This Just In

Still not a ton to report, as most of the activity this month is happening in my own little mind. I'm having a lot more quiet time as I contemplate things I want to do and changes to make, but here are a few small updates.

1. Baby picture seekers should now check out Molly's MySpace account. She's posting updated photos of Travie & fam there.

2. Am considering side business as Madame Megan, online tarot reader. :) Have had an influx of requests for readings from friends lately, and I have to say I'm enjoying the practice, as well as seeing what comes up for everyone. Will design elaborate webpage with picture of me in big gypsy earrings and shimmery purple head wrap, advertising an intro rate of $9.95 per reading. What do you think?

3. If you live in WA, don't plan to serve Key Lime Pie Martinis at a party. Liquor stores in our great state no longer carry KeKe, a necessary ingredient for this delicious drink. Grrrrrr. No fun. Chris and I discovered this after a thorough search pre-housewarming party. Ended up serving Chocolate Martinis (or Chocotinis, for those of you who take offense at calling anything not the standard a martini--this issue arose at my party).

4. If you are me, accept fact that you should not take on responsibility for making anyone's birthday special. You are bad at it. Seriously. I have bad luck with birthdays despite my best intentions and mostly well-thought out plans. When I planned a fun birthday trip to Ocean Shores a few years ago for my friend, Shannon, the day was filled with a series of mishaps. First, I got mildly sick from our lunch at a local restaurant. Then, we spent a couple of hours driving around Ocean Shores and its surrounding cities unsuccessfully searching for a hotel, since none of them would take reservations for less than two nights during the summer months. This was followed by a game of miniature golf and window shopping, and then we were off to the beach to watch the sunset before driving home. There, I managed to get my boyfriend's Jeep stuck in the sand after realizing I didn't know how to use the four-wheel drive, and we stayed stuck until a friendly passerby helped us out. Arriving home exhausted and still feeling slightly sick, we crashed at my apartment. The next day I tried to redeem myself a little bit by taking her for a birthday lunch, but, at the end of the meal, I discovered I'd lost my wallet (it was under a seat in the Jeep), so she had to pay for it all. I don't think I need to say how lame I felt after that.

This year, my bad energy in this area continues. I accidentally marked the wrong date on my calendar for my other good friend's birthday. She and I got together for lunch on the real day, which of course I treated just the same as any other and kept mentioning, with no clue about my mistake, that we should plan something fun to do for her birthday. Chris's day turned out okay in the end, with a delicious dinner and fun concert, but all the "little" errands we planned to incorporate into our afternoon went amiss. We spent a ton of time running around and then came home to find out we accidentally locked Kitty out on the balcony for five hours. Oops.

5. Winning the war on fleas requires heavy duty, expensive treatment from the vet or pet store. If you think you are getting ahead on your own, you are wrong. While it works wonders within mere hours, and your Kitty (aka Fleabag) is ten times happier right away, it does have some not so great side effects. Primarily, if she likes to spend time on your bed when you're not home, your sheets turn into a little graveyard for the dead. Ew, Ew, EW! We are now doing frequent loads of laundry at my house. Down with fleas!

6. I'm still buying concert tickets for upcoming shows through early November, and then I'm going to stop until at least December. For real. Don't think I can't hear your sounds of disbelief.

7. In just a few short days, I will have my own DDR mat and game. Will begin quest to become DDR champion! Woohahaha! Soon I'll invite you over to compete against my crazy dance moves. Watch out.

Here I am sitting at my computer wanting to write, but aside from dealing with my Kitty having fleas (She must have caught them from the riffraff hanging out around building. Gross. I know this is fairly common, but I never thought it would happen to my kitty. We're in the middle of a treatment and cleaning program to throw the little bugs out), I don't feel like I have anything new to report. School started this week, which is always crazy, so I've been bogged down with work, work, work. Next thing you know, with nothing better to post, I'll be one of those dull people who records their daily activities on the Internet.

I woke up this morning and ate some Fruit Loops. When I took a shower, I noticed that the shampoo is almost gone (turned it upside down for tomorrow) and my razor is now rusty. I answered 100 emails at work and then sat in traffic for 45 minutes. At the grocery store, I debated about whether or not to buy lettuce or pre-packaged salad. Couldn't decide, so bought jumbo bag of M&Ms instead. When I got home, Kitty meowed at me until I fed her, and then I surfed the Net and watched TV until it was time for bed.

Scary. Luckily, my days aren't quite that lackluster, so we won't reach that point, but still. Maybe what I write about now isn't all that entertaining for anyone else, but at least I don't want to be bored by it.

