tiny gold stars teachers used to put on homework, except mine should be stuck to my water bottle because that’s the only thing I’m consistently holding onto these days. Coffee, bye. Kicked Red Bulls two weeks ago. I’m ok.

The next vacation is in six weeks and two days—or, if we’re keeping it casual, roughly one and a half months, coming out to 43 days, 16 hours, and 58 minutes until October 20 at noon as I write this.

See? Breaking it down makes it easier to see the light.

If I say “vacation is six weeks away,” I immediately become deeply depressed. But if I say “43 days and 16 hours,” suddenly I’m a woman with a plan, a timeline, and maybe even a functioning nervous system. Numbers are comforting. Specific numbers are even better. Give me a countdown with decimals and I’ll survive almost anything.

Probably.

Fall is falling and I am READY

It’s starting to feel like fall, you guys!!!

I’ve been wearing my tall black boots with midi skirts and I am so happy about it. Like, deeply happy. I mostly dress like a dad I feel like. Mostly because I wear all of my dad’s clothes and shoes. Same size. Weird I know. Keeps him close. Emotionally restored. I dress different for events and work obviously. There is something about pulling on tall black boots that tells the world, “Yes, I may have three loads of laundry waiting for me, but I also have a look.”

Layering is not actually my favorite. I like oversized tees and black jeans and combat boots. I do like to dress up occasionally. I’m over scarves that somehow become both a fashion accessory and a minor choking hazard when I’m driving. Just not into it. Dislike chunky knits, I have too many itchy girl skin issues. Leggings are for running, socks make me feel sweatier than I should be. I do however love a dramatic coat. Fur inspired. I just like what I like.

I’m kind of ready for chilly weather, too.

Not freezing weather. Let’s not get carried away. I’m not asking for icy windshield mornings or that special New England wind that somehow enters your coat through a sealed zipper. But crisp air? Yes. Hot cider? Absolutely. Leaves doing their annual performance of “we are beautiful but now everyone has to rake”? Sure.

And bed rotting when applicable.

I feel like we should all be more honest about bed rotting. Sometimes you need to lie horizontally with a blanket, a beverage, and no plans besides maybe watching an entire season of something you’ve already seen. Is it productive? No. Is it restorative? Also maybe no. But it is necessary every once in a while, especially when you work seven days a week.

I love being busy. I really do. Busy makes me feel useful, creative, and alive. But even I know there comes a point where the body says, “Ma’am, if you answer one more email from this bed, we are calling the authorities.”

The post-getaway pileup

This week was busy. Always is after a getaway.

You leave for a few days thinking you’ll come back refreshed, glowing, full of perspective and maybe with a new appreciation for hydration. Then you return and every task you postponed while you were away is standing at the door wearing a little name tag. And you’re so sad your trip is over you need another full week to get over it. Because it’s always so magical and brings you back to who you were always supposed to be.

BUT.

Hello, catering orders.

Hello, 65th birthday parties.

Hello, tiki boat cruise.

Hello, giant wedding.

Hello, meal prep.

We did it all and crammed it into one week of sweat, tears, lists, phone calls, food prep, deliveries, packing, unpacking, cleaning, re-cleaning, and wondering where the scissors went even though I was holding them four minutes earlier.

The birthday celebrations are sweet and busy in the best way. I made some really beautiful platters for a 65th birthday, and I’m not gonna lie, that kind of order always gets me right in the feelings. Also the birthday girl is so cool and artsy and bubbly that I wouldn’t mind having a hang with her. There’s something special about making food for a milestone birthday. You get to imagine everyone gathered around, talking over one another, sneaking one more bite, and pretending they’re “just checking the cheese” when they are absolutely eating the cheese.

Also on deck: little croissant sammies. Tiny. Cute. Deceptively labor intensive when you’re brain dead. And chocolate covered strawberries... you guys... TWICE IN A WEEK. Respectfully!!! Beautiful little demons. High maintenance, temperamental, and fully capable of humbling me before noon. Am I thrilled and grateful to make them? Obviously. Do I act like I’ve been personally victimized by melted chocolate approximately every time? Also yes. I’m not perfect at making them and I’d love to be one of those effortlessly elegant people who just dips and drizzles and everything comes out Pinteresty, but alas, I am me, in real life, slightly sticky and negotiating with strawberries like they pay rent.

Then there was the tiki boat cruise, which is one of those phrases that sounds like a fake side quest in a video game. “You must deliver the grazing spread before sunset!” Meanwhile, I’m running around trying to make sure everything arrives beautifully and nobody accidentally eats gluten. I did a good job.

And the giant wedding!!!

Weddings are always a whole different level of energy. The scale is bigger, the timeline is tighter, and there are approximately 9,000 tiny details floating around in the air at any given moment. But when it all comes together? When the food is set, the table looks gorgeous, and people start gathering around it? That’s the good stuff.

That’s the moment where I forget I was recently standing in the shop surrounded by boxes, tape, labels, and a cheese knife I could not find for twenty minutes.

It is a lifestyle.

People talk. They laugh. They try the weird cheese. Someone says, “I don’t usually like olives,” and then eats six olives.

It’s magic, basically.

Meal prep, because apparently we need to eat too

In the middle of all of that, I also meal-prepped.

Who am I? Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe the fall air gave me superpowers. Maybe I was briefly possessed by a very organized grandmother. Either way, meals happened.

