Strike a Pose

This is a picture of my sister's kids from a couple years back. It still makes me laugh out loud when I look at it.

How did I forget to mention this?

Laterly

Oh, hello there. I know, I know. It's been a really long time. But the good news is that I shaved my legs. It's been a little while, perhaps three weeks or so, but that doesn't matter. The point is that I shaved them.

This last month or so has been really busy. I had to go to a conference in Denver for work. Spending five straight days smiling and acting excited about history can wear a person right out. (Not to say that I'm not excited about history. Just that sometimes you want to let what happened in the past, stay in the past and "live in the now."—Thank you Garth.)

Then a few days after that, husband and I went away for our one-year anniversary to a little place we like to call Maui. Because, you see, it is actually Maui. The weather was grand. The fish were friendly. The service was great. My freckles reappeared. And then we came home. (enter feelings of depression) What's the deal with snow, right?

So last night we went to see Harry Potter with my little eleven-year-old friend. I confess that I gave up on the book series halfway through. I have book series commitment issues. But the movie scared me half to death. ****SPOILER ALERT**** Everyone dies! And you jump ten feet out of your chair more times than you'd ever care to. Also, Harry's kind of a weird looking boy/adult.

I had a check up with my doctor on Tuesday, and he called me a failure. Good things he's handsome and has a slight southern drawl, or I'd be upset.

Aside from that, we've had so many fun things happening with family and friends in town, oh, and my perm experiment, that it's just been hard to keep track of it all or find the time to blog about it. But rest assured that fun is being had and calories are being eaten.

I have to stop typing now because my fingers are frozen.

Pumpkin spice, and everything nice

My parents live maybe a mile away from where I work. I go there every day to eat my lunch and any treats my mom might have lying around. Today when I got there, no one was home. I walked in to the empty house. The temperature was just a little chilly in the house and it smelled like holiday. My mom must have had a pumpkin or some sort of holiday sent burning. But it made me excited for all of the holidays coming up and all the of the traditions that make the holidays what they are.

Tasty's donuts purchased each Halloween afternoon . . . some sort of chili or soup bowl for dinner . . . the black witch basket that hold that candy and sees fewer and fewer trick-or-treaters each year (which is good for me) . . . all the wee ones coming by grandma's after they're done trick-or-treating and acting shy in costume . . . chocolate hangovers . . . doorbell ringing every few minutes while I'm usually still putting my costume together . . .

which leads to

Pumpkin pie . . . mom's homemade rolls that Hollie sometimes makes now . . . slush! . . . a giant turkey cooking all day . . . carrot dip . . . dad saying something sentimental about how we have so much to be grateful for while everyone else just wants to eat . . . one brother-in-law that likes the obligatory cranberries . . . Marcie's green bean casserole or Jello mix . . . Emily's broccoli salad (seen at various holidays) . . . football . . . bring out the Little Tikes table for the kidlets . . . kidlets laughing and yelling as loud as they can, none of them concerned with eating . . . lots of food on the floor . . . that white table cloth that only comes out once a year with the fancy salt and pepper shakers . . .

which leads to

A week-long project of getting ALL the Christmas decorations up . . . Norm's every-other-year Christmas lights policy . . . Cadbury Christmas candy . . . Santa's Marching band . . . the train around the tree that nephews watch for hours . . . Grandma's hand-knitted stockings . . . more slush! . . . frantic shopping on Christmas Eve and wanted to shoot every person you come into contact with in public . . . the snowman tree . . . stress . . . Norm's famous scrambled eggs for breakfast . . . seeing all the kidlets hopped-up on toy excitement and not even noticing you've come to see them . . . toffee . . . neighbors delivering so many goodies you think you might pop . . . The Little Match Girl . . . The Carpenters, a Christmas Portrait . . . tired brothers and sisters who stayed up late to help Santa put things together . . . Using Santa's elves as leverage to get kids to do whatever you want them to do . . . and so much more.

How weird is it that I won't be waking up at that house I know so well for Christmas anymore? I'd be lying if I didn't say that it makes me sad to think about it. I know I wasn't there last year for Christmas, but I had only been married a few weeks and that month of my life is all a blur.

I dreamed a dream

Last night I had a dream that all members of the Rat Pack were alive and well. I knew this because they joined my family for our Fourth of July celebration. And, for some reason, we sat them all down on the couch at the end of the day and made them watch hours of family video footage—much to my dismay because most of the footage highlighted my eight-year awkward stage. This really put a cramp on my style since I have a crush on Dean Martin (zing-a-zing-a-zing-boom). Oh yeah, and there was that other part of my dream where I kept trying to smooch Dean. Minor detail.

Confucius says . . .

If a grey hair is plucked from your head and no one was around to see it, did it ever really exist?

Agent Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde

I so often underestimate the power of shaving my legs. It's almost as if the hairy-legged Megan and the smooth-legged Megan are two completely different people. What? You've had a horrible day at work, your head hurts, your makeup just didn't stay fresh, those pants make you feel fat? I know just the remedy. Spend five minutes (or more, depending on the leg hair length) on yourself and shave those legs. Suddenly you're that tall glass of water you've wanted to be all week. You're ten pounds lighter, your pants fit better, and everyone in the world was just given a puppy. It's almost as if you were a contestant on that one show that's not on the air anymore—Extreme Makeover: Self Edition. Hello, world. Feel my legs. And then, just when you thought your day couldn't possibly get any better . . . clean sheets! This is how I was born to live—prickle free.

