Tuesday, July 08, 2014

Mean Girls Series: Post 1

Since it is summer, I have been reading some "fluff" books that my students would like so that I am more up to date on current teen reads. Honestly, juvenile literature is my favorite, so it isn't like my job is twisting my arm to read drivel or anything, I just actually have an excuse to read teen books!  I am almost finished with a book called The List by Siobhan Vivian. It isn't the greatest of reads, but WOW, it is the epitome of snarky girls, and what I witness on a daily basis. It got me thinking of all of the times that I encountered mean girls in my life. I decided since this blog is a chronicle of my life at times, why not tell some of my stories about the meanies in my life? And because I am an equal opportunist, there will be some of my stories when I was the mean girl mixed in with some of the stories I tell. I'm not proud, but yes, I have been a snot in my life, and can't hide from my bitchiness, only learn from it. 

Mean Girls Series: Post 1 

I always struggled with the need to be liked... even in to my late 20's. I have too many instances of me trying to be liked by others, that I would need to move on to my toes to count, because 10 fingers just isn't enough. I really can't tell you why I had the huge desire to be loved, but I did, and this desire drove me to be anything but myself just to fit in. 

Jump to 5th grade Meagan. 5th grade Meagan was skinny, gangly, awkward, gap toothed, and plain. My parents were your average middle class parents, but we didn't have a lot of extra to get whatever we wanted as far as clothes and toys were concerned. It never really occurred to me that I didn't have everything I ever needed until someone would point it out to me. I was always dressed nicely; my mother never let me leave the house without my hair done and my outfit put together. I thought I looked cute when I went out. I guess I was wrong.

Back then, every girl wanted a pair of Roos shoes. Remember those kicks? The kind with the zippered pouches on the side, big enough to stash a lunch ticket? I'd wanted these shoes for over a year. I was desperate to get a pair, but I guess my mom didn't agree with me on the cool factor. Everyone had them, especially these really pretty popular twins named Sharon and Sarah.* I wanted to be friends with Sharon and Sarah so badly. Everyone loved them. They were the hot girls who all of the boys liked, and the girls who all of the teachers adored, and truthfully, they were the girls who stirred the most shit, but I was too naive to know this at the age of 10.  {These girls are so nasty, they will get another post or two of their own}. 
I finally got my very own pair of Roos shoes. They were pink and purple, and I thought I looked pretty darn amazing in them. I know I probably bounced extra high on my strides to the classroom that day, because I wanted to show everyone my brand new shoes. I put my foot up on the desk chair as an embellishment, and made a point of putting my lunch ticket in my zippered pouch. Grinning as the twins came by, I asked them if they loved my new shoes, because impressing them was uber important to me. I can't remember the whole of the conversation, but they basically told me that no one wore those stupid shoes anymore, and anyone who was anyone wore Keds. Crushed, I went into the bathroom and cried, and hated those hellacious purple and pink monstrosities, and wouldn't be caught dead in a pair of shoes unless they brandished the rubber-blue rectangle on the back of the heel. Good luck convincing my mom that these shoes I was so desperate for were no longer desirable. It would have to take a huge act of having my new shoes ruined or lost to get the newest craze, Keds, but thankfully I wasn't a dishonest child, so I just wore the stupid shoes and felt like a loser every time one of the twins looked at me. 



*pseudonyms 

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

How do you know? You know...

How do you know that he is "the one?" There are many things that determine whether or not a person is compatible with you, is your soul-mate, or maybe even just a great companion for a short time in your life. There were many things that told me that Pat was the one, but I am not going to write about every one of them, because that would be boring. I want to focus on one particular, SILLY thing. Furniture.

Yes, furniture. I knew it was serendipity the first time I walked into his house. He was giving me a little tour, showing me where he hides the dead bodies (not a funny joke to show a crawl space and make that kind of funny when you just met the guy), and taking me into each room of the house. I stopped dead in my tracks when we entered the bedroom, and put my hand across the dresser.

Meg: Is this furniture Attic Heirlooms by Broyhill?

Pat: Um, yes. {Because what dip shit knows not only the brand of furniture, but the specific name of the furniture line? Me.}

Meg: I have this furniture. Well, I have a dresser and a nightstand, but this is my exact furniture in my bedroom.

