Milo had his first official play date yesterday. Andrew and I had a couples' baby shower to attend (Andrew's first baby shower!), and with all the grandparents out of town, we needed to figure out something to do with Milo. So I asked one of the moms at daycare if she would mind having Milo over to play with her little guy while we went to the shower. Spoiler alert: she said yes!
Milo spent about two and a half hours there and had a great time. New toys to play with (including an electronic guitar toy, which is on Milo's hot list right now), movies to watch, snacks to eat, juice to drink, and a new bed to jump on. Good times were had by all. And Milo's friend's mom said Milo was very well-behaved and nice and fun to have around. That's my guy.
We can't wait to return the favor and have Milo's friend over to play at our house. Can you believe my baby is old enough to have friends over? Wow, time flies.
Unrelated photo, but aren't posts with photos much nicer than the ones without?
Nearly a year ago, my dear friend JiaoJiao asked me if Milo would be the ring bearer in her wedding. Of course I said yes, but I must admit I was worried about whether or not he'd be able to handle it. He was barely a year old then, not talking much and barely walking. How was I to know what he'd be like at age two?
I shouldn't have worried. He was great. Even on a day when he had so much going on, he handled it like a pro. We had a birthday party earlier that day, which meant he a) already had a lot of new stimulation to deal with, and b) crashed hard at naptime. When he woke up from his nap, he was... not happy. But we had to feed him his snack and get him out to the park for wedding photos.
Since we didn't want to mess up his tux in the car, he got dressed in the hatchback of my car. He could not have looked cuter in his little tux and little bowtie. He didn't mind the clothes, but took a little while to warm up to photos. Correction: he never really warmed up to the photographers or the whole idea of having his picture taken, but he did warm up to me and Daddy jumping around and dancing and making silly noises.
We only ran into one snafu doing photos, when his boutonniere pin stuck him in his hand (because he was messing with it. Which I saw coming a mile away, because honestly, straight pins are just not meant for two-year-olds. I tried to tell him it was sharp and he shouldn't touch it, but somehow that didn't work. So he cried for awhile and got himself good and worked up, but Daddy's monkey impersonation made things all better.
We had some time to kill before the ceremony, so the tux came off for dinner and playtime. Then he got dressed again at the venue and ran around and played some more. With just a few minutes to go before it was time to line up, I put his tux jacket on and he freaked out. Did not want to wear the jacket. Jiao said he didn't have to wear it, but I knew it wasn't really about the jacket. I think he just felt that expectations were high and he knew he was supposed to go do something. Didn't want to disappoint. I talked to him, asked him if he was scared. He said yeah, so I just complimented the heck out him. Told him how great he was and what a good job he was going to do, etc. etc. And in a couple minutes, he was happy and ready to go, jacket on and everything.
And we lined up, and when it was his turn, he only hesitated briefly before practically marching up to the front. I was so proud of him. I still am so proud of him. He never ceases to amaze me.
During the ceremony, I showed him a book to try to keep him occupied. He knows this book so well, that even though I wasn't reading it aloud, at one point he said (out loud) "Horse says 'neigh!'" I looked down and yes, that was the text on that page. Such a smartie. I hope he wasn't loud enough for anyone else to hear.
Daddy and Milo both looked pretty sharp.
Milo even got a haircut for the occasion.
Suave and debonair.
"I don't like dat!" Took him a bit to get used to the bowtie.
I believe he was saying, "No, Mommy! Don't do dat!" I'm sure he could have been referring to any number of things.
Daddy had some trouble with the buttons. Not sure it was ever buttoned properly for the photos. Sorry about that, Jiao.
Running in fancy clothes.
Is he not just the cutest?
Not sure about smiling or saying cheese, but he did a stellar job of standing where we asked him to stand.
He did enjoy the sticks. Good job with that one, Jason. I'd say you're ready for fatherhood for sure.
Ahh, a bride and a baby. Such bliss.
And that is the face of a bride who was just spit up on.
She did it! Olive slept through the night for the first time. And none of that "waking up at 4am counts as through the night, right?" stuff, either. She really did it. Went to sleep for the night at 7:45pm, didn't wake up until around 6:15 this morning.
It was awesome. (My boobs didn't really think so. They were angry and Hulk-like and refused to let me sleep on my side after about 5am. Oh, and then when she finally got to nurse and relieve me, she ate and ate andateandateandate until she could not possibly fit another drop in. Then she burped and spewed approximately 30 ounces of milky goo all over me.)
