tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-324593872012-01-30T06:54:43.117-07:00"Who's to say what is proper? What if it was agreed that "proper" was wearing a codfish on your head? Would you wear it?"Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.comBlogger2231100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-72876419993217585722012-01-30T06:28:00.005-07:002012-01-30T06:46:58.061-07:00

I freely admit this is a recycled post from my days blogging over at MA! Motherhood with Attitude. However, it's just as apt today as it was then. In fact, it's become even more so with the invention of mini-grocery carts that a lot of stores now keep front and center as you walk in the doors. Now, as if taking three tired kids for a last minute onions-and-diapers run (don't ask) isn't fun enough

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-23653392443031759852012-01-19T11:42:00.000-07:002012-01-19T11:42:08.534-07:00

“No! Those are Mommy’s, honey. Don’t look at those.” Anna was poking through the magazines piled up next to my desk. From my reaction, you’d imagine she’d found some trashy porn (as opposed to the classy kind). Instead, she’d gotten her hands on the latest copy of SELF magazine. I have a little, teensy weensy problem. I’m a magazine addict. I love them, I buy them off the rack all the time,

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-22715030481064122352012-01-11T21:03:00.004-07:002012-01-11T21:13:48.796-07:00

Last night, my aunt visited us from out of town. For dinner I made what turned out to be a pretty tasty crock pot of goulash stew, served over egg noodles. It smelled great, was an attractive deep reddish color, boasting perfectly cooked potatoes and tender chunks of beef that fell apart on your fork. Yum, right? You would have thought I’d put a plate of mud and sticks in front of my kids. “

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-50179502111457188802012-01-10T07:26:00.002-07:002012-01-10T07:31:28.852-07:00

This week is Be Nice on the Internet week, courtesy of Real Simple magazine. I’m all for it. I’ve read so many comments and posts all over the place that are just intentionally negative, argumentative and basically insulting. I am not blameless, of course. I've indulged in my share of snark through the years. That's even more reason a little Golden Rule refresher course is in order from time to

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-21852501564766224792012-01-06T12:14:00.000-07:002012-01-06T12:14:51.407-07:00

Knew you’d catch up with me, New Year. As much as I’d like to skip the whole resolution, starting over, clean slate post, it’d feel like a big ol’ gap if I didn’t say at least something. Something. Ha. Okay, kidding aside, there is a certain appeal to January, isn’t there? All that fresh time ahead that you haven’t screwed up yet, it just feels so CLEAN. Last year, I made a resolution that

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-57519082964574562902012-01-04T12:07:00.002-07:002012-01-04T12:13:16.912-07:00

Happy new year, friends and neighbors. I’m back. I spent the past couple months lost in holiday-induced time lapses. The last two weeks we went back to Colorado, a long-awaited return home. Before we left, Kurt asked if I was even going to be able to come back. At the time, I wasn’t sure. Texas has not been a dream come true, after all, and the idea of being home, seeing all the places and

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-22853355432099981212011-11-28T07:30:00.000-07:002011-11-28T07:30:25.068-07:00

Alright already. There are two days left to November and I am sitting trapped at just over 30,000 words. I'd like to say that, in case you're laughing in derision, 30,000 words is A LOT. It's not nuttin', but it's not 50,000. The likelihood that I'll squeeze out 20,000 more words in the next two days is about on par with Americans boycotting Black Friday next year. Not gonna happen. However, I

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-22766947639213466862011-11-17T10:56:00.001-07:002011-11-17T10:57:07.514-07:00

Hot damn. This whole thing ain't so easy, who knew? I'm sittin' not so pretty at about 15,000 words and staring down the next 35,000 with major trepidation. I should be about halfway by now. Clearly, I am not. Part of the problem is that, as yet, I am not even sure what the story is. To be completely honest, I think I am writing two stories, both alike in indignity. But mostly it's fading into

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-24118733112601949392011-11-08T09:39:00.000-07:002011-11-08T09:39:54.999-07:00

Oi VEY. I tell you what! So far November is not feeling so much like a friend to me. Last week was a whirlwind of crazy with the kids sick on and off, Anna's birthday and Kurt out of town for a few days. While for the most part that's all standard operating procedure, I had kind of a hard time this year with Anna's birthday. It definitely took a toll on my motivation, not to mention my

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-10411057906986670012011-10-30T10:50:00.001-06:002011-10-30T10:51:29.542-06:00

In the next month, one of two things will happen: I will disappear completely from the internets or I will be everywhere making a lot of noise and wasting a lot of time. Considering procrastination is often my go-to coping method, I’m leaning more towards the latter possibility. Regardless, November is gonna be wacky. Two years ago, my November adventure got a wee bit side-tracked by one very

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-71295926562327856822011-10-21T12:32:00.002-06:002011-10-21T13:12:44.708-06:00

I took the kids to McDonald’s this morning. Save your judgement, I care not a smidge. Anna had a glowing report from her parent/teacher conference, both girls have the day off school and we needed some play time— and I needed coffee. Any locale that offers both those things is a-okay in my book. We herded in, stocked up on pancakes, hash browns, and OJ and got down to it. Jack went ba-donkers

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-1857656653648784852011-10-19T10:19:00.000-06:002011-10-19T10:19:56.941-06:00

