tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45405742409532757462024-03-13T13:11:55.800-04:00All A Bunch Of MomsenseAn ever-changing, ever-growing recap on life as a mom, a wife, a tax pro, a volunteer, an advocate, and a woman in the Midwest.Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.comBlogger438125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-21575004876877913212023-09-24T21:33:00.001-04:002023-09-24T21:33:08.762-04:00Perfect for Me<p> A few weeks ago, I looked at my husband and said "Can we run to Menards?" </p><p>Now, Menards is maybe one of our favorite places to go wander around in. They have pretty much everything, and we're both capable of spending entire paychecks in there. I had a specific mission, though, and he knew that immediately. </p><p>He asked what I was after, and I replied that they had a simple, steel fire ring for under $50 and I was going to buy it. </p><p>He looked at me for a moment, preparing to challenge me. You see, we have plans for our back yard that include a deck expansion, patio pour and fire pit. The thing is, we have had "plans" for years. What we haven't had is the time, finances, motivation - call it what you want, but this back yard oasis has lived in my mind and heart forever, but who knows when it will actually be in my back yard. </p><p>I, however, was tired of waiting on evenings by the fire. The rest sounds lovely, and I very much want it all, but I want crackling, and smoke, and sometimes a burnt, sticky marshmallow. I want hoodies and cold beers and laughter. I want quiet nights with the frogs, crickets and cicadas. And I no longer was willing to wait for it. </p><p>That day, he heard me. He understood that I didn't need the perfect space, just *A* space. So, off to Menards we went. </p><p>I put that little fire ring together, and that night I sat as I burned off some branches from our property. I came in smelling of smoke and fall. I spent three hours in solitude and peace, and came inside feeling more free and whole than I had felt in months. </p><p>The outside sings to me, and it sounds like neighborhood dogs, frogs, crickets and cicadas. It feels like crisp fall breezes offset by the warmth of the fire. It smells like chili, and warm cider, and yes - like a campfire. </p><p>And while the back yard isn't yet our perfectly planned out deck and patio, complete with a fire pit, this little inexpensive fire ring is perfect for me. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3km_lnsvf5ow9zNNueUsK3KbHdv8D0zVycwhwJecrqixD9QbXz3ZoDBM69dsXuChCCgUPZ6OdYk7NlmjsK4GSQRSDy-h0ygV_8PV4dkCqtN-Y2vFWmN9Bhe2Ujy5396mcd7sxnRcmhaTCZKNuNNtcYmO9MOJYzds7cilqA8YqaN12nlsmAEWTuONcSf4/s4624/PXL_20230925_003430818.MP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3472" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3km_lnsvf5ow9zNNueUsK3KbHdv8D0zVycwhwJecrqixD9QbXz3ZoDBM69dsXuChCCgUPZ6OdYk7NlmjsK4GSQRSDy-h0ygV_8PV4dkCqtN-Y2vFWmN9Bhe2Ujy5396mcd7sxnRcmhaTCZKNuNNtcYmO9MOJYzds7cilqA8YqaN12nlsmAEWTuONcSf4/s320/PXL_20230925_003430818.MP.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-84794289420021258032023-09-20T08:32:00.000-04:002023-09-20T08:32:04.010-04:00What Matters?<p>One of the things that I am lucky enough to get to do at this stage in my life is give back. These days, it's even occasionally able to be financially. For a lot of years, my ability to give was primarily of my time. I didn't always have extra cash to donate to a cause I believed in, but by golly I could volunteer my heart out.</p><p>This is not to toot my own horn, let me be clear, but I wanted you to have a touch of background before I got into the next part.</p><p>I had an exchange recently about an event that was coming up. Some new information had come up about the event, and I felt a little disheartened because I knew that there was going to be a group that would have limitations around this last minute change. It was not anything that was going to diminish what was happening, or take away from the joy that that group would get to experience, but the change could have allowed for an even greater sense of community, but because it was so last minute there was no time to adjust.</p><p>I was bummed. The idea of community was a real root to the entire activity. I mentioned my disappointment on a social media site, and I got a response that reminded me of how differently people view certain things. </p><p>The response I received was very much from a place of privilege. A lack of understanding. I'm not entirely sure, for all I know it could have even been a place of disdain, but I like to hope that it was just misunderstanding.</p><p>Sometime ago I had a post show up in social media that was an image, a wooden picket fence that had been spray painted with the words "It shouldn't have to happen to you for it to matter to you." It's stuck with me, because there are a bounty of problems, or things I view as problems, that have never been my personal problem, but that are real and valid for others.</p><p>We're a pretty knee-jerk reaction society. Big on instant gratification. We want information, we go to the internet. We want something to eat, we go to the drive-thru. We have become very accustomed to having what we want or need very quickly. Not everyone has that same privilege. Not every household has access to the internet. Not every family has a car to take them to a drive-thru, or money to spend if they were to get there. Not every home is "traditional" (in my definition of traditional- knowing that traditions also cast a wide net!). That doesn't invalidate the experiences of the people who live in that home.</p><p>I want to encourage you to look beyond your own personal experiences, and really see those around you. We have opportunities to learn from one another all the time, but we're so busy defending our personal reality that we fail to acknowledge the reality of someone else. Be open to differences, be receptive to information, and be willing to understand that your own lived experience does not negate the lived experience of your neighbor anymore than their experiences negate yours. </p><p>One of the most effective ways I was able to open my own mind and heart to the experiences of those around me was to give my time and spend it with my neighbors. If you have opportunities to volunteer, or give back, or just spend some time listening and learning within your community, I can't encourage you enough to jump all over those.</p><p>Blessed Be. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYLvJ4yrYdNjF9ZUHcasTQvziMuk2Nz2_B4Tp-mOp3sVYmRBBqQaB_NeQkhEoHtDj1z9G3LJCCjVKvv8ykqa1XLnuCO3V9MnSHctHeS9MuJTr_h4xvz17DHS9zdCzRMk_Afc6TZBojk7xtHyVAyz4CzhWm0qdW_DcDeDhiFXoO9mrZB3LgJcLqn_Ewa1E/s960/FB_IMG_1695212260443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="A wooden fence is spray painted with blue paint to read "It shouldn't have to happen to you for it to matter to you."" border="0" data-original-height="654" data-original-width="960" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYLvJ4yrYdNjF9ZUHcasTQvziMuk2Nz2_B4Tp-mOp3sVYmRBBqQaB_NeQkhEoHtDj1z9G3LJCCjVKvv8ykqa1XLnuCO3V9MnSHctHeS9MuJTr_h4xvz17DHS9zdCzRMk_Afc6TZBojk7xtHyVAyz4CzhWm0qdW_DcDeDhiFXoO9mrZB3LgJcLqn_Ewa1E/w320-h218/FB_IMG_1695212260443.jpg" title="It Matters" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-27404431002818906612023-07-28T16:11:00.001-04:002023-07-28T16:11:29.102-04:00Porch Posts<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't want to pretend to be something I'm not. I share on social media, much like everyone else, snapshots of who I am. These are filtered, not always the photographs, but the sentiments. The portrayal. It's not my all day every day, it's literally the beautiful snippet that I've chosen to share. That's mostly what we do, we'll share the ugly if it's powerful enough to have an impact, or funny enough to make someone laugh. Generally speaking though, we share the beautiful. We all have beautiful, but we all also have hard and ugly and painful. We have fights with the people we love, we get hurt, we're messy, we're emotional.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-802ecb6f-7fff-883a-21f8-057b4951b729"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started sharing what I called porch posts because I've used time on a little cast iron bistro set on my front porch to reflect on myself, and what goes on around me. My porch posts are public reminders to myself mostly of the things I need to keep in mind, the things I need to remember when the hard and the ugly are happening. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've been "Porch Posting" for a while, and the posts are intermingled with the rest of my social media. I've decided I'd like to curate them here, in this space. A space that once was used with some regularity, a space that I enjoyed, and still enjoy, but don't visit as often as I should.