tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33827591750310231812024-03-13T02:54:11.569-04:00Bringing Up BumbleMeghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.comBlogger333125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-42400034037669536002012-12-20T21:31:00.000-05:002012-12-20T22:28:12.363-05:00christmas card reveal<center>
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For me, one of the top ten perks of having my newborn back in 2009 was at Christmastime. I finally got to join the troops of parents who made the cute holiday cards out of their kids' photos that I'd always envied.</center>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">2009</span></b></center>
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But the first year, I was stressed. My baby was two months old, always crying, and it really put a damper on any creative abilities I thought I'd accumulated for the Christmas card talent I was supposed to have in adulthood. I let Picture People make this card out of one of the pictures from his first photo session and called it a day. </center>
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These were the days when I thought every single photo of my newborn was amazing. Nevermind his frown and half closed eyes.</center>
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There's a small victory I soak up from this card, though. Three years later, he still sleeps with the same bear. Except he's half as fluffy.</center>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/8291509066/" title="2009 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="2009" height="640" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8360/8291509066_911a573093_z.jpg" width="373" /></a></center>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">2010</span></b></center>
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The next year, I had a photographer do a photo shoot with us at North Carolina's Art Museum. I'd hoped to include Matt and I in this one, but I honestly didn't like any of the pictures she took. I picked my favorite one of Carter and used <a href="http://www.tinyprints.com/" target="_blank">Tiny Prints</a> to create my card design the week before Christmas. I think I paid more than $40 for last minute shipping alone.</center>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/5268243208/" title="christmascard by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="christmascard" height="600" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5287/5268243208_11038e727f_z.jpg" width="428" /></a></center>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">2011</span></b></center>
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Last year, I got really into <a href="http://pinterest.com/rmeghann/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a> and was inspired by the whole<i> do it yourself</i> world. I started to think I could possibly take a professional-looking photo myself, and, at the very least, I'd be using my own creative vision instead of someone else's photography.</center>
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I had an idea of what I wanted to do, and luckily my baby was old enough to be bribed with candy for sitting still. I could never tell you how to photograph in low light, but I got lucky with this shot and started to believe that almost any photo I took with determination and vision could be better than the professional photo cards I'd had made in the past. I used <a href="http://www.tinyprints.com/" target="_blank">Tiny Prints</a> again, just to add the text and have it printed.</center>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 2012!</span></b></center>
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This year, we put our tree up extra early just so I could get the lights in the background of the card. One lazy morning, I gave Carter a crash course on the concept of Christmas cards. I showed him his old ones and some I'd saved that people sent us last year. He was in a good mood and totally compliant to every word. Probably because I told him he could have three gummy worms when we were done. </center>
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I tried a few different setups with candy canes and winter hats. I moved on to a milk and cookies idea I'd had and set them in front of him. Eyes full of thanks, he immediately reached for a cookie.</center>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/8291409566/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="brighteditDSC_0896-2 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="brighteditDSC_0896-2" height="425" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8078/8291409566_8571da8e4a_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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"Wait! Don't touch them yet, Carter! I have to refocus the camera." </center>
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Then this face happened. And I got my 2012 Christmas card.</center>
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(Yes, I let him eat the cookies.)</center>
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The first picture with the little smile reaching for the cookie tormented me. I was dying to use it. I felt so cynical even considering sending out a Christmas face that was anything but happy. But the frustrated, crumpled eyebrows pulled at my heart.</center>
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Clicking back and forth between the two for hours, I decided not to let myself get sucked into a world that uses Christmas cards to make our lives look perfect. In reality, he will probably make that same face on Christmas eve and a hundred other times this week. And I love that disgruntled, little furrowed brow just as much as I love his smile. </center>
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Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-24192941000611080682012-12-14T11:38:00.000-05:002012-12-14T11:38:31.738-05:00<center>
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Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-64427602233646755422012-08-14T15:03:00.001-04:002012-08-14T15:04:35.814-04:00cop out.<center>
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I don't know where I've been or where I am, mentally and physically. I've rushed from fertility to psychiatric to endocrinological considerations in a matter of months. I really just want to wait until it's all over, and I can write, <i>::insert treatment:: worked!</i> at the end of a long, tmi blog post. In the meantime, I've been playing with this little boy. Who's gotten, pretty big, by the way. </center>
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His waytooshort haircut kills me.</center>
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Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-52375659015884800062012-07-11T11:06:00.002-04:002012-07-12T09:49:30.402-04:00the fourth.I'm so behind on blogging! And I never use exclamation points on here!<br />
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We had an amazing Fourth of July ... it was Matt's birthday, and his brother came to visit from Philadelphia, so our little cul-de-sac of friends did our best to throw together a party.<br />
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<center style="text-align: left;">Here are a few of my favorite pictures until I can pin down some kind of conceivable routine that resembles my old life this week. Mostly, I'm just living in fear of whatever feeling I might get if I post Fourth of July pictures in August.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br />
</center><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7551111362/" title="DSC_0111.jpg by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0111.jpg" height="978" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8428/7551111362_4813c4eef5_o.jpg" width="650" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7551121108/" title="DSC_0099.JPG by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0099.JPG" height="518" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8027/7551121108_5356d3b742_o.jpg" width="650" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7551127708/" title="1.jpg by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="1.jpg" height="646" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8022/7551127708_e6292d139e_o.jpg" width="650" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7551133116/" title="DSC_0014.JPG by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0014.JPG" height="431" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8009/7551133116_f1706b2e41_o.jpg" width="650" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-18260965597765330892012-06-12T01:35:00.000-04:002012-06-12T01:37:04.894-04:00no shame.<div style="text-align: center;">
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Last week when we were sitting in the fertility office for the ump-teenth time on our track record, emotions mostly organized, I was feeling really clear-headed.<br />