Ok, now this seems totally random, but it is quite funny. When I was married, I searched high and low for the perfect bedroom set. It took me months to find the pieces I wanted. My ex was over seas, and I'd express my disdain at the poor quality of furniture out there these days when I would talk to him on the phone. I am certain he thought I was cuckoo, because after all, it was just furniture. I wanted something that was solid wood {kind of hard to find anymore}and distressed looking. I finally came across the Attic Heirlooms Collection at a Broyhill store. I ordered 2 dressers, 2 night stands, and a king size 4 post bed. All of the items would have to be ordered, and delivered, so I waited. I waited patiently might I add. 6 months to be exact, because I wanted that damn 4 post bed. It never came, so I settled for the sleigh bed instead. I guess there was some sort of back order situation or something. I was disappointed, but happy to have my furniture delivered. Well, when the ex and I divorced, that was something I wasn't able to keep. I was so upset, because honestly, that was the furniture that was the best quality, and meant a lot to me because I had looked so long for it. That is OK though, because I saved up, and was able to get another dresser and night stand. That is all I could afford, but I was happy with it, and for just me, it was perfect. Damn I loved my furniture.

So fast forward to Pat...here he is, having the same furniture as me. Because of a divorce, he only had one night stand, one dresser, and an armoire. Kismet? I think so. So we are meant to be. We are furniture soul-mates. A match made in decorating heaven. Silly, but fun to think, nevertheless. Now we are a complete pair, together, both in furniture and in love.


Saturday, May 03, 2014

On Gluttony

I do believe that it is a proven fact, that if you are truly happy, you indulge. My cloud nine status has made me forget my cares, and enjoy life.
Normally, even when I am truly in a blissful state, I beat myself up, convince myself that I am a fatty, and spend more time looking in the mirror loathing myself than loving myself. That hasn't been the case for me in over a year.
I think dating someone who you love makes you have metaphorical "beer googles" on. Mine eyes shineth over with the glittery fallacy that I am beautiful no matter what, because he tells me that I am. And dang, that is a good feeling. A good feeling when I raise that beer to my lips; a good feeling when I eat that baby gelato his daughter so lovingly picked out for me; that good feeling when the cinnamon roll drips with extra frosting; the bags of gummy bears, or the baskets upon baskets of hot-from-the-oven chips with cheese dip and salsa. Mmmmmm......cheese dip.

But, what does that ooey gooey love stuff get you though? Fat. Fat and happy? Yes, but fat nonetheless.

I stepped on the scale a few weeks back and was a tad shocked at what I saw. My gluttony along with the cold winter climbed up my midsection and camped out there awaiting the warmer weather and bikinis. Bikini? Zoinks....NOT HAPPENING. Sure, my clothes still fit, but they are tighter, but a bathing suit won't tell a lie. I have been awaiting spending time camping, but not the pup tent kind of camping that has set up shop around my gut. I've always had a squishy midsection, and that I am ok with, because my body type gains weight in my tummy. Some gals get saddlebags, some get a badonkadonk, and I get jelly donut. Sweet. Good thing I love jelly donuts! Wait... I am getting myself hungry with all of this food imagery. Holy ADD this morning.

Bottom line. I a content with who I am, and I like how I look. However, not everyone will like to see me looking like I do in a bikini this summer, so it is time to get back on the wagon. I want to feel a little better, so I am counting my calories with the help of my fitbit and myfitnesspal. I am not going to deprive myself of the things I enjoy. I can't. I want to live life and have fun. I love myself enough to not torture the fat off of me, but to be cautious about what I decide to eat during the day. I won't count every day... the weekends I will be laxed, but I need to find a balance between eating anything I want, and making healthier choices. It is amazing how many calories I can stack up having a bite of this, or a small piece of that. If I have to log my calories and see that half of my daily intake went up with a few small pieces of this or that, then something is amiss. The accountability piece is huge, and me knowing what I am eating instead of choosing to ignore the fact that calories DO COUNT is helping me tremendously. I am doubtful I have lost any weight, but I am happy that I am paying attention to what I am eating, and soon enough I can look decent in that bikini (or retro one-piece...who says a girl needs a bikini)?