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, I'm sweeping off this front porch. I'm clearing the table, and grabbing a cup and a pen. I'm inviting you to pull up the other chair, to stop and sit a spell. Some days will be our morning coffee, others, an evening cocktail, but let's have a drink and chat a minute. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Welcome to Porch Posts. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFPpZxgm0LrklGlD0XnXaISxbL8ODqvNnQMy0iTkgOb7VeMpYr_LL1DST-3v9MVAJMRsTs_g5g-8Yi8Tif4I_H2h9FjVEn7XXfT0UIEPXUPfrjYmIcSGhpeYSwUkxk-gDUf-kGi_QukVF6JnIwD_6MG5wBE_WgTYnP5eGRE3Ri1V294fYMvL3FpFzyGz8/s3024/IMG_20200718_205548_981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFPpZxgm0LrklGlD0XnXaISxbL8ODqvNnQMy0iTkgOb7VeMpYr_LL1DST-3v9MVAJMRsTs_g5g-8Yi8Tif4I_H2h9FjVEn7XXfT0UIEPXUPfrjYmIcSGhpeYSwUkxk-gDUf-kGi_QukVF6JnIwD_6MG5wBE_WgTYnP5eGRE3Ri1V294fYMvL3FpFzyGz8/s320/IMG_20200718_205548_981.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></div></span>Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-24278917325002383502020-11-19T10:00:00.001-05:002020-11-19T10:00:49.739-05:00Pandemic Fatigue<p> Like so many of us, I am feeling the exhaustion of living in a pandemic. </p><p>I want a hug. </p><p>I want to hang out with my girlfriends and have a night of wine and laughter. </p><p>I want to sit down in a restaurant and eat a meal that I didn't cook and don't have to wash dishes from. </p><p>I want my kids to have a normal day at school, where my daughter can link arms with her friends while they laugh and gossip, and my son to high five his buddies after a great game. </p><p>I want my husband to be able to go to work, and laugh with clients and coworkers, and not worry about how his pulmonologist told us that his risk of mortality with this illness is INCREDIBLY high.</p><p>I'm trying to stay on top of work stuff, while finding myself sliding into such a depressive state that I don't want to get out of bed. To add to that, it's approaching winter, which means it's dark outside before 6pm, and it's cold. </p><p>I know. We're all (well, almost all... Not quite enough "all", but a lot of us) dealing with the same stuff, and my whining about it doesn't change anything. This is one of those posts where I type and type and type, and then I feel bad about what I've written because I am realistically in a total place of privilege because I have a job, and my husband has a job, and our kids are safe, and education is happening, and we have the resources to cook a meal and wash the dishes, and I can zoom with my girlfriends and .. and... and.........</p><p>But the reality for so many of us is that this is still hard, and it's been hard for a long time, and now we're watching as it gets worse, and we're starting to lose sight of the light at the end of this very long tunnel. And it's draining. And if you already deal with things like seasonal depression that is rearing its ugly head, this is one more brick that feels like it's pulling you under. </p><p>I'm going to try to find more things to help me, and I'll try to keep sharing how that goes. In the meantime, wear your mask, wash your hands, and stay home when you can. </p>Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-29904765109381905012020-11-10T10:10:00.005-05:002020-11-10T10:21:03.971-05:00Musings<p><span style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: arial;">My heart breaks as I know that we are reaching a point where some relationships will be fractured beyond repair. Many got there long before now with others, a few felt that way about their relationship with me, but I have tried to hold off, to listen and understand.</span></span></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: arial;">It was hard four years ago. It will be hard now, but the boldness, the willingness of some to share their true feelings, provide deeper clarity, and will bring me peace as I say goodbye to relationships that are not healthy for me, or for my family. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: arial;">Differences of opinion are fine. Conversation is healthy. Growth can be amazing. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: arial;">Hatred, bigotry, idolatry. They are not ok with me, and I will protect my heart and mind from them, and that may mean stepping away from one another. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: arial;">I won't cast stones, but I will cast away lines that hold me back. </span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: arial;">Blessed be.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8NsgbOfMIex5f182wrSrp8GbUcbJOnNoFwK_bqum_R7Zq6lAdscUf8o13D8sB_BcK8CtEN3YPAR__cekFwr6BnIJTKBPu6tr-mlsh29ad8-hbcrLEnoT8qtKDm7fWxymqZ7CzIsNFQnc/s2040/IMG_20201108_101423_738.jpg" style="background-color: #fff2cc; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8NsgbOfMIex5f182wrSrp8GbUcbJOnNoFwK_bqum_R7Zq6lAdscUf8o13D8sB_BcK8CtEN3YPAR__cekFwr6BnIJTKBPu6tr-mlsh29ad8-hbcrLEnoT8qtKDm7fWxymqZ7CzIsNFQnc/s320/IMG_20201108_101423_738.jpg" /></a></div><span face="Segoe UI Historic, Segoe UI, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div>Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-41473481695143712632020-11-10T10:10:00.003-05:002020-11-10T10:16:01.930-05:00Not all, but some.<div>Dropping this draft from a couple months ago.</div><div><br /></div>We know that it is not all police officers. Many officers enter their careers anxious to help heal the hurt, to fight injustice, to do what they can to be the peacemakers. <div><br /></div><div>We know that.</div><div><br /></div><div>We know "not all men", but we also know "yes, all women". </div><div>We hear your "All lives matter" but until "black lives matter" as much, the voices are echoes in an empty hall. </div><div><br /></div><div>You try to placate with your wide generalizations, but in doing so, you further marginalize the harsh realities that exist. No life is without struggle, but some lives face greater struggles because they are not seen beyond the color of their skin, or their sex, or their sexual orientation, or their job, the list goes on.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-53442565604668662772020-04-12T14:48:00.000-04:002020-04-12T14:48:21.386-04:00Trying to Find Perspective <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve struggled a little bit with how to try to put some of
this into perspective. It’s overwhelming, isn’t it? To think of an actual
GLOBAL PANDEMIC? One where thousands have already lost their lives in just a
few short months, and where we are doing things we’d never imagined to try to
keep the US lives lost to under a quarter of a million people in the next few
months?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you know me at all, you know I’m an advocate for
pediatric cancer research. The idea that an entire classroom and then some of
kids faced a diagnosis of cancer each day always was stunning to me. 43
children each day are diagnosed with some form of cancer. 12% of them, or 5-6
kids each day, do not survive. 60% have long term, lasting effects –
infertility, hearing loss, heart failure, secondary cancers. That’s about 26 of
those kids. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our first confirmed US case of Covid-19 was January 21<sup>st</sup>,
in Washington State. As I write this, we have statistics, as shaky as they may
be, through April 7<sup>th</sup>. The US showed 400,335 cases. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
10 days in January.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
29 days in February.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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31 days in March.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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7 days in April. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s 77 days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s 3,311 pediatric cancer cases, which so many of us
find abhorrent. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is <i>four hundred thousand</i> cases of Covid-19. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Deaths in the US through April 7<sup>th</sup>? 12,841. That
is nearly four times the pediatric cancer <u>diagnosis</u> numbers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Understand that this is in no way a competition, I’m not
stepping away from the pediatric cancer fight. What I’m trying to do is help us
collectively understand that we have a responsibility to our friends, our
neighbors, our loved ones. If we knew that taking some time and limiting our
activities would protect our kids from cancer, we’d do it. Shoot, for kids who
did stem cell transplants, THEY DID THIS! With a stem cell transplant, they
destroy the immune system completely, and rebuild it. As part of that protocol,
there is a period of around 100 days of isolation. Social distancing on