Also, I feel like I can't and/or shouldn't post the entertaining stories I have on file at the moment. Not because they are particularly juicy or bad (I have to say they are pretty funny, so I'm sorry), but I can't help worry that if the people involved find/read my blog, they might not like it. So, I choose to protect these unnamed individuals, and most importantly, me, in the event that anyone I don't know very well could take issue with my stories. I don't mind baring potentially embarrassing details about me, my family, or close friends, but acquaintances or near strangers? No way.

My fun concert month starts tonight with the Franz Ferdinand show, and will be followed in the coming weeks with Nada Surf, Harvey Danger, Visqueen and probably a couple more bands I have my eye on. Whenever I decide to put a stop to buying concert tickets, another great show comes up, and all my resolve goes out the window. I'll be broke but entertained.

My friend, Chris, is coming to town in a few days, and we're seeing Visqueen for her birthday. We're also hosting a flea-free housewarming/birthday shindig, because my friends are insisting I finally have a party to celebrate my new digs. It should be fun, but I think it's a little silly to celebrate signing a year lease on a very cozy apartment. Woohoo! And, by very cozy I mean 650 sq. ft. The main entertainment of the evening will no doubt be seeing how many people I can fit into this place, drinking numerous key lime pie martinis, and playing a little game I like to call Please Don't Spill That Cup of Red Wine on My Rental Carpet. Actually, I'm really looking forward to having everyone over. I like my new apartment, and it's been ages since I've planned a get together. Plus, maybe this event will provide me with some much needed blog material. I have a couple more parties coming up this month that should help with that too. I hope, I hope.

So, my friends, that's it for now. I promise to stop the boring train here and not write again until I have something "interesting" to share with you. Later!

Chopped Liver

OK, everybody. I'm back home to my fabulous wireless connection that does not require me to perch on the edge of a specific chair near the window in the living room, facing slightly to the left, in order to post, but I'm also no longer on a tropical island, which is kinda depressing. I realize most of you are checking the old blog repeatedly for the sole purpose of seeing more pictures of Travie, but I think I'm out of new ones at the moment. He didn't change too much in the remaining week I was there, but I'll look through the digital camera again and see what I can find. Your requests (primarily through word of mouth) are not being ignored, so relax. :)

In case anyone is wondering, the rest of my trip was fantastic. I had lots of good sister time with Mols and Brynna, and of course I adored every moment with Travis. Who knew little inert babies could be so interesting? On my last night, Mols and I were sitting on her couch playing Boggle, our favorite game, while Travis slept on the boppy in front of her. His little body suddenly jerked awake, and his eyes opened in surprise for a moment before he drifted back to sleep. Molly wondered out loud what that was all about, and I suggested that maybe he was having one of those in between awake and asleep dreams about slipping on the stairs and falling. Don't those cause all of us to wake in a panic before we hit the ground? The thought of a week-old baby having dreams about tripping on stairs gave us a serious case of the giggles for the rest of the night.

Also, I think the little guy could be slightly confused about his name now. When I first arrived, Molly gave me a tour of the baby's area in their loft bedroom and showed me all of his new clothes. Thoughtful friends and family had handcrafted about a dozen onesies with Travis's name printed clearly on the front of each one.

"These are really cute, but it seems like a little bit of a dangerous gift. What if you decide to change his name at the last minute?" I asked.

"I know," Molly said. "Any thought of that pretty much went out the window when I saw these."

"Yeah," I responded deep in thought. "I mean what if you changed it to something completely different...like Phil?"

"Phil, Megan?" she laughed, giving me a look like I was nutso. "Who names a baby Phil? If we named him Philip, we'd have to call him Philip, at least while he was little. Anyway, we're not naming him Phil. I don't even like that name."

"I'm just saying. If you did that, Phil would always wonder why he was wearing onesies with the name Travis on them when he looked at his baby pictures. It might give him a complex."

"Hmmmmm. I guess we could get a Sharpie to cross out Travis, and write in Phil."

"OK," I said. "That could work."

I kind of forgot about that conversation until a couple of nights after they came home from the hospital, when Molly jokingly referred to the baby as Phil. Not only does the name not fit the boy at all, but it really does seem ridiculously adult for an infant. Therefore, we found it hilarious. We couldn't resist calling the baby Phil from time to time, and I don't think his dad appreciated it much. I'd walk by the little guy in his swing and greet him with a "Hey, Phil." He'd gaze my way with a blank stare. I'd come over to talk to Mols while he was breastfeeding and ask "Are you having a good snack, Phil?" Blank stare. When he wound up and started to cry, Molly and I would look at each other and one of us would say "Uh oh. Phil is upset." As my departure date approached, Molly would tell me that Phil didn't want me to go home. Poor kid. At this rate, I see lots of therapy in his future. Of course, I'm sure with my bad influence safely across the ocean he's gone back to being just Travis/Travie now. But, I couldn't resist text messaging Molly when I left to ask her to give Phil a big kiss for me.