When I go grocery shopping, unless I have a comprehensive list from the recipes I want to make, it’s a total crap shoot. I’ll walk through the produce and think, “Hmmm… those squash look good, I bet I could do something with that”. Then I’ll hit the aisles and pick out the pantry basics, throw in some inspiring ingredients to get creative with and voila, shopping done! Only then I get home and

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-12349227840185725012011-09-26T12:11:00.003-06:002011-09-26T12:18:25.926-06:00

Here’s what’s going on over here in Texas-land: I am covered in bug bites. Anna is covered in bug bites. We have them on our arms, legs, feet. Anna has one on her derriere, not really sure how that happened. I cannot go outside for five minutes without getting eaten alive. I bought some fancy bug bite cream that’s supposed to “zap!” the itch and ouch but it’s about as effective as a wet paper

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-76481092834709356872011-09-20T21:04:00.001-06:002011-09-20T21:05:17.044-06:00

Monday afternoon, I picked up Silvia at preschool. She was napping on her mat so I put Jack down next to her to wake her up. He gets excited, starts patting her and poking her and yelling “Hi!” at her until she has to wake up in self-defense. While she was hugging me after escaping from Jack, a teacher came over and very casually mentioned that Silvia was moving to a new class on Wednesday.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-80286235510772088252011-09-12T10:44:00.000-06:002011-09-12T10:44:05.971-06:00

I’ve been a bit stumped lately. I guess you call it writer’s block, but I’d describe it more as an ocean of flotsam surrounding me, with nothing much standing out worth hanging on to. In other words, I’ve got a lotta thoughts, none complete and most not all that interesting. In order to try and start something (ANYTHING), I’ve decided to go through all my writing notebooks, one by one, all my

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-24050954559341799742011-08-24T09:50:00.000-06:002011-08-24T09:50:48.746-06:00

It’s been at least three weeks and, truth be told, I’m not really sure when the last time was that I had a full night of uninterrupted sleep. I’m pretty sure there was a night in June? This happens from time to time and usually tapers off after a month or two. In the middle of an insomnia phase, though, boy howdy. It’s fun for the whole family. I don’t only just stay awake or wake up frequently

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-43899036987290242592011-08-22T09:57:00.000-06:002011-08-22T09:57:15.142-06:00

It’s 10 A.M. and the house is so quiet. I’m sitting on my bed, in my very own room, surrounded by my notebooks and random scribbled index cards. I spend almost no time in this room, though it is arguably the nicest in the house— peacefully painted a barely-there blue, just enough light from the windows and somehow remains cool even in the middle of the afternoon. And it’s so quiet. Today is the

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-86595496141789988482011-08-15T10:52:00.000-06:002011-08-15T10:52:25.401-06:00

You all remember, if you have kids, those first months (or years) where you walked around in a zombie-like stupor most of the day, soaked in the rancid marinade of sleep-deprivation. As a breast-feeding mom with my first child, I even worried about drinking too much coffee to sustain me. The chance it could filter through and keep my infant EVEN MORE awake was worse than caffeine withdrawal. I

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-72259810337552137012011-08-10T07:13:00.000-06:002011-08-10T07:13:37.726-06:00

The girls always run up to Jack’s room whenever he wakes up to cheer him on until I get there (i.e., to keep him occupied while I limp towards the coffee machine like the addict I am). This morning, instead of the usual jumping, yelling and giggling I heard all kinds of shouting with no giggles at all. “You get out! We don’t NEED you in here!” Silvia, expelled so rudely from the room, plopped

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-13435196733818605172011-08-08T10:39:00.001-06:002011-08-08T10:44:25.069-06:00

It hurts, I'm not going to lie. I am out of shape and it HURTS. Lunges, squats! Get down low! Pulse it ladies, only 16 more! ONLY?! This from the gorgeous blonde in the front who wears those lightweight tanks with the shelf bras and actually gets support from them. It sucks but I'm there. I get up, I rally the troops, I run back and forth from the car three times before we make it out the

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-80038193125486102402011-07-27T21:03:00.003-06:002011-07-27T21:20:42.325-06:00

Yesterday was my 8th wedding anniversary. Since we’re so new here, there was no chance at all of going out on our own, so we improvised a date night in. After the children were in bed, Kurt made delicious cedar plank salmon on the grill followed by a chocolate mousse dessert that I made all by myself from scratch. (Did I mention I made it? From scratch? Because I did.) I usually put some effort

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-39669744161806071102011-07-22T10:51:00.001-06:002011-07-22T10:52:29.227-06:00

Alright, it's that time again-- ALREADY! Get your hats and your noise makers, confetti and, most importantly, a generously filled glass of wine. Welcome to my pity party. When I picked up the kids this morning from the Y child care, Anna saw me and burst into tears. She tried not to, bless her, but it just spilled over her wobbling chin and tight eyes and then she was a weeping mess in my arms

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-81051171138750974862011-07-15T15:14:00.002-06:002011-07-16T21:38:26.729-06:00

I first wrote this post 4 years ago but it remains one of those truisms about my life that just don't fade. There's something so comforting about a place that, regardless of where in time or space you are, is always exactly the same. Creepy, sure. But comforting. I finally located a drive-thru that's not impossibly far from my house (though it's not terribly convenient, either). Starbucks, I

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-76988519057565729252011-07-12T08:38:00.000-06:002011-07-12T08:38:32.323-06:00

