JOTS

• Some folks have asked about my surname. Yeah, I kept the married one. I became a grown-up with this name. I got the most recent diploma with this name. This name—Megan Romo—suits me. And Romo is cooler than Peterson. Thumbs down on returning to the maiden name. I’m keepin’ the upgrade.

• My hands and feet are splotchy with six different colors of dye. It was tie dye day. Between me, Josie, and Reagan we dyed ten shirts, four pillowcases, and a respectable amount of concrete in Jim’s backyard.

• Fifty seems to be the magic number. In yoga class my silent mantra—directed at the teacher—has become, “I’ll pay you fifty dollars to open that damn door for more than a minute.” Twenty seems paltry. A hundred’s exorbitant. In that traumatic environment fifty seems entirely reasonable.

• Every few years I rediscover diet ginger ale. I’m there now. I totally forgot about this bubbly miracle.

• The tiny rat beast is passed out next to me. She’s tuckered out bigtime. Today I watched her chase a Golden Retriever and a Labradoodle with all the speed her little body could muster. Reminded me of this last summer when we were at my parents’ house—Mom’s three terriers were running circles around the pool and Soph was twelve feet behind them pumping her tiny legs as fast as she could, trying to catch up. I could almost hear her six-year-old lisp, “Hey guyths! Wait for me!”

• My darling friend and yoga teacher, Cameron, did his yoga competition routine at nationals in New York today. I got to see the video, and I'm so happy for him. He looked calm and pleased. He looked like yoga should make you feel.

• Around this time every year I always remind myself to pause and be grateful for Easter. It’s a good time to reflect on some of my most incredible blessings, the gifts that lift my life—like Cadbury Creme Eggs, Starburst jelly beans, and those spectacular Cadbury hard-shelled mini eggs.