Monday, October 20, 2014

If you're out on the road feeling lonely and so cold

There's that moment when your child leans in close, looks you in the eyes, opens her mouth, and sneezes in your face. It's the moment you know you're doomed. No amount of orange juice or hand sanitizer or Airborne is going to stop the sick train headed for the you station.

It hit me Thursday evening. That first tickle in the ears. Then the scratch in the throat. By Friday I was self-quarantining and by Friday night I was pouring home-made saline into my nostrils because wikihow told me to. I woke up Saturday wishing that I hadn't.

I tend to get a bit dramatic in sickness. Last year during a bout of food poisoning I told Stephen to make sure my affairs were in order. But look. I'm pregnant. Which pretty much means having a mild form of about eight different illnesses for about a year. And pregnancy prohibits both Nyquil and Excedrin, the elixirs of life when a cold usually strikes. So being sick on top of sick and without the medical marvels I've grown so accustomed to felt like life was saying, "just give up and phone it in today." So I turned on Gilmore Girls. For eight hours. Ivy now knows every word to the theme song which is really all I've ever hoped for as a parent.

Anyway, I don't know if it was sufficient rest and time or the good people of Stars Hollow, but I'm feeling much better now.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Like mother like daughter

This morning I decided to make some sort of effort at being a "good mom" and take Ivy to story time at our local library.We walked into a room with a grown woman yelling a story at a group of wiggly toddlers, and Ivy turned to me and gave me a look that read, "what kind of freak show is this?". She refused to sit on the mat or get up and dance to the hokey pokey, and I started to feel like maybe I've failed her as a mother. Because honestly, I was also uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable around all the other moms who could tell that I've failed to properly socialize my child, I was scared of small talk, and I was hoping that parents weren't required to also dance to the hokey pokey. They were. It's kind of why we don't usually go to story time. Between the two of us, we're an antisocial wreck.

The narcissist in me loves that Ivy inherited some of my traits. She has my hair and my eye color, and she loves to tell jokes. But I was hoping she could skip out on my shyness. Because it's hard to be shy. It's hard to have people tell you how shy you are, even when you think you're being friendly. It's hard to dislike parties and it's hard to blush any time you have something to say to a group.


Sorry, Ivy.



Friday, October 3, 2014

Happy Weekend


Love,
This Unremarkable Nobody

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

On Utah and its females

"Utah women need to stop trying so hard!" declared the young man at the table next to us, loud enough for our table of Utah women to hear. I was dining with my mom, sister, and sister-in-law, three of us Utah natives, one of us a Utah convert, all of us trying not to take too much offense to this guy's statement.

Having been born and raised in what I consider to be a pretty decent place, I was surprised to get to BYU and meet so many people who were so unhappy with the location of the college they electively chose to attend. Sometimes, not knowing my origins, or knowing my origins and not caring about my feelings, fellow students would making sly remarks about Utah, Utahns, or "Utah Mormons" as though we were a lesser species who that had infiltrated their space and housing and roads, not the other way around.

I've met people beyond college who make similar statements. Who warn about the danger of raising children in Utah and laugh at the ignorance of those in Happy Valley. I try not to get defensive. I struggle.

Look. I get it. We have our flaws. I've even been a vocal critic of Utah and Utahns at times. Winters are cold and inversiony. We're not super considerate drivers. Some of us choose questionable hair styles. Some of use name our children after our favorite Scrabble tile draws. And for the love, why are so many of us wearing our best heels to Target? Our I-15 billboards are obnoxious, and our politics, actually, I don't want to get into last one.

But of all the criticisms, "trying so hard" seems unfair. So many of the world's problems seem to stem from people not trying hard enough. So how can we fault anyone for making any sort of effort? Honestly, it's those efforts that makes me appreciate the women in my life, a good chunk of them from Utah, as much as I do. The Utah women, my family and friends, I know are kind, and thoughtful. They invite my family to dinner after just meeting us. They watch my child while I go to doctor appointments or just need to get work done. They meet me for lunch on days when I need adults to talk to, they drop off apples just because, and they generally make me feel welcome everywhere I go. I can only hope to someday try so hard.

In other Utah news, this Thursday night I'll be telling a story for The Porch, 8:30 at Muse Music. It's always a really fun event, and I'd really love to see you there.

Friday, September 26, 2014

Happy Weekend

We're a few short days away from THE ENTIRE GILMORE GIRLS COLLECTION DEBUTING ON NETFLIX(!), so you would be wise to spend your weekend preparing. This should help. 


If you don't hear from me until November, it's because I'm in Stars Hollow. 

Thursday, September 25, 2014

An actual conversation with Ivy

Ivy: What's your name, Mom?
Me: My name is Meg. What's your name?
Ivy: My name is Tarzan.

It might explain why she sometimes calls me Jane and caresses my face.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Can't wait to hear when it's finished

Yesterday marked a 20 week ultrasound and the assurance that baby girl is still a baby girl. So I've decided to tell you her name because I like you guys and it's not a secret and I want to claim this name before someone else does. YOU HEAR ME, BEYONCE? IT'S MINE. 

We're naming our second daughter Ramona. 

I believe we're naming her after my favorite books from childhood, the Ramona Quimby series. 


Stephen believes we're naming her after The Ramones. 


We both believe this song is awesome, so...win win?



Poor Ramona already suffers from second child syndrome. In fact the only thing we've really done for her so far is named her. At this point in my pregnancy with Ivy we had painted the nursery, stocked a closet full of tiny dresses, and filled a bookshelf with all the children's classics. This time, nothing. A few weeks ago a friend asked what colors I planned to use in the nursery, and I realized I'm not really sure where this child is going to sleep in our two bedroom apartment. I've done zero research on double strollers and I don't remember where we put the infant carseat. 

The logistics just aren't as thrilling this time around. But every night before I fall asleep, I put my hand on my belly. It takes a minute, but eventually Ramona starts her acrobatic routine, kicking and punching against my abdomen, greeting me with soft sensations of life. And it's totally thrilling.