She got fired

Mikey was rinsing the dinner dishes when I turned to my little sister and asked her why she wasn't at work that night. "I got--"

"Fired," my dad butted in.

She played along, listing countless reasons why she was a sub-par employee. I made some jokes about it too. We laughed.

Mikey didn't catch the sarcasm above the spray of the sink and spent the rest of the night feeling bad for her. I didn't know this until we got in the car and started driving home. "That's too bad about Lil' Lou," he said.

"What about her?" I asked.

"She got fired."

"No, she was joking." Wasn't she? Mikey's serious concern made me wonder if I had been insensitive and that she really had been fired. I called her. Nope. Not fired. We laughed some more.

Then Mikey started listing all the reasons why conversation that night fed into his honest belief that she had lost her job.

"She was complaining about how bad college life is and then when I heard that she lost her job it just seemed to make sense. I almost told her about this one time my brother got fired, but I didn't want to make her sad."

"When your mom asked who would run to the grocery store Lil' Lou said, 'I don't want to go back there. They might take me back.' And I felt so bad because I just kept thinking, 'That never happens...but it's wishful thinking.' All I could do was think of places she could apply for a job."

"Your mom said when she called your cousin she was like, 'I don't have to work any more!!' and your cousin was so excited. I thought it was pretty weird your cousin was so excited that Lou lost her job."

"I just kept feeling so bad for her. I was thinking about how many times I had to answer the question Have you ever been fired when I was applying for jobs last year. That would stay with her for the next several years of her life. She'd have to explain it over and over again. I just felt so bad."

You know what's fun? Seeing again and again how much your husband loves your family. And listening to Mikey recall the dozen reasons why he couldn't get Lou's supposed job-predicament out of his mind all night long.

Week 39

and p.s. baby, your dad says this is the last picture he'll take without you in it. . .

Sunshine

Have you heard the song Sunshine (Come on Lady) by Josh Rouse? It's been stuck in my head all morning, except I've been subconsciously substituting a few words here and there like, "Come on baby, take this mom and make her right . . ."

I didn't even realize it at first. But I guess it should be expected since my head is basically buzzing all day with: babybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybabybaby...

Guerilla interview

I share a birthday with one of my favorite people in the world, Extraordinaire! Although we're quite a few years apart, by a series of fortuitous circumstances, we're both entering (or re-visiting, in her case) a new stage of life. It was fun to catch up yesterday. We go to lunch every year to celebrate the best day to be born, January 19th, and to talk (and talk and talk and talk). I look forward to our outing with anticipation every year.

After lunch we went to do a guerrilla interview with my grandpa. SURPRISE! It was so great to hear his stories about growing up in a small town and working endless days in the fields at his dad's side. Their relationship struck me as a particularly close and tender one. Several aspects of his father's character I see in my own dad: his kindness and never-failing desire to serve, to name a few. I loved hearing about the first time Grandpa saw the ocean and how he took dozens of pictures of the waves. The way he described his personal history in visual terms reminded me again of how influential he has been in informing my understanding of beauty, art, and aesthetic.

I conducted similar interviews with my grandmothers several years ago but for some reason never got around to harassing my grandfathers. But I loved it. I feel such a closeness to my ancestors when I hear stories about their lives. It makes me want to do another sound piece with my grandparent's voices. . .

Nope

Okay really, I can't start complaining that my baby isn't here until I'm overdue, but I'm pretty sure the phrase, "I want my baby now" comes out of my mouth about a dozen times a day. And it's not because I'm uncomfortable or because I can't sleep or any of the other hosts of reasons that pregnant ladies complain (and by the way, maybe I'm lucky, but being pregnant has given me far less sympathy for pregnant women. I'm like, really? It's not that bad...). It's because I'm bored.

People keep saying, "You know, that baby won't get any easier to take care of than it is right now." Sure, sure. I hear ya. But pregnancy is getting old. Looking at baby-less baby clothes and going to sleep with an empty bassinet by my bed is getting dull. I want to stay up all night with a screaming infant in that bassinet, thankyouverymuch!

