Meggans a mom.com - Meggans guide to a brighter life

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I Double Dog Dare You

A friend recently asked “what effects does pregnancy have on your body?”  This required the putting down of the coffee.  I didn’t really know how to reply.  Sometimes a picture of a dog speaks a thousand words.

lampard-poodle[1]

The pre-birth vagina. Proud. Groomed to perfection, on point, able to do tricks, and ready for the show.

The post-birth vagina. Sad, shocked, and more than a little floppier than before.

The post birth stomach…no words necessary.

Mistaken Identity

While watching Sesame Street…

Me:  “Lucas, look…IT’S BIG BIRD!”

Lucas:  (points at television)  ”MAMA!”

Me:  “Ummmm, no Lucas that’s BIG BIRD.”

Lucas:  “MAMA!!

Me:  “BIG BIRD”

Lucas:  “MAMA”

Me:  “Lucas, Mama isn’t a big yellow bird.  Mama is a tall person…not a tall bird.  Mama is here, Big Bird is on Sesame Street on the television.”

Lucas:  (pointing at television) “MAMA!”

Sigh…At least he didn’t mistake me for Oscar the Grouch.  Silver lining.

I Didn’t Stand A Chance

 Nutella

I could of gone my whole life without knowing how good Nutella is.  DAMN.  I didn’t even put up a fight.  Nutella 1 – My Ass and Belly 0

Who Turned Out The Lights?

Where did everybody go?

Where did everybody go?

Benny the puppy.  No matter how many times you tell them not to stick their head in the Kleenex box, they never listen.  Lucas came to the rescue and finally pulled the box off of Benny’s head, only to then pull out the rest of the Kleenexes and throw them on the floor.  They are a team.

Big Girl…Small World

Bathroom PhotoBathroom Photo 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In bathrooms across America I have no head.  The mirrors in bathrooms everywhere seemed to be positioned for 7th graders, the cast of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, every woman under 5′ 7″ tall, or Hayden Panettiere.  I have always said, “I am 5′ 10″ in a 5′ 7″ world.  The world fits perfectly if you are 5′7″ tall.  You don’t have bruises permanently raked across your thighs from forever walking into tables.  Door jams don’t pose immediate danger, you don’t have to yell “INCOMING” whenever attempting to enter a Porsche.  If you fall during co-ed soccer people don’t yell “TIMBERRRRR” (thank you high school P.E.) and you don’t check your make-up in the bathroom mirror at a gas station by having to stoop over, as the photo above illustrates.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being tall.  I am trying to wean myself off the self Hatorade so I am not going to sit around and stew in my height while I have two legs to walk around on.  Sure they are covered in bruises from slamming into things and there hasn’t been a pair of  jeans yet that seem to make it all the way to the floor.  I have been trying to make high-water pants cool since 1981.  It is a good thing I don’t have modest ankles, because those baby’s are never covered up.  My ankles bare it all to the world.

When I was growing up I was a gymnast.  Nadia Comaneci was my hero.  While other girls were slobbering over Barbie, or if you were on the early developed side Kirk Cameron from Growing Pains, I spent my days in a white leotard and braids convinced I was a Romanian Olympic gymnast, or Cher’s child that was put of for adoption.  I actually am adopted and I was convinced Cher was my biological Mother,  but that story is for another post.  Mostly I wanted to be Nadia, except that as other little girls stopped growing, I just kept right on heading North to 5′ 10″.

I didn’t mind being taller than say everyone, as a 7th grader.  Sure there were some awkward school dances, and the unfortunate comparisons to a zipper when I stood sideways and stuck my tongue out, but I had bigger worries…like my perm….and the also unfortunate comparisons to a microphone.

All was not lost.  I may of had to give up my dream of being a gymnast, or at least the first 5′ 10″ gymnast, but as one door closes another opens.  I ran track, modeled a bit and eventually filled out in proportion to my up.  In fact, when I was in my high school’s production of A Chorus Line my lovely and supportive gay friend Joel would assure me it was wonderful to be tall and my time would come…for instance his Dad saw A Chorus Line four times and Joel would tell me his Dad said I was the reason he sat in the front row every night.  I can only imagine.

