will you go out with me?

I hate to kiss & tell...

but we get around.
(just like Tupac).

A whirlwind week with the Bartons'...

and a special goodbye to an irreplaceable man.

A koolaid drinkin', no nap takin', cousin lovin', afternoon with the Davis gals.

A no pirate fearing seafair parade with the fancy Narodes.

(we bailed before the pirates showed up...so really, it doesn't count).

An entire day spent spoiling and corrupting our future son in law.

A bike ridin', pizza eatin', cousin torturin' evening with the Kok kids.

A Seattle date with Kuba's baby and his baby Mama.

A Seahawks game with the Conniff's.

(I have no idea who we played or if we won).

And a few drinks with one Conniff.

(The other one drove us home).

A little cabin time and a lot of red licorice with the Johnston's.

(And a lot of self pics...apparently).

A dinner date with Luke.

(I am going to officially change his name to Joe Cool. 

The kid is chill...with a capital 'C').

A lunch date with Owen and Wyatt and their adorable Mama.

(And Carsie's first trip the Children's Museum).

It was a busy week...to say the least.

leave me alone.

Independent play is strongly encouraged in this house.

It doesn't happen often.

But when it does...

I just sit and stare. 

And smile.

And, in return, get nothing done.

Such a rookie mistake.

blame it on MTV.

Me:  'Hey knuckleheads...What are you guys playing?'

Lauren:  'Nineteen year old mom.'

Hadley:  'Well actually, I'm playing ten year old mom.'

Lauren:  'No Hads, you have to be a teenager to be a mom.'

Way to dream big, girls.

nine month love letter.

It's still a nine month love letter because, technically, he doesn't turn 10 months until tomorrow. 
So there.

 And two months after that he will be one year. 

Time...
you need to chill.

Our little Carsie-Cakes.  The boy with the million dollar smile.  The bona-fide Mama's boy.  Mr. Drooly Doolerson.   The little dude.  The kid who crawls faster than a speeding bullet.  The proudest stair crawler-upper.  Our total spaz if he catches even a glimpse of his bottle.  The boy who loves attention.  Our little 4 teether.  Our tubby splashin' maniac.  Mr. Bonks-a-lot and little Bam Bam.  Our one wrist and one handed bottle holder.  Our total tornado on the changing table.  The owner of the raspiest little voice.  The owner of the highest pitched scream.  The one who makes my ears literally ache by the end of the day.  The one who's grin, when I walk in the room, makes my stomach drop and my face light up.  The all-time messiest eater.  The cutest little cruiser.  The happiest clapper.  Mr. Everything in the mouth (yesterday I found a fly).  Mr. TV smacker.  The kid voted 'most likely to be taken to the ER'.  The 'I hate baby food' kid.  The 'I want whatever you are eating or I will absolutely lose my mind' kid.  The boy who hates having anything taken from him.  The one who already likes to do things all by himself (makes me worry for age 2...I don't know if we will like each other very much).  Mr. Hold me all the time.  The side sleeper with a blankie on his head and a binky in his mouth.  The boy who loves his nap and loves to play in his crib forever before screeching for his Mama.  The boy with the biggest feet.  Mr. 'I hate a stroller that's not moving.'  Mr. Daredevil.  Mr. Tongue sticker-outer.  Mr. 'I don't want to miss a thing'.

 Mr. Carson Ryan. 

I sure like you.

look out below.

I will encourage her to do anything remotely dangerous.

Anything.

these boots aren't made for walking.

How he spends 99.9% of his day.

He will have no reason to ever walk.

Which is fine by me.

the gap.

He's got it.

I love it.

The food on his face is just an added bonus.

Both are inherited from his father.

And if he has his daddy's wit...

Well, he will be a force to be reckoned with.

Good luck ladies.

fall wardrobe.

Straight off the runways of Milan...okay, Bothell & Spokane...what's the diff?

Sweater knit by Aunt Susan.

Hat knit by Aunt Laurie.

Cars rocking them both.

a little convo.

We had our driveway torn out (and it has yet to be replaced, and we have almost gotten divorced), but the kids loved watching the process (of the driveway being torn out, not of our divorce proceedings). 

They stood like this most of day. 

And one conversation I overheard went a little something like this....

Hadley:  "Cars, that's a digger.  Can you say digger?  DDDD-igger.  Sound it out buddy.  I can teach you, but you gotta try."
Carson:  Drool.