steroids. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have the ability to do that for each other right now. We
have the ability to protect someone we know, someone we love, from an illness
that could kill them. Could put them in the ICU, intubated, sedated and alone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those same kids, the ones who fought the cancer and survived
that? They are higher risk. Your parents or grandparents are higher risk. My
husband is higher risk. More likely to be that one who is intubated, sedated,
alone in an ICU.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, I know people are beating this thing. That’s AMAZING,
and I’m so thankful for that. But this isn’t the flu, (In the last five years,
Indiana has averaged 154 flu deaths each year, with flu season generally about
7 months long. In only a month, 173 Hoosiers have died from COVID-19, with many
more expected.) It’s not a cold. You might be young and healthy and not
high-risk, but you can be a carrier, and unwittingly pass it along to someone
who is higher risk. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is it worth it? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess, if it is, if you want to still behave as if all of
this is normal, and that the scientists and the media are blowing it out of
proportion, and that we’re just stirring up mass hysteria, I can’t fix that. We
can call it a difference of opinion, but I hope your opinion doesn’t kill
someone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
"<i>You won't ever know if what you did personally helped. That's the nature of public health. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>When the best way to save lives is to prevent a disease rather than treat it, </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="font-style: italic;">success often looks like an overreaction.</b>"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://twitter.com/MariInTokyo/status/1237904273880604673" target="_blank">Credit to Mari Armstrong-Hough</a></div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/MariInTokyo/status/1237904273880604673" target="_blank">via Twitter, Mar 11, 2020.</a></div>
<br />Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-8148943699802403832020-03-14T19:21:00.000-04:002020-03-14T19:21:40.450-04:00Do Our Best Work<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Reading messages from my children's teachers, who technically are on break right now, but are scrambling to restructure. This is spring break here, but they have asked teachers to transition to eLearning for the week after. This is new - we are not a school system that has used eLearning historically, so teachers, administrators, and students are all flying a bit by the seat of their pants. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">In one of these emails, this stood out.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Let’s be flexible with each other and do our best to work through this time in the most efficient and reasonable ways possible."</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This literally hit my inbox as I work on a message to share with my staff on what our ideas look like for how to handle the next several weeks.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Right now, I have a deadline in one month. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It *might* change, but I can't count on that.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the meantime, I have offices of employees and clients to worry about. I now am carrying the burden of both financial AND physical well-being, on some level. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's heavy. I'd be lying if I said differently. I'm not carrying these things alone, by any stretch, but here they are.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, as we all navigate these bizarre, uncharted waters, as we watch Italy and Spain stop in their tracks, as we scramble as a country to gain access to proper testing, as a divided nation grows more so in a time when supporting one another is SO critical, I think I will cling to two things - the words of this teacher: </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Let’s be flexible with each other and do our best to work through this time in the most efficient and reasonable ways possible." </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Along with the words of one of the best managers I had an opportunity to work under: </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">"The task ahead of us is never as great as the power behind us." </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #14171a;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are powerful when we work together. I'm grateful for that.</span></span>Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-3555678285855457072019-09-06T11:42:00.001-04:002019-09-06T11:42:37.087-04:00Brain vomited happiness. Over the weekend, I had a conversation with an old friend. We discussed lots of things - changes, life, where we are, where we are headed. One thing that stuck out to me was the use of the word "happy".<br />
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We were with a group, friends we have shared for over 30 years, and another of the group came up as part of our conversation. We had drifted into discussion about relationships that had changed over the last few years, and this friend said "(the other friend) just wants me to be happy."<br />
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A valid goal. Admirably supported by friends. I said as much, responding that it seemed like a reasonable plan. But what does it mean when intertwined in the concept of relationships? How do you define "happy" in the context of your interactions with another person?<br />
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Because let's face it, happy is a short term feeling. It can be a regularly occurring one, but other emotions NEED to be intermingled in there, or we lose sight of what happy is, and what makes us feel that way.<br />
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(Details break... I started this post, then had to pause because real life is a thing. It's now a couple days later as I come back to finish it, and I actually had more conversation with the initial friend last night, and we shared some good thoughts that tie in really beautifully to this. So.. without further ado...)<br />
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Relationships can be fragile things, because emotions are powerful. We spend a lot of energy thinking about perfect partnerships, and we forget that no one person is going to be able to fill all of our emotional support needs, and that we can't be the only one filling those needs for someone else.<br />
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Friendships are relationships, and there are variants in those that matter. We have "Work Friends" - the ones that understand what we do for, really, the largest part of our day. Some of us have "Parent Friends" - the ones who we can turn to for help and guidance when kids are involved, or that we can hang out with in those family friendly situations. We have the "Social Fun Friends" - the ones that bring out a more extroverted side of us. We have the "Life-Long Friends" - ones who know more about who we are and where we came from than almost anyone.<br />
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These are all separate from our spouse or partner. In periods where there isn't a partner, they are the other cogs in the wheel that keep us grinding. A partner is one single tooth in that gear - they can be important and helpful for us, but they don't have to be critical - we can move forward without them. It's also important to realize that if any of the cogs is bent, the wheel is stopping. Missing? No biggie, it's a little harder to go, but going still happens. Bent? Damaged? It's damaging to the whole thing. Locks it up. Makes it so your contact with the remaining cogs is impossible.<br />
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Bent cogs can often be repaired - that's the good news. Sometimes, the repair is to the existing cog, sometimes it requires that the cog be removed and replaced, but repair to the gear itself is ALWAYS possible, and every cog along the way? Old & new, damaged, replaced, repaired? Each cog has helped move that gear forward in it's path.<br />
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I see people share things that imply that happiness is a choice, and I concur, to a limit. Happiness is the result of gratitude, and gratitude is a choice. When we recognize the things that are good in our lives over the things that are challenging or broken, we find gratitude. Here's the thing - we NEED the challenging or broken to exist to make it work.<br />
