Today the Demons are Ice Skating in Hell

When I was eight-years-old, my parents forced me to switch from my fun, open-minded public school to a conservative Catholic school. My little brother was about to start kindergarten, and he was, well, a bit difficult. My parents were afraid that he would get lost in the public school system, and since they wanted their kids to go to the same school, I had to move as well. My first year I absolutely hated it. There was praying and church and political talk for second graders. There were old computers and bad music equipment since our school was not funded by the state. Photos of Jesus peered down from every corner, daring you to sin. And the kids were just plain mean. Sure, I had a few friends here and there, but most everyone had formed tight cliques from their first day of kindergarten and were fairly unwilling to let a new, dorky, blond, space shuttle t-shirt wearing girl into their groups. It didn’t help that I was about a foot taller than everyone in my class. I was the epitomy of a geek.

In third grade there was a girl in my class I hadn’t met before. She was loud. And talkative. And she never shut up. Did I mention she was loud? But she was so nice to me, space shuttle t-shirts and all. Her name was Theresa and we became fast friends. If I was a smarter woman, I’d have an illustrative photo to put underneath this paragraph, but I’ve been busy and my scanner is broken, so you all will just have to visualize the vast dorkiness that permeated our friendship. She of the black, rimmed glasses and I of the buck teeth. I’m amazed we weren’t child models.

Catholic School
You can’t tell, but this is our class picture. I’m in the bottom row looking all emo. Please note Jesus menacingly staring over her shoulder…shudder.

Through the years we’ve had our ups and downs, both personally and within our friendship. But for some reason, she still stayed my buddy, even when she moved to the homeland, my most coveted New York City. She is the kind of friend that I don’t see all that often, maybe once a year, but will send me a letter on mother’s day congratulating me on becoming a wonderful mother. She is the kind of friend who will go an hour out of her way on a random Wednesday because I call her and tell her my favorite internet writer will be at a bar in Brooklyn signing autographs and could she get one for me. And she is the kind of friend that forgave me when I had to make an impossible choice between her and another important person in my life. A person that understood why I had to make the decision I did and even though she was hurt, comforted me about my choice. A person who, in the sea of conservative balony that is the state of Kansas, was a liberal. Someone I could actually have a political discussion with and not want to rip out my eyeballs and feed them to my dog.

Beach
Work it. Totally fierce.

Gah, now I’m getting all weepy!

A few years ago Theresa and I got into one of our discussions about marriage. She, personally, never wanted to get married. She didn’t feel she wanted or needed marriage or some guy to fulfill her life. She wanted to join the Peace Corps and do amazing things and travel, and she felt that wouldn’t be possible if she was married. She didn’t want kids or a life that held her back from the good she could do in the world. And (in my opinion) she didn’t think she deserved to have it all.

Jonathan and Theresa all hot and bothered
[Insert requisite joke about them being really hot here]

But then she met Jonathan. A sweet, shy architect in NYC who swept her off her feet. He wasn’t an alcoholic, workoholic, sexaholic, commitment-phobic, peeping tom, megalomaniac, emotional fuckwit, or pervert. And her ideas about marriage slowly started to change.

The Betrothed

Tomorrow we head off for our weekend adventure in NYC to attend what I’m sure will be a gorgeous wedding. I mean, who has a wedding reception on the great lawn of Central Park? Seriously, who does that? Answer, that girl in the black rimmed glasses who never believed in marriage. I believe Hell has frozen over.

Kennedy’s
This picture has nothing to do with anything. I just thought it was a great group costume idea. Halloween, 2007, The Kennedy Family. L to R: Teddy, Jackie O, JFK, John John and Marilyn. I’m also posting to show the awesomeness that is Theresa’s sister’s hair. I am quite jealous of her cool factor. Mine is currently at negative 2 and in need of a boost!

All photos stolen borrowed from Theresa’s Facebook page, therefore causing me to reactivate my Facebook account. Damn you, Theresa!

My Ovaries Are Aching

This past weekend I was finally able to meet the gorgeous Carson James Young. And holy crap, is that little guy the cutest baby on the planet! It was such a cool experience, seeing my friends Abbie and Luke tackle the role of parenthood. Trent and I just kept looking at each other like, yup, I remember that. And that. Oh, and that too. Caring for a newborn should be an Olympic sport, it’s so difficult, but so far Luke and Abbie seem to be taking everything in stride. Unlike a certain blond mother I know who spent the first few weeks of her daughter’s life crying and wondering how in the world someone could allow her to take home this baby from the hospital without a proper license. (Sidenote: Is that the biggest sentence fragment you’ve ever seen? Yeah, me too.)

