Happy Father's Day John!!


This is how it started.  John as a dad.  It looks good on him right?  That's Caitlin less than an hour old!


This is typical Daddy style!  Having fun and wrestling!



This is what I find after bath time.  And yes most nights he is giving them their bath.  According to Caitlin Daddy washes hair the best.  Mommy doesn't do it right!

Here are the other things that Dad does BETTER!

Dad makes chocolate chip pancakes... Always

Dad can lift you and throw you and catch you too.

Daddy is taller so Caitlin says she sees better.

Daddy is patient, and yells less, smiles more.

Daddy can read Fox in Sox with no problems.

Daddy reads bedtime stories with variations and voices.

Daddy is HILARIOUS... Always!

Daddy can wash and comb and dry hair with the hairdryer.

Daddy uses the vacuum cleaner... Always!

Daddy plays tea party and My Little Ponies.

Daddy knows the theme songs to most of the cartoons.

Daddy loves his girls with all his heart and doesn't like to admit they already have his number.


Could he really say NO to this face?

And the number one thing about Daddy?

He still loves Mommy, no matter her faults, failures, tantrums, demands, or bitchy days.... Always!

I love you John with all my heart and WOULD NOT, COULD NOT DO THIS WITH ANYONE ELSE AT MY SIDE... ALWAYS!




Happy Blogging!
Megan

No Sense...

Alas, I confess.  I have lost my sense of style.  I am guilty of looking like and dressing like a MOM.  I'm totally serious.  I'm in a serious funk.  As I type I'm wearing one of three sundresses that is made exactly the same, but today I'm in the purple print.  It was also bought at Kohl's, and not in the JRs department. 
I can look back and identify the exact moment that I lost my style sense.  It was on Tuesday June 26th, 2007 at 4:17 pm.  How can I be so specific?  It was the day Caitlin was born.  Is it possible that my sense of style was pushed out with my newborn?  Is it crazy to think my style sense was thrown out with the placenta?  My What to Expect book did not warn me of this!!
I'm not sure why it has taken this long for this issue to bug me.  Maybe in my sleepless haze, as I looked into the mirror bleary eyed, I just didn't notice.  Then as I began to sleep better, I began to care a little.  Taking the chance to wear a nice cami and capris on my Target trips.  Less worried that I'd be spit up on, spilled on, or somehow exposed by my baby.  I feel like I was just getting my groove back when, BAM!  I found myself knocked up again.  Seriously?  I had to do "fat and pregnant" all over again?  UGH!
I find it hilarious that after Mackenzie was born, I mean literally days after Mackenzie was born I was longing for my pre-baby body.  No, not my pre-Caitlin body, but my pre-Mac body.  I had grown comfortable in the fact that I was no longer the size of my pre-Caitlin jeans and dresses.  I had begun to build a new wardrobe around a new body that was a little more relaxed, a little less self centered.  I liked the new Mommy Me.  So after Mac I was ready to fit in those jeans.  I was ok with my no style self.  Then all of sudden I wasn't. 
Am I just too lazy?  Is it the idea that I have to dress a 4 year old with opinions on what to wear, and a one year old who likes to run.  Am I so focused on making sure they are clean and cute that I take the backseat?  Absolutely!  Sometimes just the idea of getting us all ready to leave the house on time makes my eye twitch.  I have to give myself and Caitlin a pep talk and set a schedule.  Some days it's an absolute miracle that we even leave the house. 
I've also found that being a stay at home mom, in some ways, forces me into a style/no style rut.  Why should I dress up to grocery shop, go to Target, do laundry, or wash dishes?  Why dirty perfectly good clothes for something important?  I'd just have to do more laundry.  It's funny but I feel like I should warn my friends, "Hey when we go to lunch on Friday, don't be surprised if I'm wearing the same tank and capris I always wear".  Another SAHM friend and I laugh at ourselves.  It seems that in every picture of us doing something fun or important on our Facebook pages, we are always dressed in the same thing.  It's like we don't own anything else.  Correction, we don't own anything else that is nice and presentable.  That's what we look like when we dress up.  Am I laughing or crying about this fact?  I can't tell.
It's doubly sad that Caitlin absolutely freaks out when I'm wearing my eyebrows.  I only do my eyebrows when I'm going to dinner, a wedding, baby shower, etc.  She knows that eyebrows usually mean she is staying with Grandma.  As soon as the eyebrow filler comes out the tears start.  Don't go Mommy, she cries!  Stay with me!  I've even asked her, why do you think I'm going somewhere?  Her answer "Because you have eyes".  So sad!
I don't want to look like a celebrity.  I don't want to be Botoxed and bottle blonde like the Real Housewives.  I just want to look like I actually give a crap.  How sad is it that I actually love when the tabloids publish pictures of young Hollywood moms and their kids, while they are not their movie star selves?  I love it!  I love that most photos of Jennifer Gardner show her in jeans, a tee, and running shoes.  She's living the MOMSTYLE!  I love pictures of Jessica Alba and Amy Adams playing in the park or pushing a stroller with bed head and no make-up!  MOMSTYLE!  Even Katie Holmes, Mrs. Tom Cruise, has been photographed with wet hair and big sunglasses, while little Suri is in a tutu and high heels.  Momstyle?  Yes, and as an added bonus, another mother who couldn't talk her toddler daughter into something sensible, like jeans and a t-shirt.
I've decided I'm taking it back!  I'm going to find my new MomStyle, and in turn feel much, better about myself.  Why shouldn't I look like I'm enjoying motherhood?  Why shouldn't look and feel like a hot mamma?  I deserve it right???
Don't worry.  I do clean up well.  I do have presentable items and sometimes even look like I'm keeping up with the current trends.  I've had to kiss my InStyle Magazine reading, up to the minute trend shopping, keeping up the Kardashians part of my life good bye.  I miss that Megan sometimes.  I imagine she is wearing skinny jeans and a striped tunic, teetering on wedge heels, topped with a fabulous fedora, sipping Cosmos with her equally stylish girlfriends.  She has not a care in the world.  So naive to what she is missing...
This Megan is here, in her Kohl's sundress, laughing at Miss Mac who currently has Cheeto face.  She wants a kiss.  Hmmm...  sounds like a fair trade for style any day.
Happy Blogging,
Megan