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Ride with me a minute on this, k? If we don't have a perspective on what's negative, or bad, or failing, or broken in a situation, we cannot recognize the improvement, repair or success when we accomplish it. If it's always sunny, we don't appreciate the sun. We need cloudy days, windy days, rainy days and sunsets. We need nights filled with stars, and snowfalls, and sometimes, as painful as it is, we need something as disruptive as a hurricane, tornado or wildfire. It's the same with emotion. We NEED to be mad. We NEED to be sad, or hurt, or lonely. Without those feelings, we cannot experience gratitude or recognize happiness.<br />
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All of that is a really wordy way to say that I believe that what we perceive as damage, as brokenness, as loss? It's just a window to help remind us of the really, really great we actually have. We just need to open the blinds and look. Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-75675023963071141812018-10-02T14:04:00.002-04:002018-10-02T14:05:25.371-04:00Things that MatterI used to write here. For a while, I did it frequently.<br />
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Then, the kids got older, and life got busier. </div>
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This space, this little piece of the internet that I had? It just didn't draw me like it once did. </div>
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I had Facebook, and Twitter, and Instagram, and those places, and the people there, they drew me. </div>
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I still had my voice, was able to speak my thoughts, just in smaller snippets. </div>
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I could share my images. </div>
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I could connect, often almost instantly, with people who I cared about, and who cared about me. People who agreed with my thoughts and feelings, and sometimes the people who cared about none of those things. </div>
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Someone asked me the other day if I still wrote here. </div>
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"Not really. Not in a long time."</div>
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Why did you stop?</div>
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"I just got busy, and other social media was enough..."</div>
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And that's true. </div>
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But I've been thinking about it, and I think part of it? Part of it was because I'm exhausted by the hatred that spews forth on so many platforms, and I wasn't sure I could handle it coming here too. To my space. To my little front porch.</div>
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There are broken things here, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repair them. That angers me, but it also feels very metaphorical. </div>
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We are broken, and I'm not sure we'll ever be able to be repaired. </div>
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But we won't ever heal from the broken without addressing it. </div>
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So, maybe, I'll come back. And I'll just start talking again. Because our voices matter, and we should not be silent in these challenging days. We owe that to ourselves, to our children. To our country. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.</i></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.</i></span></div>
Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-55777489393896855622017-09-13T12:32:00.003-04:002017-09-13T12:32:57.178-04:00Just a number, for a numbers girl. Today starts my last trip around the sun as a 30-something.<br />
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There are any number of folks who would be bothered by that. I've never been one who was overly concerned about age - my own, or that of those around me. (Legal ramifications as applies, and all that....)<br />
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Here's the thing. I'm far less interested in the number as I am the life. The experiences. The personalities. People are not upset about their ages - they are upset that they've reached a number but not a goal, or a target - real or imagined.<br />
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People talk about being of a certain age and having not yet done "something" - had kids, bought a house, graduated from college, made X number of dollars, travelled the world. Whatever that target was, they become bothered that they didn't hit it yet.<br />
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Some folks get very caught up in personal appearance, like hitting a certain birthday means it is time to start eating better, working out, using a certain moisturizer. I know when I reached 30, I had this thought that maybe I should do a better job of "dressing" like a "grownup". You see, I'm a jeans and t-shirts kind of girl. I rarely wear makeup, my hair is usually in a ponytail, and I'm most comfortable in a pair of sneakers.<br />
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One girl's weekend later, I had a new work wardrobe from Ann Taylor Loft, and can successfully fake "grownup" with the best of them. You know what you'll still find me wearing most of the time? Jeans. T-shirts. Sneakers. It's who I am, and it didn't take long for me to recognize that, while sometimes, because of my career, I do need to put on nice pants and some dressier shoes, how I am dressed does not define me. *I* define how I dress.<br />
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Once upon a time, the idea of being 40 felt really far away. Now, the idea of being 40 just feels... strange, I guess, because 40 is supposed to mean something, and really, it doesn't. Maybe when I get there next year I'll feel differently, but from where I'm sitting? Here, at 39?<br />
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Really is just a number.<br />
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<br />Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-74535947353372660022017-05-24T09:59:00.000-04:002017-05-24T09:59:33.321-04:00IntentionalThe last few years have held some life-changing experiences for my circle. Some have been amazing - my oldest got to take a fantastic trip to England with a school group. My middle was recognized by a film festival held at the United Nations. My youngest discovered a passion for running that she didn't know she had, and ended her cross country season with a first place finish in her class. From these things, each of my children have explored new things, stepped outside of their comfort zones. They've learned, and grown and experienced, and that is so valuable.<div>
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We've also seen some heartbreak. Two friends lost their husbands to cancer within just a few months of one another. We've faced some fears and obstacles getting to the point we're at with J's <a href="http://www.allabunchofmomsense.com/2017/04/a-bump-in-road.html" target="_blank">pituitary mass</a>, and (finally!) next week we'll get to meet with the neurosurgeon to determine what's next. My stepmother lost her mom unexpectedly a few weeks ago.</div>
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I keep being reminded that things can change in a heartbeat. That in a brief moment, everything we know to be true could be different. </div>
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This isn't new, or original. Lots of us have felt this way at times in our lives. We use these opportunities to become intentional. I am intentionally listening more closely to my kids and my spouse. I am intentionally taking a few extra minutes to laugh and give my dogs belly rubs. I am intentionally pausing for two or three minutes to take a few deep breaths and re-center myself in the midst of a busy day. I am intentionally making appointments to see my doctor. We're looking at vacations, and spending time together as a family. </div>
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I'm being intentional. </div>
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So often we get swept up in the day-to-day. I won't go so far as to say we're "just trying to survive" but it feels that way at times. We become almost robotic in our actions - the alarm goes off, and the routine kicks in. Not that there is anything wrong with routine, mind you, but sometimes, we need to go off script. We need to share an ice cream and conversation with a kiddo. We need to call a loved one and chat for 20 minutes. We need to take a few minutes to stand in the sun - eyes closed, face turned up, breathing deeply. Try and find a way to make some of that part of your routine. Pick what works for you - a coffee date, a short walk, shoot, I even just use a Sudoku app on my phone for an occasional brain break. Just remember to reach out to others around you, take care of yourself, and be intentional. </div>
Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-87511920674614689782017-05-09T14:29:00.000-04:002017-05-09T14:35:39.062-04:00It's Baaaack!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.mariomarathon.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Non-stop Mario for Child's Play Charity" border="0" height="72" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgOzoh8YI-b53NiZ4XLmujv9ObA5BAuUhpNnHMAszIhKOiG26rFaxrR3SWA2DLuRHXednlT-7zVRojuyFHvV1gXyFVUlF-SGaEjPKVtLBHdba5Bh5G2iZRDhJ0IC8QCIF4meGjByUtabA/s320/Mario+Marathon.png" title="Mario Marathon" width="320" /></a></div>
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If you've been a reader here before, or have followed me on <a href="http://www.twitter.com/taxmegan" target="_blank">Twitter</a> for any length of time, you may have seen mention of <a href="http://www.mariomarathon.com/" target="_blank">Mario Marathon</a> before. If you haven't, here's a quick synopsis -<br />
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Some guys here in Indiana hijacked the idea of playing video games, streaming it online, and using it as a fundraiser. They picked an awesome charity, <a href="http://www.childsplaycharity.org/" target="_blank">Child's Play</a>, to support, and ended up making it a mostly annual event. (They took one year off in there because sometimes adulting is hard, and people move, and have kids, and these guys were forking out literally thousands of dollars making it all work and, frankly, they needed a break.) But then they came back, and my crew is yet again totally stoked about it. The cool part? Audience participation, which equals donations to Child's Play, to the collective tune over the last 10 years of over $560,000!! </div>
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So, what the heck is Child's Play? Good question. Child's Play Charity is a charity that provides games, books, DVDs, toys, etc to children's hospitals around the world. Founded by "gamers" with the idea of "gamers giving back", Child's Play uses funds raised to help kids have fun in a situation that could be... less than fun. (Because hospitals are not so much fun!) </div>
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So, anywhooo... This is taking on some cool new meaning for me as we will officially become patients of an area children's hospital soon, courtesy of our <a href="http://www.allabunchofmomsense.com/2017/04/a-bump-in-road.html" target="_blank">Bump</a>. Both of the children's hospitals in Indianapolis are partner hospitals with Child's Play, so this has really started to come full circle for me. </div>
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Gist of all this is that Mario Marathon is back, and will be streaming live beginning at 11am Eastern on June 23, 2017. We're looking forward to it, and hope you'll join us. If you'd like to support Child's Play, you can make a donation (which goes DIRECTLY to Child's Play, the team gets information for tracking purposes only, but your funds go 100% to the charity) using the button there in the left sidebar. </div>
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Want to read other posts I've shared about MM in the past? Find those <a href="http://www.allabunchofmomsense.com/search?q=mario+marathon" target="_blank">here!</a> </div>
Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-52939170515386219012017-04-27T10:21:00.001-04:002017-04-27T10:21:31.205-04:00A Bump In The RoadSometimes, you have so much built up inside you that you just might burst.
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That’s kind of where I’m at. <br />
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I’ll open this with the statement that it’s ok. Then I’ll acknowledge that,
on some levels, that’s a lie, because it’s not “ok” but it could be so much
worse, and I’ve seen so much worse, and had people I care about live through so
much worse, that this? It’s pretty ok. <br />
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See, my kid? He has a thing inside his head that isn’t supposed to be there.
A Pituitary Microadenoma. (Micro! See – that’s good!) Technically, an active
Prolactinoma. <br />
All of which are big-ish words that mean that my son has a mass in his
pituitary gland that is causing an overproduction of prolactin, a hormone
present in all of us, but typically elevated in pregnant and nursing women. It’s
small – thus the micro, which clinically means that the MRI shows that it is
less than 10mm in size. I don’t have an actual measurement because we haven’t
seen the Dr. who can clarify that part for me yet, but micro is better than
macro in this scenario.<br />
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That doctor visit is still more than a month out, which is both frustrating
(A MONTH!? And that is actually TWO MONTHS out from when we got MRI results!?)
and comforting (A month + out just reaffirms that this is not life-threatening,
this didn’t immediately turn into a next-day surgery and weeks of inpatient care
and who knows what else). We will be headed to Indy to meet with a pediatric
neurosurgeon first of June, and hopefully that will be the appointment, in what
has felt like a flurry of appointments, where we will walk away with a plan.
Surgery currently feels like the most likely option, but research (because you
know I’ve googled the heck out of this thing, sticking to quality search results
like the Mayo Clinic) says that there are options like medication, radiation and
even chemo. <br />
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The chemo phrase brings me around to another quick, but really important
thought. The odds that this mass is cancerous are VERY small. Of these types of
masses, only 0.2% are actually cancerous. Those are good odds, and I’ll take
them. <br />
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So. There it is. A little brain vomit that gives a quick outline on our bump.
His bump. This bump in the road.Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-32436678763340652152015-09-20T13:10:00.000-04:002015-09-20T13:10:17.530-04:00That day that I Louis C. K.ed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I shared this on my Facebook the other day. When I did so, I did while mostly thinking about it from the side of the person who was hurt, not the person who had committed the hurt. </div>
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Yesterday, I had an interesting experience. I was volunteering at an event where I was selling programs. At one point, I had 3 people approach me nearly simultaneously. From directly in front of me, a gentleman approached, and there was a woman right behind him. Mere moments later, as the first man reached into his pocket for money, a second man approached on my right, asking if I had singles to be able to make change for his $2 bills. (Programs are $5.) I did not, as I had not received any singles so far in the day, but the man already pulling out his cash said he had a couple of singles, and would be able to help the man to my right. </div>
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The man in front of me, with the woman on his heels, purchased two programs, handed two one dollar bills to the man on the right, took the two dollar bill, and walked away. The man on my right then handed me one of the singles and two two dollar bills, took his program, and walked away. Then the woman stepped up.</div>
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"How much?" she asked. </div>
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"Five dollars." I replied.</div>
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"Well, you just lost a sale. I was here before that man, you should have waited on me first. Stop giving preferential treatment to men." </div>
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I had begun to interject with an "I'm sorry" - you see, I had thought she was with the first gentleman. She wasn't interested, however, and walked away. </div>
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I was left a little dumbfounded. I certainly had not intended any slight, and there was only a few seconds between the first man walking away and the second walking away. Less than 10 seconds. I didn't view any of it as preferential treatment, as the first man and the second man held the bulk of conversation between themselves, while I waited to hand them their programs in exchange for the cash. Frankly, I was offended by her reaction. I'm standing alone with a cart full of programs (we usually have at least 2 or 3 of us together, but we were shorthanded, so I was flying solo) and three people come up within mere moments of one another. I'm making eye contact and responding to direct questions, smiling, and trying to be as helpful as I can, and it wasn't good enough for this woman who perceived my (volunteer!) work as insufficient. </div>
