We-ent to the chapel...

So the two year wedding anniversary is coming up in a week. Since we just started new jobs, we don't have any vacation time to take a "real" vacation somewhere to celebrate the way that we'd like. We'll be pretending that we're somewhere far away from Friday night until Sunday evening.

Every year, and by every year, I mean last year and now this year, the wedding anniversary makes me miss the actual wedding day. I miss knowing that all of our dearest loved ones are taking a day off just to party with us for a night. We were so blessed for that! I miss getting dressed up like a princess, complete with paying someone to do my hair for the first time in my life and a drag queen doing my make-up, just for one night. I really miss having a paparazzo follow us all around, and dancing nonstop to great music for about six hours. Most girls spend their days dreaming about the dresses and flowers when they think of their wedding day. I always dreamt of the party, and enjoyed mine so much that I've missed it ever since. I wish I could have a huge party with my loved ones and the same DJ and the same photographer and fancy dresses and a drag queen to do my make up every year.

This year, we're doing our "vacation" the weekend before our anniversary, and right now, it looks like it might resemble our honeymoon. Kevin and I were both sick on our honeymoon and Kevin is sick right now. Our original plan was to rent a cabin and a pontoon and spend the weekend enjoying nature. Now I'm thinking we might rent a busload of movies and camp out in our living room while he coughs up his lungs, one at a time.

I guess instead of escaping to nature to pretend we're somewhere far away, I could rent movies like Chicago, Notting Hill, and Leaving Las Vegas so we can feel like we've spent our weekend traveling...

My Life List

Some people have a list of things they want to do before they turn 30. I don't really know why 30 is the cut-off point. That seems awfully young. If you did everything you wanted to do by 30, then what are you supposed to do with the 50+ years you have left with your life?

Instead, I'm taking Ellen DeGeneres's suggestion and creating a Life List. This is a work in progress. I've never actually sat down and written one up. Every now and then, I just think, "Ah! That goal is on the Life List!" It's just things I want to accomplish in my life. Big goals and small.

Getting published is one of them *check*
Getting nationally published is another.
Working for a TV station is one of them. *check*
Moving out of Burlington is another. *check*
Visiting England, Scotland, and France were on there. *check, check, check*
Going back is on it, too.
Learning another language, then going to a country that speaks that language is on it.
Basically, I just want to travel a lot, both overseas and around the country.
Going to the Ellen DeGeneres Show is on it.
Bonus Points if I get to dance with Ellen.
Joining the Young @ Heart Choir when I'm retired is on it, assuming they still exist. I hope I remember that in 45 years.
Of course, I also plan never to fully retire.
Meet John Stamos. Yes, that's a must.
Maybe I want to buy a vacation home on a beach.
But maybe I want to spend that money travelling somewhere new every year.
Build a house for Habitat for Humanity in a community that really needs it.
Live in a loft with a great view.
Kayak! I'd rather kayak with somebody, but I don't know anyone right now who is interested in going with me.
Jet ski on one of the Great Lakes.
Make a difference. I don't know what that means, yet. Maybe I mean organizing a charity event. Maybe I mean volunteering in a bigger way than I have in the past. I just want to leave my mark somehow.

Hm... I guess this will do for the Life List for the moment, but I know there are way more things that belong on here.

Kickin' It Old School

I love a clean house, I hate cleaning. Loathe it. But I happen to live with a piglet. Not my tiny furry porker of a dog, but the pet giant who has a habit of leaving things around the apartment without realizing it. We've been hitched for nearly two years and I've tried to work on the whole "There's a place for everything, so lets put everything in it's place" bit... but so far I'm just proud that I've got him putting his dirty dishes in the kitchen. But I digress. He was gone this evening, so cleaning was left up to me and I needed to set the mood. I decided the best way to approach this was to bust out a '90s concert in this place. In the bathroom, I was Britney Spears, throwing my hair around while I sang. In the office, I was the Spice Girls, complete with the British accent. In the family room, I created stellar dance moves for my dog's entertainment to Back Street Boys... okay, my dog looked scared and snuggled deeper into the couch cushions, but I found it entertaining and before I knew it, the apartment was clean. I didn't realize what I was doing, because I tricked myself with the perfect music.