Some things I wish I could forget

During my first, or possibly second year of teaching, I signed up to take a class called "Beginning Guitar for Teachers in the Elementary Classroom." I thought it would be a great opportunity to learn some fun tunes to play while kids sang about times tables, counties and county seats, and so on.

I began the class with a borrowed guitar. I can remember learning very little. There was very little method or even skill taught. But, I did learn how to mimic my teacher's hand placements on the fret board as he taught us "The House of the Rising Sun" over an eight-week period. He told me I was a natural. I was excited about this until my dad explained that the only song my teacher had taught me was about a whore house . . . and that wasn't nearly as useful in an elementary classroom as I'd hoped it would be.

Although I learned nothing useful, I got a free, new guitar from my creepy teacher. Sometimes being a natural at playing whore house-themed music pays off.

What a Difference 10 Months Makes

I really don't like having my picture taken. I especially dislike having pictures taken of JUST me. I'm just not photogenic, I never have been. I promise, I'm much cuter in person. But, now that 10 months have passed since I had a couple of bridal shots taken, I can actually look at them. Really. So, for those of you that have requested (and for those of you who couldn't care less), here are some of my 10 month-old bridal shots.

Yes, the flowers are fake. And, yes, I was not aware a picture was being taken as I was laughing and brushing my bangs out of my face with my bouquet.

Hold the phone . . .

I think a clarification needs to be made about the last post:

I am NOT pregnant. I repeat, I am not pregnant!


Thank you, and goodnight.

What's in a name?

Last night I outlined all the names I've chosen for our potential future children. My husband only liked one of them and agreed that a second name was "okay." That's cute that he thinks he has a say. If I'm going to let little aliens inhabit my body for nine months, move things around in there, and spread my hips, all before a disgusting and traumatic exit from my body that will leave my body in a state that will never quite return to how it was before, you'd better believe those children are getting the names I've chosen.

So, if you're single, be sure to have some sort of written agreement written up before you say "yes" to a man. Be sure that you write down every name you have ever even considered and then frame it and hang it somewhere your husband will see often.

And trust me, the names are SUPER cute. Why am I not telling you? Well, because if you hate them, too, you won't have to hate them as long if I wait and tell you once the little aliens have made their exodus from my body.

MIA no more

You know, you're right. It HAS been a very long time since I have posted anything. In case you were wondering, you have missed out on innumerable exciting things in my life. Here are just a few I'd like to highlight.

On Sunday, a sweet, older lady in my ward who I see at least twice a week asked me if I was pregnant. And just in case you are wondering, I'm not. I just so happen to have a large quantity of empire-waisted shirts. They're in style, people. So, that was a first for me, and most likely a last . . . the last time I wear that dress.

The other day my sister stopped by my office with her kids to say hello. One of my nephews pulled down his pants and underpants and said in his "old man" voice, "I need to go potty."

Visit teaching (Can you stand the excitement in my life??!)

Church stuff

My husband has all but commandeered my iPod for his e-hunting pleasure.

Oh, yes. I sent a horrendously behind schedule project to press only a day late. (Hence my MIA behavior.)

I gave my husband a blender for his birthday because I'm the best wife ever. ("What is this? The 1905s? Give the little wife a blender?!") — Name that movie!

I had a sleepover with all the "'big kid" nieces, nephews, and myself while Dan was away hunting. I actually slept.

I saved the world in under an hour and a half.

I had lunch with one of my longest running friends and I laughed so much and so hard my face hurt the rest of the afternoon.

I  killed a spider all by myself.

I got to be with one of the cutest families I know as they were sealed in the temple. I cried a lot.

I ate a lot of Neilson's Custard.

I spent lots of time at Dr. appointments and with old people.

That pretty much sums it up. Stay tuned for what will no doubt be a very exciting early fall.

Green with envy

How much is too much to pay for a pair of shoes?? What if I told you that they just might change my life and would no longer leave me wondering shoes I should wear on St. Patrick's Day?

Today I Feel Silly (And Other Moods That Make My Day)

Yesterday I wrote an angry post. But guess what, I never clicked "Post." Wouldn't you like to know what it's about?? (Sucker.) But I feel the need to reassure you that I am a very happy and often kind person. It's just that writing is such an emotional outlet for me. So, lucky you, you get to see so many of my heated or sarcastic posts.

In an effort to show you how much I like puppy dog tails and rainbows, I am posting two of my favorite commercials that scream happy.

I do not endorse any particular make of car. But I do endorse more creative car commercials like these:

Don't Quit Your Day Job, Mr. Maestro

File your complaints here:

To the woman driving the gold Honda Odyssey van with the Ragnar sticker headed north on I-15 this morning, you are a cotton-headed ninny-muggins. Pardon the language, folks. But I feel confident in declaring this woman the most clueless human being on Earth.