Let me eat cake

If you know me, then you know this is no simple statement.  Since 2002 I have been gluten free.  Not a diagnosis that came easily.  I had gone my entire life up to this point in pain, sick, or somewhere in between.   Even in my most pain, at my sickest, I would have never imagined that my diagnosis or prognosis could be as simple as eating gluten free.
The gluten free life isn't easy.  If you or someone you know is gluten free you perhaps can sympathize with the limitations.  Gluten is an ingredient in most foods.  It's what makes bread rise, it's what makes cookies expand, it's what makes bagels so damn good.  It's also what makes gluten free bread horrible, because without gluten, you get a hard rock solid loaf of dough.
What makes this journey in my life interesting is that I had no problem doing it.  I didn't put up a fight or sneak gluten laden food.  I was so sick and in so much pain I was willing to try anything.  At this point I had nothing to lose.  The  blessing here is everything I gained.  A new outlook on food.
You may laugh, but I really don't like food.  My entire life, food has been hit or miss.  I can remember delicious pizzas, my mom's famous chocolate cake, and buttery sugar cookies.  I can also remember being in pain after eating eggs for breakfast.  Somewhere around 7 years old, food became a chore for me. 
After having a stomach bug that decided to stick around for months rather than days, my mother was given a list of foods to feed me.  Don't deviate from this list, the doctor said, she has a sensitive stomach the doctor said.  This started my modified BRAT diet.  I ate the same meals at the same times for weeks.  I had become so paranoid and neurotic about being sick and being in pain that even these simple meals pained my mother, who bless her soul, sat with me and coached me through every bite.  Lying through her teeth that this meal wouldn't make me sick.  It wouldn't give me a stomach ache.  That I'd be ok.  Lying because she didn't know, but she was hopeful.
As I got older and my stomach was less sensitive I integrated other foods, but every couple of years I would get sick or the flu and the cycle would start again.  I have gained and lost more weight in my 33 years than Oprah.  Seriously!  My freshman year of high school was spent with an aching stomach begging for food, because the worst thing that could happen to a freshman in high school is being caught in the bathroom with her pants down.  No joke, half of that year was spent starving, and making excuses.  By the end of that year my appetite returned and so did the weight.  What's the second worst thing to happen to a high school freshman?  Being fat after being near anorexic.
So after years of pain and sickness, with nothing to lose, I went on what is called the Specific Carbohydrate Diet.  It's very detailed and has many rules.  Google it for more info, but the basics are NONE OF THE FOLLOWING:  SUGAR, DAIRY, PROCESSED FOODS, SODA, BREAD, WHEAT, OR PRODUCTS FROM GRAINS.  You get the idea that it was in the extreme.  From here I discovered Celiac disease, and thought when I was feeling better, and not living my life in the bathroom, I'd try gluten free living.  I've never looked back.
Most people grimace when I tell them I'm gluten free.  Like they feel sorry for me.  I just grin, because they shouldn't .  Being GF has opened doors for me food wise.  Avocados, cream cheese, M&Ms.  All things I eat now that I didn't eat before.  The freedom to go out and eat at restaurants and not feel like I'm playing Russian Roulette.  It's been amazing.  Being gluten free has also forced me to learn to cook and bake.  Yes, that's right, I can actually do those things.  I had too.  Where was I going to find GF brownies, or pancakes, or turkey burgers?  I wanted chocolate chip cookies, so I baked them.
Being GF isn't always easy.  I usually take my own food to dinner parties.  I have to take my own bread to Panera.  I'm famous for eating before going out with friends to avoid mishaps.  It's tough for me to just grab something on my way out.  Almost everything has to be made before.  After Mackenzie was born I lived off Tostitos.  Now when I see a bag it's like a bad hangover.  And since I'm the only GF person in my house there are nights that I make 2 dinners.  One GF and one regular.  On those nights I'm usually eating eggs.
Now, here are great things about being GF.  I bought a GF cookbook and actually used it.  Even better John loved the GF Turkey meatloaf I made.  Which is amazing in itself.  I've become an excellent label reader!  I can spot GF ingredients a mile away.  Many times I get to pick the restaurant when dining with friends to ensure I can eat.  SCORE! 
So today I was rejoicing in the fact that Vons now sell GF bread, and that I had some in the freezer.  I was also thankful that it actually tastes good.  I was also planning my next go at chocolate chip cookies.  I need to order the flour (www.julesglutenfree.com) and then remember that they cook best when you use 1 stick of butter and 1 stick of margarine.  You think GF living is hit or miss?  GF baking will reduce you to tears!  My new goal, a GF yellow cake with chocolate frosting.  Some people dream in color, these days I'm dreaming in cake...
Happy Blogging,
Megan


What's my motivation?