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I avoided eye contact with normal-looking girls across from me and wondered, what could be going on in <i>her</i> body that drove her and her husband into the chairs beside us? Masses of people had the secretaries and admins at the front desk juggling paperwork, phone calls and complicated questions. Most of us either have an issue with conceiving or personally know someone who does.<br />
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In these offices (I've been to four of them), fertility is a business. Emotion from doctors and staff runs kind of low; people are ushered on and off of ultra sound tables by the minute. I once had a standard IVF procedure done and couldn't shake the word <i>cattle</i> from my mind.<br />
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It's an amazing scene to witness in there, because when you step outside that office, a person suffering from infertility will usually opt to keep the fight a personal, silent one.<br />
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I couldn't help but wonder (this is starting to sound very Carrie Bradshaw), if so many of us are dealing with infertility, where is this enormous wave of shame coming from?<br />
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I can sit, sipping on my iced mocha, getting my hair highlighted and openly reveal the intricacies of our IVF drama to a hair dresser I met five minutes earlier. Am I being naive? All she'd wanted to know was if I wanted another kid. The infertility reveal? A total flinch-inducer.<br />
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And it usually is. But it's not like I'm describing in vulgarity the intricacies of my female parts. I have organs that don't work the way they should, and I'm not embarrassed to tell you that. Sad? Yes. And I think it's the expectation of sadness and tears that brings all that discomfort into these conversations.<br />
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But what frustrates me is that the sadness usually yields to silence for most people seeking fertility treatment. My inability to have a baby changed me as a person. It made me stronger. Smarter. Aware that everyone has a different battle to fight. I couldn't have made that transformation in secrecy, so I sought out the ears of anyone who cared enough to listen. Fighting tooth and nail to get Carter, I wasn't looking for remorse, but I knew that being honest was the only way to gain a shoulder to cry on.<br />
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I think if we - the fertility challenged - take a leap past the shame, the whole world will find benefit. The uneducated can gain knowledge and then, respect. This was the way my son was created. If anything, I revere my own infertility. That's what you have to do if you want it defeated.<br />
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<center style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-30409135771374452562012-06-01T19:02:00.000-04:002012-06-01T19:02:12.675-04:00<br />
<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7317068618/" title="DSC_0522 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0522" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7086/7317068618_b1c3f968cf_c.jpg" width="658" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7317017612/" title="DSC_0524 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0524" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7220/7317017612_589e2ecc7b_c.jpg" width="658" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7317025012/" title="DSC_0525 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0525" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7076/7317025012_c01ab47f9f_c.jpg" width="658" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7317034082/" title="DSC_0526 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0526" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7219/7317034082_ac96744413_c.jpg" width="658" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7317042516/" title="DSC_0527 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0527" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7096/7317042516_f4cf924010_c.jpg" width="658" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7317053442/" title="DSC_0528 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0528" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7100/7317053442_190647e36b_c.jpg" width="658" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7317074594/" title="DSC_0532 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0532" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7230/7317074594_cbd251c98c_c.jpg" width="658" /></a></center><center><br /></center><center>I hope you had a Friday with a happy surprise!</center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-49252128455339732922012-05-24T00:42:00.001-04:002012-05-24T01:22:48.481-04:00couch to 5k. when the runs get long.<div style="text-align: center;">
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(Read my original post on running <a href="http://mattandmegh.blogspot.com/2012/05/running.html" target="_blank">here</a>.)</div>
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Welp. I hit a rough spot with the <a href="http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml" target="_blank">Couch to 5k</a> program that's actually got me fearing the workouts a little now. The part where you're suddenly running for 20+ minutes without stopping to walk. That happened. I attempted it a couple times and almost puked.<br />
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<center style="text-align: left;">So instead of taking on week 7 (nothing but running), I cowered back and repeated week 6. And I'm even considering doing week 6 again. And then maybe again.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I still hit my C25K days with the same dedication, but the <i>I rock at this</i> attitude is starting to dwindle. Because I'm not really sure if I still do. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Rock at this, I mean.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Besides the tiny bit of endurance I'm needing more time to build, here's my problem. When my walking breaks got eliminated, I didn't have anything to look forward to, and the entire entertainment factor kind of vanished. Stop, go, stop, go - it's got some amusement to it. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Nonstop running feels a little hopeless because the time lapse doesn't feel like it will end, no matter how much I mix up the music. Without the walking as an entertainment value, I can't help but focus on the difficulty that's building minute by aching minute.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I was so big on following the running and walking time slots down to the exact second - but on my last run, I was supposed to run for 22 straight minutes. I stopped for a 30 second breather 12 minutes in, and then I ran straight to my front door before I'd even hit 21 minutes. The little guilt-ridden cheats are making me feel like I didn't even exercise at all. I want to be doing this right.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">On weeks 1-5, I stopped myself from running beyond the allotted time even though I'd felt like I could do more. Week 6 and beyond, I have yet to hit a run beyond 20 minutes.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I really trusted the plan until the long runs started, because I was sure that with each step up, your body is ready for it. C25K wouldn't make me do anything I'm not prepared for. </center><center style="text-align: left;">Right. Let's still pretend and trust that's true.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I made up a few modifications. Call them cheats if you want. Or brilliance, that works, too.</center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ The day my period comes is a holiday. Always. Periods have to be good for <i>something. </i></center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ If I want to run more than 3 days a week, I get to pick any day off the C25K plan that I want to repeat.</center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ I try not to go more than two days without running - I kinda live in fear that the strength I worked for will suddenly vanish after 48 hours of idleness.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>My long run tips:</b></span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><b>Looking at the horizon</b> instead of the ground helps time move faster. It makes me feel more like I'm getting somewhere. I have to remind myself to look up, though, because I habitually look down.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><b>Get enough sleep and eat enough (healthy) food</b> during the days that surround your runs. Your body doesn't joke around when you ask it for its stored energy. It either has it or it doesn't. If it doesn't, you'll feel a lot more difficulty in the run. <i>Ahem. </i>The same goes for parenting a small child.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><b>Learn what parts of your route are uphill, and avoid them.</b> Hills immediately suck out all my stamina. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">The jump from running 8 minute time periods to 20 minutes during week five is a little offensive. Just looking at the number 20 made me feel defeated. Pretend it's asking for 19:55, close your eyes, and do it.