It has recently come to my attention that my 18 month old angel has acquired a questionable reputation among her male counterparts. Brothers Tanner and Andrew have both reported her to possess the less than admirable qualities of lego-smashing and rain boot swiping. I've seen the evidence myself: Astronauts now reside in her doll house instead of their rocket. Soccer cleats are never in Tanner's closet, where he places them, but are suspiciously replaced by pink slippers- size 4.
I diligently answer each call of distress, but upon investigation I only discover a curious little girl, so eager to be a part of her brothers' lives. So enamored is she that her day revolves around their plans, their toys and yes- especially their shoes.
The only explanation I can come up with is that my darling toddler must occassionaly transform into THE MEG. Or at least that is what her brothers call her when she is up to her deeds. Now, we gave our daughter a lovely name, Margaret Estelle. And being considerate parents we allow the nickname, Meg, to be used at home. However, this has gone too far. THE MEG?