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Bring it On, Denver! {On Education}

It is no secret that I love my job. I've posted for years the ups and downs I've experienced in my ten years as a teacher, with some of the ups being hilariously funny, and the downs pulling me to the bottom of the deepest pit. I realized that if I am feeling down more than the good days are pulling me up, then it is time for a change. That is why I left my old position a few years ago. The kids? I loved. The staff? I still miss teaching with them. The constant turmoil and change at the district level? Not for me. I tried to work my way through it all, I really did. Five years of change {Three superintendents, no superintendent, innovation zones, zone leaders, school upheaval EVERY year with what the new focus will be, when the old focus was never really implemented...it became exhausting}. Part of it is, I am a perfectionist at work. I want it done right, and I am willing to do whatever it took to get it to that point. I couldn't half-ass my work, which years ago is precisely what most people did to survive, and I couldn't be so mired down with the little particulars, because I would go insane. I lost focus of what really was important {my kids} and let the paperwork dictate my late hours and grumpy disposition once I got home. Thankfully, once I was present, in front of my students, I became whole and happy. With each passing class, I laughed, loved my job, cared, and wanted success out of each and every kid. And THAT is why I was a teacher. I could escape all of the bureaucracy and the drama...leave it inside for others to bitch about, and I could go and be a coach, and see the happiness and success in each child I came in contact with. I longed for track and cross country. I longed for the hours where I could shut my door and work my magic. It is those places that I did what I did best. What I truly feel I was born to do, and that is TEACH.
When the thing I loved best became hazardous to my well being, I moved to another school district where they seemed to have it all together. In reality, they do. At every school, someone finds something to complain about. It is funny, because I've seen the worst, and the things some people find too hard to deal with is simply funny to me, and I think to myself, every teacher should teach in a school where they are challenged, and things don't go as planned, because you know what? You become a MUCH better teacher out of those challenges. Rather than experiencing the same thing every day, and becoming dis-content with your place of employment, look for ways to make things better, or go somewhere where you can be challenged and try new things.
That's the cool thing about education...we have to constantly learn. Once we close the doors on learning for ourselves, we can't be effective instructors. We need new ideas, new theories, new philosophies, new strategies, and new methods. Some will work, and some will come crashing down like a meteor hurdling millions of miles towards the Earth. That is OK...because it is like I said, those failures make education better. I am not scared of the things that are to come. I can track data, and I can progress monitor growth. In the last few years where the new SB 191 came into effect, I welcomed it. I almost think it is making me a better teacher. Not because I have to plug numbers into spreadsheets {I am not a numbers gal}, but because I really have to look at the standards, what I need to assess, and really look even deeper into what I need to teach and the way in which I teach it. I think in my dreams some nights about what I could do better for my kiddos, and how I could teach them more.
The last two years have been incredible. I love my job so much. I love my students, and am happy to see each little success, and am like a proud mama: I beam when they achieve something big or small.
It's strange to think that I will have to leave a place where I am feeling at my best. I feel like I have years to keep growing and making my job better. I also know that moving is the right thing to do, however, and maybe leaving a job where I am at my highest and not my lowest will be a great thing for me. I know I have bigger and better things in my future ahead of me. I hope others will see my desire and passion for education, and be willing to give me a shot in a new district, in a new place. I know moving for love and not discontent is what is best, and I welcome the challenges and excitement ahead. Bring it on, Denver, BRING IT ON.

Friday, March 14, 2014

Flashing Lights

Every once in a while I do something really dumb. I decided to document this moment of moronic mishaps so I could look back at it and laugh at myself a few years down the road. My little moment of "enlightenment" so to speak.

Last week I was sick. Not sick like fever and flu sick, but sick enough where I was full of minor aches, serious sinus issues, and migraine headaches. I also lost my voice, which made teaching interesting to say the least. I had no voice for 2 days, and I sounded like a man for about a week. It was good times.

