Friday, November 13, 2015


This morning while eating his cereal and staring into the backyard Ben said, “What if shadows had shadows?”

Last night he asked me to cut out a Sponge Bob turkey that he made for school because, “You do everything perfect.” I will therefore give him anything he wants at any time. By which I mean I will execute the three clicks it takes to order his desires off Amazon. I bought him some rad snow boots earlier this week and am looking forward to inheriting them as a hand-me-up. We wear the same shoe size now. He’s nine and grew an impressive four and a half feet this summer.

I’m in my office where R2D2 and C3PO are bickering on the other computer screen, Sophie is lolling on my lap, and the lil’ space heater under my desk is doing its damnedest to upgrade my attitude. Cold makes me cranky. But a cadre of adorable boots that have recently come by way of Zappos should serve to make me less winter-rotten.

This weekend will be about doing nothing since last weekend was about a baby shower and in two weeks there’s Thanksgiving. We are staying in Sparks for the holiday this year as our teeny pregnant lady will be 36 weeks and doin’ no traveling. We get to host and if I have any sense at all I’ll delegate every food assignment and keep my own efforts to table decorations. For y’all, decoration is the thing I do decently.

The baby shower last week was—I’m pretty sure—a raging success. The house was tidy, darling, and full. Katelynn got showered with a boatload of gifts and left here with over a thousand diapers to add to the collection she’s got going. Tons of her people shuffled through our house, embroidering quilt squares here, filling candy bags there, writing on advice cards, and eating eating eating. Trust me here: use Whole Foods. I’ve got experience in this food-ordering thing, and using Whole Foods for catering is a sure-fire win.

For weeks before the day of, my world was about details for this quilt-themed baby shower. I'm not so much known for doing things halfway or even reasonably, really. 

The momma-to-be is an ardent and talented quilter and put together some quilts for her babe that she was down to display at the shower, so with that in mind I designed invites and advice cards that looked quiltish and matched the decor to the general color theme she put together, making garland after garland of mixed paper flags, having Jim hang 20-some-odd big honeycomb baubles from the ceiling, and staking giant—seriously giant—coordinating balloons to the lawn outside. Traci put together a charming quilt project where guests embroidered muslin squares and she will piece them into a quilt that matches Katelynn’s color scheme, which I think couldn't be more appropriate as Traci is Katelynn's quilting godmother.

As we were setting up for the shower the night before, Josie surveyed the extensive decorations and asked me to do her party. “What are you having a party for?” I asked. “I don’t know,” she replied, "it’s Friday?”

Jim flew my ma in for the shower, a thing of which one does not truly realize the value until the morning of the shower and Megan is losing her shit. It’s good that my life has few acutely stressful situations. Pretty much no one handles that worse than I do. Mama Sue got stuff done, handled me like a champ, and when Jim looked at her with wide eyes exhibiting the futility of dealing with me in such a state, she nodded her head in sympathy.

Shortly before the food arrived, when Jim was hanging a garland over the back doors, Ben asked what he was doing and Jim replied, “Trying to make Megan happy.” 

One notable part of the shower occurred just after Katelynn finished opening gifts. I was across the room fidgeting with something and Katelynn called out, “Hey Megan, it’s time for a Grandma photo.” Classily, I hollered back, “Go to hell.” Kathy, Nathaniel’s awfully super mom, headed for Katelynn’s chair and as I followed I mouthed at Katelynn, “I hate you” which was of course intended as a gesture of love.

Come December my husband will be a grandpa, and the parents-to-be are getting quite the kick out of calling his 33-year-old childless wife Grandma. I’ve come to terms with it. My job is to buy them cute stuff. I can do that. I can do that all day, son!

That gonna-be Grandpa and I did Halloween weekend in Vegas. The first night we went to Cirque’s Ka. Then the following evening we had tickets for Le Rȇve. And then after that show Jim said, “Wanna go to O?” So we did that too. Two Vegas water shows in one night means I spent three hours straight with a dropped jaw.

But in writing that out I realize that it’s not out of my ordinary. Living with Jim means that a minimum of 60% of the expressions you wear are stunned, impressed, or incredulous. (The next 30% are delight. And the other 10% are depression, dismay, and disgust as influenced by effing whoremones that sweet Jim can’t fix, though boy does he try. Poor perfect man.) He’s anything but average and funny as hell. Just ask him. Wink.

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