I think making any big change in life is a lot like pregnancy. When you first find out, you’re excited and nervous. The whole thing seems like it’s moving so slowly, leaving you antsy and slightly nauseated all at the same time. After awhile though, you just start to get tired of even thinking about it—how your day to day life is about to completely scatter, all your relationships are about to

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-40367764971898027712011-06-24T17:38:00.001-06:002011-06-24T17:43:03.723-06:00

This is a small room. I mean, really. It’s a nice hotel, don’t get me wrong. Kurt’s new company has done very well by us so far. I think if it was just Kurt and me, it’d feel downright cozy. Add in two little girls and a baby, though, and you’ve got yourself a foolproof recipe for a claustrophobic frenzy on all fronts. There’s also a certain weirdness to staying at a hotel about 5 minutes away

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-2292066266817721812011-06-04T13:33:00.000-06:002011-06-04T13:33:24.278-06:00

A week ago I was propping my eyes open with toothpicks (ok, with caffeine fumes), recovering from the nightmarish whirlwind that was our first house-hunting trip to Dallas. I say first because we’ll have to go back this week. I say nightmarish because of the REASON we have to go back next week. Tornadoes. That’s what it all comes down to. As in, touching DOWN TO the ground in Dallas, Texas. Six

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-3260230140454988842011-05-10T22:41:00.000-06:002011-05-10T22:41:36.035-06:00

In her book Eat Pray Love, Elizabeth Gilbert went to Italy, India and Bali to find balance, find God, find herself. I get to go to Texas.    Anna, Summer 2005 Kurt has accepted a really wonderful job in Dallas. We’ll be moving next month, leaving Colorado, which has been my home for 20 years.  Since my head can’t wrap entirely around the big picture of it all, I’ve

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-64791933873205371092011-05-06T11:33:00.000-06:002011-05-06T11:33:26.839-06:00

I was at the gym a little while ago (ok, a couple weeks ago, but I have my totally convincing excuses, so there.). I ran and pushed through a pretty intense workout. On the cardio equipment I read magazines, quickly flipping past pages with too-long stories. During weights, I counted reps meticulously, my head speeding about with reminders, emails, calls to make, chores to do. During abs, I was

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-79377378519702377012011-05-02T10:31:00.000-06:002011-05-02T10:31:13.849-06:00

So, Osama bin Laden is dead. He was the embodiment of evil, pure and undiluted. I do not mourn him in the slightest. As unpopular as the idea is for many, I honestly believe that some people should not be allowed to live, to survive their crimes. And now, just as his supporters danced on 9/11, burning American flags in the streets and singing, the world gathers in celebration to dance on his

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-66429468016164402272011-04-26T10:37:00.002-06:002011-04-26T10:43:19.734-06:00

My husband doesn’t listen. He read some research somewhere that basically said the typical key and rhythm of a woman’s speech patterns make it sound like soothing background music to a male mind. This results in them tuning out a large part of any conversation. So, biologically, he’s not responsible. (I question this VIGOROUSLY. Unfortunately, he doesn’t hear me.) My husband pouts and excels at

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-52832457621514988872011-04-14T22:29:00.000-06:002011-04-14T22:29:04.890-06:00

Catherine Zeta-Jones seeks treatment for Bipolar II I'm always gratified (if that's the right word) when someone noteworthy "comes out" about having bipolar II. The word "bipolar" alone conjures up images of wild-eyed people talking to themselves on the street while chewing on their clothes and probably wearing their undies on the outside of their pants. It's just not fair or anywhere close to

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-62603786888233869552011-03-31T10:23:00.001-06:002011-03-31T10:24:59.301-06:00

Easter Sunday, 1988. My 11th birthday just days away, I spent the afternoon at my dad’s apartment, high on Easter basket bounty, flouncing around in a brand new dress. It was striped in orange, yellow, pink and white with a cool little knit belt that tied in a bow over my hip. Feeling especially pretty and energetic (I’m sure an overdose of jelly beans helped), I grabbed a basketball and ran

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-50296801385762548652011-03-29T11:10:00.002-06:002011-03-29T16:58:42.725-06:00

I don’t do leftovers. Every night I dutifully wrap up the remains of our meal, studiously scraping the bottom of pans to make sure I get every edible scoop. But then it sits, languishing in my fridge as all the tastiness seeps out of it and the color fades to a dull gray... except for the parts that go hairy and bright green. Yum. What about the popular idea to “have it for lunch” the next day?

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-29657550481679760732011-03-28T11:43:00.001-06:002011-03-29T16:59:20.054-06:00

God, I love this. Seriously, the self-deprecating clarity of it all is just so FUNNY. And don't pretend you haven't, at some low and dark moment, given in to a few bouts of egocentric paranoia... because if you haven't? I probably don't want to know you. Just sayin'. I love me some flaws, especially when they mirror my own. (But just remember... it's not paranoia if they really ARE all out to

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-67961302925589383072011-03-03T11:11:00.001-07:002011-03-29T17:00:01.038-06:00

It’s 4:30 in the morning and I jerk awake with a feeling of startled panic. What happened? My confused brain stumbles through the cobwebs of sleep and then focuses. I was asleep. And it’s 4:30 in the morning. WHERE IS THE BABY? I jump up and hurry to the nursery, gently opening the door. As I approach the crib I hear a gentle noise, like a kitten’s sleepy rumble. My son, seven months old, is