One night, I took some NyQuil because I was hacking and a little achy. I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. Let me note that I rarely do this, normally only when I have been boozing it up. Maybe the alcohol content in NyQuil equals boozing? I digress. I got up to go to the bathroom and didn't turn on any lights. As I flushed, I noticed my toilet lit up. I was entranced, like
"Oh, pretty!" I need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night more often because these disco lights in the comode shouldn't be missed. I was pretty psyched about the whole thing, smiled on my way back to bed and passed out.

I tossed and turned a lot that night. I knew my sleep pattern was all sorts of jacked, so I was excited to see the sleep pattern my Fitbit registered. Nerdy as it sounds, that is my favorite part about that device, I can see when I am restless, awake, and how many hours I've slept. My goal is to get 95% sleep efficiency. Anyway, when I had to get up for work, I felt for my Fitbit that was clipped to my uber-cute Bronco's pajamas, and realized it was missing. For a second, I thought, WTF, I had the damn thing on when I went to sleep. And then I realized where the flashing disco lights came from in my potty. Yep, I flashed my mother f*%$#&* Fitbit.

Epic. Fail.
 

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

These brows...

For years, I have been lucky enough to purchase something not for girls, but just for men. Not every gal can say that she can brush mustache and beard color on her face. Now wait, don't go thinking I have a beard or stash...not yet anyway, but I do have facial hair that needs a little boost. My eyebrows. I have been blessed with seriously slim brows that look over plucked, under arched, and over bleached. Lucky me. I know there are worse things I could have than an unattractive eyebrow, but it seriously bothers me. I am not talented with an eyebrow pencil, eyebrow fillers, or powders. I end up having one nice looking brow, and then one catywompus brow. Straight up fugly. When I sweat, I rub half of my eyebrow off, and then I really look like an idiot. To compensate for my lack-luster arches, I started to use "Just For Men" Mustache and Beard so I could color the blonde, and not have to mess much with the powders and pencils. It was easy, lasted a few weeks, and I could use a box for about 3 months. I usually only had to worry about leaving the color on too long (Groucho Marx anyone?) or not coloring soon enough. One time at school some kids asked me if I had shaved my eyebrows because I hadn't colored them in. That right there tells you I have an issue. So, this issue turned into a resolution. One I am not ready to debut yet, but a fix. So good bye Just For Men, and hello brows that don't wipe off! Pictures to come upon healing!

Wednesday, February 05, 2014

Grandpa Butler's Ring

One thing I always remember about my dad is his love for his father. Even though we moved away from Michigan when I was 3, and my dad didn't see his father very much, he loved him tremendously. He was always proud of his dad's accomplishments, but most importantly, just happy to be his son. My dad would get a sparkle in his eyes when he talked about his dad (his namesake), and a curl of his lip. He loved this man.
Grandpa Butler died about 7 years ago. I hadn't seen him since I was 5 or 6, but he had a special place in my heart. The man {in my eyes} saved me from a tornado. He let me put bows in his hair, and style him up like a lady. I remember sitting in his lap reading Hop on Pop  when he visited us in Arizona, and I remember thinking his baseball caps in the back window of his car were probably the coolest thing I'd ever seen.
The next time I saw Grandpa was in his casket. I was lucky enough to go to the UP of Michigan with my dad to attend the funeral. I was able to walk though his cabin on Lake Michigan, see old pictures of me up on his fridge, spend time with my aunt, uncle, and cousins, and get to know a little part of Grandpa that I had missed for all those years. It was probably one of the most special trips I'd ever taken. I got to see my dad in a place that he loved, see him with his family, and be there when he said goodbye to the man he had revered his whole life.
Grandpa was a stubborn old coot, {and my dad, sister, and I come by this trait honestly}, and he didn't want any old music played at his funeral. No...he wanted it his way, and by his way, I mean that we played "My Way" by Frank Sinatra at the funeral. To me, it was funny, but to see my dad up there listening to that song, it brought tears to my eyes, because that was his dad, and he was so proud of him. Not many people came to the funeral, because he was an old dude when he died, and most of his friends died long before him. A few showed up, and it was neat to see them talk to my dad, who I swear, is a spitting image of his old man.
When we were leaving Michigan, each of us took something that reminded us of Grandpa. I have an old Seagram's 7 Bottle on a custom pourer that has my grandpa's name engraved. Silly, but I love this antique and dusty bottle. It was part of him. Dad took a gold ring that looked like a set of dice that Grandpa used to wear on his pinky finger. For the last 7 years, my dad has worn this ring on his pinky, and even more than it reminds me of Grandpa, it reminds me of Dad.
At Christmas this year, my dad brought my sister and I together and told us that he was ready to pass the ring along to us. That he had enjoyed it, but now it was time to give it to his girls. He wanted us to share it somehow, and wear it to think of both he and my grandfather. It was really up to the two of us what we wanted to do with the ring, and it was almost an immediate consensus. We wanted to wear the ring on our pinky fingers, just like both of them have, and if we could both have a square {one section of the dice} and they could look the same, that is what we wanted done. So Dad took us to the jeweler, and our vision could become a reality. It wouldn't be a perfect, symmetrical ring, because the original wasn't perfect and symmetrical.  We didn't care. We wanted our memories to be of our dad, and if the ring wasn't what he has worn, then we wouldn't want it.
The rings arrived last week. We both can wear the ring on our pinky finger, and now we have a piece of both Edwards with us every day. Thank you, Dad for such an amazing gift. Heartfelt, family, love, and tradition on our hands. {Pay no attention to the winter, dry, old looking hands}!

