Undomestic Diva

On being thankful (from the kids' perspective)

We try to teach our kids to be thankful. At 6, 5 and 3, gratefulness is still being learned; what it means to be thankful and how to appreciate what they have.

 

The Dudes Are Thankful from Undomestic Diva on Vimeo.

And while they're still learning what it means to be "thankful" for something, they sure have honesty down pat.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family.

P.S. I promise I am not pregnant.

Embracing these things

Sometimes, I find it hard to be thankful. It's so much easier to be pissed off at the universe for everything that's wrong, for all the people who are hurting, for the lives that have been lost and for the shit that overwhelms me daily. 

I don't know when it became easier for me to scream "FUCK YOU!" than to quietly, humbly say, "thank you" but somewhere along the way I've become more angry than grateful, more cynical than appreciative and a lot more frustrated than thankful.

There is no epiphany here where I suddenly declare that I will no longer be devastated by things I simply cannot wrap my head around or where I find an understanding in things that just cannot be understood, but I can tell you that while my shit list of things I find myself dwelling on and obsessing over and saddened by seem to grow, quietly, discreetly and innocuously, so does my list of things I'm thankful for; for me, it's about quieting my brain long enough to embrace these things.

I am thankful for...

- My family. My husband who refills my Superhero popsicles each night, my boys who continuously make me laugh and who teach me more than I could ever teach them... My family who lives around the corner and my family who lives 3,000 miles away and everyone in between. All of them. Even the weird ones. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. (I kid.)

- My friends. The ones who I see face-to-face from time to time to the ones who've I met only once to the HUNDREDS of others who I've never met but I'm still proud to call a friend nonetheless.

- The internet. Who knew making connections with random strangers online could spark new friendships, open your eyes to new perspectives and renew your faith in humanity?

- The shit. Because without the lows, there are no highs, right? But if the man behind the curtain is listening, I'd like a lot less shit and a little more of the highs. Not to sound ungrateful.

I'm also thankful for...

- My cameras. I see life through a lens - everything is a photograph (whether I've got a camera in hand or not) and those images, how I see the world, will be pieces of me still remaining even when I'm gone.

- Starbucks. It's my comfort blanket, if you will. The baristas are my friends and a part of my daily life.

- Music. There's just something about an upbeat song that forces me to shake my ass and embarrass my boys, a melancholy tune that inspires me to sit here and write or a nostalgic Journey song that makes me travel back to a favorite memory.

- This little ol' blog and the people who take the time to read/listen to it. Sometimes, you just need someone to hear you, you know? So, thank you.

Wishing you a happy Thanksgiving.
~Megan

 

Reward Offered. Find these boots. (Yes, I've got issues.) (But you already knew that.)

I watched the AMAs last night and quickly realized I am sooo not 'in' fashion. Because I don't own black leggings, a black leather jacket or black rider-style boots, add a 4" stilletto heel, and of course I don't have any of that sparkly midnight blue eyeshadow because obviously Adam Lambert went ahead and bought America's stock in it. Sadly, I don't own an unflattering gold boxing outfit (and come to think of it, no one chants "champ" when I walk into the arena room either, dammit) nor do I one enough Ace bandages to pull off either Rhianna's or Lady Gaga's outfits.

Woe is me.

So I went to Target today to find these outfits and well, yeah. I love me some Target but they don't exactly have J. Lo's boxing outfit in the women's or junior's section, although I did find plenty of ace bandages in the First Aid section next to the tampons. I guess that's a start, right?

TANGENT: I find it more than ironic that tampons are conveniently placed next to the First Aid kits. That is all.

Like all these celebrities, I've decided to reinvent myself. Fashionably. Like, as in, by getting some fashion sense at all would be a good place to start, I suppose. Wearing jeans and t-shirts, grandma sweaters, chucks and slathering on a good couple coats of jet black double volume mascara and lip teasing with Burts Bees lip balm completes my current "style" so... someone alert Tim Gunn or that Carson dude and tell them to fix me - except in a way that I still feel like I'm wearing comfortably worn jeans and tees and chucks without having to show a little leg or bicep. (Hey, the gun show is not free.)

In the meantime, while I sit here doing nothing about my current "style situation," I did photograph a completely random stranger's boots at Disneyland the other day because I loved them and now find myself searching HIGH and low to find them. Yeah. You try googling "blackish maybe leather? worn looking women's boots with blue zipper" and see what you find. Or searching through Zappo's 3,000+ women's boots to find those exact ones. Riiiiiight.  

