Happy Father's Day!!

I could have done this last year, but I’m too lazy to read through my posts and find out. Every year around this time, I become exceptionally thankful for my dad.

I can’t really talk about all my dad does for me without tearing up. Not too many things make me weepy, but thinking about all that my dad has sacrificed for my boys and me, makes me bawl like my Gramps used to during Hallmark commercials.

When I was born, my parents had no idea if I was a girl or a boy. My dad wanted a little girl so bad, that he wore a baby pink polo shirt to the hospital the day my mom was having me, and promised me a Porsche when I turned 16 if came out a girl… 16 years later, I got a Mercury Topaz! Close enough.

I was never “daddy’s little princess” we did things differently around our house, and prissiness, was not an option. I did make a damn good bat girl though! After having two boys myself, I’m extremely grateful for being raised at a baseball park and knowing what to expect after they showed an interest in the sport. I wouldn’t have known what to do with girls….

Shortly after Carter was born, we took a family vacation to San Francisco. It was before the magnificent 7 had all arrived, and the only two grandchildren at the time for my parents were Jed’s oldest Madi, and Carter, so traveling as a family was still fun…. (It’s not anymore; kids at that capacity are just loud and obnoxious). Carter had a little cold when we left for San Fran, but nothing too bad. A day or two after we’d been there, Carters cold turned into pneumonia. He wasmiserable!! The only person he wanted to be with was my dad for the rest of the trip. They experienced their first baseball game together that trip at the Giants stadium, which I believe began their love affair with the sport. By the end of the trip, the two were inseparable. It was a bond I don’t think any of us were expecting, but 11 years later, their bond is even stronger. My dad is a dedicated fan, supporter, and most of all coach, to Carter and his team of friends. He has put in countless hours working with both of my boys, on and off the field or court. He’s given up vacations, date nights, dinners and spent endless amounts of money on my boy’s well- being, never complaining once about it.

I wasn’t exactly planning my pregnancy with Gunner, and with the situation I was in, it wasn’t really an exciting pregnancy announcement.  Yes, I said Gunner… neither of my pregnancies was planned. (Don’t worry; I know what prevents that now ;) When Gunner was born, his heart stopped beating. They quickly took him from me to revive him. I was lying there helpless on the hospital bed as nurses performed CPR and called the crash cart. After a couple of minutes (which seemed like hours) my little Gunner Brett started to cry. My dad was one of the first in the room after Gunner had been cleaned up and cleared for visitors. He was so happy to see Gunner, and I will never forget the look of relief on his face as he walked in and saw Gunner- healthy as can be, after the little scare he gave us. His bond with Gunner was instant. They have a different relationship than he and Carter, but I know that because of my dad’s love and care for both boys, they will be better men in the long run.

I couldn’t have a post about my dad without mentioning the great example that raised him. My dad is the man he is because of his father. Gramps was the perfect example of love, service, loyalty, respect, and honesty. These are just a few of the traits he portrayed on a daily basis. Each of these traits have been passed down to my dad, who then attempted to pass them down to me, but due to my stubbornness, I’m my own mold ;) I’m hoping my children are more susceptible to a positive influence….  

Happy Father's Day, Dad!! Thank you for all you do, and for willingly being a "parent" a second go around for my boys. We couldn't make it without you! 

I am not a single mom!

Just because I sleep alone at night, does not qualify me as being a single mom. For the past 4 years, I’ve been claiming to be a single mom. After this week, I’m fully admitting, that I, am not a single mom.

My parents have been in Hawaii for the past week. I’ve always recognized how much my parents do for me, but this past week has made me realize the extent of what they do to help me out. Monday night, both boys had a baseball game. Gunners was at 5:30. Seeing how I work, and usually till 5:00, my mom or dad will get my kids to their games for their early warm up, 45 minutes before game time. Luckily, I was able to arrange other help to get Gunner there early this week. I left work a few minutes premature Monday, to try and get to Gunners game on time. Traffic was horrible and I still had to pick Carter up to get him ready for his game. By 5:32 I’d made it to Carter, he quickly changed; we grabbed his gear, and headed to G’s game. I was only 15 or so minutes late to Gunners game, but because of the frantic stress of “running late” and having a few things to do before I could get to the fields, relax, and watch the games; I was feeling exceptionally sorry for myself that I had to be a working mom that day, which is pathetic, I know.