Name confusion aside, the little man is deeply loved by his parents, and they are doing a great job taking care of him and adjusting to parenthood. It was so wonderful to watch them with their son, and I can't wait to see all the changes when they visit in a few months. I love holding the little bobblehead boy in my arms, and I felt such joy when I could sometimes help calm him down or put him to sleep by rocking, patting his bottom, and singing/humming a little tune. Travis seemed particularly fond of a Megan original that went like this: Whatever works, whatever works. What-EVER-works. Whatever works, whatever works. What-EVER-works.

It's repetitive but effective. Hey man, whatever works.

Coming Home

Proud Auntie M

Update from the DJ/Doula

Thanks to everyone for their well wishes and excitement over Travis! I will post more pictures soon! The four last night took me about a gazillion attempts to upload with my unreliable connection here. Gazillion attempts = two hours on the computer hitting buttons and swearing, and I just don't think I have that energy tonight. I'm still so tired.

Mother and baby are doing well. We spent a few hours visiting today with the rest of the family in town. There are so many people to love him, and I know they can't wait to spoil him. He is very sweet; even his cry is adorable. Molly is recovering nicely and can't stop staring at her beautiful boy. He is her love, and he is totally amazing. I am in no way biased. I so look forward to seeing Molly and Joe raise their little one. He's taken to eating quite well and can't seem to tear himself away from the breast. I guess he's worried about maintaining his big boy status.

I love that so many friends wished me luck on my DJ/Doula duties. It cracked me up and I felt so happy knowing that people enjoyed my story about my plans for the birth. I have to say that I think I did a decent job at both, in spite of my worries. In addition to keeping a good variety of music going for most of it, my strengths were with the ice and cold rags, visualization, and setting a rhythm during contractions. I admit that Joe did handle most of the massage, but I mostly willingly took over when needed. All in all, I think the three of us were a pretty fine team.

The whole experience was so overwhelming. I still feel overwhelmed by it, and so it is a little bit hard to talk about. My sister was strong and lovely and kept her sense of humor for so long. We laughed and joked for much of the first 8 hours in the hospital. One of the pictures below is of me feeding her some broth, and we giggled endlessly about me spoon-feeding her, as well as the jello that tasted like lemon fresh Pledge. She held it together so well during the early intense contractions after the breaking of the waters. I learned I'm not that squeamish, because I thought the big gush of fluid was awesome, as well as the injection of the drugs in her spine. I watched in fascination. It was the Discovery channel experience I always wish I had.

Progress was slow for most of the day, but during a two hour rest post drugs (mid-afternoon) she went from 4 centimeters to 9.5. So fast! I came in after an hour-long food break to discover we were rapidly approaching the final stage, and my help was needed immediately. Molly pushed for two hours straight, with no pain medication (it wore off at go time), and she showed great stamina. I was blown away by her strength.

I have to tell you that although there is so much joy in having Travis here safely, as well as my sister so happy and healthy after surgery, my own emotions are a jumbled mess. I'm still working to sort through them. It was the most wonderful-horrible experience of my life yet. This is the hard part to talk about, because I want to give an honest account from my view without giving the impression that I regret being there or don't appreciate how lucky I was to share in this. I can't imagine being anywhere else, and, if needed, I would do the whole thing again in a second. Yet, I feel changed, and I don't know if I can ever have a kid myself. I'm going to have to think really hard about that.

Molly tells me I helped her lots during this time, and I hope that is right. I wish I could say that I had no problem staying in the moment, strong and confident that all was well. Sometimes I felt incredibly useful and okay, but mostly I felt helpless and about an inch away from a breakdown.

The truth is that seeing my little sister I love so completely endure such terrible pain was gut-wrenching torture. She went through so much, and although I could not feel her pain, I was swept away by it. The pain became a powerful current that connected me to her and jerked us along, and at times the urge to flee its force overcame me. Even though I knew the pain was necessary, my emotional response to it was sometimes hard to manage. When she cried and screamed and said she couldn't do it anymore, my little voice inside said I couldn't either. I counted down the time for every push to help her stay focused, and my voice would sometimes waver as I started with 10, threatening to collapse with each decreasing number. I'd think that I couldn't go on without bursting into tears, but I'd struggle to stay steady, as I felt she grew to rely on me keeping the time, not to mention a calm exterior. I held up one of her legs and her head during the contractions, and in my weaker moments the need to throw down her leg and bolt was strong. But, in it I had become part of the process and breaking away would have broken the experience. She was going through so much and needed support. I don't think I would have forgiven myself for leaving her or missing a moment.