 

So I'm offering a reward. If you can find these exact boots (above) somewhere on the internet for sale, I'll send you a $20 Starbucks gift card.* Because I am bat shit crazy needing-to-find-them-even-though-I-probably-can't-afford-them-and-might-not-even-like-them-if-I-did over them.

In the meantime, whose personal style do you love? I like Rachel Bilson's, I think. Vintage-y.

:::

*To the first person to find those EXACT boots.

The Disneyland Hangover

It started like this:

 

and ended like this:

 

with a whole lot of THIS in between.

Today, I've got a Disneyland hangover... the kind where you're overly tired from walking circles around the parks, standing in line, parking and trying to find your stroller

 

...chasing three little boys who couldn't be more excited to go on rides! to stand next to the You Must Be THIS TALL to Ride This Ride signs! and OH MY GOD! I'm big enough to go this year! and I want a toy! and can we go on THIS or THAT next??

 

So. Exhausting.

And you know what? So much fun. Such a great time with my family, all four generations of us who were there together doing our usual, annual, same old Disneyland trip that was just even more awesome than normal this year.

I TOLD YOU I need my own cooking show. The proof is in the... Twice Baked Potatoes, Yo'

I was only sorta joking when I said I should have my own cooking show. 'Cause really, I'm not that entertaining, but the mishaps I seem to magnetically attract in the kitchen usually are. But I never intended to actually film myself cooking because a) it ain't pretty and b) it's hard enough for me to concentrate on not burning down my house without trying to film TOO and c) some other third thing 'cause I hear examples are best in three's.

But then dinner happened.

Man, I was going ALL OUT on this dinner too. (Well, ALL OUT is relative and when we're talking me: ribs in a crockpot [can I get an AMEN! for the crockpot?] with an entire bottle of store-bought BBQ sauce dumped over them and left to cook, paired with homemade [you heard me! HOMEMADE BITCHES!] twice baked potatoes is ALL OUT, folks.) Let me also just explain that I've made these twice baked potatoes several times before, the first few times following a very simple recipe I found somewhere over the rainbow online and then after that, just kinda doing it from memory. You know, because I've done it before.

People, I don't know if my memory failed me or WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED but let's just say that after baking the potatoes the first time (in the microwave of course!) and mashing my mixture of super secret bland (who am I kidding?) not-so-fancy ingredients (gotta keep it simple, yo') in a whoops too-small-bowl, well, I just *knew* I had to start filming.

UD Cooks: Twice Baked Potatoes, Yo' from Undomestic Diva on Vimeo.

Really, I have nothing to say for myself. But I do have a message for Rachael Ray who invited me on her show and then promptly disinvited me: BET YOU'RE SORRY NOW, HUH?

(Fine. Maybe she's not sorry. WHATEVER. This cooking shit is TRICKAY!)

The Internet: The good, the bad and the beautiful

Here's the thing about the internet. I'm beginning to see it as a love/hate relationship. On the one hand, I love the people I've met, the friendships I've made and therefore the unbelievable support I've received from awesome friends and perfect strangers - even when I told you I didn't want it. (But god, thank you.)

And then there's the other side of things. You get to know ALL these people - these amazing, wonderful, incredible people you would have never known had it not been for blogging and twitter and conferences and meet-ups. Which is awesome. But then shit, total shit happens to these people - your friends whose lives you've become invested in - and now you hurt for them. You ache. You feel hopeless and angry and devastated but you're not just a block or two away from them like you are from your "in real life" (gag) friends; you're sometimes thousands of miles from them and here you sit, feeling useless and frustrated and scared for a dear friend - one whose relationship you can't even begin to explain to the people you meet face-to-face daily because, my god, they would just never 'get' it.

Part of me wants to just quit this internet business... the blogging, the twittering, the whole bit... It's the quitter in me that thinks, god, it'd be so much easier to just care about the very few people in my 'real' life than to put myself out there emotionally for the thousands I've grown so fond of through monikers and avatars and URLs. Because sometimes I'm selfish like that. I want what's easiest. Because I'm tired. Because the more people you know, the more bad shit you hear and frankly, fuck, ENOUGH ALREADY! I can't do anymore. I can't watch my friends dissipate and fall apart or have their lives lost or lose loved ones or go through personal hell and psychological roller coasters of torment constantly. I can't even handle me.

But then? Then I remember what it feels like to be the one who is feeling hopeless or sad or just needs a little support and these same people - most of whom I'd never recognize if I passed them on the street - bend over backward to send their virtual hugs and thoughts and prayers my way. Even when I thought I didn't need or want it.