At least 3 days a week, my mom picks my boys up from school, helps them with their homework, and entertains them or shuffles them to their activities that begin before I get home at 5:30.. She does it without hesitation, and her only complaint(s) is that I (more often than not) remember the boys have something, 15 minutes before they need to be there, and call frantically asking if she can get my boys somewhere that takes 5 minutes to get to, in 3. But even then, instead of saying “tough luck!” she gets them where they need to be.

My poor parents have dealt with my lack of planning for 29 years. I am what you call, “gloriously unorganized.” I rarely make plans, but eventually, I end up being where I need to be. I believe God designed me to be a celebrity that requires an assistant following them around and giving them a play by play of their schedule for the day. Unfortunately, my career in sports, modeling, and acting, never took off, so my salary doesn’t really have the means for an assistant at that level. So I’ve got my mom instead, who basically pays to be my assistant… (talk about the shi* end of the stick!)  

My mom is one of the kindest, funniest people I have ever met. She is always willing to serve others, including strangers. I can only pray I end up being half the woman she is when I "grow up". She is, without a doubt, my best friend. 

With any hope, my two boys are going to be great men because of the so called village it is taking to raise them. I realize this is a sappier post than normal, but having to actually be a “single mom” this week, has made me exceptionally grateful for the support I have all around me. I was blessed with parents much greater than I deserve most days, and I would hate to let life go by without expressing my appreciation for them enough.  (Plus, I really like the blog to get hits, so if I make a post sappy and about my parents, maybe it will get more…)

Thank you for all you do for me, Mom and Dad! Maybe in 29 more years, I can repay you and change your diapers ;) (Who am I kidding, I’ll just pick which nursing home to put you in.)

p.s. Mom, can this count as a Mother’s Day gift? If so… Happy Mother’s Day! 

Peer Pressure- Cheers to all you Parents!

I feel like I’m giving into peer pressure by writing this blog post. After a slight nudge from a good friend **cough, Brittany, cough** I’ve been guilt tripped in to writing a post, so what better topic than peer pressure?

Peer pressure is something I’ve always struggled with. If my friends were doing it, there was a 99.9% chance I was going to do it too. Hence the reason for the following: Drinking Barbie beers and thinking I was wasted beyond all wasted after 1 (little did I know that there was more alcohol in my Grandma’s Nyquil), smoking (one time offense), teenage sex, which lead to a teenage pregnancy, (note: most of my friends were smart enough to avoid the pregnancy part) teenage marriage, a tattoo, piercings, seeing Twilight at midnight, and my obsession with Arrested Development ….not complaining about this one even a little bit. “There’s always money in the Banana Stand”.

The crappy thing is, that I knew better. I just thought I was invinsible- that I wouldn't get caught, that nothing bad would happen to me if I always had a good cover up. My parents didn’t raise me to run out and get a tattoo the second I had an ounce of freedom, and I can promise you this much, my dad would be more mad about me seeing a Twilight movie, than a strange piercing. In no way did my parents expect perfection out of me. Hell, they were just happy I wasn’t a theater geek like my cousin Brady. But they did expect me to be a little smarter than I was.

I turned 29 this year and it kind of forced me to look back on all of my dumb choices in life. Why couldn’t I have been one of those kids who KNEW who they were? They didn’t need to try smoking to look cool; they didn’t need to go see a stupid movie about a Blair Witch, just because “everyone” was doing it! They just made smart choices, and they were happy. It didn’t matter that they were missing out on R rated movies, or parties with booze, they were perfectly content with their Kool-Aid and spin the bottle parties.

The good news is, I’ve somewhat learned from my mistakes. I rarely give into peer pressure like I use to, and if I do, it’s usually for a good reason, like writing this blog post, or running to the store on a Sunday because I’m the only one who will do that in my family (#dogooders) I wouldn’t be who I am today had I not been a stupid teenager with raging hormones my Jr. year of high school, because I wouldn’t have my incredibly talented and witty 11 year old son Carter.

My only hope as a parent is that I can teach my kids to make better choices than I did, and to teach them that it’s ok to be who they are, even if it means they’re the only one not smoking, or going to a crappy movie. I want my kids to have the experiences I missed out on; I want them to be planning their college life, not a wedding, their senior years. I’ve highly considered making them live in a bubble until they’re 22 or so, then setting them free to the world, but after I thought about it, I decided I really don’t want them living at home with me when they’re 22. I want them to know what is right and what is wrong, and know that they have their whole life to be adults and do adult things. You only get to be a kid once; I’d give my left boob to have the easy life of an 11 year old again!