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As I thought back about the entire exchange, trying to determine what went wrong, this quote came back to my mind. She was hurt by my actions, or at least offended enough by them that she was going to stand there long enough to make her statement. While I didn't intentionally slight her, she felt slighted, and that was real enough to her. </div>
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Was I responsible for her feelings? No, I don't think so, but that doesn't mean that her feelings were invalid. I hope that she felt better after scolding me, and I hope that just maybe she stopped at one of the other spots where the school kids who we are selling the programs to support were standing and bought one from them. </div>
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<br />Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-63270237008014010442015-08-19T16:05:00.001-04:002015-08-19T16:05:54.377-04:00Knowing Your Value<p>Last weekend I travelled to the San Diego area for a family wedding, which was gorgeous, so much fun, and a lovely break, but is not at all what I want to write about right this moment. I flew out on Southwest, and if you haven’t flown with them lately, they have added some Wi-fi related offerings to their flights. One such offering is access to select ebook titles via Kobo. </p> <p>I had started a book a couple months ago on another trip, and had been unable to find a copy via my public library to be able to finish it, so the first thing I did after settling in was check the available titles. It wasn’t still on the list (bummer) but another title caught my eye. </p> <p>Now, I’m not a big follower of political news shows, but I catch Morning Joe periodically, and really enjoy it. News, politics, humor, antics – all in a well thought out, balanced program. I like it. The interactions between the folks there are honest and genuine. (Don’t believe me? Watch it a few times. The eyerolling alone is proof!) </p> <p>Mika Brzezinski is one of the co-hosts, and I have found that I really admire her. She pulls no punches, she isn’t there to just look pretty, she is a sharp, witty, intelligent woman. She just… gets it. </p> <p>She is also an author. The book that caught my eye was hers – Knowing Your Value. I’m not embarrassed to share that I DEVOURED this book. As a woman working in a field that for many, many years was male-dominated (as most are, historically speaking) I knew that many of us are wary of pushing for the equality we deserve and have earned. I don’t know that I had been realistic about how wide-spread the issue was. I would never have considered that Mika, who is such a valuable perspective and voice on Morning Joe, was so undervalued by the powers that be. </p> <p>She talked about how focused people were on her appearance as well. As a woman who rarely wears makeup, and prefers blue jeans and tennis shoes to skirts and heels, I know that people often initially view me as “lesser”. It’s a sad reality that women are expected to make less, give as much (or more, because  they have to “compensate” for the time they are away in a role as mom, wife or other caregiver) and invest more in personal appearance than men. </p> <p>Now, let me be ABUNDANTLY clear – this is NOT the case with every business. It is not the case for every woman. It is, however, a reality for many women in business. So, with that in mind, if you are a woman in a profession, or a man who works with women, you should consider reading Mika’s book. It is empowering and enlightening. </p> <p>And if you are on a Southwest flight? It’s a free read at the moment. </p> <p><em>Disclaimer: I was in no way compensated for or asked to provide a review of either the book Knowing Your Value or Southwest Airlines. This is simply my sharing of my opinion following my personal direct contact with both. </em></p> Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-43095021057479654382015-08-12T14:28:00.001-04:002015-08-12T14:28:00.100-04:00Emotional<p dir="ltr">Saturday was a whirlwind of emotions. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Scott's memorial service was live streamed, allowing me to watch from the living room of the vacation home I was staying in for the weekend. As it ended, I walked out the door to head to my cousin's wedding.</p>
<p dir="ltr">One love story tragically cut short as another penned its most passionate chapter to date.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Love is a hard thing. The joy it can bring, the pain it can pour out, the havoc it can wreak. Emotions drive us. As humans, we find ourselves caught in their tides, some days filled with joy and laughter, others with pain and heartbreak, even others with fear, or loathing. Some days are a compilation of all of the above.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Emotions can be hard. They can be discouraging. The can hold us back. They also can be the push we need to fully appreciate all we strive to be.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Saturday, they were swirling. My face was made up, and I desperately tried to avoid tears rolling down my powdered cheeks. Vows were shared, promises of forever, and my heart celebrated for them, while it shattered just a little more for Tracy, for Scott, for a forever cut short. A song, their song, played at the reception, and again, I wept.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Embrace the emotions. </p>
<p dir="ltr">One day, they may be all that is left.</p>
Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-30822254960967057122015-08-05T15:06:00.001-04:002015-08-05T15:08:24.559-04:00When #BetterThanDying Isn’t Enough<p>I started blogging several years ago, and with blogging came community. I was part of a network called the BlogFrog, a fun discussion board where bloggers gathered to just.. hang out.</p> <p>I “met” some really great people there. One was this dude named Scott. He was one of a very small number of daddy bloggers in a sea of moms. He was snarky, pulled no punches, and most of all, he was hilarious. He would tell tales about his “4C’s” – the 3 sons and 1 daughter he had with his wife, affectionately just called T. </p> <p>T – her real name is Tracy – was clearly the love of his life. He shared their love story, how they met on the beach, how they married quickly. How much he supported her being home with the kids, being a mom who chose to extended breastfeed, cloth diaper and home school. </p> <p>He bitched about how much he hated his job, how he hated the hour long commute each way, and how crappy his bosses were. Talked about getting out of there, finding something he loved and that would support T & the C’s. </p> <p>He talked a lot about body hair, and PODO (Pants off dance off, for those not in the know. You know – makin’ babies?) He was a pro at making you laugh at the most inappropriate things. </p> <p>He was also a hell of a friend. When Jeep was raising money for St. Baldrick’s, Scott reached out to a syndicated radio program, The Bert Show, and asked him to share. Bert did, and went above and beyond, making a significant donation to push Jeep over the $3,000 mark in his fundraising. </p> <p>When I was having a bad day, a tweet from him was good for a smile. Every time. </p> <p>Until last spring. Scott was found unconscious at work, face down on his desk, not breathing.  He had suffered some kind of seizure, and was comatose for days. Eventually, scans showed cancer in his brain. </p> <p>Scott fought that cancer the same way he did everything else – balls to the wall. He was a big Cross Fit guy, and eventually helped coordinate a fundraiser called Kettle Bells for Brain Cells to help fund brain cancer research, held in June.</p> <p>On July 15th, 2015, Scott got the news none of us wanted to hear. The cancer, which had appeared to go into remission for a short time, was back. Aggressively. This time, the mass was in his brain stem. He was told to start making arrangements and saying his goodbyes.  </p> <p>Yesterday, August 4th, 2015, Scott, known to many of us as “This Daddy”, lost his battle against glioblastoma. He leaves behind his wife Tracy and four children. </p> <p>Scott – thank you. I appreciated our friendship. I loved talking football smack with you, giving you crap for refusing to change diapers, and griping about stupid work stuff together. You swore to us all over and over that you were a big asshole. I’ve been watching twitter for a while, pal, and there are an awful lot of us who disagree. There are an awful lot of us who think you’re a pretty damn swell guy. We’ll keep pushing on back here, #stillkickin and fighting the good fight. Forever #BetterThanDying. </p> <p>We love ya. </p> <p>@TaxMegan & @ProFBallPlatter</p> Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-77443615264329625602015-08-02T22:23:00.001-04:002017-04-27T10:25:36.460-04:00First Day of School<div dir="ltr">