I think I was in the mood for old school music because earlier this evening, I was driving around when "I Swear" by All-4-One came on and I was suddenly back in middle school. Random memories of teachers, classes, friends, and silly crushes went through my mind, just because of this song, but the strangest thing of all was... I don't remember the last time I heard this song, but I knew every word and every beat. So there I was, in the middle of Coralville at a stoplight, jamming to the song by myself. I looked up at one point and noticed a man looking at me with an envious, "I'll have what she's having" look (at least, I like to think it was envious), and I continued jamming. Then I was just breaking it down at one of my favorite parts when I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a car quickly approaching. First, I felt flattered, because, you know, maybe he was driving so fast because he wanted to watch me throw it down at the best part. Then I realized that the light was now green. I don't know how long it had been green... I was too busy kickin' it old school for my imaginary audience to care. So I hurried up and put the pedal to the metal and acted all nonchalant...

... as if we all don't jam in our car when we're alone.

A story for Mother's Day

How is it that mom's know everything? Is it just one of those things that comes with being a mother? Like, this one lady I know got this medical condition that she didn't have before after she got pregnant that she'll now always have. It's just part of the deal that came with having her baby. Other people I know had conditions during their pregnancies that went away after the birth. Again, just part of being a mom. So pregnancy just has a way of messing with a mom's health, and I wonder... do pregnancies give moms a seventh sense (because, you know, the sixth one is talking to ghosts) when their child is born? So they just alway know what their child is up to, even when said child isn't in their presence?

When I was about four years old, my brothers were at school and I was playing alone in the basement. I was making masterpieces for my mom with paper, crayons and scissors. After a while, I was worn from being such a prodigy and examined the scissors and thought about how those are also used to cut hair. I decided to see what pleasure the hair stylist gets from slicing hair from scissors, so I took one, just one strand, I'm very sure, of hair from the front of my head and cut it. The sensation was all right, but didn't lead to any dreams of becoming a stylist. Really, I was more concerned about the scissors in one hand and evidence of cutting my hair in the other, and something in my belly told me that cutting my own hair wasn't a good thing. So I looked around for a place to hide this one, just one, strand of hair. My eyes landed on the couch cushion behind me, so I lifted it and hid the hair there, satisfied that it would be gone forever. No one would ever know about my experience as a barber.

In case someone should approach me with a spotlight and questions like, "Where were you Thursday at 11:30 am?" I decided to meander upstairs to the kitchen for an alibi, so I could look like I had just been making my masterpieces, then had gone upstairs for lunch. The moment my second foot touched the kitchen floor, my mother turned around and casually asked, "Meghan, did you cut your hair?" I didn't think she had even looked at me, yet. More astoundingly, I couldn't believe, of all the kabillions of hairs on my head, she spotted the one strand that I had cut!

How did she do that?

It's her seventh sense.

Simplicity is key

Simple things make me happy. I didn't have to go without, well, anything growing up. So, really, I could have learned to place loads of importance on material things and let the simple things go by without a second glance. But I've always taken the time to think about the most simple things. Even when I was very little, I made sure to include the grasshoppers and ladybugs and clouds and and and in my prayers. Someone had to make sure God remembered to bless 'em!

I think I might have learned to appreciate the small things in life from my grandpa. He came from a modest home and worked hard to create an outstanding life for himself and the rest of us. Despite all that he can afford and all that he's done, it's always the small things that make him smile the biggest. Eating dessert. Sneaking a late night snack. Seeing the waves created by a fish in a pond. Feeling the breeze on a warm fall day. Seeing the buds of leaves in the spring, seeing how full they look in the summer, and watching them change into beautiful colors in the fall. He's watched that for 91 years and it's so gorgeous to him each year, you'd think he's seeing it for the first time.

These things bring me joy, too. When I'm out in nature, I find it all so breathtaking, I like to think that God painted that picture just for me. Sunsets out in the country or over water are my favorite. I would also say sunrises are my favorite, but I've decided they'd be my favorite if I've stayed up all night to watch them. My aunt and I used to try to wake up early to see the sunrise, but by the time we got to it, it would have risen, so we would watch it rise higher, then go grab breakfast. It was still fun being out in the stillness of the morning, feeling the chilly, morning dew on our feet and seeing the riverfront... but I'm still curious about how the river would have looked with the sun rising over it.

Of course, I like sneaking a late night snack, but it's more fun when I'm visiting Grampa and we bump into each other in the kitchen. He offers me a cream puff, or two...or three. They're always frozen, and he's always too eager to let his thaw before he pops it in his mouth.