I should have been a Paparazzi....

We all have things we’d love to change about ourselves. I hate my nose, my thighs, my incredibly bad vision, thinning hair, and the fact my spine curves the opposite direction, making it impossible to come remotely close to touching my toes. All of these things I nitpick day in and day out, wishing for inconsequential changes to increase my looks and appearance.  

On rough days, when I’m feeling really down about my self-esteem, I people watch at a local Wal-Mart or downtown gas station, and pick out the people who have it worse than me. Like the 350 lb. woman who chooses to wear skin colored spandex, so tight her fat rolls could be mistaken for Seamore the walrus at Sea World. Or the man who just can’t give up the mullet he’s so desperately hanging onto, despite the male pattern baldness and mousy/greasy- party in the back. What about the 79 year old lady who still thinks she’s a 16 year old high school student, and spends more time in a tanning bed than the nursing home, all while rocking her True Religions and halter top? And how about the mom in mis-matched sweat pants and no bra, who hasn’t put on makeup or washed her hair all weekend, yet attempts to stroll into Target and act like she owns the place! Oh wait, that’s me.

In all honesty, (not that you didn’t know this already…) I’m kind of a jerk. Making fun of poor innocent people, when realistically, I’m just as white trash; I just weigh less, tan less, dress more grungy, and have more hair (for now at least… seeing how hair loss 2013 is still in full force….) It got me thinking, I know how many secret pictures I’ve taken (because I'm DAMN good at it) of overweight, crappy dressed, 80’s hair styled people, so who’s taking pictures of me?? And WHERE are they going??

I searched POWM.com high and low, and as of yet, I’ve not made it to that site. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before karma will come and bite me in the you know what, as punishment for pointing and laughing and pretending to text while really I’m snapping a picture of the weirdies out there. So please, be on the lookout for me at my worst on the intrawebs!

I could turn this post into a Full House teaching moment, and get all sentimental about how we shouldn’t judge and we shouldn’t mock those who are inferior to us, because we ALL have our flaws.... but that’s just not my style. But I will say one thing, if you are the 350 lb. woman in skin colored spandex, I would KILL for your self confidence!!

Please send money, and maybe some Victoria secrets gift cards to help with the bra sitch….

xoxo-Meg

Drinking water.....

I get reprimanded for not blogging enough. I’m sorry; I promise I write blog posts in my head daily. But seeing how I’m trying really hard NOT to text and drive (or blog and drive) those posts in my head don’t always make it to paper. Paper? What’s paper? No one writes on that crap anymore! But, guess what Kim???(President, and only member of my fan Club) here I am, writing a blog post!

I want to talk about something I hate. (Weird for me to do that, I usually have nothing but good things to say….. womp woommpp)I hate water! It’s supposed to do all these magical things for you, i.e. clear up your acne, lose weight, tighten your belly, and make your skin glow like a glow worm! BLAH! All it does is make me gag! It’s so gross! I’ve tried Smart Water, People Water, Fancy Water, Sparkling Water, triple filtered-imported-Antarctica purest of all pure glacier water, tap water, well water, toilet water, etc. etc. Consensus says? They all taste the same!  

I went to a restaurant today, and got the glass of water on the left. THIS is not ok. It’s also one of the 132.5 reasons, I don’t drink water. As all of you know, I am a Diet Coke drinker. And although I’ve had my fair share of bad Diet Cokes, it is ALWAYS consistently brown enough to cover up any flaws like this. (Unless it’s at the Mav and they just need to change the syrup, then I just yell to Tony – the guy who works there- and tell him to get in back and fix it. Or I go back there and do it myself; they should consider putting me on their payroll.)

I know what you’re thinking “add crystal light, add the fancy drops, add lemon!” My answer, no, no and no. I’ve tried, It’s still gross. I realize my insides are “eating away the rust off a penny” as we speak, but like Jake Gyllenhal said to Heath Ledger (RIP) in Brokeback Mountain…. Diet Coke…. “I can’t quit you!"

In my qwest for a healthier lifestyle, I have been forcing water down my throat now for a week. If I don't look like Beyonce here shortly, I'mma have to give up!

Peace, love, and send money. Xoxo Meg