After she worked so hard, I was sad that she ended up needing a c-section anyway, because she was so determined not to have one. Making that decision and waiting for the surgery to be over was a very emotional period. However, it was a major relief to know that her pain was soon ending and a baby was actually arriving. She had given it her all, and I am so proud of her. There was very little progress for a long time, and it was frustrating for all of us, unbearable for Molly. It turns out that the baby's head was at an odd angle and too large to pass through her body no matter what she did. The doctor wasn't very forthcoming with that information until the very end, and at that point it was clearly the right thing to do for all. Molly was spent, and the baby was stressed. Sadly, my time with her ended then, as hospital policy is to let only the father in during the surgery and recovery. But, I was ecstatic to hear that she was okay, and I can't even describe how purely gorgeous it was to see my nephew in his first minutes. The payoff for the struggles of the day was tremendous.

Mols says she remembers everything, and we plan to talk about it soon. That and some sleep will most likely help with the processing. Aside from posting additional pictures of Travis, I will probably go back to regular blogging now. I'll encourage Molly to add her thoughts in the comments later on, and I'll let you know if she does that. Maybe she and Joe will decide to make a Travis blog at some point. That would be fun!

Thanks all for reading my rambling perspective on the birth of Travie. The sleepy DJ/doula is signing off.

Travie has entered this world!

Like his Auntie Megan, he has a big head that got caught up en route, so this "little" 8lbs 11oz, 22 inch baby was born by C-section at 7:22pm tonight. Big conehead (right now) aside, he is still too cute for words (dark curls, long eyelashes, and a screamin set of lungs), and he is being doted on by all. As my littlest sister, Brynna, so eloquently put, "I never knew I could love someone I don't even know yet so much." Welcome, Travie!

Scratch that

Hello, again. We're all a bit deflated this morning. It turns out that the hospital was full today, so unless nature intervenes, we're going to have to try again tomorrow. I woke up at 5:30am to get ready, and then we found out at 6am that we couldn't go yet. Went back to sleep until 7:30 to find out there still wasn't any room in maternity. Back up at 8:45am to find out today just won't work. Sigh. And, we may have all this to look forward to again tomorrow. Yippee. My only hope is that my exhaustion will knock me out early tonight. I hope that for Molly too. She isn't taking these delays very well. I'll keep you updated.

Go Time

Just a quick post to let all interested parties know that the baby has not arrived yet. The doctors will induce early tomorrow morning, so we may have a long day ahead of us. I'm now at a place where I have internet access, and I'll post the details as soon as a can. Lots of good thoughts and prayers will be appreciated. More soon!

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12am

It’s late, and I should be sleeping so I will have the energy necessary to be useful tomorrow, but it’s really difficult to settle down. We have to leave Lahaina at 6am (after a call-in to make sure it’s a go) to arrive at the hospital for Molly’s check-in time at 7am. Right now, this girl who can barely get in to work by 9:30am is having trouble imagining dragging herself out of bed at that hour, but it’s what I must do. The only thing that could prevent us going is if the hospital is already full of women in labor, and that sounds pretty unlikely.

Although the tiny sensible part of my brain knows I should be sleeping, the overly excited, childlike heap is in full party mode. My little thoughts are swirling in my head, invading every corner. Sleep is not an option. I’m hoping that writing will help quiet the mind.

Tomorrow I will meet my nephew! I cannot wait! More mind boggling is that my sister will meet her son. And, I will be participating in the process. The process is what makes me a little nervous right now. Okay, very nervous. When Molly told me she was pregnant in January, my protective side pushed through my shock, and I immediately offered to be with her during the delivery. I knew it would most likely be difficult for my mom or other sister to make it at the right time, and I felt that I could offer her familiarity and security (and maybe a little humor) in a completely foreign and intense situation.

While I imagine myself as the ultra-supportive, nurturing big sister who knows exactly the right thing to do each step of the way, the fear sector of my brain suggests that maybe I’m not the best fit for this position. Yes, there will be moments of pure joy, warmth, and overwhelming gratitude, but I’ve also heard that things can get pretty painful, testy, and messy. Having never gone through this myself, how do I know what to expect and how I’ll react? I’m not exactly one of those people who pauses while channel surfing to watch the “fascinating” face reattachment surgery on Discovery. Uh-uh. I either cruise on by as quickly as I can and hope I forget what I saw, or, if I’ve seen too much, I cover my eyes with a pillow, take deep breaths, and blindly search for something suitably distracting to erase the image – like Wheel of Fortune. I’ve had to put my head between my knees to avoid passing out after watching something medically graphic on TV, and one word always comes to mind when I see videos or pictures of birth. Unnatural.