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><b>Don't repeat the same route over and over.</b> Boring.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><b>I start slow and stay slow.</b> If I have a decent amount of energy left in the last minute or so, I run faster.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Figure out a way to <b>reward yourself</b> after you're done. I need something to look forward to, even if it's just bragging about what I did. But it's usually a combination of telling Matt how I did and a strawberry Chobani yogurt.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><b>Stop wasting time (and phone space) downloading music.</b> I found some free workout music stations when I dug a little on the Pandora app. Tap: Genre, Workout, then pick a station.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><b>Daydreaming up tips</b> to give fellow beginning runners works as a decent entertainment piece to nix boredom. It also helps you pay closer attention to what your current obstacles are and figure out ways to push through them.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I decided there's no shame in my repetition of workouts. It's still a workout, and it's not causing regression in any way.</center><center style="text-align: left;">There's no rule written that says you can't cheat. You're doing this for you, so push yourself to <i>your </i>limit, then try it again for as many days as it takes to get it done the way it was written.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-29451776506108852972012-05-18T19:41:00.001-04:002012-05-18T19:42:16.072-04:00stage & age<br />
<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7211963978/" title="31 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="31" height="612" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7217/7211963978_dc1040d807_z.jpg" width="612" /></a></center><center><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I think last month I was desperately googling and pleading from my keyboard things like <i>When does the crying end?</i> and mentally noting that there hasn't been a day he's lived that he hasn't cried over something. Crying is expected from a baby, yes. But there's gotta be a mental limit. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Now? I kind of just have an overly sensitive, dramatic, foreign exchange roommate-friend that I'm teaching English (and life) to. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>The part where it's noticeably easier.</b></span></center><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7134656459/" title="photo by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="photo" height="427" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7237/7134656459_86c8948291.jpg" width="427" /></a></center><center><br /></center><center>He lets me brush his teeth without a fight.</center><center>He'll try almost any food once.</center><center>He understands what it means to wait while I'm getting ready. He can entertain himself.</center><center>He'll take <i>No</i> for an answer. As long as I give him an explanation.</center><center>We can carry him to bed while he's limp with sleep, and he won't wake up.</center><center>He won't go out the door without shoes. And! He can put them on himself.</center><center>He'll go get me a diaper.</center><center>He'll attempt to give an actual answer when I ask <i>Why?</i></center><center>He smiles for pictures. Until I'm taking too many.</center><center>Conversations are made of broken sentences instead of tantrums. </center><center>I get to laugh all day yet. He adds the word <i>yet</i> to the end of all his sentences.</center><center><i>We can't [blank] until we [blank].</i> Works for everything.</center><center>We can go (unnoticeably to the public eye) to restaurants and grocery stores again.</center><center>He gives compliments on shirts, nails and makeup. They are, most commonly, <i>Ree-wee nice.</i></center><center>Personal time. It's happening.</center><center><br /></center><center><br /></center><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>New challenges.</b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6903646750/" title="DSC_0055 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0055" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5339/6903646750_3c1d01ed01.jpg" width="379" /></a></center><center><br /></center><center>Stores that have toys. Yeah, they suck.</center><center>He knows how to use the potty. Except he doesn't want to, and the poops aren't getting any smaller.</center><center>He's having dreams about <i>mean monsters</i> and running to our bed every night.</center><center>Booger eating.</center><center>Fingernail chewing.</center><center>With what little vocab he can pronounce, he mocks things Matt & I say.</center><center>Sharing means we're proposing war.</center><center>He still follows me all day, around the entire house.</center><center>He wants toys that match whatever new show he's into.</center><center><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Quirks.</b></span></center><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></center><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7219759678/" title="DSC_0487.jpg by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0487.jpg" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7235/7219759678_2d3cdae188.jpg" width="416" /></a></b></span></center><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></center><center>He carries around toenail clippers, calls them his <i>gray phone </i>and has conversations on them.</center><center>He hates to be dirty.</center><center>He asks to see his poop to analyze how yucky it was after his diaper gets changed.</center><center>His favorite things are swimming pools, sweets, Daddy and anything with wheels.</center><center>He doesn't really play with his toys as much as he just carries them around.</center><center>He put himself down for a nap once without telling me where he was going. In his bed. Covers and all.</center><center><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-86535207513610976762012-05-18T00:30:00.000-04:002012-05-18T14:47:08.334-04:00fashion fridayI hate shorts.<br />
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<center style="text-align: left;">Unless they look like a skirt!</center><center><br /></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7211398504/" title="untitled by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="untitled" height="480" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8005/7211398504_4faf306ac1_o.png" width="537" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7173367858/" title="Photo on 2012-05-10 at 13.49 #2.jpg by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="Photo on 2012-05-10 at 13.49 #2.jpg" height="400" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7081/7173367858_de276033f8.jpg" width="537" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7211456298/" title="DSC_0416.JPG by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0416.JPG" height="840" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7240/7211456298_0987e9cc09_c.jpg" width="537" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7173312680/" title="DSC_0458.JPG by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0458.JPG" height="640" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5112/7173312680_a81a9ceec2_z.jpg" width="537" /></a></center><center><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I can't even remember the last time I posted an outfit. My friend <a href="http://todayimbobbi.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Bobbi's</a> week full of outfit posts got me inspired.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">This skort thing does two things - 1. It gives me a butt (because I'm in the market for one!) 2. It gives the illusion of skinnier legs. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I'm still searching for a good top to go with them, but in the meantime, my favorite color has been teal. So that's what happened.</center><center><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-7003418225661523412012-05-10T00:33:00.000-04:002012-05-10T01:55:16.729-04:00everything and nothing<center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7168817794/" title="shoes.jpg by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="shoes.jpg" height="800" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8018/7168817794_76e6c4c9dd_c.jpg" width="493" /></a></center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I'm mentally stuck in that stage where I just mindlessly chase Carter around so he and everyone surrounding him survives his destruction. The babysitting stage seemed like it wasn't <i>ever</i> budging. Now? He's mostly trustworthy with bombs and such. I can let him run the house, confident he's lost all interest in carrying around the toilet brush or licking a random dirty wash cloth laying in the laundry room.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Enter the talking/understanding stage.