In between begging Trent for another baby and plotting how I could fit little Carson into my suitcase to take him home with me, I did manage to get a few photos. Unfortunately, wonderful borrowed lenses don’t help too much when you have the crappiest flash on planet Earth, but I still tried to make the best of it. Overexposure is the name of the game, people!

Loving Mama

Mama + Carson

Young Family

You can view the entire set below, or by clicking here.

Ack!

Why is life so insane? Can anyone tell me? Because my eyes are bulging out of my head and my ears are ringing and I am WAY TOO BUSY! Did I mention that we are traveling or out of the office the next six weekends in a row?! SIX!

So, in honor of this complete insanity, Coldplay decided to release it’s first new single, Violet Hill, on their website for free. They knew how stressed I was and figured it would be a nice gesture. OK, so it probably isn’t totally for me, but I like being the center of the universe and until my eyes stop bulging, I can say whatever I want. Coldplay has a special place in my heart for many reasons, two of the most important being that their concert was the last one I attended before I found out I was pregnant at the ripe age of 22. Technically, it was Lu’s first concert, as she was pleasently gestating during the show. When I went into labor, Trent brought several CD’s he’d made for the occasion, and just happened to look up at the song that was playing as Lu entered the world. It was a song called “We Never Change” from their 2000 album, Parachutes. And holy crap, just listening to it right now made me get goosebumps and tear up and want to run out of my office straight to Lu’s daycare and hold her forever. Take a listen…(excuse the dumb video, it’s an old song and hard to find online…I took what I could get)

OK, let me wipe the tears from my eyes. And then I’m heading directly to the Coldplay Website to download Violet Hill. If you can’t download for whatever reason, you can listen to it directly by going to (gulp) Perez Hilton dot com.

Now, breathe.

Mondays Are So Depressing

This weekend Lucy turned into a tyrannical two-year-old. Symptoms include the word no, kicking, screaming at pitches only the dog can hear, refusing to go to sleep unless in my bed, running away and saying “bad mommy.” Luckily, the bi-polar attitude of toddlerhood also gave way to lots of hugs, kisses, wrestling sessions, time with the tickle monster, balloon animals and dancing along with street performing violinists.

I choose to remember the good stuff.


Bubble Mania from Megan on Vimeo.

Tears of Joy

Yesterday my very pregnant friend, Abbie, went into labor. I spoke to her twice, and the second time was not good. She was in active labor, struggling quite a bit and was still not eligible for pain medication. I stayed pretty calm on the phone (I think), but the minute we got off I started freaking out. For the rest of the day I was a flighty, nervous mess. I would start one task, then have to get up and walk around. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I was more tense then I was when I myself went into labor. Because at least then I had some control. Even a minute amount was worth it. But yesterday I just sat staring at my phone. Willing it to ring with good news.

I knew I shouldn’t call. When I was in labor I turned my cell phone off, as I couldn’t stand the ringing. So I texted her, figuring if she had an epidural (finally) she would get back to me. After five hours, I starting finding things to do to keep my mind off of that hospital room in Manhattan. I took Lu down to the Plaza. We went to the bookstore and picked out some new reading material. We went out to eat. I had a beer. Waiting.

Trent eventually joined us and texted Abbie’s husband to check on things. The response:

“We’re starting to push. I think I may pass out.”

Finally! Some tangible news! Then a few hours later we received the announcement, via text, of course. He’s here!

And last night, as I laid in my bed, I couldn’t help but cry a little bit. Because I know how much their lives are now changed. How when she wakes up this morning, it will be a whole new world. And how when she looks back in a few years, she’ll find it hard to believe that so much time has passed. She’ll hardly remember who she was before. Of course, she will still be Abbie, bad knock-knock jokes and all, but now she is a mother. She has a son. And as I sat in my bed, reading a memoir of another mother who’s story is freakishly similar to my own, I cried. Because I am so lucky to be who I am. So lucky to be a mother. Lucy’s mother. And now someone I love so much will finally understand how I feel and what I could never explain.

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