Saturday, January 25, 2014

A Year in Review. Bullet Edition

A year has past, and I look at myself where I was a year ago and can only say WTF? I mean seriously, WTF? I was beyond a hot mess, and seriously, I am ok that I am not a giant cluster f*Ck right now. In fact, I really hope I don't ever become that jacked up again. Ever. So, in retrospect of the past year, and my serious issues with not blogging, I've decided to do a New Year post: Bullet edition.

  • Turned into a hot mess. Seriously not my fault though. I have done plenty of bad / wrong / unkind / stupid things in my life, but this one was seriously NOT my fault. 
  • Hated myself for a hot second. Got over it. I like myself. I'm not going to ever forget that. 
  • Made 2 New Year's Resolutions for 2013. Do 5 pull-ups and don't bleach my hair for a year. I kept one. I love my dark hair. It stays.
  • Dated. No matter how many years have passed since my divorce, this never gets easier. I hate it. Every date in the last 4.5 years was an adventure. I still don't like it though, and hopefully don't ever have to again. I am a monogamist.  I want one and only one man in my life.    
  • Met my love in February of 2013. Head over heels, crazy in love with this man. 
  • Skied a lot. Season pass is actually getting used.
  • Skied and loved blue runs. Still love the blue runs. I'm improving.
  • Went to Florida
  • Went to Phoenix a few times. My love came with me. Holy cow: this FEELS GOOD. 
  • Went to NYC for work. Had a love affair with the city. I NEED to go back. A LOT! 
  • Sturgis, SD. Amaze-balls for reals. This place is beautiful. I look forward to an annual trip there. 
  • Rode a motorcycle all over Summit County.
  • Got stuck in a huge rain storm on the motorcycle. An adventure to say the least!   
  • Moved {again}. This time in a cute little cottage that can fit just me and my cat. 
  • Had a tumor taken off my ovary. Commence falling out of hair and weak nails. This is no bueno.
  • 2 Concerts: Zac Brown Band and Maroon 5 (with Kelly Clarkson).
  • Became obsessed with my students this year. I love them. They are amazing. 
  • Taught a lot of professional developments to other teachers. 
  • Visited with friends
  • Made new friends
  • Decided I don't need to tiptoe around anyone. I can just be myself. It feels so good. 
  • Hiked the incline once. Just once. 
  • Watched the Broncos win the AFC Championships. Super Bowl Bound!  
  • Loved my body, even though I am squishy. 
  • Drove to Denver almost EVERY. SINGLE. WEEKEND. {and then some more}. I don't even hate the drive anymore. Can I say I might even enjoy it a little? {When I-25 is NOT under construction that is}. 
  • Ended a sentence with a preposition. Actually am learning to teach grammar in isolation, so I KNOW what a preposition is. I still don't like grammar in isolation, but dang it, I WILL be the grammar goddess in ALL aspects. 
  • Thought about going back to school. 2 masters? Sounds like a good idea to me. 
  • Met 2 little girls I adore. Even if one doesn't do her homework!  :)
  • Never made any New Years Resolutions for 2014. I don't need to. I can do things because I want to, and not because I resolve to. 
  • Made some big decisions. With big decisions comes big change. 
  • Laughed. Oh my goodness, laughing is great.
  • Texted with my mom. This is a HUGE feat! 
  • Received an amazing gift from my dad (blog to follow soon). 
  • Read a lot. Shared those good books with my book club ladies. LOVE THEM! 
  • Enjoyed Colorado: and I plan on enjoying it some more! 
That's about it. I am sure I am forgetting things, and that's ok! 
Happy New Year 2014!   