But seriously. Olive's timing was pretty spectacular. We spent the weekend visiting friends in Springfield, and Milo decided not to sleep, really, while we were there. I was up many, many times in the night with him (and Olive), retrieving pacis and tucking Kitty in next to him. And though the trip was super fun, Andrew and I were tired and very much appreciated the solid night of sleep.
Speaking of Springfield, our trip was great. First time the four of us visited people who do not have children, so we had to remember everything, from wipes to sippy cups to toys to burp cloths. And we did it. And Milo had a great time. We toured Fantastic Caverns, where touching the wet ceiling was a big hit, as was riding unbuckled in any sort of vehicle. Side note: I do not recommend trying to nurse your baby on this tour. Not easy. We also went to the biggest Bass Pro this side of the Mississippi (or anywhere, possibly). Milo loved the turtles, the fish, the water, and all the stuffed bears. Great fun for toddlers. We ate delicious food (hello, blueberry-strawberry muffins), watched terrible movies (Action Jackson, anyone?) and generally had a fabulous time. All was well, except for the part where Milo wouldn't go to bed until we were with him in the room, so he stayed up until well past 10:00. Not great, but he remained in surprisingly good spirits considering.
I'm wondering if Olive's great night of sleeping was due in part to all the newness of a trip out of town. Who knows? I'm crossing my fingers she repeats her magnificent sleeping performance tonight.
I know I haven't posted photos in awhile, so I wanted to reassure you that Milo is indeed still quite cute. This post is just a bunch of photos from that last month or so.
First, the really big T-shirt. Actually, on me, this is a really tiny T-shirt.
Over Memorial Day weekend, we had a little barbecue at my parents' house. Milo enjoyed riding around in the Cozy Coupe and playing in the sprinkler.
We also recently took a trip to Chicago to visit our good friends. Milo and Eli are really close in age, and it was great fun to hang out with two adorable tiny people. We even put them in matching outfits, because how else could we embarrass them when they're in middle school?
I just love Milo's expression in this one.
He climbed the stairs and went down the slide all by himself!
I was pleasantly surprised by what a good traveler Milo was. Everything about the trip disrupted his normal routine. Naptime was almost nonexistent, there was no blanket on the floor to play on and no toys all around, meals were not in the big brown chair and diaper changes were not on the cushy soft pad. Daddy was not there to sing and read bedtime stories. And there were constantly new faces to meet, new places to see, and new sounds to hear. But Milo just went with the flow and was relaxed almost the entire time.
On Saturday, Emily and I had lots of things to pick up for the shower. Our plan was to run all over town in the morning/early afternoon (babies in tow, of course) then head back to the hotel in the afternoon to set things up, feed babies, and take naps. I had brought a little umbrella stroller for Milo to ride in because he seems to prefer the stroller over the Bjorn (which I had also brought) or the Moby (which I had not brought). But of course it was sprinkling when we left. The stroller had a sun shade on it, so I thought that would keep Milo pretty dry, and I would either tough it out or buy an umbrella someplace.
We walked no more than two blocks when it began raining much harder. Milo's legs were completely wet, and the sun shade was clearly not going to cut it. The umbrella seemed like a must at this point. But did Milo cry or get upset with his newly wet feet? No. Not at all. He was just hanging out, checking out the sights. Even though he didn't seem to mind the rain, I didn't so much feel like being a negligent mother, so I bought a cheapo umbrella and headed back to the hotel to switch Milo to the Bjorn. At least in that, he would stay dry.
I worried that he would fuss after a short time in the Bjorn. At home, he seems pretty ambivalent about it for awhile, then is all, "Let me out of this thing, woman." But again, pleasantly surprised. Milo ended up riding around in that thing for the next three hours, and had to go in and out of it three or four times for diaper changes and meals (his and mine). And he was a trooper the whole time.