Scratch that.  Where is my motivation?  My lovely Caitlin is turning 4 at the end of the month, and it's party planning time.  I've got nothing.  Is it brain fatigue?  Physical fatigue?  Party fatigue?  Who knows.  I'm just not that into it.  I've lost my party planning mojo...
Ok, so it's not that bad, yet.  We do have a theme.  Ladybugs.  Cute, red and black, sweet little ladybugs.  So I Googled ladybugs, and was slapped in the face by a crafters palace of bugs.  Love bugs, snuggle bugs, boy bugs, lady bugs, every kind of bug.  All bugs created out of love, paper bags, Styrofoam balls, or cake.  A mother's worse nightmare, unless crafting is your forte.  Is it my forte?
It could be.  It should be.  I'm somewhat creative.  I've been known to sew a Foofa costume.  I've made a Ho-Ho the monkey costume.  I've made a few hair bows that were wearable.  I even performed emergency surgery on a stuffed bear that had its face ripped off by a dog.  Why should I be intimidated by some lady bug cake pops, cup cakes, and bug jars?  Why am I more afraid of having zero handmade ladybug items at the party?  When did kid parties become art exhibits?
Well it's only a competition if you compete.  So here I go not competing and feeling completely guilty.  I don't want Caitlin to look at pictures and say, why the store bought cake mom?  Why did you just buy lady bug tiaras and not slave away until the dawn hours to make one?  I guess I'll just tell her the truth.  That while Mommy loves and adores Michaels, she curses it's actual existence.
I swear that I buy more craft supplies for more projects that never get started.  I've made a few bows, tried to make a few jewelry items, bedazzled a few shirts.  I have glue gun, still in the package.  Beautiful ribbon to make Easter bows ( next year?).  Awesome ideas in my mind, but that is where they stay.  In my mind.
I've also lost the ability to be motivated.  The list of ladybug awesomeness that I've found on Google will require time.  Time I'm pretty sure I'm not going to have.  Sure, you always have time, but to actually make time?  I know myself.  If I have time to do anything, I'm sure as *S* gonna be sitting on my behind reading Tina Fey's new book.  Go ahead laugh, but I know myself.  Just yesterday as the dishes were overflowing on the counter from the sink, I was sitting on the couch with Caitlin watching DVR'd episodes of Glee.  For the record we watched the "Born this Way"  performance twice.  Caitlin likes Tina and Rachel, and I'm still super obsessed with Kurt.
So what does that say for poor little Caity's fourth birthday?  Store bought invitations, pizza (her request), ladybug cupcakes (yes I'll do it), and some fun games.  What's my motivation?  My daughter.  Her love of ladybugs and chocolate cake.  The sheer fact that store bought tiaras, pre printed invitations, and commercial decorations will not matter to her.  All she's going to care about is the cake. 
Does Costco even make ladybug cakes?
Happy Blogging,
Megan

FOUR.