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-42010404009047098432011-02-22T10:15:00.002-07:002011-03-29T17:00:51.346-06:00

I think by now most, if not all, people have started to falter in their New Years’s resolutions. Going to the gym five times a week has tapered off to two or three times. Eating healthy has been pushed aside more than once for “special” occasions—like because it’s Tuesday. Spending less, saving more, finishing those scrapbooks, doing more yoga... it’s all starting to seem a lot harder than it did

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-32177310060185799332011-01-24T11:56:00.001-07:002011-03-29T17:01:23.035-06:00

A couple weeks ago, after four days of Jack's non-stop "ouch" crying (if you have kids, you know the sound), I finally decided to take him to the pediatrician to check for an ear infection. (Side note: don't you wish you could do that at home? So annoying to go to the doctor just to have him shine light in their ears.)This isn't the easiest endeavor, but most days the girls have adjusted enough

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-37319823772054871402011-01-20T16:20:00.001-07:002011-03-29T17:02:01.305-06:00

Last January, at about 12 weeks pregnant, I mostly found myself walking about in a stupor of depression and excitement. The mix of the two left me mildly nauseated and irritable—or perhaps that was the so-called “morning” sickness. The first time I had to venture into a maternity store for stretchy pants I sat in the dressing room and cried. Check out the rest at Hybridmom.com.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-10431748667502256362010-12-26T22:21:00.001-07:002011-03-29T17:02:51.553-06:00

My friend and I have started writing letters again. You know, like, with pens. On PAPER. It's crazy stuff, actually. You write something, put it in an envelope with a stamp and an actual geographical address, take it to a mailbox (medium-sized blue thing, sort of looks like a trash can) and put it inside. Several DAYS later, it's delivered by hand to the other person. DAYS. That's practically

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-44978460080796435972010-12-25T22:00:00.001-07:002011-03-29T17:16:05.597-06:00

There is a special present under my tree. I can’t honestly remember the last time I had a Christmas gift from that particular person. When I first opened the package I was so overcome that I surprised even myself. “Why are you crying, Mom?” my girls asked. “Do you want to open it right now? We’re sad, too, can we open ours?” Ever the sly negotiators, my kids. I smiled at the conniving and

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-5527920821387598632010-12-04T20:43:00.003-07:002010-12-04T21:11:37.827-07:00

We went to the freezing but lovely Festival of Lights Parade downtown this evening. By freezing, I mean goodgraciousmeohmyDAMNitissupercold. Driving home when the excitement was over, all the kids started to quiet down in the car at about the same rate that their fingers and noses thawed. Jack, after a few minutes of wailing (turns out his hat had slid down over his eyes, oops. Will the real bad

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-30797467411410909332010-11-30T11:14:00.002-07:002011-03-29T17:16:47.716-06:00

In my head, there's this perfect little New England B&B, in a perfect little town, surrounded by lovely paths that are perfect for thoughtful, relaxing strolls. I wear cozy sweaters and toasty mugs of coffee or hot chocolate warm my hands. No digital e-reader for me, I curl up next to a scenic window with the comforting weight of a real book in my hands. I lose time in the most luxurious of ways.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-67114346239015998692010-11-19T09:27:00.004-07:002011-03-29T17:17:23.838-06:00

We're getting our carpets cleaned. Like, you know, not just scrubbing away at the spots with a bristle brush until our arms cramp up, but actually professionally cleaned. It's a BIG DEAL. See, while we have a lovely house and are fairly consistent in keeping things tidy and wiped up, the big stuff tends to slide around here. For instance, in the 6 years we've lived here, we've (love how I keep

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-1690057761373017652010-11-11T11:37:00.004-07:002011-03-29T17:18:25.202-06:00

I have a cramp in my hand. The muscles right between my thumb and forefinger are protesting this workout in a major way. Occasionally I stop, shake out my wrist and stretch the fingers but then… the exercise continues. What am I doing? Read more at HybridMom.com. (Update: This post got picked up on the Yahoo Shine homepage!)

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-4232785042690953022010-10-15T21:32:00.004-06:002011-03-29T17:19:18.798-06:00

You know that awesome feeling when you fit back into your favorite jeans after your baby weight starts to come off? It starts with a hesitation, "Should I even try these on? Isn't this just setting myself up for a seriously bad mood when they don't button?" Once they're pulled out of the drawer, though, there's nothing for it but to just put them on. More at Hybridmom.com. (Sorry for the

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-51600981571153695302010-09-20T08:31:00.002-06:002011-03-29T17:19:50.544-06:00

The other day I answered the door to a college student selling one of those pizza coupon deals to raise money for the project du jour. I listened to his pitch while the girls buzzed around me like frenzied bees about to swarm. The baby had just fallen asleep in a milk coma and was cuddled down in the family room, hands limp and face peaceful. Read more at Hybridmom.com.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-79495622378663296262010-09-17T16:48:00.002-06:002011-03-29T17:20:27.668-06:00

Can you believe Anna took these pictures? Watch out Trystan Photography! (Oh, and by the way... I chopped off all my hair!)