I was not nearly as laid back as Milo. First of all, it was raining. I was carrying a heavy diaper bag, an umbrella, and a 13-plus-pound baby. We had several things to purchase (including snacks and eight bottles of wine) and by the time we headed back to the hotel, Emily and I each had heavy shopping bags to carry as well. Emily really had the brunt of the load—she had six wine bottles to my two and snacks. We had a long walk, a metro ride (with a transfer) and an uphill climb to get back to the hotel. My back hurt and I was sweaty and I definitely felt like whining about it. Milo really set the bar high, though. I think the only part of the day that he was sort of upset about was the metro ride. He cried, and I got the feeling he didn't like the noise and the motion. (He apparently is not much of an urban baby.) Milo even managed to fall asleep while in the Bjorn. His head just started leaning to one side, and I eventually guided it to lean back against my chest. I think he slept like that for about 30 minutes, which was his only real nap of the day.
Once we got back to the hotel, the hard part of the trip was over. Molly's party that evening was a huge success. I think everyone had a great time. Food was delicious, drinks were plentiful, and guests played along with the silly shower games. Milo and Eli enjoyed their first bridal shower, but were a bit sad that we did not let them attend the bachelorette party. Babysitters took good care of them, and even texted us photos of sleeping babies so we could relax and enjoy our evening out. (And enjoy it we did. Good thing we had the frozen milk for the babies to drink.)
On Sunday, Molly picked me and Milo up and we spent the afternoon hanging out at her and Rich's house. We took a nap, chatted, and ate Chinese food. It was the perfect way to spend the day.
Thankfully, the flight home was uneventful. Milo slept the entire time, and somehow I managed to snag one of the two single seats (the nice wide ones with no one next to it, both window and aisle seat). I was expecting my mother-in-law, but Andrew even surprised us and picked us up from the airport. All in all, it was a fun trip—but I don't relish the thought of traveling solo with an infant again for a very long time. Even if that infant is an excellent traveler.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. This weekend I flew to Washington, D.C. for my dear friend Molly's bridal shower and bachelorette party. But I did not go by myself. My travel companion was a chubby-cheeked, thunder-thighed, blue-eyed, 13-pound bundle of joy. Because I am breastfeeding, Milo goes where I go. So we went to D.C. together. And—spoiler alert—we made it.
I was a nervous wreck beforehand. I had no idea what it would be like to travel with an infant. I read about traveling with a baby. I asked friends for advice. I called the airline. I overpacked. But I had no idea what to expect. And on Friday morning, I was so nervous I just kept crying. (I am a crier. Have I mentioned this before? It is how I react to about 75 percent of situations.) I was so worried that Milo would be miserable, or that he would get sick, or poop all over me. Not just on the plane. I was least worried about the flight itself. I was worried about getting both of us, plus stroller, diaper bag, cooler bag of frozen milk, and my giant camping backpack from the airport to the metro and then on to the hotel. I was worried about being on my own with Milo for three days. I'd be the only one for every diaper change, for every feeding, for every need he had. And that thought overwhelmed me.
I made it through airport security with no trouble. Shoes off, liquids bag in the tub. Milo out of stroller, fold up stroller, send diaper bag and stroller through X-ray. Declare 36 ounces of frozen breastmilk, send through X-ray. Walk through with baby in arms. Milo back in stroller, gather bags, put on shoes. As I waited in the boarding area, a woman approached me. She asked if I was traveling alone with the baby. She said she had a three-year-old and knew how tough traveling could be, and she offered to sit by me on the plane and help in any way she could. I began crying again. Embarrassed to be such a mess in front of this stranger, but so incredibly thankful for her offer, I said that would be great, and she and I began to talk. Her name was Amber, and she made all the difference in the world to me on my first flight with a baby.
Amber and I did manage to sit together—my original seatmate, a businessman, was happy to switch seats. I nursed Milo during take-off so his ears wouldn't hurt, and I was glad to have this woman (who breastfed her child for two years) sitting next to me. All seemed to be going really well, and my nerves were dissipating. Even though Milo was not sleeping as I had hoped he would be, he was fairly content and easy to entertain. Looked like it would be a good trip.
But then.
We hit some turbulence. Like, a lot of turbulence. The plane bounced around. Milo smiled at the sudden movements. I wanted air and tried not to think about feeling sick. The turbulence was so bad, a passenger fell to the floor as he walked back to his seat. I had a cup of water sitting on Amber's tray table, and not wanting it to spill or splash on her, I picked it up to finish it off. Before I could get a chance to take a drink, though, the plane dropped suddenly. Several people shrieked. My water flew up onto the ceiling, dripping down onto my head and soaking Milo's pjs. Everyone on board flew up as high as their seat belts would let them. Milo was not wearing a seat belt. And I was only supporting him with one arm. He was ripped out of my grasp, flying above my eye level. It happened so fast, seeing Milo in the air like that felt like it was happening in slow motion.