I think it will kill me.  Year four that is.  Why was I warned about terrible twos?  It's nothing compared to the pre-Madonna super teen that is roaming and ruling my household these days.  When did my sweet little baby girl turn into uber teen smarty pants, and we are NOT QUITE FOUR???  God help me figure this out before the PMS teenage years, where there will be some serious breakdowns, and I'm betting they will be mine and mine alone.
Caitlin has fallen somewhere between scared of the dark toddler and toddlers and tiaras.  If I didn't know any better I would swear she turned 13 overnight.  The only things that come out of her mouth these days are "NO", "I don't want to", and "I can't".  It takes more than a couple of deep breaths to keep my hands to myself.  My biggest challenge is I don't know where it's coming from.  The tone she carries in her voice, the sass, the snark and moxy if you will.  Yes, I know I'm queen of snark and sarcasm.  I'm sure I'm at fault.  Actually I know I'm at fault, and I think that's why I'm here confessing my sins.
I've been told that the biggest issue with Caitlin is lack of attention.  Not enough attention from me.  I'm not going to deny this, as it is absolutely true.  Since Mackenzie's arrival, my time has been manipulated.  I miss Caitlin something awful.  I've lost a huge part of my relationship with her.  It's like a ghost limb that I continually pine for.  For almost 3 years it was just the two of us.  My partner in crime.  I was her comfort.  Some kids have dolls, loveys, or blankies, Caitlin had me.  I feel it's lost now.  She has to rely on Daddy now.  She does rely on her Dad and while it's not a bad thing, it's not my Mommy best.  I'm guilt ridden because there were days early on in Caitlin's life that I would hope and pray that one day she would be more independent of me.  Be careful what you wish for.
I'm also sure that my frustration with my almost four year old has to do with the level of expectations I put upon her.  Is it realistic to expect her to pick up all her toys and put them away?  Use the potty completely alone?  Get her own snack?  I'm not so sure these days...
Think back to your own four year old self.  I did that in reflection the other day.  I haven't discussed it with my mother, but I'm pretty sure I had ZERO expectations put upon me.  If I remember correctly I was mostly expected to play with my Strawberry Shortcakes, wear clean clothes, eat my food, and play outside.  I don't remember real chores.  I remember having to be good in restaurants, but I'm pretty sure that's the extent of it.
Is it any wonder that Caitlin is completely rattled at the fact that I expect big things from her?  Get dressed!  Put on your shoes!!  Eat your breakfast!!  Hurry up!  Pick up that mess!  All while I'm carrying/changing/coddling her baby sister.  I'd be pretty pissed off too!  Does the phrase "That's My Mommy!" sound familiar??  I'm always so wrapped up in Mackenzie that I forget that sometimes Caitlin needs me.  All she needs is some good solid attention.  These days most of my attention is yelling and screaming, because she is mostly being obnoxious so I'll take notice.
My great expectations also come from the fact that Caitlin can not only unlock my iPhone and email my entire phone book, but she has also downloaded apps, called my friends in speed dial, and found Yo Gabba Gabba on YouTube for her sister.  Is it any wonder that I expect her to dress herself, wipe her own butt, and fold laundry.  Ok, so I don't expect her to do laundry, but if she can use an iPhone, shouldn't everything else follow suit???  I'm pretty sure if I asked her to Google cake pops, she would not only be able to tell me how to make them, but give me tips and suggestions on how to decorate them.