Meal prep is one of those things that sounds very wholesome until you are standing in the kitchen with six containers open, one cutting board covered in vegetables, and a sink that looks like it has personally declared war on you.

But future me is always grateful.

Future me opens the fridge and says, “Oh wow, someone cared about us.”

Past me is standing there with a knife and a slightly concerning amount of ambition, whispering, “You are welcome.”

This is the ongoing battle of being a business owner: you can create a full catering menu, organize a wedding order, coordinate a boat cruise, and somehow still forget to feed yourself until 3:17 p.m. Then you look up and realize you’ve eaten half a croissant and three pieces of cheese while answering emails.

Which, to be clear, is not a balanced meal. Neither was the Taco Bell I DoorDashed at 1030AM today… and ate the leftovers for dinner at 7pm after the longest day ever. And you know what, I don’t even feel guilty. I don’t even care if you think I’m disgusting for eating fast food multiple times a week. I don’t want to cook. I don’t want to think and DoorDash has been a lifesaver lately. Ok enough about my bad habits. I do cook for my child though, he doesn’t eat fast food nearly as much as me. I am not a monster.

Sweat, tears, and the good kind of tired

By the end of the week, I was tired in that deep, full-body way where even changing into pajamas feels like an ambitious personal-development project.

And if I’m being wildly honest for a sec, I get serious weekend FOMO. Like real, aggressive, dramatic-Fish-sign FOMO, because my heaviest load is always Friday through Sunday. While other people are doing cute weekend things and pretending they’re gonna “just pop by” somewhere in a clean outfit, going on romantic picnics with their boyfriends, bar hopping til 1AM, I’m usually elbow-deep in prep, delivery mode, cleanup mode, checklist mode, and some mysterious fifth mode where I’m physically in the shop but spiritually floating above my body like girl... how are we doing this again?

And the answer is: I seriously do not know how I do it. At all.

I just do it because I have to.

That’s the whole TED Talk. No secret. No sexy productivity hack. No morning routine with lemon water and enlightenment. Just necessity, adrenaline, and a deeply concerning ability to keep moving while thinking about seventeen things at once.

But the tears were happy tears, I think.

Or maybe exhaustion tears. The line is very thin. Sometimes I’m crying because I’m proud, sometimes because I’m overwhelmed, and sometimes because I dropped something on the floor after I already cleaned the floor. Human beings are complex creatures.

Also I’m finally off tomorrow afternoon, which sounds sooo relaxing until you remember what “off” means when you run a business. Shower. Pay bills. Admin work. Maybe stare at a wall for six minutes if the universe is feeling generous. And obviously my brain is already thinking about the meal prep menu, the orders for the week, inventory, all the boring stuff, who needs what, what I’m low on, what I forgot, what I definitely should not forget again. See? I don’t know how I do it.

And if I’m extra honest, I feel like an imposter half the time. Like surely a more polished adult woman would be handling all of this with better posture and less emotional dependence on to-do lists. I’m so bad at giving myself grace. Truly awful at it. Gold medal level. I can look at a full week of work, beautiful platters, catered events, weddings, boat cruises, sammies, strawberries from hell, all of it, and still somehow be like hmm yes but did I do enough? Extremely chill behavior from me!

Still, I’m grateful.

Grateful for the orders. Grateful for the celebrations. Grateful for the people who trust us with their birthdays, weddings, work gatherings, boat adventures, and snack emergencies. Grateful that busy still feels exciting to me, even when I’m running on empty.

And grateful that fall is arriving right on schedule with its crisp mornings and cozy little reminders that everything changes, whether we’re ready or not.

I’m trying to let the season teach me something.

Slow down when I can. Keep going when I need to. Wear the boots. Drink the cider. Make the meal prep. Rest without turning it into a moral failure. Remember that I am allowed to enjoy the life I’m working so hard to build.

Also, I’ve said this before but if YOU need a little warm reminder:

You are the prize. Repeat til you believe.

I’m repeating it.

You are the prize.

Again, because apparently my brain needs the same message delivered like a package requiring multiple signatures.

Thanks for sticking with me through another week of chaos. I know I’m always saying I’m busy, but you guys are part of the reason I get to be busy doing something I love. That means more to me than I can probably explain without becoming emotional in the produce aisle.

Here’s to 43 days.

Here’s to tall black boots.

Here’s to chilly mornings, hot cider, oversized tees, and the occasional medically necessary bed rot.

Stay hungry, stay warm, and please tell me I’m not the only one who gets emotionally attached to a good pair of boots!

XX,

Abby

Song of the day: Downey Chase: There is a Life I Must Find

That track just hits different when you’re running on fumes. It’s that exact brand of atmospheric indie-folk that feels like walking through a damp New England forest right as the temperature drops. The haunting storytelling pulls you right out of your own head. It’s grounding music and the kind that makes you feel like someone else completely understands the specific, heavy exhaustion of running on a blinking red battery and wondering how you pulled off another week.

These peach cobbler overnight oats though!

The smell of raw meat is RANK.

I watched the SailGP races this weekend and devoured that Summer St Grocers breakfast Sammy in 2 minutes.

Had a nice business dinner and asked for ALL the sauces because why would you settle for one?

I love how my shop is right next to Georgie’s school so I get to visit throughout the day. I did a pizza party and hoodsie cups for a little Friday surprise. I’m going to miss this next year.