</center><center style="text-align: left;">I'm naturally untalkative, so I'm challenged with the explosion of vocabulary and dozens of little (hilarious!) broken sentences that have straight out of nowhere graced Carter's current age. I'm supposed to be encouraging nonstop conversations and coming up with ways to introduce words. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">But seriously. I was getting so good at the chaotic chasing.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I easily forget that everything has a name, and - whoops - he doesn't really know any of them yet.</center><center style="text-align: left;">We're sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating sweet cajun trail mix. Except for chomping, it's all but silent. This is nice.</center><center style="text-align: left;">No, wait. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><i>This is trail mix. Can you say 'trail mix?'</i></center><center style="text-align: left;">He says it and probably forgets it as soon as his lips finish the attempt.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><i>Uh oh! You dropped one on the floor.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;">I decide to just go all space cadet on him.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><i>These floors are made of wood.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;"><i>Wood is from trees.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;"><i>You know, the trees that are outside?</i></center><center style="text-align: left;">Blank, unsponge-like stare. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Everything I'm physically doing deserves an explanation. I remind myself that he doesn't know why I'm boiling water (I figure out some words that somehow support the meaning of cooking). Why I'm washing the plate (<i>Bacteria</i> is probably completely over his head). Why he shouldn't touch the knives (a long annotation about how the word <i>dangerous</i> correlates to booboos).</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">In the back of my mind, I'm fighting myself, thinking <i>There's no way he understands what I'm saying, why do I bother?</i> I soo enjoy any rare silence that might creep into my house. I'm training my mind to keep moving; always search for words to talk to him about. The <i>I'm so happy to know you's </i>and songs that make no sense<i>, </i>the purposes of folded clothes and combed hair, the consequences of unbrushed teeth and stinky breath, the cats with their tails and the little boys with no tails, just a hiney. It feels so trivial and tedious sometimes. I wonder if he's holding onto any of this.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">But I say it all, anyway. Because by not listening to my unorganized babble, he's learning even less.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-3707409104214867222012-05-05T19:00:00.001-04:002012-05-24T00:56:34.356-04:00runningI've wanted to hash over Carter's potty training drama for a few weeks now. But I can't write about it while he's in an outrightdisregardtoiletexistence phase. The potty's simmering on the back burner with all our green vegetables. Except broccoli.<br />
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::soaking in a proud, little accomplishment rush::<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6999403826/" title="DSC_04967.jpg by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_04967.jpg" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7131/6999403826_46ec1e36d5_c.jpg" width="531" /></a></div>
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I didn't want to write about exercise. Because in general, exercise sucks.<br />
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<br />
<center style="text-align: left;">But I think - after 30-whatever years of cognitive life holding this fact to be solid and true - I'm obsessed with running now. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Plus, I've been blowing up everyone's Twitter page with obnoxious exercise tweets. So, I'll unofficially call this post <i>Twitter Workout Bombardment - Behind the Scenes. </i></center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">When I was in school, we had two days a year that we had to run a mile. It was timed and recorded on whatever meaningless Phys. Ed. records there were. Yeah, we were allowed to walk it - but nobody dared, for fear of being ruthlessly made fun of by the pompous boys that ruled our class. Trust me, you'd rather heave for dear life than endure whatever those boys had to say about your nerdy blunders. For a week before that run date, I'd feel physically sick to my stomach with anxiety. Anticipating tremendous pain psyches me out like that.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Like a weak, pitiful twig, I ran. And in between thoughts that my skull had developed the pliability of a squashed grape, I swore there was no point to this madness; I'd never again in my life run without reason. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Oh, to just become a friggin' adult already.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I'm not sure exactly how my mind got changed, but if you add all these up, they make a pretty sturdy list of suspicions: </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">♥My post baby belly pudge has been sitting here for two years. I always look down at it with the comforting thought, <i>If I ever <b>really</b> tried to exercise, I could get rid of that thing, lickety split. </i>That thought made the neglect feel ok. I don't know what my particular pudge is made of (skin? fat? stretched uterus?) or if it can be conquered, but I figure I'll know after I chisel at it for a while. It's there, but it's not that big. I never wanted to find the time to push aside baby Carter for exercise. </center><center style="text-align: left;">Carter's not so baby-ish anymore, and housekeeping makes a lame hobby.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">♥For a few months, I was taking long, fast walks. I'd record miles upon miles, but I always felt unchallenged and like I could somehow do better. Falling into a lazy pace is so easy to accidentally slip into when you walk.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">♥Almost every window in our new house directly overlooks a gorgeous greenway pouring with young, sweating, exercised hotties. They're running past my house at all hours of the day. Forget tearing out motivational magazine photos of hot bodies to tape to my refrigerator. Living in this house does it for me every time I walk past a window. So many people can do it. They <i>want</i> to do it. Why not me?</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7134662445/" title="flowers.jpg by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="flowers.jpg" height="259" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7185/7134662445_0c25c4e583_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A peek at our greenway.</span></i></center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">♥Everyone in my small circle of new friends runs. Sidewalks literally line every street in our town; you can't drive anywhere without seeing a runner. At first I thought they were crazy, in an amazing way. Now I'm thinking it was me.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ The pool opens this weekend.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Five weeks ago, I started the <a href="http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml">Couch to 5k</a> program. The point of the program is to start you slowly so your body has time to adapt to running and get stronger. It takes into account that in fifth grade you probably cried when some PE teacher made you run. It knows you're still pissed; it holds your hand and promises to be gentler this time. The program uses moderation as its purpose; it emphasizes not pushing yourself one second further than you're slated to do to avoid burnout or getting hurt, since your body's getting used to exercise. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">The PE teacher was your mean boyfriend. Couch to 5K is your sweet husband.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">It takes me 25 minutes, 3 days a week to train. I like using the word <i>train</i> because it makes me feel kinda badass. You can pick any days you want.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">During the first couple weeks, the whole ordeal was outright painful. I'd run for around a minute, walk for an equal amount of time, run again. My major issue was that I couldn't breathe, but I kept trusting that my body would catch up with my determined mindset. The endorphin-saturated high I floated back into my house on when I finished every day was making it completely, 100 percent worth it. And that doesn't even include how proud and clear-headed I felt for the hours after.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I've just started week five; I'm alternating running five entire minutes and walking three. Yesterday was the first time I actually didn't <i>feel</i> like I was running. I could breathe, my knees didn't hurt, and I sailed down my greenway, stunned at how easy it had suddenly gotten. I'd only heard about this in my life. But to experience it? Oh, man.