Thankfully, he came down safe and sound in the crook of my arm. But he was upset. And I was upset. I cried again, hugging that little boy so close. I couldn't stop thinking of the what-ifs. What if he had hit his head on the ceiling? What if I had been holding him less tightly and he banged his head on the wall? What if my seat belt had been looser and I hit my head and was unable to care for Milo? It was awful. No parenting moment so far has had me more shaken than this.
I've never experience turbulence like that before. One of the flight attendants was injured and upon landing had to be taken off the plane by medical personnel. As the passengers filed off the plane, you could see the stains of spilled coffee and soda all over their clothes and bags. Amber threw up, and I doubt she was the only one. But we made it. I'm not sure what I would have done without Amber there to distract me, help me, and encourage me. Even after we landed, she went with me to the baggage claim and carried the cooler bag for me. She watched Milo while I used the restroom. When her sister arrived to pick her up, they both walked me all the way to the metro entrance. Super nice. Amber, if you read this, thank you. You were a lifesaver for me and I will never forget your kindness.
Stories of the rest of the trip will have to wait. I'm still exhausted from the whirlwind trip, and it's time for me to go to bed.
I'm three centimeters dilated. That means only seven centimeters to go! And I'm not even in labor yet!
I managed to NOT have the baby on St. Patrick's Day!
The baby feels so low that I'm fairly certain that when I do go into labor, he will pretty much just fall out with a push or two.
Today is my last day of work before I go on maternity leave, so I can forget about stressing over all these work details, like books and editing them and such.
I got a call from my dear friend Christy this morning, and she and her husband will be moving back to Kansas City in just a couple of weeks. Two weeks! I couldn't be more excited about this.
Let me give you some perspective. There are 27 days left until my due date. My sister had her baby 20 days before her due date.
I hardly even know what to say about it all. I’m so ready to meet this little guy. I think I’ll just recognize him, you know? And it will be so amazing to snuggle him close and hold his tiny little fingers. But there’s just no way to prepare for this.
I’m not a fan of surprises, really. I’d rather know what to expect and act accordingly. Going into labor will be the biggest surprise. It could be next week or it could be five weeks from now. My best friend described waiting for labor as being like the night before Christmas, except you don’t know when Christmas is.
In some ways, I feel fairly prepared for labor. I’ve read tons of books, I’ve taken the classes. I know myself and what I expect for myself. I’m prepared to be as flexible as I can be. But in other ways, I feel completely unprepared and a little freaked out. Emily just had her son a couple of days ago, after nearly 42 hours of labor. She had contractions for almost two entire days. How is that even possible? I am so amazed by her. I don’t know how I would handle something like that. Fortunately for me, they say that I could make a good guess on what my labor would be like based on my mom and sister. And for her first child, my mom was in labor nine hours, and for her second labor (me), only three and a half hours. My sister’s labor was only three or four hours. And they were all before the due dates. But I could also turn out to be nothing like them.
Andrew is clearly so excited to be a daddy. I love seeing him get excited about this, knowing that he’s anticipating it all just as much as I am. At the same time, he has also started to go a little bit into nesting mode and a little bit into freak-out mode, all at once. And I have suddenly become the calm(er) one. Andrew thinks we don’t have the stuff we will need, that we’re not prepared. I say, eh. That’s what our parents are for—they’ll help us out and make those Target runs if we find we don’t have x, y, or z.
Plus, I feel pretty prepared. The baby's bedding and layette and whatnot is all washed. (I believe that will be the only time I’ll ever use the word "layette" in my life.) The nursery is ready (and it’s super cute—see pics below). My hospital bag is half packed. We even bought a video camera. Give me one more weekend to gather stuff and I’ll be all ready to go.
And then inevitably, it’ll be four more weeks for this baby to decide he’s ready to come out and meet us. Sigh. (Have I mentioned how I’m over being pregnant?)
Last Friday was my birthday, and it was lovely. I received some fantastic gifts, including a fancypants camera and lens from Andrew (I’ve been talking about taking a photography class forever, and now I have no more excuses), a gift certificate for a prenatal massage, some lovely notepaper, some tasty goodies, an adorable brooch, and lots of cards. Oh, and with some birthday money from my parents (and a hefty discount for being a Hallmark employee) I bought this lovely bag for myself.