They are tucked away in their beds, but I doubt they are sleeping just yet. Nervous energy and all that.</div>
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In just a few hours, I will start the process of rousting them for their first day of school. My freshman. My middle schooler. My baby in her final year at our elementary school. </div>
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For the first time ever they will all three be in different schools. Three different busses will carry them away. Three different times in the afternoon that they will be arriving home. New faces. New friends. </div>
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The nervousness here has been palpable. Not for Melissa so much - she is flitting about, humming like a hummingbird, anxious to start. It is comfortable for her. Teachers she adores, a building she knows. Friends she has been missing. </div>
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But the boys? Nervous. Tense. Eli is headed to a much bigger school, and is facing down some pretty intense academic challenges. Jeep is off to a smaller high school with an intense curriculum and very few familiar faces. </div>
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Backpacks have been filled, checked and rechecked. Clothes picked out. Lunch accounts funded. We are as ready as we can be.</div>
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Truth be told, I am nervous too. My babies aren't any more. They are teens and tweens taking big steps towards their futures. It is what they are supposed to do. It is what we, as parents, are working towards, right? But it is scary for us too. We worry about so many of the same things they worry about - will they make friends? Will they be good friends to have, or will we always worry about the choices they are making with those friends? Will they make good choices on their own? Will they get lost? Be afraid? Eat enough? Understand their classwork? Like their teachers? Come to us when they have questions or concerns? If not to us, to another trustworthy adult?</div>
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Tomorrow, my town will turn around 12,000 children over into the hands of hundreds of other caring, loving adults. Adults who also have first day jitters, and who also want our kids to succeed. To grow. To be amazing.</div>
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So, to my three - do just that. Succeed. Grow. Be amazing. Work hard. Do your best. And then? </div>
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Come home and tell me all about it.</div>
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Love,<br />
Mom</div>
Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-54593167000369187172015-07-11T09:45:00.000-04:002015-07-11T09:45:03.835-04:00Where I Stand<div>
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This is a post I placed on my personal FB page, and I wanted to share it here. I am currently living in a country that in one breath declares it is the greatest in the world, and in the next breath tries to tear each other apart. We reached a deep divide over a period of a couple of days, and I watched from the sidelines as friends lashed out at one another, and strangers were cruel. Here were the thoughts I shared: </div>
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<i>Everyone has opinions, just on the off chance you haven't looked at your FB for the last, oh, 10 days or so.</i><br />
<i>Everyone (EVERYONE.) is entitled to those opinions.</i><br />
<i>You don't have to agree with theirs, and they don't have to agree with yours.</i><br />
<i>Voicing opinions is allowed. Understand that sometimes, voicing an opinion has consequences. Be prepared, if you elect to voice your opinion, for consequences.</i><br />
<i>Attacking one another - verbally, physically, cyber..ly? (You know what I mean<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">.) is NOT OK. It's just not.<br />Some of you have voiced opinions that differ from mine. I hope at no time have ANY of you felt attacked, belittled or undermined by me.<br />I have quietly avoided posting much in regards to my opinions because unfortunately, some of you have either lashed out or had others lash out at you. It's hurtful, and I have no room in my heart for hurt, certainly not because I choose to share a thought or opinion.<br />Here's where I stand.<br />I stand for love.<br />I stand for respect.<br />I stand for honor.<br />I stand for my fellow man.<br />I stand so I can lift up, not knock down.<br />I stand so I can support, not be carried.<br />I stand for my children.<br />I stand for my spouse.<br />I stand for my siblings, my parents, my cousins, my family.<br />I stand for my path in this world.<br />I stand for you.<br />Even if we don't agree. Even if you won't stand for me. I stand for you.</span></i></div>
<i>That's where I stand.
</i>Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-6768171483380425392015-06-12T12:29:00.001-04:002015-06-12T12:29:21.318-04:00J goes to England–a BTV production<p>A short 24 hours ago, I was standing with a group of other parents, a few grandparents and siblings, three teachers, and 21 students at the Indianapolis International Airport, preparing to put those teachers and students on the first of two planes that would carry them to London. </p> <p>Y’all? </p> <p>I just sent my 14 year old son to England. </p> <p>(I’ve never even wandered across a border into Canada or Mexico. I’m trying to not be jealous, but I’m not sure it’s working!) </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-GSl49ITgfhs/VXsI3MX2lwI/AAAAAAAATNM/aMv0UPDUlCU/s1600-h/11214087_10153129777928096_5542424052042100415_n%25255B17%25255D.jpg"><img title="11214087_10153129777928096_5542424052042100415_n" style="border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px; border-top-width: 0px" border="0" alt="11214087_10153129777928096_5542424052042100415_n" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7aX8wcgYNZs/VXsI3zyLi7I/AAAAAAAATNU/pqfpqF8fVoc/11214087_10153129777928096_5542424052042100415_n_thumb%25255B15%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="306" height="176" /></a></p> <p>(Me, my mom & J at the airport waiting on everyone to arrive.)</p> <p>My son has had the opportunity to be part of an award-winning television and movie production program through his school for the last 2 years. Part of that program has included partnerships with schools in other parts of the world, including skype conferences and collaborations. This is part of the result of that effort – an exchange trip to the sister school in England! </p> <p>You can follow along with us via the program’s twitter account – <a href="https://twitter.com/batchelortv" target="_blank">@BatchelorTV</a></p> <blockquote lang="en" class="twitter-tweet"> <p lang="en" dir="ltr">Selfie stick <a href="http://t.co/KIYzNbqJd2">pic.twitter.com/KIYzNbqJd2</a></p> — BatchelorTelevison (@BatchelorTV) <a href="https://twitter.com/BatchelorTV/status/609113700620996608">June 11, 2015</a></blockquote> <script async src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script> <blockquote lang="en" class="twitter-tweet"> <p lang="no" dir="ltr">Huge plane <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/btvgoestoengland?src=hash">#btvgoestoengland</a> <a href="http://t.co/cQf7wa0ZrE">pic.twitter.com/cQf7wa0ZrE</a></p> — BatchelorTelevison (@BatchelorTV) <a href="https://twitter.com/BatchelorTV/status/609122866458710016">June 11, 2015</a></blockquote> <script async src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script> Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-27369341843134332422015-05-11T10:29:00.001-04:002015-05-11T10:29:49.722-04:00raw<p>Frustration builds, and eventually we’re both in tears. </p> <p>The child of mine, who is me. The stubborn set of his jaw, the stomp of a foot, the slam of a door. I know them all, because they are mine. </p> <p>It’s like looking in a mirror, time warped and convoluted, but the images I see are my own, staring back at me. Screaming back at me. A face so red you are certain it will just burst. Eyes filled with unshed tears. Rage so powerful it hurts to breathe. </p> <p>A pain so raw and real, with what age will show has no reason, but today? Today it is his, and it is real enough. It is reasonable. </p> <p>Teeth are clenched. Angry words seep through them, curling and winding like a cold fog through a dark woods. I know those words, I have felt them, I have said them, as surely as I have regretted them. </p> <p>My heart is raw. It hurts for the pain I cannot soothe. The pain I cannot heal. It hurts to know that in his eyes, I’m causing the pain. He doesn’t see the mirror yet. He can’t, the tears have