Did you even run in a Ragnar race? Probably not. I'm sure they disqualified you not long after you started for CUTTING PEOPLE OFF! Thanks for turning into my lane at 5 mph when there was no one behind me for miles... you must've been in a big rush. I could tell by your turtle-paced speed. How about the three times you cut me off without signaling on the freeway, just to go slower than I was going? Those were my personal favorite moves. You must be in a big hurry, something important going on. . . I could tell be the very animated conversation you were having the entire time you were blocking me from changing lanes in traffic. I've never wanted to go-go-Gadget into a monster truck and run someone over so bad in my life.

By the way, did you notice that you were in a car? On the freeway? Driving?

If you know anyone who fits the description of this woman, you have my full and encouraged permission to slug her in the stomach. Then yell, "Take that, soccer mom," and flee for your life.

Where are my daisy dukes, belly shirts, and rollerblades when I need them?

Click play on this music video and close your eyes while you listen. Why? First of all, the video and audio are off sync. Second, ODB's teeth in the beginning might make you ill as you find yourself pondering when the last time was that you flossed your teeth. And I don't want to play the role of tooth fairy queen right now. But, mostly close your eyes to picture where you where ten years ago when you were listening to this song.

And then open your eyes about 4 minutes 50 seconds into the song and ask yourself why Mariah Carey in on rollerblades in this video when rollerblades hadn't been cool for at LEAST five years all ready.

Ten years ago, I was in my in my green Chevy Cavalier, Kermit II, with the top down, driving along Highway 89 well under the speed limit. It was the summer of my sixteenth birthday and I hadn't yet mastered the art of driving the speed limit while singing along with a car full of girls. I believe this was the night I was pulled over for suspected drunk driving.

I was also in gym class with Mr. Horne, who I still suspect to be a pervert. I was playing basketball in the field house with Jessica and, I think, Jarilyn. We would sing the lyrics to each other as we pretended to play the sport. This might have been the time I got caught goofing off and as a punishment, the entire class had to do ten sets of lunges across the length of the gym. Sorry about that, guys. By the way, I cheated on the lunges, too.

So, I guess I just wanted to say, "Thanks, Mariah, for the memories. May your career move forward with even more terrible hits with grilled-men who can't really sing."

When bad clothes happen to good people

Just when you thought you were getting used to the low jeans that show your ambition to be a plumber  every time you bend over, mother fashion comes back with an old style and bites you in the backside!

Something has happened . . . something big . . . something neither you or I can prepare ourselves for . . .

HIGH-WAIST, MOM-BUM PANTS!

They're all over the place! While doing some shopping in Vegas last month, I innocently picked up a pair of what I thought to be baggy, khaki,  cargo capris. Boy, was I wrong. The waist came up almost above my belly button and the legs of the capris were tapered. . . TAPERED, I tell you! I threw the pants down and have tried my best to forget about the incident and move on.

But then, I was doing some online shopping during a brain break today (only window shopping, honey), and I saw these:

And these:

And even these:

Even these skinny models have what I lovingly refer to as "mom bum" in these pants as seen here:

And here:

The proof is in the puddin', people. These pants are back, and they're here to stay. We've gotten rid of them once, and I believe we can do it again! Please show your support for this cause in one of two ways: (1) Tell everyone you know and love. Warn them about the effects of these pants. Consider starting a support group for people who have a weakness for this style. (2) Give of your time and money by entering and scouring clothing retailers near you. Find pants that fit this description, buy them, and burn them! 

Remember, friends don't let friends wear high-waited, tapered pants. Together, we can make a difference.

Sheesh

Twenty-one of my friends on facebook are "fans" of Glenn Beck. C'mon guys.

"Hi. I'm Glenn Beck and the world is ending every day. So I yell at times. And sometimes I pause for dramatic emphasis. And really, I think I missed my calling in life as an evangelical preacher."

That's really all I have to say about that.

Let's get this over with

There's no other way to say it. I have been sucked in by The Bachelorette. I never thought I'd be one of those girls. It started only a few weeks ago in Oregon with my Husband's family. Tonight's the episode where Alli goes home to each of the boys' houses and meets their families.
(side note: Alli laughs way too much.I bet her face gets really, really tired.)
The only problem is that I fall in love with each of the boys for Alli when she meets their families. I thought I was all about Roberto, but THEN she met Chris' family. How adorable is he? And his dad? Don't you just want to adopt them?
Oh, man. Chris is going to be so crushed when she doesn't choose him.
I choose Chris. Final answer. I think I like him so much because he reminds me of my husband . . . Kind of a tender heart.

Kirk's dad . . . Creepy! Though I love his parent's accents. Makes me miss "Bobby's World," don't ya know.
Now Kirk's mom . . . What a sweetie. Let's just sneak into her house and replace her pink lipstick with a clear lipgloss. She'll thank us later.

Oh, I feel so bad for these boys. These are some really strong feelings that these guys are messing with.

Frank accidentally put women's clothing on today. Poor guy. Why does she Like him? I'm pretty sure he likes boys. He has the emotions of a pubescent teen.
And I don't have any more comments about Kirk-pants because I care so little about him I stepped out of the room to do some dishes and laundry while Alli met his family.