The gifts weren’t the only good part. Two of my best work friends took me to lunch (which included a stop at Sheridan’s!) and talked me into buying the fabulous bag. That’s what friends are for—getting a girl frozen custard on her birthday and helping her make good shopping decisions.
We also went to dinner at Potpie, my fave restaurant, with two fantastic people whose names easily become one (one of whom will be mad about the fact that I am about to call them this) (and on the INTERNET, no less), Jeffanie. Since I am expecting/knocked up/have a bun in the oven/pregnant, I refrained from having wine with dinner, which has always been one of my favorite parts of going to Potpie—sitting for a long time, sipping the wine, and talking. But Andrew—my lovely, amazing husband—somehow snuck in a bottle of sparkling grape juice just for me. He gave it to the server and everything, who brought it to me as if it were any other beverage. (Of course, Andrew got lucky that I went to the restroom first thing upon entering the restaurant, so he didn’t have to be THAT sneaky.) I was confused at first, because the grape juice looked just like wine. But only two people at the table ordered wine, and there were three glasses, so… Confused. It was a wonderful birthday surprise and a wonderful 28th birthday.
Today I am 16 weeks pregnant. All the books tell me that sometime between 16 and 20 weeks is when I should start to feel the baby moving. I am so looking forward to that. Sometimes, as I’m lounging on the couch or laying in bed, I try to focus on the way I feel, like maybe I could feel something if I were only paying attention. It hasn’t worked so far, and I’m guessing that the first moment I feel movement will completely catch me off guard. I hope I feel something before our sonogram. It seems like it would be nice to be able to feel tiny movements while seeing the same movements on the screen. Like rumble seats in the theater.
An update on maternity pants: I do love the elastic, comfy waistband, but I hate how these pants keep falling down. I’m constantly hiking them up. Can someone please tell me if this will improve as my waistline expands, or if it will continue to annoy me for the next 5 and a half months?
While getting dressed this morning, I realized that I should probably think about buying a few maternity shirts. Or at least wash the two I already have. I was fortunate enough to borrow a handful of tops from Lindsay, but since I haven’t cleaned out my closet yet, those shirts are still in the storage bin they came in. Note to self: must box up too-small or soon-to-be-too-small clothes asap.
I stopped by the grocery store on my way home yesterday to pick up milk and apples. And then I decided to get some hummus and a salad to eat for dinner. And then the Double Stuf Oreos caught my eye. So of course I bought them.
Tonight I have a personal training session. I’m curious to see how my workouts start to change as I start to change. I’m already to the point where I’m not supposed to do any more exercises while lying on my back, like chest flies. Should be exhausting. But my favorite part of the evening will be my 3M’s conference call with Emily and Molly. And the Double Stuf Oreos, of course.
I exercised with Stephanie and Lindsay after work until I was exhausted and sweaty. I'm all about the health, you know. Then I went home and ate a peanut butter and bacon sandwich.
UPDATE: I do not regret that sandwich. It was delicious. Plus, it was turkey bacon. (Does that make it better?)
There’s only two types of people in the world: ones that like Britney Spears and ones that do not. I fall into the former category. Last Thursday, I went to her “Circus” show and it was awesome.
My pop-loving friend JiaoJiao went with me, and other than K-Fed himself, there was no one else I would have rather gone with. Jiao and I have loved Britney for years. Back when we were roommates, we would sing along to all the singles, and we weren’t even being ironic about it.
Because I like having money, I bought the second-from-worst seats in the arena, and they were definitely not close. “Really far away” is a better descriptor. “Practically in Nebraska” might also give you a sense of where we were sitting. This maaaaaay have been a bad choice. All of the pictures I took are blurry. The zoom feature on my camera was all, why are you making me work so haaaarrrrd? And I was all, just do it camera! And the camera was like, phhhhbbbbttttt. Camera: one, Megan: zero. So the pictures are not so good.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Jiao and I have been planning this evening for a looong time. Too long. Jiao knew exactly what she was going to wear (down to the color of eyeshadow) days in advance. I was not quite as prepared, so Jiao came over Thursday afternoon to help me. Actually, we helped each other. She picked out my outfit, and I gave her a pink cami that nearly exactly matched her pink top so she wouldn’t have to worry about her boobs popping out. (we like Britney, but we don’t want to be just like her, you know.)