She stoops to conquer.

Now You See It, Now You Don’t

Toothbrush

Ettore:  Sweetheart, where did you put the new toothbrushes?

Me:  On the kitchen table.

Ettore:  They’re not there.

Meggan:  They have to be there, I just bought them.

Ettore:   Well, they are not there.  You don’t think Lucas took them?

Me:  No.  There is no way he could reach them.  Besides, why would a two-year-old take toothbrushes?

HERE COMES TROUBLE

Reilly and Meggan at Movies Photoshop

 

 

 

 

 

I took my thirteen-year-old stepson to the movies the other night.  Always an adventure.  With a little $5.00 bribe I was able to get Reilly to go into the photo booth with me.  He picked the title of our photos, very appropriate.  The first photo gave me a chance to work on my blurring skills in Photoshop.  Let’s just say Reilly is not signing “You’re Number One.”  By the last photo the cool glasses are off and I am caught mid…”Knock it off!”, and people wonder why we didn’t do a photo Christmas card this year.

Fundraisers Are Hell On My Thighs

Fudraising CookiesSpring is coming.  How do I know?  The school spring fundraising has begun.  Warning ladies!  Adorable children everywhere will soon be trolling the neighborhoods and streets of America with brochure after brochure clutched in their little hands toting the likes of Girl Scout Cookies, Candy Bars, and in our case…BUCKETS of Otis Spunkmeyer Cookies.   We now have FOUR in our fridge.

My thighs don’t need buckets of Otis Spunkmeyer cookies.  My thighs need a bucket of carrots and a good personal trainer.

 Here is the thing though.

I felt bad.  I wanted to help my stepson Reilly with his fundraising for his school.  We try and teach giving back, working hard, and putting efforts in to your education.  I couldn’t turn him down when confronted with his eager face hoping to do well at the fundraiser and put into practice the lessons I had been teaching him.

Actually that is a load of crap.  Reilly is FAR MORE SAAVY THAN THAT.  I felt guilty and did NOT want to be the Stepmom that didn’t but any cookies from her stepson… and the kid knew it.

I bought four buckets.

With a check for four buckets of Otis Spunkmeyer cookies safely tucked away in his fundraiser envelope I got a hug and an announcement of ”your the best Stepmom in the world!”  In turn for selling his buckets of cookies Reilly won something made of plastic that will end up in the vacuum, the baby’s mouth, or on the floorboard of my car.

Guilt sells.

This is not this Stepmom’s first guilt filled misstep in the unchartered territory of school fundraising.  I met my stepsons when they were well into their elementary school careers.  There was no warming up to school fundraising for me.  No learning the ropes, no pacing myself starting in my child’s kindergarten class.  I dove head first in the live auctions, donations, and volunteering.  My fundraising learning curve was like jumping off a cliff.

“It’s for the children”  is all I could  mutter to my wallet shocked husband when I got in a bidding war at a school auction and paid several hundred dollars for horse back riding lessons even though horses scare the crap out of me and I have yet to ride a horse that I haven’t fallen off of.

Ettore: (with Swiss German accent) “Sweetheart!!!  What are you doing?  Put that bidding paddle down….YOU DON”T EVEN LIKE HORSE!”

Me:  “It’s for the children…we can bond.”

I should of known my stepsons would be horrified when I was the lone bidder at ANOTHER school auction and bid on and won a box of home grown seasonal vegetables delivered once a month for an entire year.

“YOU BID ON WWWWWWWHHHHHHAAAAAAAAATTTTTT………….AND WE WON IT???????!!!!!!!!!!……………..NNNNNOOOOOO” was the  response I received when I got home holding a token Eggplant to show the boys we will be learning all about where our food comes from once a month for the next year.

Aparently the boys learned our food comes in a box that sits on our doorstep while their Father and I Google what to do with random vegetables we have never heard of.

It’s for the children.

I am signing off to go turn on the oven and bake me some cookies.

At least I have until Back to School night in the Fall to finish them off.

Milk Does A Body Good

Lucas and Milk Carton

Uh-Oh…She see me

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.

A Zen Moment

Lucas and The TractorSomtimes a picture DOES speak a thousand words.

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