I like that feeling you get when you hear a song on the radio that reminds you of something important. "Breathe" by Faith Hill will first make me feel sentimental. It was played at our senior prom, and I remember dancing with Kevin to it. I remember feeling the texture of his tuxedo on my cheek. I remember being all gross and sweaty from dancing all night. I can smell my perfume and his tux. I remember wondering if maybe, just maybe, he was starting to like me. After I go through this sentimental part when the song comes on, I always laugh because I also remember that while I was trying to feel all romantic during this song, Rena and Alissa were fooling around about five feet away, making fun of the song and shouting, "Jiiiiiist Brrrrreeeeeeth" it in their most redneck voices, because we all hated this song.

I like hugs. There's the Mom Hug, which solves every problem, even if I am 25 and even if I don't have a problem. There's the Aunt Mary Hug, which is just about the most comfortable hug I've ever encountered (which everyone who has been in a musical at my high school has experienced. She's very huggy.). There's the Husband Hug, which makes all of the bad in the world disappear. And, probably my most favorite, since we've opened the Grampa Box, the Grampa Hug. He wears the softest sweaters and I'm the perfect height for his hugs. When we hug, my cheek snuggles right onto his shoulder, right onto his snuggly sweater, which he wears even if it's 80 degrees, because he's always cold. He's like a living blankie.

I could really go on and on about the simple things in life that make me happy, but really... life is full of simple things, so this blog would never end. It's just good to stop and smell the roses to take in the good ol' simple things that life offers. Even if you're having a bad day/week/month, you can always stop and come up with something simple that can make you smile.

One of those weeks

It's funny, how we all know what "those" means when we say "I'm having one of those days." I guess it's just a fact of life. We breathe, we need to eat, we need to drink, we need sleep, we need to bathe, and we all have one of those days.

Mine never stop at one day, though. If I'm having one of those days, I know it's going to be one of those weeks, and that's what I had this week. It started on Monday when I just couldn't focus enough to follow directions, which is pretty bad when part of your job involves taking direction from a director of the live news broadcast. I think I'll stop there.

It just didn't ease up and by Thursday night, I'd say I topped of my Those Week. Thursday night was the one night that Kevin was out of town until about midnight. So I had big plans. I decided to go down memory lane and call up the ol' college pizza joint for Pokey Sticks, a tasty cheese bread that is filling enough to get you through dinner. If I remember correctly, I used to get a medium for $5 when I was in college... two for that price on Sticks It To Me Tuesday. So I called 'em up on my way home from work, because I had their number memorized from college, ordered a small because I was certain it wasn't safe to leave myself alone with a whole medium, got to the joint right as they finished cooking it and... it cost $8! The thing was the size of my childlike hand and it cost EIGHT BUCKS. So after my coronary, I handed over my debit card and got in my car. I knew which one it was by the windshield that snapped in half on my drive to work on Tuesday. I soothed my sorrowful soul by bopping to Miley Cyrus's "See You Again" and reminding myself that I had a quiet night of expensive hot cheese bread, pajamas, and DVR ahead of me.

So I got home, threw the Pokey Sticks on the kitchen counter with my purse and keys, let the fur baby out of his cage and got him ready to go on his walk. We ran out the door, and I felt it close behind me in slow motion because, yes, I had locked the handle and left my keys on the counter. In my mind, I flashed back to the day I signed the lease. My memory had my landlady looking 10 times her size, very sweaty, and in a slowed-down man voice, she said, "If you lock yourself out of your apartment after 5:30, it will cost $15 dollars for you to have a maintenance guy unlock your door." It was 6 pm.

I had no phone and couldn't remember where the maintenance man lived, so I thought things over while Logan took care of business. When he relieved himself of a healthy poop, I scooped it up with a plastic bag, stood up, and suddenly three Mormon boys were standing in front of me. I generally feel uncomfortable visiting with people when I have a clear bag filled with smelly poop in one hand, but they seemed down with it, so we discussed my dog and my dilemma and Jesus. They asked if they could come into my apartment to discuss the Mormon religion, assuming I ever found a way back into my apartment, and I kindly let them know that I respected their devotion to theirs, but was equally pleased with my own. So we parted ways and I hoped with all hope that my landlady was working late in her office and marched that way, several buildings away from my own.

She was not there. I couldn't remember where the maintenance guy lived, and, in all honesty, he scares me so I didn't want to remember where he lived. As big as Logan thinks he is, the worst he could truly do to someone who might cause me harm is pull their knee sock to their ankle. If they stand still.