Kirk! I could have guessed it. Although it should have been Frank. But, hey, maybe this will be just what Kirk needs . . . To be dumped. Welcome to the club, buddy.

You can take a horse to water . . .

I have been told that I need to drink more water more times than I can count.

"Mom, I have a headache." "You need to drink more water."
"My skin isn't very clear lately, esthetician." "Are you drinking lots of water?"
"I"m tired in the afternoons at work." "Drink lots of water."
"I can't seem to dismantle this bomb that's about to explode." "Be sure to drink lots of water."

I know that the health benefits from drinking a ton of water a day are many, but the many trips to the restroom during the most important moments of my day or night seem to negate the little bit I care about drinking lots of water.

I bought a 20 oz. water bottle for work. I told myself I needed to drink and empty the bottle at least three times in the work day. Turns out, the bottle method actually made me drink water less often. I guess I thought my bottle was cuter than it actually is. But then, I found the mug method. I have a black, stoneware mug with a red inside that I got from my company sometime last year. It's been a great decoration/dust collector on my desk for sometime. But it came in handy last week when I accidentally left my water bottle at home.

Now I can't stop drinking water from the mug. There's something about lifting a mug up to your mouth every few minutes that makes you feel like you're important. I like to wait until someone walks into my office to talk to me. And while they're talking, I'll lift the mug for a sip and furrow my eyebrows, with an occasional nod to show them how intently I'm listening. And I can't help but wonder how often they're thinking that I look so sophisticated. Plus, I think I've totaled at least 18 ounces of water so far today. This mug-thing could really change things for me. I suspect the owner of the company ought to be calling me into his office anytime to ask for my advice on important matters. If only I were a boy, I would sport a short mustache to accompany the mug. So far, all I can think of for a woman to accompany the mug is a bun and a pair of glasses. If it weren't so darned hot, I'd be wearing blazers and turtlenecks.

Anyhow, I just had to throw down some thoughts about this monumental discovery of mine. I'm thinking that if I should continue this trend, I should be able to resolve all world hunger problems soon.

On that day in history . . .

4th of July, 2009

Last year, I spent the 4th of July as I usually do . . . Sleeping in and rushing to make it to the parade early enough to get a decent parking spot. I danced around and fought for candy, then headed to The Training Table for lunch with the fam. There was probably some swimming in the afternoon, possibly even a cat nap, then I gussied myself up for the fireworks at the local high school. I was, of course, planning on meeting up with dozens of my single pals.

TMIM offered to pick me up for the fireworks. When he showed up at the house, I invited him to join in on the family BBQ taking place in the backyard. Being a man, he accepted the invitation. He already knew about half of my family, so I didn't think it would seem a big deal to have him at a family gathering. Boy, was I wrong. The teasing from the nephews was relentless in the few minutes we were there. As soon as I could, I gave him the "Let's get out of here look," and we were on our way to the fireworks.

We brought a blanket to sit on with our friends and chatted until we found them. That was the last I saw of TMIM that night. I spent the rest of the fireworks next to my good friend, Michelle, trying to hold back tears of frustration and figure out why I was so bothered that TMIM was sitting next to a girl that wasn't me!

When the show was over and we met up, I asked him to take me home before he could finish telling me about the after party at his place. The awkward walk to the car seemed like it would never end! Then, as if things weren't painful enough for me, he began to tell me what a great time he had sitting by that other girl. I wanted to vomit. Then irony took it's place and Colbie Callet's song "Falling For You" came on the radio. TMIM sang along here and there, and I made my best effort not to punch him in the face.

I was so mad at him, and I had no idea why. I was mad that I cared that he wasn't sitting with me. And I was mad that nobody told me that I could start having feelings for a friend . . . Especially when it was completely unplanned.

And then I met back up with my friend Michelle, told her I was feeling weird and didn't want to talk about it. After that, I laughed harder with my friend than I had in years. I went home thinking everything was fine and that my feelings had calmed back to how they should be.

But, I'd never been more wrong in my life.

Bless This Dress

Remember this dress that we were all just dying over a few weeks ago? Well, it finally restocked and I ordered it. And, guess what, it will be at my house when I get home from work today! I knew you'd all be as excited as I am. A dress debut has been scheduled for this Sunday. No, wait. Better make it Sunday July, 4th, since I have to teach Relief Society. That will be the debut of all debuts this summer!

Just when you think you couldn't possibly get any dumber...

... You go and do something like this.

WARNING: This is a PG-13 post. Not suitable for children.

My department at work has been slaving away on a project that has consumed every spare moment of our lives the past two months or so. It has caused me a lot of stress, a lot of late nights at the office, and a lot of working at home over weekends. It has been so stressful that many people in our department have come down with illnesses and repetitive migraines.

Well, as of last Wednesday day, the project was "finished" and sent out the door. I have spent the last week or so just decompressing. I've amazed myself with how much I was able to sleep over the weekend. I am worn out. I keep forgetting things . . . really important things. This brings me to today's story.