Dressed and makeupped, we headed to the P&L District for dinner and drinks. While we were eating/drinking, we got into quite a discussion about our 401ks and IRAs. No kidding. Then I reminded us that we were about to go see BRITNEY and we needed to start acting a little more like teenagers than responsible adults. So we stole some vanilla vodka from our parents’ liquor cabinet, stayed out past our curfew, and got something pierced, then headed over to the concert.
There was a long line to get in. Way too long. We got in line about 30 minutes before the Pussycat Dolls were supposed to go on, and we didn’t get inside until they were almost finished. We did have plenty of scantily-clad girls in the line around us to entertain us. Lots of fishnets and cleavage. We only saw two PCD songs. (Which was totally fine, because we didn’t even know how many dolls there were. I thought five—we only saw four. Go figure.) (But then I read in the newspaper that one of them left after two songs, so apparently there are five?? And where did the fifth go? Did she have somewhere more important to be?)
This is the post-Pussycat Dolls, pre-Britney set up. I'm only showing it because (sadly) it was one of the most-clear pictures I took. But no sign of Britney here.
Before Britney came on, we were entertained with sideshow acts. Jugglers, crazy flexible people doing crazy balancing things, unicycle riders, acrobats, etc. All that good stuff. Then the real magic began to happen. A video from Perez Hilton, then Britney descended from up above, wearing… a costume. I couldn’t really see it (see para. 3). There were lots of lights, tons of dancing, and some singing. Or possibly lip-synching. But who really cares? There was a golden cage and a stripper pole, a giant umbrella and some pyrotechnics. It was all poptastic and fun, and Jiao and I had a great time.
The set list was not what I expected. Only three songs were from her current “Circus” album. Most were from the last album, and she only did a few of her older hits. We heard no “Lucky” or “Oops I Did It Again.” The complete set list (you may skip to the next paragraph if you don’t care At All): Circus, Piece of Me, Radar, Ooh Ooh Baby/Hot as Ice, If U Seek Amy, Me Against the Music, Freakshow, Get Naked, Everytime, Breathe on Me, Touch of My Hand, Do Something, Slave, Toxic, Baby One More Time, and for the encore, Womanizer.
By the end of the night, we were hoarse and exhausted. And the next day my abs hurt, presumably from all the cheering? I should really do more crunches…
Look! There's a blonde woman on top of that cage!
There she is again!
Finally! Another clear picture. But again, no sign of Britney Spears in this photo.
Last week I decided to go to Chicago. I didn’t plan it, exactly. I got an email invitation to my best friend Emily’s birthday party, and I thought, Hey. I should go to Chicago. And I should surprise Emily, because she totally won’t be expecting me to come. So I recruited Stephanie to go with me, made a road trip playlist, and four days later, we were off.
"I love parties! I'm in!"
And let me tell you, was it ever a surprise. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Emily look that confused. For about five minutes, she didn’t say much besides “I can’t believe you’re here.” If you’ve never surprise-visited someone out of town before, I recommend it. Very gratifying.
BFFs since 1986. (I know. I can't believe it, either.)
Love this picture. Don't you?
Kenny made cake! Funfetti, no less.
While we were in Chicago, we did some shopping, obviously. I can’t go to Chicago and not make it to at least a couple of the stores I love that we don’t have here in KC. We went to Design Within Reach (though it’s not actually within my reach), Room & Board, Bloomingdales Home, Crate & Barrel Outlet, CB2, and Trader Joe’s. Lots of home stores. I had furniture and accessory shopping to do, after all. I found some great stuff. Cute vases, a lovely tray, some placemats. And curry sauce and lots of organic wine from Trader Joe’s. Ahhh, Chicago shopping . . . I love you so.
I luuuuurve this table. And the chairs. And the lights. *sigh*
The damage.
While I was gone, Andrew picked up our newly purchased coffee table. It looks fantastic. Couldn’t be more perfect for our room. With the new accessories I brought home and the new table, it’s beginning to look almost finished. Amazing. I thought this day would never come. We’ve still got a long list of home renovations we’d like to do, but it feels good to have one nearly completed room—especially when that room is the one in which we spend the most time.
I seem to have forgotten how to write a cohesive narrative. Hence:
The tulips I planted last fall are starting to come up. So cute! But—I’m worried about them freezing. It’s supposed to be in the low 20s in the next few days. Hold on, pretty tulips!