My squeamishness aside, I am afraid that I won’t actually know what to do, and possibly nothing I try will succeed in helping my sister through what could be a very trying ordeal. Maybe I won’t know how to support her and Joe if they have to make tough decisions about how to proceed. Maybe I will get tired and cranky and do or say the wrong things. Maybe my unpracticed massage techniques will stink. Maybe I won’t have half the strength that she undoubtedly does to bring this boy into the world, and all I’ll be useful for is my DJ duties. I just don’t know.

For now, I’m as ready as I can be. My alarm is set, and my backpack full of my CD selections and other delivery room necessities is waiting by the door for our pre-dawn departure. I just need to relax and rest. I think I’m going to have to trust that this is meant to be and I will know what to do in the moment. Staying by Molly’s head, away from the action, may be best for all. Hopefully, my presence alone will help make things a little bit easier for her, and whatever I can offer and do on top of that will be enough. I’ll give it my all.

Tonight I bought the cutest little journal that ever was, because I found myself returning to look at it several times while in the store. I couldn't stop smiling at the image. The cover art is called Pyromaniac by Yoshitomo Nara, and I love it. Rather than a dangerous, fire-starting maniac, she (yes, I believe firmly she's a girl) looks like an edgy little kid whose sidelong grumpy glance is the result of being all dressed up (weather appropriate) with nowhere fun to go.

She's really annoyed with her predicament. I totally relate.

Lately, I've had this little bit of restless huffiness happening inside of me, and it's captured by this picture. I even have a little sound effect for it, but it doesn't translate well cyberly. I'm going to keep this journal with me on my daily adventures, so when I feel my inner grump bristling, I can look to her. She gets it. Of course, I hope to put the pages to use and record blogworthy tidbits too.

Vacation (slash baby nephew duty) is coming, and I'm ready! It's starting to feel like fall, and I want to escape to the endless summer of Hawaii to forget about that for a while. With all the terrible things happening right now as a result of weather, it's lame for me to gripe about the change in seasons. It's just that autumn is normally my favorite time of year, but I'm not getting in to it yet. I usually feel energized by the fresh crispness to the air, but instead I find myself wanting to hold on to the warmth for as long as possible.

Also, it seems like time just skimmed over August to leap into September. According to my astrology forecast for the month, yesterday was supposed to be my #1 shining, fabulous day. Huh. Basically, I ended up dragging myself through work with a migraine, and then came home early to take drugs and collapse on the couch in a headache stupor, but whatever. See picture above for my new feeling about horoscopes.

The one major plus of this autumn is all the great new music and fantastic bands playing here in October. Paychecks are rapidly disappearing with the purchase of concert tickets, but I can't stop myself. I'm looking forward to Nada Surf's new one the most. I hope you will check it out. The songs on the site are amazing, and I adore the artwork and colors used for the cover. Good stuff.

Yesterday, I read an article by a woman who described how her now ex-husband asked for a divorce over IM. Yikes. That is the lowest of the low break-up scenario. I'm certain. It even tops the post-it method made famous by SatC. In that case, Berger and Carrie only had a troubled, short-term boyfriend/girlfriend status. And, while having a post-it do your dirty work is never okay, you could kind of picture how it might happen given the direction their TV relationship was heading. On the other hand, no matter how bad things are, the betrayal of a marriage-ending instant message is ridiculous and unforgivable.

Not only did this woman and her husband have vows and a legal contract binding their life together, but they also worked, and continue to work (luckily not directly), at the same place in a small town. The author tells that during the good times they would IM fun little things to each other at work, so I can only assume the coward decided to break the divorce news during working hours too. As if he didn't have plenty of opportunities while they were getting ready that morning, eating breakfast, and driving in to the office. Where is the emoticon to go along with the I'm Leaving You But I'm Too Afraid to Tell You to Your Face message? Personally, if this is the direction we're heading in communication, I think there needs to be a toilet icon (with accompanying sound effects) to indicate in one simple click that, yes, I'm flushing this relationship down the loo.

What is wrong with people? I think this story is going to keep me celebrating my single self - at least for a little while.

In other news, Em and I have a new business idea if our Sparklers & Lemonade endeavor isn't profitable. Doggie daycare combined with Chinese restaurant. There is a serious shortage of good Chinese food delivery in Seattle, and there are lots of doted on dogs running around here, so we'll hit on a hot market by providing two valuable services in one package. To save on cost, we figure we can get a van or a VW bus to double as the delivery truck and pet shuttle. I can see it now. "Here's your Lo Mein, Mr. Smith. Is Sparky ready to go?"