blurred his vision. The rage has blinded him. </p> <p>So I hold on. I cling to what I can. I remember I survived, as did my mother. My mirror. </p> Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-54885389421407042462015-05-08T10:57:00.001-04:002015-05-08T10:57:21.711-04:00On Giving Up and Giving Back<p>I shared a few days ago about how much I miss this space, but how difficult it has been to find words. My heart just wasn’t in it, I had quit. I wanted to be passionate about it, and I wasn’t anymore. </p> <p>That’s hard for me to admit, because if there is anything I am not, a quitter is pretty much right there at the top of the list. I’m an adapter. A “roll with the punches” kind of person. Maybe it (whatever “it” is) isn’t going how I planned – no worries. Plan B. Or F. Or LL. I learned a long time ago that planning has value, but flexibility has MORE value. Know what your end goal is, but understand that the path to get there is NOT a straight line, no matter how hard you try. </p> <p>So this “quitting” thing? It’s really not sat very well with me. </p> <p>Part of my quit, I think, came from not having that end goal. There is no end goal with this space. It’s the best “roll with it” scenario I could have given myself! It’s MINE! I can do what I want to! I’m not here to make money, I don’t have a bunch of affiliate connections, I’ve got a few ads on here with the idea that maybe I’ll have a little income to cover the cost of my domain, but this isn’t a full time job or anything. I don’t promote the space because, well, it’s mine. It’s public, and sometimes I feel like I’ve written something that folks might want to read. Sometimes I write things that are important to me, and that I want others to know about. In general though? This is my space. It’s about me. It’s a place where I can share things that need more that 140 characters. I can document our lives a little, and one day the kids can look  back and share in some of the memories with me.  But there is no “end goal” – no target for hits per day. No revenue goals. Not even a posts per week goal. </p> <p>With no goals, no guidelines, I didn’t have the focus to be here. To write here. I was so focused on doing other things, I lost the focus I needed to maintain this piece of me. </p> <p>I’m not sad about it though. Really, this is just another step along the way, and my focus was in good places. I’ve been working, leading our elementary PTO, participating in charity events, and enjoying my family. We’ve travelled a little, visited some. I lost my grandfather, but celebrated an amazing man with people I love. I barely mentioned it, but a year ago, my 10 year old daughter and I participated in  St. Baldrick’s event and raised over $6,500 for pediatric cancer. </p> <p>I’ve given. Time and again, I’ve given. I am not in a position to always give monetarily, but let me tell you something really, REALLY important. </p> <p>It’s not always about the money. </p> <p>More often than not, those folks you want to help? The group you want to support? They just need a little of your time. Can you work a school carnival booth? FANTASTIC. Your 30 minutes means the kids can play the games. Can you type? That group needs someone to put together some thank you letters to volunteers and donors. Clip Box Tops & such. Photocopy handouts for a teacher. Chaperone a field trip. Work a Book Fair. Read with students who are struggling readers. No kids in school? That’s ok – adopt a local elementary, they’ll likely adopt you right back. </p> <p>Heart in other places? EMBRACE it. What can you do to help? Is there a family you know who is facing a challenge? Can you watch the kids for a couple hours so mom and dad get a break? Wash and vacuum the car? Come by and flip laundry, maybe sweep and mop the kitchen? </p> <p>Volunteer at the food bank once a month. Offer to walk the dogs at the animal shelter. Visit the elderly – they may just need a friend. </p> <p>Give back. Give of yourself. It doesn’t have to cost you a dime, but there is NOTHING that will fulfill you more. </p> <p>I gave up a little here. I gave back in so many other places. I’m ok with that. </p> Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-15737636621913261152015-04-28T17:05:00.001-04:002015-04-28T17:05:08.572-04:00Once upon a time…<p>Once upon a time, </p> <p>There was a girl. She was busy, as is common for girls who are also moms, employees, wives and the like, but she felt like she was missing something. Some creative space of her own, where she was all of those things, and could share about them, and learn from others, and others could learn from her, and together, all were happier.</p> <p>So, she wrote. </p> <p>For three or four years, she wrote regularly. She shared her heart, her photos, her recipes. She talked about books she read, and sports her kids played. She talked about charities she believed in, products she tried, pets she loved – whatever was on her mind. </p> <p>She just wrote.</p> <p>Somewhere along the way she slowed down. And then?</p> <p>It stopped. </p> <p>The words stopped. They just weren’t there anymore. </p> <p>The photos were still taken, the food still cooked. She read books, and watched games, supported charities and held a dog as it crossed over the rainbow bridge. She buried loved ones, celebrated marriages and births. But there were no words. </p> <p>The girl missed them, the words. And she would come back to the place where she shared them and try to find them, but they were not there. Every day she visited the places where others shared their words, hoping that she would find hers hiding among theirs, but they were not their either. </p> <p>Eventually, sadly, the girl stopped looking for her words. She went to work, she took pictures, she laughed with her children, but she no longer sought out the words. </p> <p>Then, one day, the words dropped in to visit. And again another day. Not nearly as often as they once did, but they stopped in. And the girl enjoyed her time with them.  She invited them over, told them to drop in any time. </p> <p>Slowly, that fractured relationship seemed to heal. It may never again be quite what it was, but perhaps one day they could again be close friends, the girl and the words. </p> Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4540574240953275746.post-88374922098501928342015-02-11T23:07:00.001-05:002015-02-11T23:07:15.167-05:00it is so hard.<p>She’s dying. </p> <p>We are pet owners – I can remember very few windows in time that didn’t have a dog in them. Even dogless, there was at least a cat, and the times without dogs were short. </p> <p>Currently we have 2 dogs. Effie is a beautiful golden retriever mix of some sort, a shelter rescue who fits perfectly in our hearts and home. We adopted her as a puppy, and outside of the occasional grumble over the shedding,  we adore everything about her. </p> <p>And then there is Peeg. </p> <p>Peeg (Weeg, PG, Peeger Weeg, all variants that stemmed from “Pretty Girl”) parked herself in front of my vehicle one day and refused to move. She ended up making herself comfortable in my car, then in our home as we tried to figure out who she belonged to. </p> <p>Apparently, she belonged to us, we just weren’t aware of it right away. </p> <p>Peeg has lived in our house now for almost 6 years. She is a puggle (we think) with a coloring identical to Effie’s. The sisters that were simply meant to be. And they have been. There has never been aggression, animosity, difficulty – owning these two, picked up at different points in time and different stages in life has been as easy as it could have been. We don’t know how old Peeg is, but it’s estimated that she is about 9. </p> <p>And she’s dying.</p> <p>A sore that was swollen was not. It was a mass. And even when it all but went away, it didn’t really. And when it came back, it did so with a vengeance. And it’s cancer. </p> <p>And it’s terminal. </p> <p>We’ve had the mass removed, we have started medications to keep her as healthy as we can for as long as we can. We’ve told the kids… That’s not true. HE’S told the kids. My husband took on that challenge because it is tax season and I am not there. It was as hard as you would expect. </p> <p>Hardest for my girl. She is a precious, tenderhearted child, and she loves that dog. We all love that dog, but the bond with the girl child is deep. </p> <p>Her dying is crushing me. Hard now because she seems so healthy. She’s doing so well. Eating, playing, being her usual self. But you can see that it’s different. Or maybe we’re making it different. Could be that. It’s heavy in my chest, and I find myself overwhelmed by it. </p> <p>This was not our dog, this pudgy, stinky-breathed, trash digger. She was just a dog dumped or lost, looking for home. </p> <p>Home was our house. Home IS our house. </p> <p>And she’s dying.</p> <p>And it’s crushing me.</p> Megan M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07728591410182688652noreply@blogger.com0