Andrew and I started a band. We call ourselves The Langs. My stage name is Meggs and his is Dru. We rock pretty hard.
Andrew convinced me that it was time to purchase Rock Band 2.
My friends Stephanie and Lindsey started doing small group personal training with me. It’s pretty awesome, because I pay half as much yet get the same amount of attention, and my trainer actually makes 50 percent more. It’s a win-win all around.
I’m going on a date with my dad tonight and I’m really looking forward to it. There’s a Hitchcock film series playing at a local arts theater, so we’re going to see “To Catch a Thief.” My dad loves Cary Grant, so I grew up watching classics like “Bringing Up Baby,” “Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House,” and “Operation Petticoat.” But I haven’t seen “To Catch a Thief,” so this should be a lot of fun.
I pretty much hate Daylight Saving Time. Except for that whole staying-light-later-at-night thing, that is.
We totally forgot Daylight Saving Time—until we were woken at 6:45am with a call from my FIL, saying he was on his way over. And of course, it was actually 7:45 (which is still too damn early).
I love spring thunderstorms.
I prepared our taxes this weekend. Blehhhhhhh. Why do they have to be so complicated? And why do we owe so much money?
American Idol is disappointing me this year. But will I quit watching it? Probably not. Okay, definitely not.
At work, it is Trend Week. That means that every day there are presentations and speakers that have to do with upcoming trends. This year’s theme is 200-Mile Radius. Or something like that. And yesterday we were given a “new” term: locavore. Thanks, work, but I’m pretty sure I heard that term, like, two years ago.
I spent the weekend in Chicago with my girls. And it rained. A lot. The entire time, actually. Except for the moment we left to walk to breakfast. They talked me out of taking my umbrella. And then, of course, it rained on the walk back. And we got quite drippy. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Why did I go to Chicago? There are lots of reasons, but the short answer is to see my two best friends, Emily and Molly. (Together we’re the three M’s. We’re tight like that. I think it was sometime in high school when we started calling ourselves that—you know, for Megan, Molly, and Emily. We’ve been friends for twenty years, people—we were destined to get a group nickname at some point). Emily moved to Chicago this year, and Molly and I wanted to plan a trip to see the apartment, hang out, shop, and do all the standard M’s stuff, like make pizza (except it’s really like watch Emo make pizza and then eat it). If we’d just made chocolate chip cookies (but ate half the dough) or those orange sweet rolls in a can, it would have been like many of my weekends of yesteryear.
The trip was excellent. We did some standard Chicago-type things, like eat at Gino’s East and shop on Michigan Avenue. We saw lots of old friends who were also in Chicago. I bought a supercute purple bag. Ooh, and we ate cheesecake-stuffed French toast. Sooo good.
There is just nothing like hanging out with best friends. Friends who have been around so long that my dad calls them his “oldest and dearest friends.” We just know each other. Like, even though Molly and I have no idea how she does it, Emily’s showers take less than a minute. Or the way I know I can trust Molly’s advice when it comes to bag buying (guess who was carrying a Coach bag this weekend? Not me). And we can talk about boys forever and say the same things over and over, essentially, but there’s always more to say. And that’s okay. We can talk about how we’re unsure of our haircuts or how we wonder if we need different shades of eye shadow or whether these shirts look good on us, and regardless of the answers, we know we’re all beautiful in the end. And really, that’s why I went to Chicago.
The day I met Andrew, I think I knew he was a good fit for me. I don’t want to say it was love at first sight or anything, because it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. But there was just something about him. And because I think you might be tiring of my “what I did this weekend” entries, I’m going to tell you about the day I met Andrew.
But first, the lucky T-shirt part of this story. Sometime in late high school, my dear friend Christy and I were thrift store shopping. We both saw this awesome T-shirt at the same time. This particular T-shirt was red and in big bold letters it said IMPROVE YOUR IMAGE. BE SEEN WITH ME. Somehow, I convinced Christy that the shirt should be mine. It was probably less me convincing her and more her just being nice. But man, I loved that T-shirt. It definitely became a staple of my early college wardrobe.
But now, on to the point. It was waaaaaay back in the year 2000. I had just started my freshman year at MU. I was living the good life, on the Honors floor of my dorm. I know, nerdy, right? But it was a co-ed dorm, so that should give me a couple of cool points. I had signed up for a class called The Warm Little Pond. I cannot even begin to describe it to you, but it was in that class that I learned the term “limnology.” Oh, and I met JiaoJiao (who, by the way, is awesome).