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-4929352643956764802010-08-13T09:07:00.004-06:002011-03-29T17:20:59.656-06:00

I'm starting a new line of (non) celebrity perfume. I'm hoping I can get a picture on the advertisement like the one for Halle Berry's new line. (Just add in some spit stains, more tangles in her hair and a slightly doughier figure...)My fragrance will have a base of soured milk with delicate notes of infant poop. I'll round it out with a subtle finale of unwashed body odor. I'm predicting a BIG

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-84810984025712919352010-08-13T09:03:00.002-06:002011-03-29T17:21:51.157-06:00

When I was about 38 weeks pregnant, I met a woman at a playdate with three children all under the age of five. The youngest was a baby in stroller, about 6 months old. I sat there at the picnic benches and watched out of two sides of my head as the girls ran off to play in opposite directions. With a hopeful note I asked her, “So, three kids! What do you think? Everyone keeps telling me it’s not

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-87986051523527729232010-07-23T17:19:00.003-06:002010-07-23T17:25:22.836-06:00

In the words of the immortal Monty Python and the Holy Grail..."Then shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out."Jack Stephen was born July 18th at 6:52 P.M. He weighed 7 pounds, 4 ounces and is

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-43309229927516333822010-07-09T10:31:00.001-06:002010-07-09T10:32:48.077-06:00

Aside from the constant comments from random strangers about my appearance at this stage in the game (”Wow! You look awful!”, “Gee, you must not be sleeping what with those big dark circles!” or very, VERY rarely, “You’re just glowing, how beautiful”), my absolute favorite bit of advice I get bombarded with is to go have some rowdy sex with my husband and get this labor started.Now, I know there

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-59729598992557438322010-07-08T08:17:00.003-06:002010-07-08T08:46:26.547-06:00

I rolled out of bed this morning, still pregnant. 39 weeks loooong. That's 273 days. (Actually it's possibly 38 weeks, 5 days, or 271 days, if you are my crazy ass midwife who changed my due date by two days randomly when I was about 6 months pregnant. Not that I'm bitter, not that the date isn't TOTALLY made up anyway, but still. At this point, two days is a big fuckin' difference when it

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-12318033318061154752010-07-02T10:30:00.001-06:002010-07-02T10:32:37.027-06:00

July is here, my friends. My baby surprise is due the 17th, which of course means I’m focused on the possibility it could be any day now. Maybe tomorrow! Maybe today! Probably… around the 17th. Sigh. To distract me from the wait, I’ve spent the past few weeks (or possibly months. Ahem.) nurturing a growing obsession with the nursery. I finally got my husband to buckle down and paint and when that

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-91680889953037855722010-06-25T14:55:00.002-06:002010-06-25T18:25:56.421-06:00

A few weeks back, I dragged my husband to see the documentary “Babies” down at our local indie theater. Not exactly romantic date night material, but we were pleasantly surprised by how much we actually enjoyed the film. Basically, it is a comparison of film clips between babies in four different parts of the world: Namibia, San Francisco, Japan and Mongolia. As you’d expect there are huge

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-20335835265569233402010-06-25T10:36:00.002-06:002010-06-25T11:00:57.049-06:00

37 weeks. As far as the doctors are concerned, a baby born at this point is considered good to go. That's not to say that every day in the womb isn't beneficial, of course. 40 weeks is the best goal, for certain.But there's a certain comfort in knowing that this whole thing could be done soon and no one would try and stop it. Ahh...With the impending baby release date looming, though, I've been

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-89918111964814989432010-06-10T09:11:00.002-06:002010-06-10T09:47:14.730-06:00

Ok, so I didn't actually pass out. Maybe just sort of grayed out for a second and I was lying down at the time. Not terribly dramatic, if I do say so myself.But why, you ask, am I all red in the face and woozy? Inversion. Frickin' crappy, hate the damn word and want to throw rotten tomatoes at my husband every time he asks if I've done my exercises, inversion.Baby Three (we're just going to name

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-54562473099635019912010-06-08T09:21:00.002-06:002010-06-08T09:42:51.332-06:00

Today started with me peeling open my hayfever clogged eyes to the sound of Anna commanding loudly from down the hall, "NO, Cici!! That's DAN-GER-OUS! NO."This was immediately followed by a loud bellow from the culprit of, "FINE! You're not my friend anymore!".Then... a heavy beat of feet and arguing as they each ran into my room to complain/tattle/cry about the injustice wrought upon them by

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-15492678068991670362010-06-01T20:38:00.003-06:002010-06-01T20:56:30.707-06:00

Dear 20-something single hair stylist boy,Hi! After our session today, I just wanted to offer up a few suggestions. I hope these ideas will help you in your future client relations.1) Do not complain, in detail, about how "destroyed" you are from having to drag your ass out of bed at 9 A.M. Trust me on this one-- all you are doing is making enemies. Enemies who have been up since 5 A.M., at

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-51685276539819277052010-05-22T07:32:00.003-06:002010-05-22T07:49:49.090-06:00

I have a belly bump.Yes, I realize this is neither surprising (at 7 months pregnant) or news. I'm only really commenting on it because on top of my belly bump I HAVE A BELLY BUMP. It's a head. A disturbingly big head, from my perspective.This kiddo is resting comfortably sideways across my middle, the very definition of a spare tire. Talk about a muffin top, whoo! And until he or she decides to

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-92227034455242270162010-05-17T09:05:00.002-06:002010-05-17T09:23:42.540-06:00

