Hello I'am Meggan Welcome to my website.
I live with all boys. I call our house the Haus of Boys. One husband, two teenage stepsons, one male toddler, and one boy puppy. I even think our one lone plant we have is a boy. The plant was a gift from a neighbor for Christmas and while the plant has grown big and strong…it has yet to flower. I swear it is a boy plant, or just a girl plant slowly dying (and sprouting chin hairs) under the pressure of all the male testosterone in the house.
When I got pregnant I put in a request to Jesus. I said, ”Jesus. It’s Meggan. I am so grateful and blessed to be pregnant and of course a healthy child is all that matters…BUT Jesus…I would like to put in a small request. Being surrounded by the wonderful husband and stepsons I have in my life, my tank is all filled up on boy. My girl tank however is empty. Is is possible to order up a nice and quiet baby girl?”
Jesus being Jesus, and I am sure very busy, must not of got my message, or he has a wicked sense of humor because I got…Lucas. I AM SO GRATEFUL TO HAVE MY BABY AND I LOVE HIM WITH ALL MY HEART, but not only is he not a girl, he is the boy of all boys. There is not one quiet or delicate bone is his body. He runs, he jumps, he throws, he hates to be inside, loves to be dirty, loud, funny, on the go, messy, exploring, chasing, never ever ever sit still, and as of today, boy who drinks out of the milk carton!
He just turned two-years-old.
The boy gene runs deep.
Wecome to the family.
Somtimes a picture DOES speak a thousand words.
Swiss Husband = Swiss Cheese. My Swiss husband takes cheese very seriously. Nothing frustrates a Euro foodie more than American Mac and Cheese in blue box.
“Oh Sweetheart…it’s terrible. Don’t even bring that box into the house.”
It can be a little dramatic, but Ettore has a point. Great Mac and Cheese is easier than you think, not that expensive, and DEE-LISH.
Ettore is putting his cheese where his mouth is and bringing us a great Swiss Mac and Cheese. Makes me want to yodel just thinking about how good this recipe is.
SWISS MACARONI AND CHEESE
1. lb Macaroni Pasta
1 Cup Grated Swiss Cheese
1 Cup Grated Gruyere Cheese
1 Whole White Onion, chopped
1 Cup Chopped Smoked Ham (optional)
1 Tbl. Olive Oil
1 Tbl. Butter
In a large pot bring water to a boil and add macaroni noodles, making sure to add a pinch of salt to water. In a separate skillet add butter and olive oil and add one whole chopped white onion and sautee till golden brown. In a separate skillet add chopped smoked ham and sautee till brown around the edges. You can add a little butter to help the sauteing of the ham.
Grate Swiss and Gruyere Cheese and set aside.
When pasta is finished cooking, drain macaroni noodles and return to pot. Add grated cheese directly to the pot to melt cheese, add sauteed ham, and add sauteed onions. Be sure to set aside an 1/8 of a cup of onions for garnish on top of pasta. Stir pasta until cheese is melted. Pour pasta directly into serving dish and garnish on top with remaining sauteed onions.
Eat a bunch by yourself before you kids devour it all.
ENJOY and Kiss The Cook!
“East bound and down, loaded up and truckin’, we’re gonna do what they say can’t be done. We’ve got a long way to go and a short time to get there, I’m east bound just watch ol’ “Bandit” run.”
- Singer Jerry Reed (lyrics from East Bound and Down from the movie Smokey and the Bandit)
Reminds me of Mommyhood. Too much to do, not enough to do it with, but that ol’ Mommy sure does get it done!
OK, so I have a belt buckle in the shape of an 18-wheeler. I have had it for years and I love it. I got it in the Central Valley when I used to live in Los Angeles and drive back and forth between L.A. and Sacramento ALL THE TIME. I would drive for hours late at night up and down I-5 and it felt like the only people on the road were myself and my roadway brethren, the long haul truckers. This belt reminds me of those truck drivers and that time in my life. The above photo is my actual belt buckle when I wore it Monday.
I was feeling particularly ferosh (and trucker tough) so I thought I would do the trucker meets NY fashion outfit. I had on my trucker belt buckle (see photo above), the latest skinny jeans with my not so skinny body (my first mistake), my Euro cool boots (see a few posts below) and my super hip white Michael Kors man’s watch that the sales girl said I needed because the man’s watch made my wrist look small…sigh. I thought I looked edgy and hot, but as it turns out it was less hot and more hot mess!
