I’m Not Short, I’m Fun Size

Remember when we would line up by height in grade school? All of us kids would stretch our little bodies as tall as we could and rush to the wall that our teacher pointed to. The tallest kid already knew s/he belonged on one end, the shortest two would check to see if either had grown taller than the other to see who belonged at the end of that side. The rest of us would decide whose heads were above the others and walk up and down the line to choose our place. Throughout the early grades, I was actually toward the tall side of that line.

Then I abruptly stopped growing while the other kids continued to grow.

The tallest I’ve been is what shoes will allow. So maybe 5’3”. Um, and a half. I cannot stress enough how important that half inch is. I really worked hard on it and without heels, my true height is 5’1.5″. I reached my full height in 7th grade, but because I only had one growth spurt, I’ve been patiently waiting to gain another 3‑4 inches.

The thing is, I’m not abnormally short. By definition, a Little Person is 4’10” or less. Look it up. However, I’m pretty sure I’m living a different experience worth writing about that people of an average-to-tall height don’t even know about.

Join me on my journey. Continue reading “I’m Not Short, I’m Fun Size”

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Walk the Dog with the Catwalk

I was going to write a whole deal about how I’ve recently caught myself doing things that maybe most people don’t do, but the post was getting too long. It turns out I do a lot of strange things.

I know. You’ve spit your coffee/Kool-Aid/morning martini out with wonderment at the idea that I am maybe a little quirky. Perhaps you’ve known me for decades, maybe years, or you might’ve just met me three blog posts ago. But the very idea that I will end up writing many posts about my strange behavior is, indeed, mind boggling.

How do I even explain the behavior that inspired this post? I don’t really know when I started to do it, but when I walk my dog — The Sweet Baboo — in the evening, I find Continue reading “Walk the Dog with the Catwalk”

Things that Make Me Sad [but Shouldn’t]

Picture it: Iowa, 1992. I was in elementary school filling out a bio of sorts on prison-suit-orange construction paper to tape on the wall alongside my classmates’ bios written on various colored square papers. We were to answer questions such as, “What is your nickname? How many siblings do you have? What makes you happy? What makes you sad?” and the like. I took care to answer these questions in my best cursive, a skill I’d been perfecting for two years.

Nickname: Meehan, because before I was a skilled cursive writer, I accidentally wrote my “g” backwards in my name on a drawing that was hung at school. My oldest brother saw it and, TADA, a name was born.

Side note: Do doctors shout, “TADA! Your baby has been born!” After the birth of a child? I’m going to do a blog of questions I have for parents, and that is one of many.

How many siblings: I was always very proud Continue reading “Things that Make Me Sad [but Shouldn’t]”

The Leibster Award!

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You: Okay, Meghan, settle down. You’re breaking out in German again. What are you talking about?

Me: Fantastic blogger Charley of Borderline Unhinged kindly nominated me for an award passed around in the blogging community. Do you know what this even means?

You: *blink*

Me: It means I feel honored that this stranger took note of my blog on the first night that I started it. I was curled up last night — yes, in my sexy sweats with the sequined heart with the legs chopped off by me so they fit — a blink away from sleep when I decided to check my email one last time and saw that she’d nominated me. Thank you, Charley. 🙂 

You: ::face brightens, clap viciously, probably give standing ovation::

Me: Thank you, Reader-Friends, for celebrating this really cool blogging moment with me! So receiving the award also means paying it forward and giving a nod to other bloggers. Continue reading “The Leibster Award!”

Confession 1

Confession: I don’t stick to things that I say I’m going to do. This is never on purpose. I wake up some days, stretch, toss my filthy whit— no, formerly-white-now-beige blanket off my cracking body and announce that, “Today I will begin a diet! I will lose 20 pounds in two months! No, two weeks!” or “Today is the first day of the rest of my life! I will train for a half marathon!” or “Today I will Adult! Laundry will be done and I’ll wear pearls and heels while I do it!”

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I always wholeheartedly mean these things when I make these proclamations, propped on the edge of my bed in my penguin onesie. I always 100% believe in myself and my goal. Then the diet lasts two weeks and I become tempted by one french fry and the whole thing ends. The training for the half marathon lasts for one evening. Um, and by “training” I mean that I heard that dinner was ready, so I ran from my room to the kitchen. But it was running, so… And I did my laundry because my favorite sweater didn’t pass the sniff test and I want to look cute in photos of me holding my friend’s baby. I’m also new to having friends with babies and I’m worried about what wearing a smelly sweater will do to him. Could he pass out or get a rash from smelling something stinky? So I wash it, but forget the heels and pearls because I can’t find them. So I don’t really Adult. Continue reading “Confession 1”