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7000247978/" title="47c70a24964911e19dc71231380fe523_7 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="47c70a24964911e19dc71231380fe523_7" height="500" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5195/7000247978_84714355ce.jpg" width="500" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Am I really putting a picture of my bare stomach on the internet?</span></i></center><center style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Five weeks doing Couch to 5k. </span></i></center></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">If there were a way to rank the performance of Couch to 5kers in the history of the world, I figure I'd be at the bottom somehow, that's just how I perform with anything athletic. But hey, do anything, and experience just kinda hits you in the face. I have advice if you want to try it!</span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I downloaded the free C25K (Couch to 5K) <b>app on my iPhone </b>and hold it in my hand while I run. It tells you - out loud - when to run and walk, so you're not calculating minutes and just focusing on pushing through the workout. I use it in conjunction with the MapMyRun app, because I like to record my exact distance. While the C25K app is running, I live and breathe by what it tells me to do.</span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I make <b>ice water</b> before I leave and put it on the counter so I can grab it and chug as soon as I get back.</span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I put a <b>thick lipgloss</b> or chapstick on before I go. The wind dries your lips out within a couple minutes.</span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>I don't run for speed.</b> I'm honestly just proud I'm at some sort of pace that's putting my walking days to shame. I can only handle one goal at time, so I just concentrate on the number of minutes run.</span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>My knees were killing me</b> around week two. I spaced my runs out further, didn't quit, and the pain went away on its own after a week.</span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></center><center style="text-align: left;">I ran in the heat once, and everything about it felt so much harder. Now I wait until about an hour <b>before the sun sets</b> when my husband is home to watch Carter. Even though bugs fly into my face. Ideally, I'd run in the morning. But I'd have to be a morning person for that.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><b>Rain feels good.</b> Don't let bad weather be an excuse.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><b>Breathe down</b> - in through your nose, out through your mouth. My neighbor taught me this; once I figured it out and concentrated, I felt like I could keep going a lot longer.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I wasn't listening to <b>music</b> for four weeks. When I tried music this week, it changed everything. I wasn't concentrating on the rhythm of my feet, the sound of my breath, or the number of minutes left, which I've decided, was all psyching me out. <i>Survivor</i> by Destiny's Child always gets me going.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6999459120/" title="DSC_0441.JPG by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0441.JPG" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7176/6999459120_28d23e963b_c.jpg" width="604" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Ahem. Running away from my tripod. Girl's got a blog to illustrate.</i></span></center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">A couple days ago, Matt and I were watching <i>The Office</i>. A commercial came on with a super ripped, hot, tan chick running. Carter sees her and says, <i>Pretty cool!</i> As Matt starts on a smile & nod in approval of his son's good taste, he finishes his sentence <i>... dat Mommy!</i></center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">All of a sudden, that's the only reason I run.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-20614613708562913012012-04-11T00:39:00.001-04:002012-04-11T00:39:21.434-04:00<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6902861426/" title="DSC_0050 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0050" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7259/6902861426_311732078b_c.jpg" width="517" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7048979591/" title="DSC_0052 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0052" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7078/7048979591_30804619c8_c.jpg" width="514" /></a></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6902871448/" title="DSC_0020 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0020" height="800" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7065/6902871448_4f0d1389d0_c.jpg" width="515" /></a></center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-26208702572732306582012-04-08T17:51:00.000-04:002012-04-08T17:57:48.593-04:00bits and pieces<center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7022901739/" title="DSC_0162 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><br /><img alt="DSC_0162" height="538" src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6116/7022901739_0b7c6937c8_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I don't have a solid story for you. But mommy lists works with major efficiency.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">This one will, anyway.</center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ Holy <a href="http://www.danoah.com/2010/09/you-just-broke-your-child.html">article</a> amazingness. If you're a toddler's parent and you can read, this is for you. It kind of changed me. Be prepared to want to drop everything and go play with your baby.</center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ I'm dying to get one of <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/CamillaCotton?section_id=5821041">these</a> bags.</center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ I'm (grabbing minutes that don't exist and) reading this <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Everyone-Hanging-Without-Other-Concerns/dp/0307886263">book</a>.</center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ I hate yogurt, but for some reason I'm obsessed with <a href="http://www.chobani.com/products/c/nonfat/">this</a> stuff.</center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ I'm starting to take exercise really seriously again; it's making me feel so proud of myself.</center><center><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">On the Carter side of things, I'm noticing that he's always majorly stressing to hold back tears by doing this mega pouty-lip face. I've never seen anyone withhold such a sincere, pure battle of facial sadness, and I love it because it melts my heart. Two years of incessant crying was honestly frustrating me to the point of fury.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">You can't get mad at this. I think he secretly knows it.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7049745673/" title="DSC_0066 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0066" height="640" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5347/7049745673_359df279d7_z.jpg" width="443" /></a></center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: center;">For every 20 cute, girlie things swarming stores, there's maybe one cute item for a little stud. </center><center style="text-align: center;">I found one last week.</center><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6886285434/" title="DSC_0005 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0005" height="640" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7261/6886285434_e712a8f3d2_z.jpg" width="466" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: center;">I made him this cinnamon toast today. (<a href="http://pinterest.com/rmeghann/">Pinterest</a> inspired.)</center><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/7048897369/" title="photo by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="photo" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7123/7048897369_98d487ba8f.jpg" width="500" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6902806848/" title="photo1 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="photo1" height="400" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7130/6902806848_b258709519.jpg" width="500" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">The bear initially got a smile. When it came time to eat it, the bananas got that mega pouty face.</center><center><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-4312405534256151622012-03-31T15:50:00.003-04:002012-03-31T16:01:47.612-04:00two and a half.<center style="text-align: left;">Phew. </center><center style="text-align: left;">It took me months to dig through and pick out the pieces of our Disney footage where we weren't drenched in sweat. <i>I'm only kind of kidding.</i> I also threw in a few other of our latest & greatest activities. Here's another video for the (blog) books. </center><center><br /></center><center><iframe width="640" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/n9Dp3hQinQo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-3028889770027109412012-03-27T23:00:00.005-04:002012-05-23T13:59:16.240-04:00big bed<br />
