Juno what I mean?

I'm starting to think that the best way to find out if I'm going to be great friends* with someone is to ask them if they liked Juno. If they say no, I should probably have "something come up."

It was funny, it did not condone teen pregnancy - and who doesn't love Michael Cera at his awkward best?

Wizard.

*Should you already be my great friend, and you hated this movie, you can plead your case in the comments for an exemption.

HTT - L&D Edition

In my lifetime, I’ve only seen one baby be born ... and it wasn’t Miss Dub.

I mean, I was most certainly in the same room when she made her big debut, but I was on the other side of the action, if you know what I’m sayin’.

The baby I saw enter this world was the firstborn of my dear friendsista, Gfunk, who is now the proud mother of FIVE – and an amazing receptacle of pop culture knowledge and urban street smarts.

I must brag that I was the sole “sister” in the delivery room that day, along with Glamma Fabulous, though her sisters have made up for that day by being at the subsequent births of her children.

In fact, it’s pretty much a party in Gfunk’s hospital room when it comes time for delivery. The more, the merrier, in her opinion. And I’m glad she feels that way because seeing Son X make his way into the world was such a sweet, memorable experience for me, even if he is now seven and would probably kick me in the shins if I ever tried to hug him.

On the other hand, only Mr. Dub and every medical resident in the greater Chicago area were on hand for Miss Dub’s delivery. Since my mom was all the way out in Arizona, I decided to have her come out after I was back from the hospital rather than try to fly her in last minute. I wouldn’t have minded her being there, but I wasn’t devastated by her absence either. And while I would have reciprocated for Gfunk or Mrs. Jay, I pretty much don’t plan on inviting my friends and/or mailmen into the room in the future, mostly because those rooms are really small and labor is pretty boring.

Other people I know are even more adamant about NOT having anyone there. No mothers. No outsiders. Maybe not even their husbands.

And while I will fight to the death to preserve a laboring woman’s right to anydarnthingshewants, I wonder if their motivation is to have a more intimate experience or worries about someone seeing their hoo-hoo. And if it’s the latter, I say, “Hey! As long as the doc has taken a peek, who cares?”

And what about your other children? Is it cool or not to let them be there for the baby’s first moments of life? I hadn’t thought about this much until a friend brought up the Hot Topic. I’m thinking it’s a bad idea only because small children can be really annoying, especially after you’ve been pushing for two hours. But, then again, it is a miracle worth witnessing at some point in your life.

Soooo ... what’s your delivery room like? A public party or a private engagement only?

And if you haven’t been on the other side of the stirrups, how do you feel about being in the room for someone else’s labor and delivery?

Go.

Reader roll call ... and clam dip?

A few of you (including Laurel) inquired about who comments on this bad blog.

You asked things like,
"Who are these people?"
"How you know them?"
"Who have you met in person?"
"Why do you smell like cabbage?"

And while I'm sure you've figured out that most are friends and family (or friend of friends and family), there are quite a few of you who I don't really know.

So why don't you all save my digits today and type up a short blurb on your connection to me, either in the real world or the virtual realm. If the latter, let us know how you stumbled on this here piece of madness. (My apologies by the way!)

Call it an early Christmas present for ol' M&M.

And, yes, all you lurkers, I at least expect you to say, "Hi!" I mean, you know that I didn't shower yesterday - By the way, I didn't shower yesterday - so I'd say you owe me a little personal information about yourselves.

It's going to be a regular party here today!

So who brought the clam dip?

She's so popular!

Before we were popular we just stared at the TV all day!

"We're so popular."

This is the phrase I've taken to uttering around the house, mostly to no one, though Mr. Dub sometimes thinks I'm talking to him. Which is a nice change since usually I am talking to him, but he think I'm muttering to myself and promptly ignores me. To his credit, most of what I say is nonsense, but I favor spewing out random words over silence. Lumberjack. Pickled cabbage. Aardvark.

But back to how popular I am. (Remember this is my blog, and if I don't come across as a little pretentious then I've failed.) I'm really popular these days if being popular means you have more than one friend. 'Cause I totally have more than one friend ... like three or something!

In fact, these days we have a lot of new friends because young Mormon couples are flocking to Chicago from such far-flung locales as Germany and Bountiful, Utah. Which is cool because Germans speak such sharply annunciated English that it's a pleasure to hear them say anything, like lumberjack or pickled cabbage or aardvark. Also, it's just adorable to hear a 3-year-old say things like, "Frohe Ostern!" In the springtime, of course.

It's fun to hear people from Bountiful, Utah speak, as well. I can't get me enough "Appreciate 'cha," if you know what I mean. Though I wish someone would move here from Idaho because then I could start "fixin'" to have dinner plans with them and increase my popularity even more.

But I must be honest - popularity comes with a price. I can't just sit around in my peejers watching TV all night because there are things to do and people to see. And I can't whine as much about how terrible Illinois winters are because now I have friends who are whining with me and all that noise gives me a headache.