There's nothing like this network/community/village of people we've built in our little chunk of the big bad internet and when it comes down to taking the easy, selfish way out or sucking it up and putting myself out there for the people who do the same for me, there's no contest. While so many regard the internet as a dangerous playground for deceit and corruption and scams, the truth is, the internet has renewed my faith in humanity on more than one occasion now and as a stubborn, cynical, pessimist I can never be grateful enough.

*

Anissa's situation has obviously hit hard with me; the timing impeccable with my last post. I ache for her and her husband and children - I can't help but put myself in her position which just terrifies me to my core.

My thoughts are with you, my friend, DEMANDING a quick Anissa-like recovery. The internet needs and misses you. xoxo 

No one should know how to spell 'aneurysm'

This is the post I swore I'd never write. My dirty little secret, never meant to be told because writing THIS would require talking about it and actually, quite possibly feeling it and I've spent the last three plus years avoiding exactly that.

Denial may not be a healthy way of living but sometimes facing a devastating reality is far more overwhelming, requiring way more energy, and frankly I don't know that I'm capable of going there. But here I am... typing. Perhaps hoping screaming the truth, admitting my secret nightmare might somehow be cathartic? theraputic? or maybe even... healthy? Which, my god, the irony.

My name is Megan and I have an inoperable brain aneurysm.

I've seen multiple doctors; plenty of neurologists - some of the best in the world and they have nothing to offer me but a sobering diagnosis of an aneursym that's inoperable (due to both its location - on my carotid artery in my brain, deep in the Circle of Willis - and because of its shape) devastating me with the fact that if the aneurysm does burst, I have pretty much no chance of survival, quickly followed by their chipper advice to "just live your life!"

The very, very angry part of me wants to scream at them, ask them if they had an inoperable aneurysm, if their wife or child or mother had an inoperable aneurysm, would they be so "it is what it is" about it or would they remove their narcissitic doctor's coat for just a fucking second and realize I'm a young mother of three little boys who can no longer savor each Christmas morning because I'm lucky to have it but instead, quietly falls apart wondering if it's the last Christmas I get with my boys... Never mind making it to an age where I might see grandchildren. Maybe, if they were me, they'd understand that every little headache or head pain or vision problem makes me wonder if this is IT.

I am a ticking time bomb. And I haven't made peace with that yet.

How does someone make peace with that?

*

August 26, 2006 is the day my life was turned upside down. Just two months after Big T was born, my mom and I took all three boys to the L.A. Zoo. On the drive home, I got the worst headache of my life and my vision started blurring. I had to pull-over and stop because I couldn't see. I ended up in the ER that night with a CT scan that showed nothing and was sent home, head still pounding, afraid to go to sleep fearing I wouldn't wake up. 

I followed up with a neurologist the next day. MRIs/MRAs, ECGs, bloodwork were all ordered stat. Nothing. I was told by Dr. Dickhead Neurologist that it was "probably hormonal" since I had just had a baby and he loaded me up with anti-seizure and anti-anxiety meds because he said that me being scared "wasn't helping."

Two weeks and the headache had not stopped. More, higher-density scans were ordered - some with contrast and some without - and still, Dr. Dickhead Neurologist simply continued to up my meds with no diagnosis. I felt like I was going crazy. I was, in fact, going crazy.

On a follow-up appointment, Dr. Dickhead Neurologist asked me to pick up my films from the imaging place and bring them with me. So I did. But not before opening the huge manilla envelope with dozens of images of my brain only to find the radiologist's report.

Small aneurysm on the carotid artery

It was my middle child's 2nd birthday, the weather was overcast and foggy and I sat in my car in the parking lot of the imaging center and cried hysterically. Dr. Dickhead Neurologist hadn't told me about the aneurysm. "Because it's very small and not of concern right now," he explained. "Who knows at what rate it might grow. And besides, I've never had a patient die of aneurysm that size within the first 5 years."

Comforting.

As it turns out, the aneursym is what doctors like to cast aside as an "incidental finding" and not the cause of my headaches and vision problems. I'd take anything back to not know about it. If there were ever a situation where ignorance is truly bliss, this is it.

The neurologists want me to have my brain scanned every year to monitor the growth of the aneurysm. I have refused. Why? It's inoperable. I could not handle knowing it has grown and especially by how much when there is absolutely nothing they can do about it.

*

I feel robbed. I remember only bits and pieces of Big T's first two years even though there are plenty of snapshots. I can't remember his first Christmas even though I was there and he would have been at least six months old already. And I can't get that time back. I walked through a fog so thick I couldn't see my hand in front of my face and while there were some days where I managed to fake normalcy on the outside, most days I couldn't leave my bed. I was depressed because I was afraid of dying and yet there were days when I just wanted to die.  