So I walked all the way back to my apartment and remembered that the landlady lives across the parking lot from me. If I were to stare close enough, I could figure out which apartment by her curtains. I decided it would be uncouth to stand in the middle of the parking lot with my dog panting thirstily and study the windows for a few minutes. So I casually walked around until I found the sheer white drapes that she mentioned and climbed up to her apartment and knocked on her door until her poor little boy answered and ran to their neighbors to tell her that some lady with a dog was looking for her.

After she called the maintenance guy, she glanced out the entrance to her building and saw the Mormon boys at the entrance to mine, talking to one of my neighbors. She doesn't want them soliciting people on her property, so she decided to go over and ask them not to, but they looked at me like they thought I had complained to her about them. My neighbor who was talking to them was truly interested in what they had to say, so they weren't really bothering anyone, and the landlady had just come up to them, asked them to leave her residents alone, and left. So they asked if she was going to help me get in, or... and I knew they thought I asked her to come say something.

By the time the maintenance guy finally came, and the Mormon boys were gone, he didn't say a word to me. He might have grunted when I mentioned how annoyed I was when my hand left the handle and I realized the key was inside. Anyway, I finally went into my apartment and sat down with my now cold overpriced Pokey Sticks.

Thankfully, that topped off my One of Those Weeks. I thought Friday would bring something worse, and it didn't. I'm safe.

Hope and Dream

When I moved this spring, my mom gave me a housewarming gift- five decorative wall pieces with a word on each one. Each word is thought-provoking, heartwarming, and inspiring. At the time, we tried to decide which one was our favorite, and I'm still working on it.
First up, we have Family. This word holds so much. Above all, for me, it holds love, friendship and strength. First to my mind with family is my mom, who has been my "teammate" for the past five years, since I was diagnosed with epilepsy. Without her, I don't know where I would have drawn the strength to get through the doctor appointments, hospital visits, medical tests and treatments for epilepsy until we found one that looks like it will have me feeling like a normal person by the end of this year. But family doesn't stop at mom, it goes on to my brothers who keep me grounded. The Mom part of family builds me up until I think I'm the best thing since sliced bread. The Brothers part reminds me that while I'm okay and all, I'm still the same girl who wrote her "g" backwards so her name was Meehan... the same girl who was invited into their room for a slumber party at about 8PM, sat down at the foot of one of their beds to consider the possibilities of sleeping in their room versus staying in my room until they fell asleep, and when they woke up an hour later, they found me still sitting on the foot of their bed, considering which case was more favorable. They can't and they won't get over how indecisive I was. That Slumber Party Story is why they were laughing here:
And from my point of view, Brothers are what make me want to improve myself. I've looked up to them and tried to be just like them since I was a toddler. They are both very successful people who come up with their plans and make them happen. That's who I want to be and what I want to do.
Furthermore, family goes on to my cousins and grandparents. I've had rough times in my personal life and wonderful times that I am so lucky to have experienced, and my extended family has been with me every step of the way, cheering me up and cheering me on.
Six letters, deep meaning. Family is a big word.
Next here, I see Pray. Just seeing the word fills my heart with warmth. Prayer offers comfort, hope, and the knowledge that I am with someone in heart and doing the most for someone that I can in their time of need... and also on a daily basis. Prayer is how I feel most at peace with myself and offer peace to people I love. To me, the word prayer is indescribable. It's a spiritual experience.
The third word is Memories. I have a mixture of emotions about memories, because something about my health has interrupted my ability to remember things. Memories since I've been sick are very foggy and that upsets me. The reason that upsets me, though, is because I like memories. Memories, mental pictures, the ability to take a moment and remember the scent, the sounds, the tastes and the way the wind felt, your exact emotions... it's fun to be able to put yourself back there. I enjoy being able to sit next to someone like my grandmother who can go back to her childhood and tell a story with every single detail so it feels like I'm right there with her. Memories are good as long as you aren't constantly living in the memory. You need to be constantly making memories.
I think the last two words are my favorite. Hope and Dream. In my book, dreams give you something to hope for, because I believe that dreams are meant to come true. I think you should make your dreams come true. I also understand the importance in having hope. You need hope. If you ever give up on hope, you truly have given up and you can't let yourself do that. Sometimes, dreams are all you have to hope for.