<center style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6876554770/" title="DSC_0110 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img alt="DSC_0110" height="425" src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6240/6876554770_16c61b59c2_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></center><center style="text-align: center;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I don't know crib transitioning etiquette. How, when or why. Not a thing about it. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">With my particular two-year-old, there's no time for petty research.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">But I do know that Carter was starting to look cramped in that crib. (I'm editing out the part where he invariably insists on sleeping with five stuffed Winnie the Pooh characters, a teddy bear and an elephant pillow.) I talked to him about getting his own big bed before we swiped his crib from under him, but I don't think he grasped that this meant actually changing his sleeping life. I'm betting he thought a big bed would be added somewhere in the house for his own daily, jumping amusement. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Because that's what the other beds are for.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I notice most parents in the facebook/internet world gradually remove crib rails, then buy a small toddler bed with plans to eventually buy a larger bed when the child grows.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Yeah. We skipped all those steps.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">One day a couple weeks ago, we pulled apart his crib and turned it into a headboard and footboard for his new, full-sized, big boy bed. I like to think of this cold turkey strategy as having a couple bits of genius to them. Most obviously, this will be his first and last bed transition until he leaves home. Since the crib is in pieces, there's no confusion about going back. I love that he'll be sleeping with that crib, in some form, for his whole life here. I'll always be able to see my baby in that wood while he's all growing up-ish.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">While we were on the floor setting up the new bed, Carter was jumping around, squealing with widened eyes when he was finally, truly convinced this new bed would belong to <i>him</i>. But when it came time to go to sleep in it? <i>No thix, Mommy</i>. I was a little annoyed that nobody'd tweeted, facebooked or just screamed out their window that bed transitioning takes the same type of persuasion as say, potty training.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Ok so really, it's not as <i>hard</i> as potty training, but I wouldn't be surprised if there were a book or two out there called Toddler Bed Training. Or somebody's at least written a small, dog-eared chapter in a dusty library about it. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Night one was a small fight, but that's it. The freedom to get in and out of his own bed sunk in fast and has almost completely eliminated bedtime battles. The little rebel giggles in hysteria when he slides out of his bed, as if he's single handedly defied the most militant law on the planet and lived to see an extra minute. He's just been released from years full of hours of solitary crib caging.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Which is a thought so happy, that it would make any toddler sleep pretty solid at night.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 85%;">If you need a little Big Bed video drama (you do.), have a <a href="http://twitvid.com/QOV5M">watch</a>.</span></i></center><center><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-81360878570383582682012-03-27T22:26:00.005-04:002012-03-27T22:36:15.127-04:00missy's portraits giveaway winner<center><a href="http://www.melissaturner.com/portraits.html"><img src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6109/6876612478_507e138f3e_z.jpg" width="640" height="84" alt="banner" /></a></center><center><br /></center><center>The winner of her own, customized <a href="http://www.melissaturner.com/portraits.html">Missy's Portraits</a> 5x7 painting is:</center><center><br /></center><center><b>Jayme!</b></center><center><br /></center><center>Jayme wrote: </center><center><br /></center><center><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Tahoma;font-size:13px;">I liked on FB!!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Tahoma;font-size:13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Tahoma;font-size:13px;">Jaymealean@yahoo.com</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Tahoma;font-size:13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Tahoma;font-size:13px;">Jayme</span></i></center><center><br /></center><center>Congratulations! Thanks to everyone who entered!</center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-46948304313810809252012-03-20T15:34:00.011-04:002012-03-21T16:46:29.008-04:00strategizing<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6842705768/" title="bigdeal by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7187/6842705768_fd4edb575f.jpg" width="500" height="500" alt="bigdeal" /></a></center><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">I'm kind of a big deal.</span></center><center><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">At last. I write about something that coincides perfectly with the title of my blog. I'm feeling cautious about this one. I'm no <i>parenting</i> writer.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">But I guess I'm still a parent.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">A lot of a toddler's frustrations are channeled into his inability to tell you what he wants. Once he can talk, most of those crying fits are eliminated. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">So they say.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Ahem. Let's jump to the unwritten chapter where Carter can mostly tell me in broken words and small sentences every single thing he wants. Except? The sentences gravitate around anything and everything I don't want him to do. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I watch Mee-mouse. <i>I want to watch Mickey Mouse.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;">I want pop. <i>I want a lolly pop.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;">I want dat peece, peas.<i> I want that Pepsi, please.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;">No bath. I not!</center><center style="text-align: left;">No like dat [insert any given food I make here].</center><center style="text-align: left;">I get tattoo. <i>Kidding. But he may as well say it.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></center><center style="text-align: left;">Saying <i>no</i> has truly started beating me down. Not because the crying bothers me, but having days full of battles wears on our supposedtobehappy relationship. I can't stand that my discipline has my little prince personally and tragically offended. I <i>want</i> to tell him yes as often as I can for his entire childhood.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">And you know what? No matter how much I explain to him why he can't have or do certain things, it's not going to change the toddler rule of thumb. Kids love things that are bad for them. They hate doing things that are good for them. At his age, disrupting this causes screams and tears.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Since he understands everything I say, I started approaching the requests differently. Instead of outright saying n<i>o</i>, I'll figure out a way to work in a y<i>es</i>.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">I'm going to interrupt myself for a second here with a typical parenting disclaimer. Children do need to learn to hear n<i>o.</i> I'm working on saying <i>no</i> in different ways so Carter can learn right from wrong and still be happy at the same time. There are still tons of circumstances where I have to outright tell him <i>no</i>. And before anyone writes it, he's not spoiled. </center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><i>Momma, I watch Mee-mouse.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;">I get my voice super excited. <i>Yes, you can! But first we're going to get a nap.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;">He's so thrown off and thrilled by the sound of <i>Yes</i>, that the nap doesn't bother him. The nap isn't even for another hour, but I skipped the battle and turned his request into a reward.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;"><i>Let's go get a bath.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;"><i>No bath! I not!! </i>Eyebrows are furrowed and fists are even clenched at his sides.</center><center style="text-align: left;">Normally, I pick him up, kicking and screaming, and carry him to the tub. Except now, he gets a choice.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><i>Ok. Mommy's going upstairs. You can stay here by yourself or come get a bath.