I woke up late and was rushing to get out the door. After all, today is a very important day at the office—Taco Tuesday. I took a quick shower, threw some make up and clothes on, and grabbed my fixins for tacos. Off I went. I rushed into my office, a little later than usual. I put some things in the fridge, arranged the bowls and food  on my desk, and sat down to work at my computer. When I turned in my chair to reach for something, I felt unusually free and unconstricted. Then, it hit me: I'm not wearing a bra. I could have died! I immediately broke out in a nervous sweat, grabbed my phone, and ran out the door, far away from the building. I called my husband, and in an effort not to wet my pants from laughing, I begged him to interrupt his productive morning and bring me a bra! That's what every many dreams of hearing from his wife.

So here I sit at my desk, breezy and free . . . awaiting the arrival of my article of under clothing from my sweet, sweet husband, and praying that no one comes in to my office to talk to me, or to ask me to help them walk around the building and greet people. And I felt it was appropriate to blog about this at work. I mean, when does something this stupid happen. There you have it. I have no shame.

Ladies, let's all meet after work and burn our bras!


Update:  Houston, we are a go and functioning normally now.

Throw me a bone

We are going to play a game. A blog game.

I love writing. I really do. But quite honestly, I've been so mentally exhausted lately from working all hours of the night, I can't think of anything fun to write about. So, I need your help. Simply leave a comment with a word, phrase, name, event, or lyric. I will then use what you posted to create a blog post. It may trigger a memory. It may give me reason to go and find an outrageous video on YouTube. Or it might strike a cord with the poetic side of me, which is yet to be discovered.

So, let's recap. You take a moment to post something, anything, and I will take a few more moments to post something that will be a feast of word or images for all. By doing so, you just might change someone's life . . . possibly even a completely random stranger from New Zealand who Googles "Miranda Raison" and somehow find my blog. Just think about it . . .

[Mom, this includes you. I changed the settings so anyone can comment.]

On this day in 2009 . . .

I spent my time exploring Florence and Siena, Italy. My friends and I had stayed the night in Florence the night before—in a "camp." It rained most of the night, which made for a muddy trail between the the restrooms, washer and dryers, and my tent. There were about a dozen people our age in the laundry room mingling and making eyes at each other. I sat on top of a dryer and wrote in my journal while I waited almost an hour for a dryer to come available. It was hot, muggy, loud, and there was a lot of drinking going on around me. Of course the boy who offered me a drink was surprised when I didn't take him up on his offer. After spending the day hiking the width of Capri a few times, I wasn't the friendliest camper in the place. I just wanted to do my wash and go to sleep!

I finally made it back to our tent where the boys (right, have I mentioned I traveled with two boys) were sound asleep. I climbed to my top bunk, laid my own personal, clean sheet across my bed, unrolled my own, personal camping pillow and blanket, and tried to sleep over the sounds of all sorts of young adults enjoying their time in Florence.

On the morning of the 6th, I ate my Belgium waffle smothered in chocolate, and then we were on our way to Sienna. We didn't spend a lot of time in Sienna. Andres explored a cathedral. The streets seemed unusually quiet. The buildings, like in many European cities, were built tall and close together with cobblestone roads. It was very easy to get lost here, every building seemed the same color to me. It was very bland and unappealing to the eye. But I think that's why I loved it. I found a quaint book shop with a small section of books in English. Here I purchased my copy of Orwell's "1984" to read on the trains. I read most of it. But as I've mentioned before, it felt like a slightly more graphic version of Rand's "Anthem." So I figured I need not finish it, since the message was the same—down with Big Brother.

We decided to find a shop where we could get some Italian gelato before our chances were gone. We found a corner shop that was buzzing with gelato customers and had the feel of a cute, little Italian gelato shop (which it was, duh). But for some reason, which I can't remember, the lady serving us was really, really rude. In fact, I encountered this a lot all over Italy. I don't speak Italian, so I'd give it a try in English first. When they couldn't understand me (and possibly when they realized I was an American tourist) they were rude to me. So I turned to my Italian-speaking friend to have him order for me. Then we took our treats outside and ate them as we sat at the foot of a statue. I don't remember why, but I remember not being able to get past how rude that Italian woman was to me.

Eventually, we made our way back to Florence to spend the night in the camp. This night, it was pouring. There was some big deal soccer game playing that night. Many of the campers gathered round a TV at the clubhouse area. However, I made my way to the showers, then to the washers and dryers. I sat on a dryer, painted my toe nails and read my new book . . . all the while fearing that I was going to be kidnapped and "taken" as I sat alone in the dark, with the rain pouring, and what seemed like a million strange men passing me by. But, as you may have concluded, I was not taken. I made it back to my tent alive.


And, THAT, was this day one year ago today.

Choose Your Own Adventure

What is happening in the following pictures?

A) TMIM broke out in some strange jungle rash.

B) TMIM is taking part in a traditional in-law rite of passage exercise.

C) TMIM thought it would look cool to have small, 

circle "hickeys" all over his face.

D) TMIM is experiencing Fisher Price acupuncture. 

E) These were posted without the consent or permissions of 

TMIM and I am going to be in big trouble. :)

That's not my name

It's amazing the power that music can have on a person. What I listen to can affect my mood. I have been fighting a case of the tired at my desk all day. As I sat with my headphones on, listening to a random playlist, a song came up that jogged a great memory and changed by whole mood.