People also keep saying, "It could happen any day now!!" But any day seems to have a way of becoming no day and until the day arrives, I'll just keep pointing folks to a website I came across via another pregnant blogger from our old ward in DC: haveyouhadthatbabyyet.com/

I fell off my unicycle

While there are endless reasons why I love being married, there's one that I never expected: listening to Mikey's late-night sleep talk.

My first experience with it was in Washington DC when he was praying, paused, and blessed the pioneers. I'm sure they appreciated his thoughtful concern even though they finished crossing the plains over 150 years ago.

The last few nights I've stayed up later than him to read or journal or some other such thing. I'm very familiar with the drifting-off-jerk that always comes as he's on the verge of falling to sleep, but a few nights ago Mikey's jerk was coupled with a gasp and both arms flinging in opposite directions. Startled, I asked him, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just fell off my unicycle."

I had a hard time stifling my giggle. Not even a bicycle. No, no. A unicycle.

Then last night he angrily said, "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?" I asked in reply.

"...with your body."

"Doing what with my body?"

"Making it shaped like a candle."

"WHAT?!"

That time I couldn't help but bust up. It's so classic. Then I woke him up to tell him and get him to pray (hoping that I'd get another gem like, "We thank thee for the knowledge we gain through surveys." or "Please bless this ship...")

Week 38

Thanks for the Birthday Wishes

Well folks, all the jokes and wishes and "wouldn't it be fun if!" didn't come true.

No baby on my birthday. No literal birth day for me. Maybe I'll be glad. Soon I'll have to share every part of my body and soul with this child. I didn't want to share my birthday too! Right?

I've been telling people for months that I'm 22. Now I'm finally not lying. But I started to trick even myself. I had to ask Mikey how old I was really turning. Am I 23? No, no. I'm 22, right?

 But I am getting anxious. I feel like the weekly doctor's appointments are (while probably important) just anticipation inducing sessions of "Well things are certainly getting close!" And close to a 38 week pregnant girl gets translated into: Maybe I'll have my baby...TOMORROW!

I'm trying to keep my head on. Straight and level, thank you. (I'll just keep telling myself, She's not coming until March. Oh wait, that's my sister . . .)

Meanwhile, I'm finding ways to keep busy. Like getting ahead in my class and waiting in long lines to buy tickets (and I don't even mind the lines! What else to I have to rush to? I think this is good for me).

But I digress.

I'm pretty sure that every Braxton Hicks contraction sends Mikey into yet another session of Anderson Labor Watch 2011. Can't wait for the real thing. My belly is starting to get in my way.

Friends of the Coalition

Hello friends. Did you vote to help Salt Lake raise $1 million for the homeless? Then I'm pretty sure you can help Utah County win $250,000 for the homeless. In fact, you can help out in three ways every day. I have been. We're currently ranked #35, so come on!

TEXT

1.  Add Pepsi as a contact with 73774 as phone number.

2.  Text 105571 to Pepsi everyday throughout January. 

FACEBOOK

1.  Go to facebook.com and search "Pepsi Refresh Voting App"

2.  Click "Go to App", click "Allow", then "Like"

3.  Click tab "Pepsi Refre...", click "Support ideas on Facebook"

4.  Search "Friends of the Coalition", "Vote for this idea", "Confirm"

WEBSITE

1.  Visit refresheverything.com

2.  In lower left, sign-in

3.  In the upper right, search "Friends of the Coalition"

4. "Vote for this idea"

HERE'S A LINK to more information about "Friends of the Coalition."

Vote, vote, vote away!!!

Week 37

Return to Modesty

I so appreciated David Brook's most recent column that astutely pointed out how a return to civility can only come through a return to modesty. Modesty is unpopular. It's not flashy or quick or attention-getting--the seeming virtues of the day. However, I completely agree that modesty could very well be a step in the right direction for ourselves personally, as communities, and as a nation.

I thought about the people I know who are fine examples of modesty and a few faces immediately came to mind. I so admire them.