Greater expectations go hand in hand with those of her peers.  So and so's kids sleep alone.  So and so's kids sleep through the night.  So and so's kids write their own blog.  So and so's kid is campaigning for Obama.  Some of those are a joke, but you have overheard other parents and then shrink in the background because your kid just learned how to identify the number 5.  How can she still be afraid of the dark?  Why is she still sent into an emotional breakdown when her favorite show is over?  Why can't she write her own name?  I don't know why, but I know other kids are doing it. 
As I navigate farther into motherhood I'm growing more and more weary of the question "What is Caitlin doing", translation "What activities and classes is Caitlin enrolled in?".  I'm having a hard time reminding myself that Caitlin and her peers are only four, when one is enrolled in French, the other in jazz ballet, and the third in semi-competitive soccer.  I'm always biting my tongue.  I want to tell them that while I'm sure that French is going to come in handy when the French invade the US (HA HA); but while their child is studying the days of the week in French, my daughter build a space ship and space suit out of old pamper boxes and a metal mixing bowl.  So is the question do I want a McGruber or a Rhodes Scholar?
I'm trying to reevaluate my expectations.  I'm only 3 days since my layoff this season, and I've already quit this mothering job twice.  I don't want to yell the day away.  I want a child with a little less snark and a little more happy.  It's my job to make sure she is well adjusted and polite.  So how do I focus my efforts to make sure my darling girls isn't cast on Jersey Shore season 25? 
In a fit of self loathing, I was discussing this particular situation with a very good friend of mine.  She reminded me that we were all brats at four years old.  We were brats most of our lives.  Bratty, demanding and self centered until our lives stopped being about ourselves and started being about someone else.  Good point.  She then reminded me that just because my daughter is demanding and bratty doesn't mean I've thrown my hands up in defeat.  If I had given up, I wouldn't be so worried.  Another really good point. 
My mother in all her infinite wisdom of raising a bratty, independent, sarcastic child (yes, yours truly) summed it up perfectly.  At four years old we are just beginning to realize that we have choices.  Just like Mommy and Daddy have choices.  Example:  Will you take out the garbage?  Sure, in a minute.  Said garbage is still sitting an hour later.  It was a question, it was answered, and the person who asked gave the other person a choice.  It's no wonder that when I ask her to get dressed she says "Maybe later" or "I don't want to", she's used to observing choices.  Now comes the real challenge in teaching not everything is up for discussion or debate. 
So far we have had just a few issues this morning.  We didn't want our usual breakfast choices, so we had pop tarts.  We didn't want to watch Jake and the Neverland Pirates, so we watched Little Bear.  One minute I'm talking to a teenager and the next, she just hit her head on the kitchen table and is crying for her Mommy.
Four is the land of contradiction.  A little person at the cusp of being independent.  A little person still yearning for affection and attention.  Four is going to be both a challenge and a blessing.  Four is going to be frustrating and fantastic. 
If you need me I'll be in the land of contradiction.  You can find me there, just take the exit that says: "My baby isn't a baby anymore".
Happy Blogging,
Megan