I have the funniest memory with my older nieces and nephews to the tune of this song. I had told one or a couple of my nephew that if they would read a certain book, that I would take them to see the book-based movie. Well, by the time we were able to work out a time to go, the movie had slipped to the dollar theaters... over 30 minutes away. I packed my car with the four oldest kidlings and began drove on the freeway, theater bound. The kids requested some fun music, so I plugged my iPod in and let the music roll. This song came on and the kids went WILD. So wild, in fact, that kids from the back seat were removing their seat belts to reach up and push buttons on the dashboard. They were all dancing, rolling windows down, yelling, and driving their poor aunt crazy.

We finally reached the theater... that is a whole other story. And the drive home continued with madness. For the first time, I did something that I will always regret. I pulled over, yelled at the kids, and brought some of them to tears. But, the rest of the ride home was quiet, so...

That song came on today and I couldn't stop laughing about how funny those kids are and how I made them cry. Knowing my luck, that will probably be only memory they retain of me. At least I can laugh about it today.

Your mom goes to college.

In my typical fashion, I am writing a post well after the time I should have. It wouldn't be "Mitchell Standard Time" if I had posted it any sooner.

As you all know, last Sunday was Mothers' Day. In an effort to give you a glimpse into the wonderful being that is my mother, I will now write as many silly, random, fun, loving, and embarrassing memories that I can about my mom.

Mom-ments with my mom:

• Waking up every Saturday to the tunes of Barry Manilow or Neil Diamond as my bedroom door swung open and my blanket was torn off my bed. Usually followed with something like, "Remember, the faster you start your chores, the sooner you get to play."
• Calling home fake-sick from school so many times that I can't count. And each time she came to my rescue, made me a bed on the couch, got me a Sprite, and put in a movie.
• Having semi-forced afternoon naps with her after Kindergarten.
• The yardstick
• Smelling her Skin-So-Soft every time she gave me a hug (she's moved on to new skincare products).
• The "secret," never-ending supply of coloring books "hidden" in the top of her closet.
• The grocery store trips where she'd buy me Velveeta and make me nachos for lunch.
• Knowing that my mom would be present as a chaperone at every field trip for her nervous daughter.
• The giant Minnie Mouse head lunch box that I was sent to school with on the first day of 5th grade, and never took again.
• The made-to-order home lunches for school that made other kids hate me and always included a fruit roll up.
• The perfectly slicked-back hair-dos with feathered bangs and a bow to match my outfit.
• Chocolate chip pumpkin bread
• Hershey's Kisses
• Always traveling in the car with a drink that doesn't have a lid, but does have a straw.
• Vacuum bags
• Taking off and often forgetting to put back on the one earring that was removed for a comfortable nap on her side.
• Getting pooped on by the owl in our neighbor's silo when she came to find me and my sister.
• Going to Wendy's after every doctor's visit.
• King's
• Slipping on the ice in front of my junior high and cracking her wrist.
• Going with her to her mom's to pick her up for a day or night out with us.
• Getting a phone call multiple times a week right after school to tell us she's at grandma's, on grandma's echo-y phone.
• Horizontal-striped boat neck shirts
• Stretch pants with stirrups
• Coming to my rescue in the middle of the night with something to barf in, migraine medicine, you name it.
• The green brush
• The M&M incident with Aunt Beth at Lake Powell
• Biting nails
• Driving home halfway through our vacation at Lake Powell to get a root canal, and back all by herself, because I think it was mine or someone else's birthday.
• Sleeping overnight at the hospital, sharing a ridiculously small "reclining" chair with me, to be with grandma during some of her last moments.
• Always loving the hardest to love kids and adults, and always taking care of them.

I love you, mom. Even with your funny quirks and all!

To Buy, or Not to Buy...

Something in my gut tells me that I own more than one dress that is similar to this one. But I love it so much! I might die if I don't get it [pouty face].

I have arrived.

Well, how 'bout that? I am the proud owner of a Rolodex. As a young child I used to covet my grandma's Rolodex that sat on her desk in the purple bedroom. It was big, and ornate, and made her seem all sorts of important... she must have been. Why else would she have needed a way to keep track of so many peoples' contact information? And now I am officially important. And, not to make you feel inferior, but I have at least a dozen people in there... soon to be a baker's dozen.

Just to satisfy your curiosity, it's black, plastic, and the letter separators are a shade of ocean blue. Someday I hope to upgrade to a metal version. Something a little fancier, like that of my grandma's. Possibly with some form of flower decoration. That would be nice.

Welcome to the big leagues, Megan.

It's good to be here.

Doppelgänger Day

People I've been told I look like lately...

Brittany, the Chipette

... according to my childhood friends

Miranda Raison from the British TV show "Married Single Other" 

... according to a former coworker

Carey Mulligan (not sure what she's in)

...according to my aunt-in-law

Erica Durance 

...according to my husband, an ex-Smallville watcher

Well, I Would Ride 100 Miles

What do you think of when you hear the phrase, "One hundred miles?" Perhaps you think of a location you know of that is one hundred miles away? Or a place that is fifty miles away, which would make for a one hundred mile round trip to there and back. When I hear the phrase, I think, "What was I thinking?"