H:  "If you want to drive a digger when you grow up you can.  I am going to be a nurse and a firefighter when I grow up.  I will be a nurse Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and a firefighter Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday.  So you are going to have to find someone to watch the babies.  Because I will be busy.  And I won't be able to make your lunch either."

C:  More drool.

Me:  "You and Carsie are going to have babies together?"

H:  "Yep.  Because that's what you do when you get married."

Me:  "You're marrying Carson?"

H:  "Yes.  That's what we do in this family.  We marry our brothers.  And he better mow the lawn."

That's what this family is all about.

A bunch of lawn mowing Brother-Dads.

doctor. doctor.

Weight:  20.5lbs (65%)

Length:  29.75in (80%)

Head:  18in (87%)

Doc to mom: "Are things baby proofed yet?"

Me: "Not really."

Doc:  "You better get baby proofed.  This guy will definitely poison himself."

Noted.

there is no 'I' in 'TEAM'.

So I've had a bit of the blogging blues. 

 You know the ones. 

Where you just feel like it's all too much. 

Life.  The kids.  The house.  The job.  The husband.

Where you read how great the other moms are and think how lame you are.  Where you wonder how they make it all look so easy, how clean their house is, how well dressed their kids are, how they go on and on and on about their LOVE of being a mom and how they wouldn't change it for anything in the world.

 And you think...what am I doing wrong?

  I've also got a bad case of the 'haves' and the 'have nots'. 

It's a wicked combo.

I started thinking about it awhile ago, while I was running (when I do all my best thinking), and as I was running I realized why I love running so much. 

It offers me a respite.
A zone, free from the conflicting, competitive, disheartening, vindictive, and sabotaging behavior that brings us all down.

And I feel like most often what brings us all down is each other.
Women.
Other moms.

I am not sure where or when it begins, but I already see it with Hadley and her girlfriends.  There is something about being a woman that allows us to vie for a better impression of and for ourselves by belittling someone else (I'm not on my high horse, I am guilty as charged).

It rages through us from the time we start school, gets a million times worse in junior high, continues on thru high school, sticks around in college, and you think it would be gone when we 'grow up', but somehow it isn't.  It only changes.

Think about it.

Some woman might excel in the workplace and someone else is quick to call her a bitch.  Someone is pretty and someone is not; they are both equally cursed.  Someone who's skinny is obsessive; someone who's curvy has let herself go.  Someone has a baby and we make judgements about her choice between natural childbirth and using an epidural.  Someone breastfeeds and someone gives formula, and somehow it is everybody's place to comment.  Someone stays at home to take care of their kids and she is second rate intellectually, or gets the 'it must be nice' routine.  Someone else goes to work and she isn't as maternal or is viewed as materialistic.  Even if we have no idea what motivates either choice or what makes it possible.  We judge other peoples relationships, even if our own are crumbling.  We judge other peoples parenting, even when we are all hanging on by a thread and we are all far from expert (no matter how many books you read!).  Someone who speaks her mind is rude; someone who doesn't is a pushover.  Someone who never exercises is lazy; someone who takes time for herself is self-indulgent.  Someone who is quiet is cold and bland; someone who is authentic is picked apart.  We judge who has what job, who is busier, who had more stress, and who has it 'rougher'.  Someone tells us bad news and we secretly rejoice that it's not us.  Someone shares good news and we call her arrogant.

NO ONE EVER WINS.

And that's what kills me.

Mamas, we are all on the same team.

Regardless of who we are, what our bank account has in it or doesn't, what we do for a living or don't, if we are happily married or not, if we are emotionally broken or healed, if we breastfeed or not, if we eat meat or not, if we use disposables or cloth, if we believe in God or not, if we are sullen and introspective or freewheeling and hilarious...

we are all in this together.

So lets make a truce.

Lets love each other.  Bitch about our husbands (or wives).  Make fun of our kids.  And toast...

all together.

Hi.  I'm Megan.

My house will never be clean enough.

My kids act terrible in restaurants.

I made them both 'cry it out' when they were infants.

I have spanked my four year old twice because I completely lost my patience...and my mind.

And I think my life would be perfect if I only had white baseboards.

Okay, my punishment for being a martyr and making you read this self loathing, insecure feeling, don't take yourself so seriously, its just a dumb blog, post...

A shot of cinnamon.

Yes, the spice.

Try it.

It's awful.

Now back to making fun of  my kids.  Starting tomorrow.