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Orange and Blue

I admit, I don't know a lot about football. I can't say that I know "jack," because I actually watch the game quite a bit {Sundays SUnDaYs, SUNDAYS}. I have been watching the Broncos pretty religiously the last 4 years, and I actually know a lot more about the game then I ever did. When I say a lot, I mean that I actually know what some plays are, and can follow the game and not get distracted by the pretty uniforms {i.e...the Seahawks}. I am excited to watch the Broncos play, and feel that if I don't wear my Bronco themed pajamas to bed, it is bad karma, and my team will lose. I look forward to football games with my sweetie and our friends, and having a brew {or four} and some homemade chicken wings to make everything even more exciting for game day. I know the players, and have become quite fond of them! That being said, it is with great excitement that I look toward the Super Bowl to see the Broncos vie for the title of the best team this year. It is a silly little thing to be happy about, but silly or not, it is fun.
Now if only I could say the same thing about hockey. We have season tickets to DU, and I still am just blissful being there, not knowing a lot about the game at all. I'm cool with that. I feel my gaining of knowledge in both football and baseball is sufficient, and that is good enough for me.

Go Denver Broncos!

Saturday, January 18, 2014

You are Hot and You're Cold....

I chose to move into my house for so many reasons. The most important reason was how dang cute the place is. I mean, how can a girl resist a cute little wood-planked-ceiling, squeaky-wood floored, less than 700sq feet home? I can't. I still think my place is the bees-knees, and am super happy I was able to move here.

When it turned winter, I began to have other opinions about my place. Not because I didn't still love my humble little abode, but, because I was faced with issues I've never had to deal with before. My home is old. I have floor board heaters with these weird dials connected to who knows what in both my bedroom and my bathroom. My best guess is that those dials turn up the output of heat, which is connected to the uber-archaic thermostat in my front room. I equate my heater to playing Russian Roulette.  Spin the dial to see where it lands! 60 degrees? Bully! 75? You betcha!

The wood stove in the front room looks as if it is a heat-monster. Not so much. If I am putting logs into the thing, it sure looks as if it is spitting out heat. It doesn't though, and I can't really tell you what the purpose of the stove is other than to look cute, and burn my thighs or a cat's paw if either one of us gets too close.

This is problematic, because it gets cold here in Colorado. For one week it was below zero for the highs, and snowing outside. I had snow days, so I tried to stay warm inside my little cottage. I had to be bundled up with a heat pad and a heated throw, and even then, I couldn't move, because I was so cold. The walls were emanating frigid air, and I swear sometimes I saw my breath. The heat was turned to 70, but I can tell you, if you almost stick to your toilet seat because it is so cold (picture Flick sticking his tongue to the pole in A Christmas Story), then the place is too dang cold. I thought I was being a miser by not turning my heat up past 70, but when I got my 200 dollar electric bill, I was more than miffed, because I was FRICKEN COLD. Hmph.

But, it got warmer outside, and I quickly realized there isn't much of a difference between 64 and 68 inside my house. As long is it is warmer than 40 for the highs, and not below freezing for multiple nights on end, then I am OK. Pat got me a heated blanket for my bed, and that is helping a lot. I don't want to get out of bed because it is so warm. I will get out of bed for a hot shower, though. Wait...I forgot, I have a midget water heater, and I am lucky if I get an 8 minute hot shower without the water going cold. Yeah, that is problematic, too. Try shaving your legs with goose bumps. Not fun.
Oh well...at least my place is cute, right?