I've loved cycling the past five years or so of my life. Maybe a little less the past year. I just haven't had much time or opportunity to ride my bike much. But for some strange reason, I thought it would be a great idea to register for a hundred-mile bike ride this spring when my friend Michelle told me about it.

The ride is five weeks away. At the time I registered for the ride, it was months away. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I have five weeks to "train" for a hundred-mile ride, and I haven't been on my bike for a year! The legs aren't the problem. I was blessed with great legs. I think it was God's way of compensating for a really disproportional body. However, my old woman back and neck struggle with long rides. So... I have a plan. A ridiculous, yet doable plan!

For the next five weeks, I will hold a membership at two different gyms. This will accommodate my yoga needs. I will attend the Monday and Wednesday classes at one gym, and the Tuesday and Thursday classes at another. The classes are at 8p.m. So, between the time I come home from work and the time I attend yoga, I will go on a nightly bike ride of increasing lengths (which are TBD). This plan allows for me to have weekends off to recover, so long as I don't miss a weeknight.

So, good-bye life, good-bye favorite Wednesday night sitcom, good-bye weeknight hangouts with friends. I am a biking machine for five weeks. I hope to get quads the size of watermelons. Even though mine might already be that size, the new quads will have muscle.

Here's to nothin'!

Sunday Highlights

[Written last Sunday (obviously), and just posted today for some reason.]

My husband and I were late to church today. Why, you might ask, were two adults late to 1:00pm church? The answer is simple. These two adults both share an irrational fear of spiders.

The time was 12:34. We entered our kitchen to eat a snack before we left for church. Otherwise, we were all ready to go. Then, it happened. I screamed and probably said something that I can't type on here. There was a GINORMOUS spider on our kitchen wall, about to pounce on me and eat me alive. We both freaked out for a good amount of time. Then this little bugger skidaddled across the wall at a ridiculously fast pace to a nook in our kitchen where we couldn't see or reach him.

So then, we did something we're not proud of. We decided we were justified in going to the store. Well, I sent my husband while I stayed on spider watch. I kept my husband on the phone to give him a play-by-play as the spider came out of his hiding place and pranced along all our personal belongings on top of the cupboards. The nerve.

Soon, husband came home with bug spray for scorpions and a bug bomb. By this time, the little guy was hiding in the blinds. So, like any man would, husband sprayed every nook and cranny with bug spray. When we could no longer breathe, we went to church.

When we came home, we were feeling pretty confident that the spider was either dead, or was scared back outside. Much to my dismay, he was alive and well, flaunting his creepy eight legs on the wall right behind me. Then it happened. Husband got close enough to kill the spider with the spray. My hero!!

Yes, I did just write multiple paragraphs about a spider hunt.

Then I thought today was March 25 and one of my best friend's birthdays. So I quickly text my others BFFs to tell them to wish her a happy birthday, not realizing I did the exact same thing a month ago. Go me.

Then I realized I'm not 25, for perhaps the first time since my 26th birthday last June. BUT, I do know that it's 2010. So, one out of two ain't bad. Maybe by my first anniversary I'll realize that I have a new last name. Maybe.

Hello again.

Please excuse my absence from blogging these past few weeks. I have been very busy, uh.... doing some thing... uh, awesome. Including my secret military spy missions, of which I cannot speak. But let me reassure you that is was very Bourne-esque.

All that's really on my mind today is this: My boss, one of my bosses I should say, is stuck on a buzz word that he completely overused in a meeting. Jettison was used at least ten times during a PowerPoint presentation. AT LEAST. I lost track after ten... or possibly I tuned out. But the point is that now I have that word stuck in my head. Is it possible to have a word stuck in your head?!? Welp, I do.

I would like to jettison this word from my life.

When tensions are high among beautiful people...

Aside, from a few cuss words (for my conservative friends), this video is hilarious. I've never seen anything quite like it... or as appealing to the eye. So swallow your mouth full of soda, blow your nose if you're prone to be a nose-laugher, and enjoy!

The Same, But Different

As I write this, I am sitting in my "childhood" bed at my parents house, alone. Somewhere in a parallel outdoor universe, my husband is probably lying in a sleeping bag, or two, or three, or four, shivering and wondering why he and his friend ever thought snow camping was a good idea. (he, he) The funny thing is that I grew up in this room. I slept in this bed for 18 long years. I'm under the same blankets, with the same pillows, surrounded by the same book shelves and pictures on the wall, but it feels so odd to be here. I have only been married for about 4 months, but that short amount of time somehow wiped away all the old normalcy of my single life—my life alone.

It feels weird to think that my I don't know exactly what my husband is doing and saying right now. It almost makes me laugh out loud, because anyone who knows me well knows that I thought I'd never want someone to be a part of my life at all times. So, I pathetically wish that I were with my husband tonight, rather than alone at the home I know so well.