So there I am, walking out of the preschool after drop-off, barely 8 A.M. I've got my jaw clenched and my eyes open as wide as they can go to hold back the hysterics. I'm doing fine, right? Keeping it all together. Then I see my friend Lisa has pulled up next to my car to drop-off her little girl as well.And that's it, y'all. You can't be all stoic in the face of friendliness. It just doesn't

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-5012261942588385182010-05-12T16:09:00.002-06:002010-05-12T16:31:55.825-06:00

At our weekly playdate today, a little boy called the girls "stinky sluts", several time, while they ran around the play area. Clearly he had no idea what it meant (let's hope!), but when they came back to tell me and started giggling and calling each OTHER the same thing, I was not happy.Now, I'm so not a confrontational person. I've always gone back and forth on playground politics and when to

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-33814195490733326992010-05-07T09:12:00.003-06:002010-05-07T09:14:52.001-06:00

Facing up and coming clean about what's going on in my head, over at Hybridmom.com.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-85111037579614909662010-05-07T09:10:00.001-06:002010-05-07T09:12:08.177-06:00

'Tis the season of nesting. Check out more on how I plan to drive my husband crazy with my crazy over at Hybridmom.com.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-3315748546548150272010-04-30T08:57:00.002-06:002010-04-30T09:14:35.823-06:00

Last night I found myself stuck in a horrible nightmare loop for hours. I couldn't shake it, wake up from it or in anyway escape. I used to have these kinds of looped visions, waking and sleeping, when Silvia was first born. I was SO WORRIED about Anna, that somehow my split attention would leave her unprotected.This time, Anna was across a busy street from me, waving as I waited on the other

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-90253858190441341472010-03-26T08:17:00.001-06:002010-03-26T08:18:56.756-06:00

He's home! It's really over, can't believe it. So far Kurt's slept for 10 hours straight and is working his way up to 11. Afterwards-- cappuccino and a long walk. Woohoo!!!

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-85210483402013460612010-03-25T08:41:00.002-06:002010-03-25T09:15:42.413-06:00

I know, work widow, sounds so dramatic. But these last few months I've really felt that way-- left alone and abandoned to a life without my husband. The caveat is, he's not deployed or away on business or, thank God, dead. He's just been GONE.Since before Christmas, and really reaching back into the past year and a half at least, my dear husband has been suffering a death by nibbling predators.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-13170536724444991792010-03-15T09:16:00.003-06:002010-03-15T09:42:52.546-06:00

Thursday morning before I had shaken the sleep from my eyes I received a texted picture on my phone of my new nephew. He looked VERY new, with red chubby cheeks and swollen eyes, bundled tightly in the ubiquitous hospital swaddling blankets. I cried because he was so beautiful.Friday night I got to walk around a store for a long while holding a little three-month old baby girl. She snuggled into

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-41274360694111589742010-03-12T09:15:00.002-07:002010-03-12T09:37:05.396-07:00

Nesting? How can I be nesting? I'm still 4 months out from birthin' time, but the urge to GET EVERYTHING READY is pretty all consuming these days. I'm sure it's just a control thing. After all, the world feels pretty much out of control at the moment, so grasping at preparations and organization give me something to hold on to. I'm that way, always need an anchor, even if it's just a list for the

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-7596715920991379782010-03-05T08:40:00.002-07:002010-03-05T08:46:44.395-07:00

Seems a little silly to be worrying about laundry and groceries and sore joints today. My friend Janalee, co-founder over at MA! Motherhood with Attitude, is at the hospital today while her newborn baby girl has open heart surgery. Mae was born about a month ago and shortly after they brought her home it was discovered she had a rare congenital heart defect. You can read more of her story here.So

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-92209445892840500412010-02-23T13:37:00.001-07:002010-02-23T13:38:40.216-07:00

Everything looks fine for Baby Schwartz the Third! Read more here at MA! Motherhood with Attitude.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-15269811030830801242010-02-22T09:30:00.000-07:002010-02-22T09:32:25.720-07:00

Twenty weeks this week, halfway there. Today is my big ultrasound, the one to which most moms look forward eagerly. It’s a chance to see your little one “in person”, so to speak, and many families learn the color of the tiny baby clothes they’ll be buying soon. Pink or blue?For me, though, there won’t be any color revelations. We’re not finding out the boy or girl surprise until this little

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-47469762465026835712010-02-11T08:45:00.003-07:002010-02-11T09:26:37.473-07:00

I took Anna to school this morning, full of trepidation for the necessary discussion with her teacher and the school administrator. I even got up and put on REAL CLOTHES (as opposed to just wearing the sweat pants I sort of actually slept in) and mascara. Mascara makes me look more awake, or that's what I tell myself.Anna, of course, is oblivious to the issues at hand. I've talked to her all week

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-45505991834881366942010-02-09T08:23:00.002-07:002010-02-09T08:28:50.245-07:00

My essay about when I first found out I was pregnant appears in this season's issue of Get Born Magazine. You can read it here on their website, but I encourage you to go pick it up or, better yet, sign up for an annual subscription!I have a few gift subscriptions available, too, so let me know if you're interested!!