I think women, in particular, could use a dose of modesty. The notion that women should be humble, meek and mild has long since been thought out-dated. Women are supposed to be strong, resolute, determined, courageous, and educated, they say. And yes. Undeniably yes. Women are to be all of these things. But they are also to be tempered by modesty, softened by gentility,  and sweetened by civility. My own mother is this way and I respect her so much for that. She is an example to me of simultaneous strength and soft-heartedness, tenacity and tenderness, fierceness and faith, power and purity.

Oh that we were all more like our mothers! I think of my female fore bearers with increasing frequency these days as I prepare to join their ranks as a mother. I am grateful that I have so many to look to as examples of might and modesty.

Popcorn

I was eating popcorn last night while sitting on the couch. Popcorn is one of those snacks where for every 7 kernels you get in your mouth, at least one ends up in your lap. But in my case, my lap is blocked by a very large belly. So rather than having a little leftover stash of popcorn in my lap when I finished the bowl, I had a halo of popcorn surrounding my bum from the kernels rolling off my belly in surprisingly evenly spaced directions.

Week 36

Refraining from resolving

I've thought a lot about resolution making the past few days (while I wasn't thinking about how to put my house together). I thought of a few things I could resolve to do, a few improvements I could make. I've always liked the idea of resolutions, fresh starts, goals. I also like that just a week after we celebrate the birth of our Savior, we resolve to be more like him and improve ourselves through his atoning power.

But this year of resolution-making has been different. One resolution (if you can even call it that) came easy: Become a Mom. But I stop every time I get close to making another goal. There are too many unknowns to try and anticipate the sort of resolutions I'll need/want/be able to handle.

So I decided that I'll hold off on resolutions until my baby girl arrives. What a better new beginning? Her arrival will mark a distinctly new chapter of my life. And while I'm sure my parenting slate will dirty quickly, I get to start with a clean one. Until then, I'll resist the impulse to join with the rest of the world in resolving to improve in various ways--that is, until my life is turned upside down and I'm sure I'll need resolutions and goals more than ever.

Nesting

Call it what you will, but I don't think Mikey will want to move while his wife is pregnant ever again. But the end of move in day, I had every box unpacked but the boxes of books (and those were only still in boxes because we hadn't yet bought a bookshelf--which is another story. . .) It's fun to make a new space.

The night before we moved in we met our landlord to get the keys; make sure everything was clean and ready for us to move in the next day. The carpets were wet and smelled like cleaner and our landlord was just touching up a few former nail holes on the wall he had recently patched over. He gave us the keys and we left him to finish up.

When we got in the car Mikey knew I was not happy. It looked so small! How could we ever fit our lives and our new baby in there? The bedroom wasn't what I had remembered and now my dreams of having even a nursery corner were over. (Mind you, I had been kept up for days thinking about how we would arrange the furniture so we could fit the crib, dressers, bed . . .)

We came back later that night after he had left. I sobbed. Seriously? Yes seriously. And it's embarrassing now that things are moved in and I honestly love where we live. But I noticed things that set me off: no garbage disposal? No counter space in the bathroom? No place for a crib? I sat down on the only seat in the empty place--the toilet--and cried and cried. I went to reach for some T.P. to wipe my eyes with and when I saw where the dispenser was located and how I nearly fell off the john when I reached for it, things got ugly.

We left shortly thereafter. But moved in the next morning. And what do you know?! Sleep actually makes people rational, and happy, and able to deal with a toilet paper dispenser on the wall rather than right next to the pot.

My poor husband. I think he's anxious for this baby to come so a sense of sanity will be restored to his wife. (But I maintain that I haven't been that bad. Honest.)

However, the "Nesting instinct" that kicks in was a force to be reckoned with in me. It was after ten (which is late at our house) and there I was nailing and drilling coat hooks into the wall. I couldn't stop. It was weird. And while I have always been someone who doesn't like to stop until things are done, this was different. While I sat at church I got this twitch because I wanted to come home and hang pictures on the walls and the painting over the couch.

I have reorganized the few baby outfits we have probably half a dozen times.

I'm crazy.

Week 35