All this has got me to thinking. Why is it that I love being married to T.M.I.M.? Well, for your reading pleasure, here are just a few of the reasons:

• There is always someone who wants to listen to me talk about my day, and finds it genuinely interesting. (Unless of course he is playing his DS, or thinking about camping)
• I always have someone to hold the other half of the hymn book and it doesn't have to be awkward.
• I don't have to throw away the other half of my Cafe Rio salad.
• There is always an opportunity to hear voices, quotes, and imitations when I least expect it and most need a laugh.
• I have someone to share my hopes and dreams with who won't think I'm crazy. 
• Mario found her Luigi. We can now take over the gaming world!
• There is someone to confirm that I do NOT snore, when I've been wondering for so long.
• I have someone to camp for me so I don't have to.
• I don't have to push myself when I stand on the bar on the grocery cart and I can now float down the aisles with ease. 
• I have an insect killer at my beckon call, a role which I'm pretty sure my parents were tiring of. 
• I have a warm body to cuddle with instead of my body pillows.
• I have a life-sized Ken to dress.
• I have someone to sit real close to at church when it's freezing cold.
• I can wake up someone nearby during the middle of the night when I have bad dreams, like all five year-olds do.
• I have someone to laugh at really lame commercials and sitcoms with.
• I always have confirmation, although forced, when I say that a certain girl is not cute.

These are just a few of the things I can think of at the moment, with my less-than-alert mind. I'm sure I would list less silly and more sincere things after a full night's rest. But that's not why you read my blog.

There goes the neighborhood.

As I was just driving home from work, at 4:30pm, I saw a car pulled over by two trooper cars on the side of the interstate. This young man was doing the whole walk on a straight line and touch your nose with your fingers thing ... at 4:30. Wow. I have to admit that a small part of me was proud of this man. It takes a lot of guts to get plastered in the middle of a week day. If I were the drinking kind, I might have been in the same position he was on a day like today. But when I came to my senses, I realized it probably wasn't the highlighting moment of that man's life.

I'm pretty sure my neighbors are drug dealers—two doors down. There are multiple cars at their place, which are gone at the strangest times. Mysterious people are often at their door with shifty eyes... and a grown man with a backpack. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure my neighborhood is about to be featured on the next episode of COPS.

Shopping Fail

Just thought I'd let you know that Walgreen's in Kaysville is completely sold out of Cadbury Mini Eggs ... for the season. Or so I've heard.

"The advice is priceless, and the book is free."

Many of you have probably seen this before. But it's always worth a replay.

In a recent discussion with my husband where we listed all the things we'd rather buy instead food, gas, insurance, and other necessities, this clip came to mind.




So, until I become a billionaire, the wish list of things we'd like to buy will have to do:

Hover house, hover car, money tree, my personal yoga studio and instructor, stock in H&M, Muddy Buddy dispenser in my car, tredmill desk to work off the Muddy Buddies, house on the coast with a wrap around porch, my grandma's old house restored to the exact position it was in when she was still alive, a baby grand piano, robotic arms or legs, someone to follow me around and tell me I look cute all day, a personal jet to take me to see Jen, Shae, and Lara at will, someone to shave my legs for me (at least weekly), etc.

A girl can dream...

Top 10 Things Overheard From Various Children Last Weekend

10 "Oh, I almost put uh these buttons in my eyes."

9 "Hey, Gran.... Hey, Dan."

8 "My dad doesn't like those kind of movies. Have you ever seen him watch that funny movie? I don't think so."

7 "Don't be scared; I'm right here."

6 "I'm no henchman, I work for myself."

5 "I was talking to Megan."

4 "Oh, Dan, you're soooooo funny."

3 "Do you want to know my real name? First, everyone has to guess. [Guesses are made] Okay, it's Indiana Jones. But my parents made me promise not to tell anyone."

2 "I don't like to say kind of bad words." (In response to me saying "Chicken butt.")

1 "Tooty, fart!"

My Funny Family

I was just thinking about my family and I laughed. They are so great—all of them. BUT, I especially love the wee ones. Here's a look back on some of my favorite moments.

We've had fun with Photobooth over the years...

And sometimes we even had funny face contests...

... which are easily won when you can look like a Muppet. 

(No, that is most definitely NOT me, by the way.)

The elusive mother figure even appeared in a photo with sweet Mollykins.

Visit from everyone's favorite sister. 

(No, not me... the out-of-towner who spoils everyone)

The sweet and terrible two year-old figured out how to split the screen.

NORM made a cameo.

Sweet Miss A was once a little baby.

The big boys thought I was cool at one point...

which I will remind them of as they grow older.

This guy doesn't complain about having to look at himself.

Sometimes it's rough being from our gene pool and being this good looking.

And we've also had fun without Photobooth:

Miss A turned 3 and was adorned with all the appropriate princess gear.

Husby and I went camping... in our front room... in my Fisher-Price tent.

And made s'mores via the candle.

My brother-in-law has never been more proud of anything he's made.

Brighton was a big "help" making dinner.

Sometimes we wear funny hats.

You can never be too prepared.

And sometimes we pose while wearing them.

And other times we dance in public places when we hear fun music.

Some of us don't mind admiring ourselves in the mirror.

She will make a beautiful, blushing bride someday. Hopefully not very soon.

And that's my family... well, some of them.

Photos chosen by degree of smile they put on my face. 

Love my family.