Man, my Do You Ever Have a Day When... list is getting out of control. I'm wondering if all the time I spend thinking about these "episodes" when writing is leading to a certain amount of manifestation. Today, while sliding in to my car after a trip to Half Price Books, the button on the fake back pocket of my cute (but obviously very cheap) capris caught on the seat. I was concerned that the button had popped off, but when I put my hand back there to check, I discovered that actually the snag had caused a nice long gaping tear right down my left butt cheek. Attractive. That axed my plan to stop at Trader Joes on the way home. Of course, I obsessed about the giant hole in my pants the entire 20 minute drive. Who could think of anything else? Luckily, I had a sweater in my car to tie around my waist as I walked from the garage across the courtyard of my apartment building. I haven't even talked to my new neighbors yet (yes, I moved again), so I really doubt they are ready to see that side of me. My cute pants are now a sad memory in a rumpled heap at the bottom of my garbage can. Boo.

The whole reason for the Half Price Books stop was to pick up books on childbirth and being a birthing partner. Molly's due date is rapidly approaching, and, in a few weeks, I hope to be in Maui on time for the momentous delivery of my nephew. Only two people are allowed in the room in the hospitals there, so her boyfriend and I are the assigned support team for God only knows how many hours of labor. Yowsa. Molly keeps suggesting reading materials to help prepare me for my responsibilities, since it's obvious my knowledge is pretty limited. The pressure is setting in. In my usual procrastinator way, I figured I could do a little cramming on the plane and be all set to go upon arrival, but Molly is not so confident and keeps tossing little bits of expectation into our phone conversations.

"Megan, you should really check out this book by so-and-so that Joe is reading. We like it, and that way you and Joe can be on the same page about breathing techniques, massage..."

"Wait a minute. Massage? Who said anything about massage? I'll leave that up to Joe."

"Megan! That's part of the process, and Joe has been giving me massages for 9 months."

"Well, then he's probably built up an endurance and is really good at it by now," I replied. Then I explained how massage isn't my thing by giving the example of how I used to tickle my ex's back at night when I couldn't fall asleep, because the boredom of it knocked me out in seconds. This led to a lengthy and huffy discussion about my massage responsibilities and how I better fulfill them. So, I changed the subject to focus on my stronger points.

"Mols, didn't you say there will be a CD player in the room? I have a couple of CDs in mind that I think will be great, so leave that up to me. Instead of worrying about massage and breathing, maybe I could just be the DJ for this event. I'm sure I could come up with a good playlist. I know! Queen and David Bowie's "Under Pressure" will be perfect during those final pushing moments."

"Megan! If you play that, I'll throw something heavy at your head."

"Well, I could take requests."

"Hmmm, my doctor might like that, actually."

I'm in as the DJ! Of course, Molly can't resist outlining everything I need to do in addition to that every time we talk, so I'm curling up with "Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn - The Complete Guide" tonight. In spite of our recent conversations, I know she's aware deep down that I'll do everything in my power to make this the best possible experience for her if I'm lucky enough to be there. I figure I can learn to talk the talk to instill a bit more confidence, though. Yes, I'll massage if necessary. She can even squeeze my hand as hard as she wants, and I might not complain. I'll do funny breathing and bring her ice and try to distract her with a game of Boggle. I can holler at the doctors for more drugs if we need them, and stop Joe from filming anything she won't want shown on the big screen later. I can do all that in addition to making sure that Travie enters the world to some good tunes.

Do you ever have a day when...

You go out for drinks with a girlfriend on a Saturday night, and, while sitting on the deck of a popular bar you're sure will attract all the happening people, you discover you're actually mingling in the spot where the Computer Club is meeting? The geeky guy crouching down to peer under your table is not attempting to see up your skirt; he's looking for an outlet for his machine. Move inside immediately.

You agree to play raquetball with your mom at the Y in K Falls? In spite of your attempts to duck, sprint, and basically flatten yourself against a wall, she still manages to "accidentally" thwack you with the ball several times.

You realize your 28 year old self is not so different from your five year old self? All you and a friend need for hours of entertainment at the lake from your childhood is a 50 cent beach ball. Little kids hop in the water, play for a while, and then leave with their parents. With no parent there to monitor your beach time, the two of you engage in an intense water volleyball competition with no end in sight. Hunger and very pruney hands finally lead you to reluctantly exit the lake...and head for the swings.

You're waiting to cross the street at the local grocery store, and a cute guy in an SUV stops to let you go? You turn to flash him a thank you smile, and he gives you a nice smile back. After reveling in the good moment for about a second, you take a noticeable stumble in the crosswalk as your heel slips off the side of your sandal. Proceed into store and pretend whole incident never happened.