More importantly, popularity brings with it the painful realization that we could have been popular a few months ago, even if our friends wouldn't have been as international or easy to make. Because the world is chock full of people - possibly 100 billion, but who has time to count? - and all of them need friends. And the fastest way to make a friend is to be one first.

But sometimes I like to wait for people to befriend me. Not because I'm shy - no, I could only dream of such splendor. But because I'm lazy and the thought of making a phone call or picking a restaurant is so much harder than putting on my peejers. And, yes, I do call them that. And, no, I don't call Mr. Dub, "Mr. Dub" to his face, though sometimes behind his back while making rabbit ears. (Those are still cool, right?)

But being popular feels better than peejers. Especially when being popular means helping someone out or laughing about how much you have in common or just seeing someone smile because you're the first person to introduce yourself.

Also, being popular means you might win the big student council election, if you have a student council at your house like we do. (And let me tell you, Mr. Dub is going down this year!)

How do you make new friends?
What's your best friendship advice?

For those who don't care and like to choose their own adventure, you may also share your favorite colloquialism or spew random words.

Lumberjack.

Pickled cabbage.

Aardvark.

For a friend

This post is about friends and for a friend.

(A friend who may or may not be reading this. A friend who may or may not be speaking with me ever again, although we aren’t fighting.)

Friendship is an interesting road that we travel in life. Some friendships race right out of the gate and fizzle before the first lap is through. Others start steady and slow and manage to finish the race, even if it took some detours to get there. And others, the best kind, keep a constant upbeat pace. They reach the finish line and start right over again.

Some of the friends I’ve lost touch with surprise me. It’s like I leave to check on dinner and when I return, the friendship has faded away. Addresses have changed and life has moved on, all because I simply forgot to stay connected. Others, admittedly, I’ve let go with some awareness, like people I never really clicked with or felt good around … or those people who you think, “Do I really need to send them a Christmas card this year?” (You know, assuming I sent Christmas cards.)

Friendships change over the year. In elementary school, friendship is a powerful tool. Your status on the playground, your placement within the 4-square box, your seat at the lunch table is all dependent on your friends, whether or not you actually feel a kinship with them. In junior high, friendships become more of a compatibility issue. You pick friends with common interests or music tastes. They are your confidantes – someone to discuss your latest love interest with when your diary runs out of room. Same goes for high school, although there is less fighting, less backstabbing and a lot more soul searching. If you’re lucky, some of your friends will pass through all these phases with you. That is a forever friend. (Like my own Mrs. Jay.)

Then there is college. In college, you stop being so picky. You make friends with people who don’t share your same tastes but share your same heart. You celebrate your differences and forge new, common interests together. You talk about important, life-changing things. Then, you do important, life-changing things. You enjoy the “best” years of your life together and watch as you embark on what turns out to be the “even better” years of your life – marriage, careers and motherhood. (In any order.)

This friend is a friend from college.

Of course, since college friends didn’t grow up in the same place, love the same things or marry at the same pace, there’s bound to be some fallouts. A lost friendship here. A forgotten friend there.

But that’s not this friend.

This friend is someone who 50 percent of the time doesn’t understand me. Who 50 percent of the time isn’t watching the same things I do on TV or reading the same books as me or doing the same activities. (Although, if I had her body, I just might.) This friend is some who I don’t always understand, who I don’t always agree with, who I don’t always stay in touch with as much as I'd like to or should.

But she’s my friend, and I’m not going to give her up without a fight. Because unlike the friendships that have fallen by the wayside, this friend is someone I want to take with me to the finish line. Even if we run off course on occasion. Even if we run at different paces to get there. Even if we have to start all over again.

So if you see this friend, will you please let her know that I’ve put on my best running shoes.

And I’d like to see her try to outrun me.

Help R House

I tend to think that I know all of my blog readers by name, mostly because you are my friends and family … and feel a certain obligation to endure my long posts.

(What I can I say? I used to write for a living. And I’m sure most of these posts aren’t more than 12 column inches.)

However, my blog tracker indicates that there are few of you out there who don’t know me. (Hello Brazil!) Or my friends. Or their blogs.

So you might not know this terribly important news – my dear friend, Mrs. Are, and her hubs are expecting! They just don’t know their due date yet because they are going to adopt. And they’ve yet to find or be found by a wonderful birth mother.

Which begs the question: Do you know someone who is pregnant and considering adoption?

And do you know these important facts about adoption?

And did you know that the Ares are the most amazing, spiritual, funny, easygoing, adventurous, happy and loving family that I know?

(I mean, Mrs. Are is a school teacher for cryin’ in the night!)

But as LaVar says, don’t take my word for it.

Check out their adoption profile here. (Just search under “joshuaandlindsey.”)

But I’ll warn you, those who are happily married parents may even consider letting the Ares adopt their children.

They’re that good.