Meggans a - Meggans guide to a brighter life

Hello I'am Meggan Welcome to my website.

Kiss The Cook

Coming Soon.

I always thought kitchens were nothing more than medieval torture chambers, or the room where the wine was.  Fortunately, I still feel that way.  The running joke when I was a child was that I had better marry a chef or I was going to starve to death.  My Mother can now rest easier at night because that is EXACTLY what I did…marry a chef and a famous (and sexy) European pastry chef to boot…bonus points. 

The exciting thing for my readers is that my husband, Ettore Ravazzolo, ( and I will be teaming up to bring you videos of fantastic and easy to follow recipes for you to recreate at home with your family.  Ettore has been a staple on TV for years as a guest chef and I was an actress and television reporter.  This is a chance for us to combine our talents and work together, expanding on that foundation to bring great food to you.  The segments will be professionally taped in our home kitchen, by award winning videographer Terry Haggert, and will include delicious recipes, but also kitchen tool demonstrations.  I will be there with Ettore breaking it down for those who, like me, the kitchen still remains a mysterious cave.

The video segments will be informative and fun and hopefully breath some new life into you cooking routine.  Be prepared though, my husband’s glorious Swiss accent and tremendous cooking will have you throwing your panties at your computer.  That is why we always say in this household…


Dear Sleep,

COME BACK!!  I’M SORRY!!  Was it something I said?  I take it all back.  I take it back that I said after the baby was born that I won’t need that much of you.  I’m sorry I said that a lot of you is overrated and I could handle the baby and have less of you. I was wrong, VERY WRONG!  I NEED YOU…AND I WANT YOU BACK.

Remember the good times, before the baby?  I do.   We were together all the time.  I got to be with you at least eight hours in a row every night.  It seemed I could have you any time I wanted; in the car, on a plane, on the couch in the middle of the day, even in class during school.  No problem, all I had to do was put my head down on my desk, close my eyes and you were right there.   We had a beautiful relationship.  Something special.

Now it is all different.  Sleep, I feel you are pulling away from me and there is distance between us.  Since the baby was born, I only see you in short spurts every night for months on end.  Sleep, I have enough love to go around. There is enough for you AND the baby.  Can we work it out? How about we start slow.  Five hours in a row, together, you and me, each night.  If that goes well then maybe we can get together on the couch for an hour or so in the afternoon when the baby naps.  They say I am supposed to have you when the baby sleeps.  So far though you are no where to be found when the baby is napping.  The only thing I find is the dishes.  What do you think?  Can we reconnect?  I MISS YOU SLEEP!!!

Call me.



The Apple (Finally) Didn’t Fall Far From The Tree

Hallelujah, evidence Lucas is actually related to me.  Carrying him in my body for 41 weeks, blood tests, and witnessing him emerge from my vagina was not quite enough evidence for me to prove Lucas was actually mine, I needed more proof.

 You see, Lucas looks nothing like me.  To me Lucas doesn’t look like my husband either, but that is a post for another day.  According to the masses though, Lucas looks just like Ettore and my step-son Reilly.   Lucas looks so little like me, that if men could get pregnant and carry a child, I might insist that Ettore had a secret affair, and then when HE delivered and had HIS vagina shredded like pulled pork tell HIM that birth was just pushing and “some pressure”. Just saying.  Sorry, daydream.  Back to how Lucas doesn’t look like me.

Lucas looks like he is not related to me.  That was until tonight, when we went to dinner at a steakhouse.

 The complete extent of my DNA in my child came pouring out.

When the food arrived…my son did a dance.

MY BOY! Evidence my genetic line has been passed on to my son!  When food arrives, whether it be Subway or the latest five star restaurant I am overcome with happiness and the desire to do a little jig.   I often sing the name of the food I am about to eat as well.  Corn Beef makes me particulary melodious, and I channel my inner Whitney Houston ever time goat cheese hits the table.  Lucas is a chip off the old block (of cheese). Tonight when his Jr. Steak was delivered we both started rocking and rolling.  No DNA test required now, ever time we eat together I will know Lucas is my son…whether or not he has my eyes.

Pregnancy vs. Motherhood

A few things I have noticed that are different between pregnancy and Motherhood…  

During pregnancy you are delighted with your growing belly.

During motherhood you are horrified with your growing ass.


Pregnancy means breasts the shape of cantaloupes.

Motherhood means breasts the shape of sun dried tomatoes.


Pregnancy means thinking your baby will be an angel.

Motherhood means hoping your child is not the devil.


During pregnancy you lovingly fold and wash the babies clothes until everything is perfect.

Motherhood is grabbing the least dirty of the clothes out of the Mt. Everest of a laundry hamper and deciding it’s good enough.


Pregnancy means thinking of your husband as a hero for making love to you and putting a life inside of you.

Motherhood means not letting that hero touch you for fear he will put another life inside of you.


Pregnancy is hoping you are a good Mom.

Motherhood is knowing you are (at least that’s what Therapist Richard tells me).

Family Photo Fun


I was going through some photos today and I came across these gems of our last family trip to the mall for the dreaded family photo. The smiling black and white photo you see on my About Meggan page didn’t start out so smiley.   To turn this photo shoot around and get some smiles out of these kids I basically had to promise fake I.D’s and a trip to Vegas…and that was just for the baby, Lucas!

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