You are totally engrossed in a book with an ending that takes you completely by surprise and moves you to tears? Try My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. It's a little over the top at the end, but it still got me.

You decide on a whim to get a tattoo? It hurts. A lot. Luckily, you like the symbol you chose, even if you learn later on that one closely related meaning for it is Three Weird Sisters (and you have two kinda weird sisters).

You decide on another whim to get your ears pierced many years after your original piercings have closed up? Actually, your sister decides for you as she marches you into Claire's Boutique and announces to the assistant manager that you are there to get your ears pierced. The assistant manager gives you a look and scoffs as she returns to pricing merchandise. Your sister assures her that is actually why the two of you are there, so the women finally takes you seriously and helps you pick out earrings. You sit on a tall stool in the front of the store for the procedure, and little girls hover around to giggle and point at the old lady who is getting her ears done. The special cleaning kit you get is a hot pink bag that screams "I just had my ears pierced at Claire's!" As you leave the store, you shove the huge bottle of antiseptic solution in your purse and chuck the bright bag in the nearest garbage can.

Humiliation complete.

My sister Molly is having a baby boy soon, and I think she needs to know what she has to look forward to in a few years. While sitting in the bleachers at my friend's softball game tonight, I heard a strange noise on the sidewalk behind me. I turned in my seat, and there he was. A little six or seven year old boy, pants down around his ankles, privates on display, spraying the cement with pee. Funny enough, the door to the men's room was only about 15 feet away. Lots of people were standing nearby, chatting and laughing amid the action of the two softball games, but no one seemed the notice the unfortunate incident in progress. He managed to make a nice little puddle before his mother caught him, pulled up his pants while scolding, and gave him a little swat before moving him away from the scene.

For the rest of the game, Emily and I entertained ourselves by keeping an eye on the wet spot left by the rapidly drying puddle. When a woman who obviously loved the color green (green vest, green shorts, green shoes, socks with a green stripe...) walked by, Emily instructed me to watch for her to step in it. Nope. In fact, people avoided the wet spot as though they had psychic knowledge of its origin. Finally, near the end, a player from another team stood on the stain while chatting with her family; her dog stood by sniffing it suspiciously. At one point, she set her sports bag on top of the spot, and Em and I let out a resounding EWWWWWW with giggles.

What are little boys made of? Snips and snails and puppy dog tails (don't forget the urge to pee on the sidewalk). That's what little boys are made of.

Holiday Sales

Hello, hello! Long time, no blog.

This past month has been a whirlwind of fun travel, and I'm sorry to see it end. It started with a long weekend trip to see my family in exotic Klamath Falls, OR, followed shortly after by five days in gorgeous Maui to see my very pregnant sister, and then last week I visited my dear friend and family in Minneapolis. All three trips were absolutely fantastic and relaxing. Why, oh why, does vacation have to end? I have stories to share, but I'll have to write those when I'm not so sleepy. I need a vacation to recover from my vacations.

The 4th of July was gorgeous (a shocker), and I spent my evening with friends at a house perfectly positioned for watching Seattle's amazing fireworks display. While walking over to a neighbor's yard to enjoy an even better view, Emily and I passed a little wooden table set on the sidewalk with two adorable, pigtailed, little girls sitting behind it. The table itself was covered with an assortment of kitchen utensils. As we passed, one little girl shouted "Spark-lers!" and the other promptly followed with "LEMONADE!!!" We stopped and stared, mesmerized by their enthusiasm, as they continued to energetically chant in turn "Spark-lers!" (slight pause) "LEMONADE!!!" "Spark-lers!" (slight pause)"LEMONADE!!!" They were so cute, and we started to giggle. While we couldn't see any evidence of sparklers or lemonade on their table, we decided they had a business strategy we could fully embrace. At the next Fremont fair, Emily and I are going to drag a card table and our merchandise out to a bustling street corner. In our pigtails, we'll alternately shout "Spark-lers!" "LEMONADE!!!"

Just so you know, I'm sparklers and she is lemonade.

Does the fact that I like Guinness redeem me at all?

I've discovered that I'm a permanent tourist in my drinking life. Bring on the cosmos! Bring on the lemon drops! Bring on the lava flows! I'll take a margarita or pina colada any day. Gin and scotch....not so much.

After work yesterday, my coworkers invited me and a few others to a last minute martini party in one of their offices. I like vodka martinis okay, but I wasn't sure I'd ever tasted the gin version. One sip and ACK. That's exactly the sound I made. All I could taste was alcohol in the yuckiest sense. Not wanting to look like a wimpy girl in front of the boys, I gingerly sipped on my drink, trying to fool everyone and keep my lips from continuously pursing. Yes, I'm having a great time! Yum, this is delicious! I'd follow up each tiny gulp with a handful of chips or party mix or an olive...anything to make the taste go away.