Jiao happened to live just down the hall from me, and she remembered seeing me in the dorm because I was wearing my supercool red T-shirt and people take notice of supercool T-shirts. So anyway, on the first (or maybe the second or third, who can remember after all these years?) day of The Warm Little Pond, she came over to me and asked if I lived in Hatch (the dorm) because she remembered my shirt and liked it. So we became friends. She was my first college friend (awwwwww) and we became tight. Like, we used to do the electric slide in the hall of the dorm, and we’d army crawl down the hall just because it made us laugh. Also, she liked Britney Spears and wasn’t ashamed to admit it, so I finally had someone to listen to “Born to Make You Happy” with.
Fast forward several months. Second semester. Jiao was taking anthropology. One of her classmates happened to be Andrew (unrelated fact: Andrew describes that anthropology professor as being just like the gopher “or whatever burrowing animal” from Winnie the Pooh). So Jiao and Andrew are taking this class together, and because they both lived on 6th floor Hatch, they chatted and whatnot. And Jiao learned that Andrew played guitar. And Jiao wanted to learn to play the guitar. More specifically, she wanted to learn to play one song (perhaps a Michelle Branch song? again, I can’t remember, what with the passing of time and me being so old). So Jiao asked Andrew to give her lessons in exchange for a 3 Musketeers bar.
And the lessons commenced. When Jiao learned the song, she was so excited. She came to my room and asked me to come to Andrew’s room to hear her play. I was all, who’s Andrew? She’s like, a guy in my class who lives down the hall, haven’t you met him? Nope, I haven’t met him, but I’ll come hear you play.
So I went to Andrew’s room. And apparently JiaoJiao had a guitar there, and played a song or something. All I remember is the hot guy with the great smile and green eyes who had taught her how to play. I was enamored with him. What girl could resist a really, really cute guy that plays the freaking guitar? Not this girl. I decided right then and there, while Jiao picked out those chords, that I was going to get to know this guy.
I stuck around after Jiao’s one-song set to chat. We talked about music and such, and I flipped through his cds. And he had not one, not two, but three Muppets cds. And that was when I knew. I knew he would be a good fit for me. (He didn’t come to the same realization until a couple of years later, but my tenacity won out. I knew a good thing when I saw it.)
Incidentally, though I didn’t remember seeing him, Andrew remembered seeing me at our floor meetings earlier in the year. Why did I stand out to him? Because I was wearing that T-shirt (and because I’m just so darn good looking).
Now, eight years later, I no longer have that shirt. Also, it turns out that Andrew’s eyes are actually more hazel than green. Go figure.
It’s been too long. I bet you hardly remember it anymore. I know I don’t. But maybe these pictures will jog your memory. (Of course I’m speaking of our house renovations, which are sort of, almost, kind of nearing completion. Mark says three more days of work. Andrew says three weekends. My money’s on Andrew.)
Here is Andrew doing the limbo. Notice the wall color behind him. That is tinted primer, looking a tad jaundiced.
Here you’ll see a little ceiling painting action going on. Funny story about the ceiling paint: Mark and Stan came to paint on a Friday afternoon, when Andrew and I were at work (I love how that worked out for us). And they opened the ceiling paint, which was magical in that it was tinted purple, but dried white. You know, so you could see what you had already painted. But Mark and Stan did not know that it dried white. So they called me to see if I really wanted the ceiling purple. But I was, you know, at work and all, and did not answer my phone. So they didn’t paint. They went home instead. See? I told you it was a funny story. *cough*
I believe I may have mentioned the dust? This is a sampling of said dust, where the cats are learning how to tango.
Fast-forward to the next weekend. This is the actual paint color. We love it, and I mean that. The green looks completely different in different lights and times of day. Fortunately, we love it all the time. I think we’ll love it even more when the white trim and doors go up. I’ll love it so much, I may have to make out with it.
Here’s the room in the afternoon sunlight. Nice, don’t you think? All it needs is a mantel, white trim, window treatments, and some furniture.
And this is a lovely picture of me and my dear, dear friend Christy. We only see each other a few times a year, and I was lucky enough to get to hang out with her this weekend. Aren’t we cute?
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