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-67398403521903286672010-02-08T13:42:00.002-07:002010-02-08T13:44:34.640-07:00

Anna's found herself the target of a bully at preschool... how would you handle it? Read more at MA! Motherhood with Attitude.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-32622055970098230182010-02-08T09:35:00.001-07:002010-02-08T09:36:29.268-07:00

Taking a hard look at where the cash flows over at HybridMom.com.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-84392621361899006342010-02-08T09:17:00.002-07:002010-02-08T09:34:47.792-07:00

It's a bright and sunny (ok, bright, snowy and cold) Monday morning and the girls are at school. And guess what?I'm NOT doing laundry.This month the girls have started back for three half-days of preschool a week, instead of two. At first I thought of how, with the extra 4 hours, I'd have time to get all my chores done and maybe throw in a nice quiet coffee break for myself, too.Then I kicked

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-72098662787316565322010-02-01T13:43:00.002-07:002010-02-01T13:44:37.942-07:00

New post at Hybridmom.com about trying to make it ALL fit.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-33013334525774051112010-01-27T12:35:00.002-07:002010-01-27T12:51:25.602-07:00

I felt the baby move last night. I was collapsed on the couch next to my (equally exhausted) husband, watching the girls tackle each other on the floor of the living room. Kurt had his legs across my lap and we were just... being. He's been working so much lately that it was a perfectly perfect moment of perfection to just exist within the same minimal square footage together.And then, just

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-59078402707484996822010-01-21T14:02:00.003-07:002010-01-21T14:23:09.289-07:00

Is this really all there is for me? Laundry and dinner and groceries and kid crafts and bathrooms and laundry and screaming children and chores and short tempers and errands and laundry?The monotony that seems to be stretching out into my future is weighing me down. I didn't realize how MUCH I was looking forward to venturing back to the work world until now, when that vista has totally slipped

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-88797776490683628042010-01-08T08:24:00.001-07:002010-01-08T08:26:29.905-07:00

I love quotations. I don’t mean inspirational, moving or thoughtfully philosophical quotations, either. I can come up with my own deep thoughts but, quite honestly, they don’t make a lot of real sense if I can’t look at it sideways and laugh.More about my fixation at Hybrid Mom Insider.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-78212359331195587982010-01-04T10:30:00.002-07:002010-01-04T10:56:33.846-07:00

It's funny, but you'd think what with all the excitement going on, I'd have a lot more to say. Somehow, though, it seems the exact opposite is in effect. I'm much more interested in what everyone ELSE has going on. For instance:My friend just had her baby a couple weeks ago, gorgeous little girl. Then right on top of that, her husband was deployed, leaving her with her older two kids and newborn.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-46468756074063450362009-12-23T14:20:00.001-07:002009-12-23T14:22:45.635-07:00

“Congratulations!”“What a blessing!”“It’s meant to be! God doesn’t give you more than you can handle!”Yeesh.Read more about the Christmas Miracle... or not at MA! Motherhood with Attitude.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-65401880172157832832009-12-01T20:40:00.004-07:002009-12-01T21:38:55.648-07:00

So, things have been a little quiet on the home front lately, as my seventy hundred avid readers may have noticed. Why the shy, you ask? Well, it's hard to write about anything at all when the one thing that is consuming your every thought is the one thing you can't write about. Yet. I'm a terrible liar, you see. (It's one of Kurt's favorite qualities in me) And I'm no good with secrets. Recently

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-48332735184746555642009-11-23T09:10:00.002-07:002009-11-23T09:31:06.923-07:00

It's that time of year again. Cookie Time.Several years ago, right after Kurt and I got married, we went to Austria to visit his family for Christmas. Auntie Hilde is the consummate hostess. Like magic, drinks, snacks, nibbles and treats would appear at hand the moment we'd sit down. Her specialty? Holiday cookies. She had made batches and batches and then, yes, more batches of every kind of

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-12504500450050105602009-11-02T10:21:00.002-07:002009-11-02T10:29:44.428-07:00

Oh god. Oh GOD. I signed up. I committed. I should BE committed.So it's Day Two and I've got 30 words. That's right! Only 49,970 words to go!! So what am I doing? Typing away, letting the story find itself and evolve into something mystical outside myself? No.I am on my blog, wasting time and eating leftover Halloween candy. Great.Yesterday my excuse was we had a high-tech ban on Sunday's.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-52938306553282448232009-10-15T14:03:00.004-06:002009-10-15T14:26:35.412-06:00

This picture from a friend's wedding (courtesy, once again, of Trystan Photography) is just about my favorite picture ever of Kurt and me. Firstly, I'm actually dressed up and holding a gin and tonic, always a good memory to capture. Next, Kurt looks happy and silly and adorable, caught in a moment of relaxation not often seen lately. And finally, I love that guy behind us, just strolling along,

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-76433070269560858772009-10-12T11:36:00.002-06:002009-10-12T12:15:05.490-06:00

I did it, I did it, I really did it. Go, me! I finished my whole week from the CE menu challenge even though at first it seemed complicated and impossible and besides, I almost never finish anything. But I did it.Funny thing is, by Sunday, it was easy. I didn't even look too much at the printout on the fridge because I had the hang of it all. Plan ahead every few days. Eat every 3-4 hours.