I went in my getty-up outfit to lunch with my toddler Lucas and the entire staff at the restaurant treated us like pariahs. I thought I had a case of toddler discrimination on my hands. I have been reading a lot of tongue in cheek blog posts recently about toddler discrimination. You know, when you go somewhere in public and anyone who has never had a baby or has children over the age of eighteen sees you coming with a toddler and rolls their eyes, runs madly in the other direction, huffs and puffs at the mere sight of you, or hands you some hand sanitizer and the phone number of a good nanny. I had read about toddler discrimination, but had never really experienced it first hand.
That was until today.
Something was up.
There were sideways glances from the staff, ineffective service, and almost no communication from the server, busser, or manager. I thought they must be pissed I had a toddler with me, even though this restaurant touts it qualifications as a FAMILY restaurant and Lucas was on his best behavior happily scarfing down croutons dipped in creamy pesto dressing. Everyone seemed to be doing the restaurant walk by and looking at our table, but not stopping. I know from YEARS of working in the restaurant industry a restaurant walk-by when I see one. That is where the staff ”casually” walks by to get a look at the crazy going on at a table.
“Go walk by and check out the _______ on table seven.”
Don’t kid a kidder, this ain’t my first rodeo sailor. I am proficient at the restaurant walk-bys and I know when one has been put into action.
I sat there pondering what could be going on. What was triggering off the crazy alarms to the staff? I felt really uncomfortable and asked for my check early so Lucas and I could leave. It was when I began to pack us up that I realized the true reason for the stares…the belly had gotten out!
Not only had the belly gotten out, but it had happened to of flopped over my 18-wheeler trucker belt buckle!
OH THE HUMANITY! The belly had completely buried the top half of the trucker belt like it was buried in snow on top of Donner Summit waiting for the roads to clear. You can’t even see out the windshield.
I HAD NO IDEA!!! My tummy turtle was peeking it’s head out from under it’s shell. The puppy was poking out from under the covers. The groundhog had left the burrow signifying that winter will end soon. I was horrified! It wasn’t toddler discrimination, it was tummy discrimination. The restaurant staff had been cruising by to see the belly flung over the trucker belt….white trash at it’s finest. No shame in my game, like any self respecting Mommy blogger, I whipped out my camera to take a picture. Add that to the long list of “crazy” already going on at my table. Can you imagine that conversation among the restaurant staff?
“That woman’s stomach was TOTALLY hanging out over her truck belt buckle AND THEN she got out her camera and took a picture of it!! OMG!”
I felt like those Hollywood starlets who get breast surgeries so intense that they loose all feeling and always seem to get photographed with their tops half way off in the freezing cold, having no idea their nipples are exposed…I am talking to you Tara Reid. Apparently my pregnancy and BIG 9 lb. 11 oz. baby blew out the tummy so much that I now have no sensation to all the skin left behind. Now my tummy can just flop around out in public and I have no idea.
I thought about explaining the situation or demanding the staff to call me in ten years after THEY HAVE BABIES and see what their belly looks like, or simply yelling out “ask your Mom about her stomach after YOU ruined her body you assholes,” but I didn’t. I folded all of me back behind the trucker belt, wiped a tear, had a laugh, scooped up my beautiful and amazing toddler and got ready to keep on truckin’ in Motherhood…belly, baby, boys, and all.
Ettore: “Sweetheart, why are you crying?”
Me: “Because the Olympics are over.”
Ettore: “But you barely had a chance to watch them.”
Me: “I know, I just love the Olympics though. The stories, the triumphs, the comradery, the struggle, the success, the world stops and comes together, and now it’s over till the Summer Games.”
Ettore: “Wow, I didn’t know you felt so stongly about this…you don’t even ski.”
Me: “For me the Olympics are like therapy. You don’t need to go to therapy everyday, but it is a comfort to know it’s there.”
Ettore: “You are comparing the Olympic Games…to therapy?”
Me: “Uh-huh (sniffle), both make me happy and both make me want to be a better person, although therapy never made me want to be a figure skater.”
Ettore: “When is your next therapy appointment?”
Me: “I love you Shaun White! I love you Bob Costas! I love you Meryl Davis and Charlie White! I love you Team USA!”
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