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;">{Or the harsher route} <i>Ok. You can sit in Time Out or come get a bath.</i></center><center style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></center><center style="text-align: left;">We fight less and play more. I'm not teaching <i>no</i> with the ease and simplicity I'd envisioned my previous parenting self, but my house isn't full of constant, heart-broken battles anymore. I think that children carry the early happiness you teach with them for the rest of their lives. When he was a baby, I smiled at him constantly through my tiredness, but I never knew that someday just smiling would come to be this challenging. I've wondered more than once when the crying will stop. After more than two years, the day will come when I've tucked him into bed without having seen a single tear. But I have a feeling that when it happens, I'll be missing his chubby cheeks too much to even notice.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">In the meantime, I've taken my Pepsi addiction, poured it into an inconspicuous mug and convinced him that it's yucky coffee.</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-1102197902803073272012-03-20T00:29:00.007-04:002012-03-27T22:39:59.637-04:00[now closed] giveaway! missy's portraits<center style="text-align: left;">Melissa from <a href="http://www.melissaturner.com/">Missy's Portraits</a> just added mini portraits to her custom painting sizes! Now you can choose from a 4x6 ($35) or a 5x7 ($50). These make personalized home decor and gifts even more adorable and affordable!</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">Want her to paint one of you, your baby or pet? You can win a FREE 5x7!</center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center style="text-align: left;">There are a few different ways to enter; you can do as many or few as you want. Leave a separate comment with your email on this blog for each:</center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ Like on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/missysportraits">Facebook</a></center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ Favorite on <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/MissysPortraits?ref=seller_info">Etsy</a></center><center style="text-align: left;">♥ Tweet about this giveaway: <i>Win a free custom portrait from @missysportraits on Bringing up Bumble http://mattandmegh.blogspot.com/2012/03/giveaway-missys-portraits.html</i></center><center style="text-align: left;"><br /></center><center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6852874826/" title="missy's portraits by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7048/6852874826_9065e519a8_o.jpg" width="294" height="401" alt="missy's portraits" /></a></center><center><br /></center><center>The winner will be chosen on Monday, 3/26</center><center><br /></center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-66371856300839082012012-03-18T23:54:00.000-04:002012-03-18T23:54:00.603-04:00diaper<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6988829151/" title="chair by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7188/6988829151_43e6db4f63_z.jpg" width="480" height="640" alt="chair" /></a></center><center><br /></center><center><div style="text-align: left;">Up to my elbows in a strange poopie diaper scent I've never really sampled before, I say to Carter, <i>Phewwww-ieee! What did you eat?!</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He doesn't even pause to think this one over. <i>I eat poop!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div></center><center><br /></center><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-29812953479898125152012-03-15T12:10:00.001-04:002012-03-15T23:18:11.313-04:00hi.<div>Are you ok? It's still me under here (Carter's running around here somewhere, too!). If clicking this page is part of your daily (or weekly) routine, I'm sorry to startle you!</div><div><br /></div><div>It's going to take some getting used to for me, too. I had my sleeping baby photo up top for more than two years. Hold on.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6837704100/" title="5417152595_65ef08d9cb_b by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7046/6837704100_297b92a271.jpg" alt="5417152595_65ef08d9cb_b" height="246" width="500" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Ok, now that life's feeling a little more predictable for all of us, I'll keep on with my explanation. I was so in love with that picture; for years it sent a squeeze of satisfaction around my heart every time I clicked over to my page. But lately, the squeeze stopped coming, and I get more of an annoying, 1985 vibe when I see the same old photo with the raggedy text sitting on it. The sleeping bumble picture was just starting to feel tired. (Pun totally intended.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I stumbled across a new <a href="http://todayimbobbi.blogspot.com/">blog</a> not too long ago, and at first sight I was hit with a killer urge to get this page looking as pretty as Bobbi's. Stalking in a little farther, I read that she designs blogs and felt like I'd hit the jackpot. If ever you venture beyond the <i>mommy blog</i> category, <a href="http://todayimbobbi.blogspot.com/">Today, I'm Bobbi</a> is where you start! </div><div><br /></div><div>I think it's turned out absolutely adorable. She was so fun, talented and hilarious to collaborate with. I'm not big on change, but I feel like I was really careful and soo ready for this one! </div><br /><br /><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-35992321900761515932012-03-12T13:34:00.006-04:002012-03-16T21:49:51.857-04:00mommy monday<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6830525394/" title="smile by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7180/6830525394_890f7f1fd3_z.jpg" alt="smile" height="640" width="606" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I haven't been writing much about my take on parenting a two year old lately, but I'm still finding minutes between play dates and temper tantrums to get wrapped into other people's parenting worlds. These two little bits really inspired me and had me wishing I'd thought to write/vlog it myself.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">♥ Read <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kara-gebhart-uhl/mom-judgments_b_1319775.html">this</a> and feel better about your mommy self today.</div><div style="text-align: center;">♥ A hundred ways to be kind to your child. Take a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swr0MxciTL8&feature=youtu.be&a">listen</a>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png" /></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-67670189117125021442012-03-09T13:15:00.001-05:002012-03-15T16:48:03.453-04:00bring it on, santa claus<div><br /></div><div>We came home from practicing for some major, scary holiday characters last week. If Carter cries when we see Santa this year, I'll fall on the mall's floor in a big puddle of igiveup.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>MOMMY!! Jyook! </i></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6951025019/" title="DSC_1048 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7180/6951025019_5cab10f4b2_o.jpg" width="640" height="1091" alt="DSC_1048" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6804905504/" title="DSC_1031 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7041/6804905504_0bc5bfd005_o.jpg" width="640" height="1103" alt="DSC_1031" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6804894994/" title="DSC_0713 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7059/6804894994_f50d58c11c_b.jpg" width="629" height="1024" alt="DSC_0713" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6804915844/" title="DSC_1071 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7044/6804915844_0d156b3fa2_o.jpg" width="640" height="963" alt="DSC_1071" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6804880150/" title="DSC_0620 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7189/6804880150_231395ef8e_z.jpg" width="640" height="425" alt="DSC_0620" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6811024202/" title="DSC_0827 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7188/6811024202_434511b90d_z.jpg" width="640" height="425" alt="DSC_0827" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6811045414/" title="DSC_0921 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7177/6811045414_b5ea839fb1_o.jpg" width="640" height="964" alt="DSC_0921" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6804899094/" title="DSC_0798 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7177/6804899094_7b95b224f4_o.jpg" width="640" height="964" alt="DSC_0798" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I have a couple hundred pictures from our trip to Disney World, and honestly, it really overwhelms me when I've thought about putting on my blogging hat since we got home. Here's the gist of our trip.</div><div><br /></div><div>♥ The crowds at Disney World made me feel so incredibly small and insignificant as a human on this planet.