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-16031718393711606132009-10-10T10:56:00.002-06:002009-10-10T13:38:51.196-06:00

It's cold today, icy stinging cold with freezing rain and black ice on the road and that feeling like your fingers and toes will never warm up. I've had my hands wrapped around hot mugs of tea, coffee and, yes, hot chocolate all morning and I'm still worried about frost-bite. I have friends with their furnaces broken right now and seriously, I don't know how they're functioning. It's

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-3563802470668891962009-10-09T10:36:00.004-06:002009-10-09T12:01:25.034-06:00

My dishwasher is still broken. Kaput. A glorified dish rack. Grrr... It won't be fixed until next Tuesday. For those of you keeping count that's eight days from when it broke. "Fast and reliable service", my ass. Not that I'm bitter or anything.The lack of dishes (since I am procrastinating the washing up more and more with each passing hour) has certainly begun to play a role in my adherence to

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-77618658621352436652009-10-08T09:07:00.003-06:002009-10-08T09:45:35.057-06:00

I am really proud of myself, really. Here I am, starting off my fourth day of a strict fresh-healthy-balanced meal plan and 1) I feel pretty good, 2) I'm totally getting into the swing of things and 3) I made my very first risotto last night and it did not suck!The trick I think (not to the risotto, the other things) is that I eat every 3-4 hours. And since all the meals are really filling it

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-82341289896764292112009-10-07T06:56:00.002-06:002009-10-07T07:37:04.084-06:00

It's Wednesday morning at 7, the house is still asleep (or at least not crawling in my lap asking for hot chocolate) and I'm drinking a big tall glass of water. WATER. Not delicious hot coffee with a splash of milk, the warm mug a comfort in my hand, but plain old H2O.There's a change for you. The water part, 2 liters a day which translates to 2 cups at most meals, has been the hardest part of

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-54567047336754203672009-10-05T17:39:00.002-06:002009-10-05T18:04:26.672-06:00

My dishwasher is kaput. The hose split right down the center and puked water ALL OVER the kitchen floor (the now-buckling and swollen hardwood floor). The repair guy will have to order a new hose which will take anywhere from a day to a week. Why is it that repair guys give you these HUGE windows of possibility, by the way? Why not just admit you have absolutely no idea when anything will

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-11163753816582048592009-10-05T14:18:00.005-06:002009-10-05T15:17:48.724-06:00

This morning I sat down for breakfast with the girls. They each had a (homemade and reheated) pancake with (low-sugar) strawberry jam, as evidenced by the totally happy pink mustaches gracing their faces.My breakfast was a bit less joyful. The bowl in front of me contained a chunky, sickly blue mash dotted over with several dark spots of blueberries. Yum, right? I managed to gulp down about half

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-18590076047022906772009-10-02T11:48:00.003-06:002009-10-02T12:09:26.491-06:00

So I've been deep in thought. Or at least, deep in procrastination. I've had some conundrums in my head, some what-if's and certainly more than some splurges of personally indulgent self-doubt.Conundrums. How to re-define friendships as they shift with the times? It's tricky and sometimes fairly uncomfortable. Especially if, here's the sticky spot, the other person doesn't know the winds have

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-9962894999144727602009-09-30T08:52:00.003-06:002009-09-30T08:54:16.174-06:00

"We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in awhile. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?"--Ray Bradbury

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-33880931725659880412009-09-04T09:00:00.005-06:002009-09-04T09:31:19.504-06:00

I had no idea it was a holiday weekend. Seriously, NO CLUE. Someone said something the other day about going to the Balloon Classic this weekend and I thought, "Huh? That's not until Labor Day, what a crack head!". Okay, I didn't think crack head, more along the lines of "crazy confused person lost in time", but crack head is more concise. Turns out I am the crack head (see definition above).

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-2815795349385852702009-08-30T11:40:00.004-06:002009-08-30T13:37:53.572-06:00

Every single time I see more news coverage of Michael Jackson-- his death, life, "legacy"-- it sickens me. Yesterday was his birthday, and millions of people showed up at events all over the world to remember him.CBS Sunday Morning offered up this opinion piece last month. It is a poignant reminder, and indictment, that haunts me with the reality of how disturbing our national media priorities

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-27939369007318281222009-08-21T08:25:00.002-06:002009-08-21T09:21:13.190-06:00

What a week. In retrospect it's difficult to write about the whammy moment, but now that the shock has worn off it's smaller in my mind. Anna had a big run in with her bestest friend this week. Long story short, Anna ended up getting cracked across the head with a toy broom in the middle of a fairly quiet and unprovoked moment. The sound of the impact, which we heard from the other room, just

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-7511999165954276992009-08-14T11:11:00.002-06:002009-08-14T16:10:58.526-06:00

All you pregnant ladies, (and you are EVERYWHERE I LOOK) I envy you. There's no great announcement of Baby Fever going on here. I just hate my period, also known in this household as OH MY GOD OUCH AND I CAN'T FIND A SPOON SO I AM GOING TO CRY, and want it to take a loooooong vacation.I realize creating life is kind of maybe a disproportionate solution to PMS, but there's a little crazy wacked up

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32459387.post-71718047003309692902009-08-07T08:46:00.002-06:002009-08-10T11:29:02.865-06:00

So this week started out poopy-- literally. Anna finally decided that vegetables were her friends and would make her very tall (and, as such, superior to all). The direct result of this onslaught of green beans, cucumbers and carrots should be fairly simple to deduce. We stayed home Tuesday since proximity to the bathroom became The Goal of the Day.In general, though, I think this week had more

Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13470409766666989075noreply@blogger.com2