Next up, a little bit of scotch. At least that has an actual flavor, but too bad it has to be of smoky old shoe leather. "How do you know what shoe leather tastes like?" one of my friends inquired curiously. I explained that I was basing my description on the scent of shoe leather rather than any history of snacking on it. I worked in shoes (part-time) back in my youth, so I should know. One of my other friends followed that with her observation that the scotch tasted like the smell of elephant poo, which she happens to like, so the conversation went along a whole new thread after that.

This is a bummer, because I always thought it was so cool in the movies when they'd mix scotch and water for a drink, ice cubes clinking in the glass. Now I'll have to refrain from yelling "Don't drink that nasty old shoe!" Not very cool at all.

Clumsy

OK, I admit it. I think it's hilarious when people trip and fall.

Most of my friends are nonplussed and express some dismay when they learn that I get a good laugh over this. I'm quick to add the disclaimer that my enjoyment greatly diminishes, and quickly transforms into concern, if someone is really hurt. Still, that doesn't stop the looks of suspicion that I may be pure evil beneath a relatively nice exterior.

This is on my mind because I got these looks just the other night, while out celebrating Cinco de Mayo at the bar with friends. Emily told the story from the recent Snow Patrol concert. While sitting in the dark tuning out the bizarre dramatics of the opening act, I distracted myself by watching a girl make her way up the stairs of the middle aisle in our balcony. Our row of seats was directly in front of her, and just as I was thinking this was a prime tripping situation, she went down! I couldn't help it. From the moment she hit the stairs, I was shaking with glee but managed to suppress it until she got up and started to walk away. As soon as the first giggle escaped, Emily turned to me and said "I knew it! I knew you'd laugh! I was just sitting here thinking wait for it...wait for it..."

Why is this so funny to me?

Considering my own streak in my youth, you'd think I'd have empathy for other unlucky stumblers. In my pre-adolescent and early teens years, I was a geeky kid, not yet comfortable in my body--skinny (the good ol' days), awkwardly long-limbed, with the grace of a newborn deer. I was pretty much always a trip waiting to happen. One notable fall occurred while visiting my grandparents in Spokane. My family had gone out to pick up pizzas for dinner, and I climbed out of the car with both boxes in my hands. Somehow, I missed the curb in front of me and started a slow flop to the ground while my family gawped in silent horror. Aware that the state of dinner was in my hands, I managed to land flat with my arms straight out in front of me, the pizza boxes sliding gently across the damp grass. The rest of my body took the hit. My mother, in all her maternal concern, shouted in alarm, "The PIZZAS!!" Seeing that they were still intact, she then asked if I was okay. Priorities, priorities.

To be completely honest, my streak never really ended. Yes, I've grown into my limbs, and I'm much more centered and in control, but I still take a frequent enough spills. One day, while walking between two cars in a parking lot at work, I ran into the curb again. Trying to stop the inevitable, I slammed into one car, bounced off, and smacked into the other before making contact with the pavement. A passing minivan screeched to a halt, and the kind driver rolled down his window to ask if I was okay. Thankfully, there were no pizzas (or car alarms) involved. I responded that I was "Fiiiiiiiiiine." My knees and pride only slightly bruised.

Another time, I was ambling into Target with my friend Jeremy when--you guessed it--I came into contact with my nemesis, The Curb. With nothing to grab on to, I went down hard with my arms flailing windmill style. Jeremy waved passing cars by while he helped scrape me off the concrete, and I hobbled in to the store's bathroom to clean my wounds. Then, I spent the next half hour walking through the cosmetics aisles, shaking with laughter, as I relived my embarrassing moment over and over in my head. The only truly upsetting part to me was that I'd ruined my favorite pair of red shoes on that darn curb! Those shoes are still in a bag in the corner of my closet, waiting patiently to be fixed.

I guess my point is, and I do present this to my questioners, if I find my own falls humorous and can laugh at myself, shouldn't that give me green light to laugh at others? There are plenty of comedians, movies, and TV shows (does anyone else remember Carrie sliding across the shiny floor of Dior in Paris on SatC?) that poke fun at human clumsiness. Whether they admit it outright or not, a few people have confided in me that they get an inordinate amount of pleasure when they see someone trip too. It happens to all of us, and I think we can agree that most of the time it looks and feels ridiculous. So, I have to wonder why such harsh judgments when I tell how I respond?

Future Fallers Beware! If you're on the ground, face burning with shame as you gather the courage to right yourself, and you hear a slightly suppressed chuckle, it's probably me. Learn from my mistakes and watch out for those nasty curbs. They'll get ya.