</div><div>♥ We waited in 30 minute lines for everything - meeting characters, rides and food. It took a lot of explaining and sweaty stamina before Carter found his patient place in the world of line-awaiters. Being a Disney virgin, I guess I thought that for the crazy ticket prices, the lines would have somehow been deleted.</div><div>♥ Little boys can get made over as pirates with black eyes, facial hair and smudges on their face. Carter sees a little pirate sitting in front of us, tugs at my shirt and whispers, <i>Momma, dirty face.</i></div><div>♥ The most fun we had was at a water park sending him down water slides and catching him. I haven't seen Carter that excited. Ever. We put a tiny life preserver on him and called him a fish. Except that the happy little fish had a really nervous mommy at his side pulling his mouth away from the water.</div><div>♥ Watching Carter's face was far better than anything we'd waited in line to do. Which, I'm thinking, is the point of the entire place. And of having a kid in general.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center; "><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6819917970/" title="photo12 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7191/6819917970_f7fbe9f010_o.jpg" width="640" height="853" alt="photo12" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><br /><center><img src="http://i1079.photobucket.com/albums/w515/readytoblog/meghann_sig.png"></center>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-19718569411493319642012-02-21T02:09:00.000-05:002012-02-21T23:49:07.248-05:00candied house<div><br /></div>Pictures really make a story. Except when Carter's entire demeanor changes at the sight of my camera. Oh, does the story I want to tell take a turn for an angry change.<div><div>He gets <i>mad</i> at me. Forget asking him to look up from what he's doing. I'm learning that sometimes it's better to be part of his moments than step out to record history. </div><div><br /></div><div>But other times, I can't help it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, He made a Valentine's house the other night with our neighbor, Ashley. (If you don't have a neighbor who's a kindergarden teacher, you should get one!)</div><div>In the spirit the whole looking down theme I've got going on this blog, Carter contests my photography. I even told him I had chocolate on my ears. Didn't work. A giant frosting house trumped my lies.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6908104523/" title="DSC_0490 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7063/6908104523_e0448c1f13_o.jpg" width="750" height="1130" alt="DSC_0490" /></a></div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6908108815/" title="DSC_0501 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7067/6908108815_90a9517386_o.jpg" width="750" height="975" alt="DSC_0501" /></a></div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6908096301/" title="DSC_0467 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7199/6908096301_5e3514b34b_o.jpg" width="750" height="498" alt="DSC_0467" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-15544001406162634802012-02-18T01:16:00.006-05:002012-03-16T02:08:43.301-04:00momma style<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6895353991/" title="3 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7192/6895353991_2bde987ab0_b.jpg" width="572" height="1024" alt="3" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6895042433/" title="DSC_0571 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7057/6895042433_0d3d6d0850_o.jpg" width="750" height="577" alt="DSC_0571" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6894479173/" title="DSC_0543 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7203/6894479173_a153c0d38e_b.jpg" width="587" height="1024" alt="DSC_0543" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6894410545/" title="1 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7192/6894410545_e33d8e9595_o.jpg" width="750" height="967" alt="1" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6895313509/" title="julia by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7179/6895313509_cc130475fc_o.jpg" width="640" height="566" alt="julia" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Did you see those things all over the ground? No?</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">In the meantime, I was thinking of working on a new pose. Like say, something that includes looking up at the camera.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I think the incessant looking down might be a fear of admitting I'm trying to take a hundred self portraits to post on the internet. Or that I just don't like popping in my USB card and seeing new wrinkles all over my face. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Either way, here. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6895117359/" title="DSC_0460 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7036/6895117359_bee02da7d0_o.jpg" width="750" height="496" alt="DSC_0460" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Also. Here's some of my latest instagram handiwork via iPhone. <s>I think</s> I'm addicted.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6895407963/" title="coll5 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7180/6895407963_1068fbc256_o.jpg" width="750" height="469" alt="coll5" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6895450129/" title="Screen shot 2012-02-18 at 3.54.03 AM by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7066/6895450129_89451f865b_o.jpg" width="750" height="411" alt="Screen shot 2012-02-18 at 3.54.03 AM" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6895407135/" title="coll3 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7188/6895407135_f3e1824295_o.jpg" width="750" height="469" alt="coll3" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6895406349/" title="coll2 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7054/6895406349_16a08b0484_o.jpg" width="750" height="469" alt="coll2" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6895405413/" title="coll1 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7189/6895405413_f697edb6df_o.jpg" width="750" height="469" alt="coll1" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6905809165/" title="Desktop20 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7047/6905809165_b360a36507_o.jpg" width="750" height="469" alt="Desktop20" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6905811057/" title="Desktop21 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7208/6905811057_358d634fd6_o.jpg" width="750" height="469" alt="Desktop21" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6905807859/" title="Desktop19 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7188/6905807859_9c9dc15d7a_o.jpg" width="750" height="469" alt="Desktop19" /></a></div>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3382759175031023181.post-68988634459138812062012-02-16T02:39:00.003-05:002012-02-16T16:14:16.775-05:00cart & art<div><br /></div><div>These little wooden car painting kits come in packs of 2 at Target for $2.00 in the party favors section. We love them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Obviously.</div><div><br /></div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6865896287/" title="DSC_0363 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7037/6865896287_c57aea30b0_o.jpg" width="750" height="498" alt="DSC_0363" /></a><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6865922531/" title="DSC_0393 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7037/6865922531_c04e48f699_o.jpg" width="750" height="1130" alt="DSC_0393" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6865915837/" title="DSC_0355 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7067/6865915837_6c5f68c88e_o.jpg" width="750" height="1129" alt="DSC_0355" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6865918047/" title="DSC_0357 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7039/6865918047_36267ed4bc_o.jpg" width="750" height="1129" alt="DSC_0357" /></a></div></div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6865920349/" title="DSC_0389 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7047/6865920349_d10019114d_o.jpg" width="750" height="1130" alt="DSC_0389" /></a></div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52266305@N06/6865913533/" title="DSC_0352 by rmeghann, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7070/6865913533_e96b38c458_o.jpg" width="750" height="1129" alt="DSC_0352" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>One of Carter's ancestors is the famous painter, <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=thomas+eakins&hl=en&client=safari&rls=en&prmd=imvnsob&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=YGg9T9_4FcmztweVnNjYBQ&ved=0CFUQsAQ&biw=1187&bih=706">Thomas Eakins</a>. But seeing his painting face, you already knew that. </div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a title="baby blogs" href="http://www.topbabyblogs.com/cgi-bin/topblogs/in.cgi?id=rmeghann" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://www.topbabyblogs.com/topblogs/images/banners/our_top_baby_and_mommy_blogs_120.gif" alt="Top Baby, Daddy & Mommy Blogs on TopBabyBlogs.Com" width="120" height="90" /></a></div>Meghann (Bringing up Bumble)http://www.blogger.com/profile/07127268570073790221noreply@blogger.com8