I wish I could be one of those strong people who take this adversity and finds the good in it -  like how it's taught me to live each moment and not take anything for granted. But the truth is, I've lost the last three years of my life to depression and what-if's and wallowing, if you will, in the inevitable. Because for me, it's not as simple as just continuing to live my life. As much as I'd like to keep going about life as though it weren't fleeting, the truth is, it is. The doctors tell me it is. 

Instead, I'm angry, I'm sad and I'm devastated. Still. Selfishly, I don't want to leave my children. I want to see them grow up, I want to be here for them through all the stages of their lives, I want to be a grandparent to their children and I don't want them to be marred by the loss of a parent. And I'm scared, so scared, of dying in front of them.

Please god, yes you, the one I don't believe in, the one who cannot exist and let things like THIS happen, please don't let me die in front of them.

Every day is a struggle. A struggle to not think about it. To not dwell on it. To rationalize whatever positive aspect of it I can. It's hard. Some days, I can fake it. Some days, I can't. It's exhausting.

To my family - I know you've been going through it with me too and I'm sorry.

To my friends (most of who didn't even know... until now) - I'm sorry. But it's hard for me to talk about. It's taken me three years to get to this point.

To the internet - I am closing the comments because I don't want pity or sympathy and definitely no horror stories. It is hard enough to write this and click "publish." But thank you for listening.

You dig?

Things I am currently digging (because I think it's no longer cool to say 'McLovin') (damn)...

1. Old snapshots of my boys when they were smaller than I remember them ever being.

2. THIS song which FORCES me to shake my ass...

(and did I mention my 3 year old knows ALL the words already?)

3. OPI's "Respect the World"

 

which you can kinda see on my fingers here in this picture of RV & I (only it's more greenish blue than it appears).

4. I think this is the coolest idea EVER

and kinda want one for myself.

5. I'm smiling every single time I walk past this

 

which Maria took of me (giving the thumbs to Chicago) at Blogher 09.

6. This crazy bastard who the boys tell me "smells"

but then I remind them that they do too, and I still love them... so...

7. These cork squares that I nailed up myself (hee hee)

 

to display the kids artwork

 

'cause there just isn't enough room on the fridge...

8. I love damn near every quote I've ever read of Mae West's but I'm especially in love with "I've been things and I've seen places."

9. When I need a laugh or an OH NO HE DIN'T! I read Texts From Last Night.

10. I want, want, WANT! but in a "in your dreams" kind of way:

('scuse me while I drool on my keyboard...)

What are you digging?

The bachelorette party. Where I broke my ass.

I hate to disappoint you with the fact that this video does not, in fact, include photos of me actually breaking my ass because I was actually on the ground, not moving, wondering if I could move, laughing hysterically (not so funny now, btw) in a pool of club soda and god knows what else instead of taking pictures at that exact moment. I'm sure you understand. 

UnFURgettable Bachelorette Party from Undomestic Diva on Vimeo.

For those of you in the Atlanta area, I highly HIGHLY recommend the Fur Bus for a night out on the town... especially for a bachelorette party. We didn't have to worry about where to go and what to do next, our driver handled it all and even got us free drinks, got us in at no charge everywhere and played awesome music when we were rolling. The Fur Bus company even called the next day to make sure we were happy with our evening out. A regular ol' limo would have been boring compared to this. (And no, they're not compensating me in anyway to say this - I just think they deserve a shout-out for making my sister RV's night out a fun one.)  

Remembering Maddie

To Maddie, Heather & Mike,

We are just a small fraction of the of thousands of people who think of you daily; who are haunted by your passing and sick with grief over what we can do to help, what can we say to make things better and why words and hugs and thoughts and prayers and walking just don't feel like enough.

We are just a tiny chunk of the love that beams proudly for a little girl whose magical eyes lit up our lives all too briefly. We miss you and hurt for you and ache because we don't know why and could never fathom the reasons anyone could give us.

I've never felt so much love and then grief for a little girl I'd only just met and for a mom and dad who I was only getting to know but all I can say is thank you because despite your unspeakable pain and torment you have taught me to be a better parent, to live in each moment and to soak it up as it happens and to keep fighting even when others would say there's no longer a reason to fight. You are truly amazing people - the three of you - and I am so lucky to know you.

Maddie, celebrating you today is only appropriate; you are still a part of our daily lives and forever will be. You are a little girl whose life was meant to be celebrated. And you've changed our lives. Thank you for that.

Happy birthday, Maddie.

Much love to you, Heather and Mike.