<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509</id><updated>2011-04-22T00:09:11.204-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Mother's Work Is Never Done</title><subtitle type='html'>I am a 27 year old mother juggling a very spirited 4-year-old, an 2-year-old who thinks she's 4, marriage, work, cooking, cleaning, laundry, free time...yeah, free time, what is that?</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>355</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-7886242096466946414</id><published>2008-05-29T19:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T19:55:25.164-05:00</updated><title type='text'>An Award</title><content type='html'>A Meritorious Service Award, to be precise.  And I got it!  :D  And the best part is the $500 bonus that comes with it!  Okay, maybe the recognition is the best part, but the $500 doesn't hurt.  LOL &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just glad to be in a job that I love and I actually get credit for working my ass off.  Last week was sooooo hard because I had to write up all the performance evaluations.  July will be hard as well because that's when I have to go over them with my staff, and, well, everyone's went down from last year.  In my defense, they were a bit inflated last year.  So, between last week and this crazy week, I needed some good news.  I'm currently doing my job, part of the job for someone on vacation, and I'm, as of today, taking over the work of one of my employees who is leaving to be a SAHM.  Talk about a motivator to find a replacement super-quick!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-7886242096466946414?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/7886242096466946414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=7886242096466946414' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7886242096466946414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7886242096466946414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/05/award.html' title='An Award'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3948123666878237176</id><published>2008-05-08T20:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-08T21:08:55.832-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Follow up</title><content type='html'>I was about to post about my follow up eye doctor appointment when I realized that I hadn't posted about the first appointment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of weeks ago, I went to the opthalmologist (I probably misspelled that).  When I went to the optometrist in March, she saw an area that she found "somewhat concerning" and debated whether or not to send me to the opthalmologist.  She finally decided that I had good insurance and it was worth the peace of mind to go ahead and refer me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, since she was borderline on whether or not to even send me, I figured it would be an "in and out" appointment and scoffed at the recorded reminder message that said that many appointments can take up to 2 hours.  It better not take 2 hours. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I got there, checked in and waited.  Impatiently (since, of course, I was going home early, right?).  Finally, I got called back to the room, they did the usual stuff, dilated my eyes, and I waited.  And waited.  And finally the fellow came in and looked at my eyes.  He explained that I had a couple of spots that were very concerning and that the sometimes did a laser treatment to help such things.  Uh-huh.  I'm thinking of this as an eventuality - in a few years, I might need it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the doctor comes in and looks at my eyes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any conversation that starts, "In most cases, I would recommend watching areas where the retina is thinning....." cannot be good.  There's always a "but" coming, and this time was no exception, "but in &lt;em&gt;your&lt;/em&gt; case, it has not only thinned, but there is actually a small hole.  Even this would not be so concerning except for the fact that you have fluid building up behind the holes."  Apparently, this puts me at higher risk for retinal detachment or tears.  Yippy.  And he recommended the laser treatment right away.  Like, that afternoon.  So much for "in and out." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a laser retinopexy done that very afternoon.  That sucked.  Apparently my eyes have a mind of their own, so whenever the laser would go off, my eyes would flinch and move.  Which made this a super-tedious process for my doctor and a super-long process for me.   He was nice enough to claim that it was because I am young and have good reflexes and good hearing, so I was hearing when it was about to go off and blah, blah, blah, etc., etc., etc.  And, I am no longer interested in Lasik because I've decided that laser beams and my eyes do not mesh well together. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have yet to get the bill which I am very curious about.  My insurance covers most of it, but I don't think my part will be cheap.  I guess we'll see. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I went back yesterday for my follow up.  Apparently, my eyes look great and the retinopexy is "holding well."  I go back in 6 months unless, of course, I develop symptoms of something serious before then.  And he remembered me (even though he sees lots and lots of patients and he's only seen me once).  I don't like being a memorable patient, but when he walked in yesterday, he said, "I'm surprised you'll smile at me after the torture I put you through last time."  hahahahahahaha.....my doctor is a comedian.  All I wanted to hear is that my eyes look great, and I heard that much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3948123666878237176?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3948123666878237176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3948123666878237176' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3948123666878237176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3948123666878237176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/05/follow-up.html' title='Follow up'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8932765520752673549</id><published>2008-04-26T20:09:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-26T20:12:09.205-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Never would have thought.....</title><content type='html'>that we would be coming back from practically having the divorced filed, but it seems we have come a long, long way.  He has applied for jobs nearby so that he could move back home, and we've been talking sooooo much.  I realized that was what was lacking in our marriage before.  I wouldn't really tell him if he was doing something that was pissing me off.  I'm not sure what I was afraid of, maybe that he would leave, but having seen that I could make it on my own if I had to made me strong enough to realize that I can say what I want to him.  What's the worst thing that could happen?  We are making remarkable progress, and I actually think our marriage is stronger now than it has been in the past.  Strange ways that things work out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8932765520752673549?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8932765520752673549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8932765520752673549' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8932765520752673549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8932765520752673549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/04/never-would-have-thought.html' title='Never would have thought.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5541109232516278100</id><published>2008-04-11T19:57:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-11T20:03:52.805-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Work has been so busy!</title><content type='html'>I feel like I'm trying really hard to keep up and I'm exhausted when I get home.  Despite that fact though, I am really loving my job since my promotion.  I am one of those people who likes to be super-busy, and my job definitely allows for that.  Navigating the world of being a supervisor is a little more difficult since it's all new to me, and I went from virtually no supervisory experience to supervising 8 people and probably 9 come fall.  Eeeek! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The little ones are doing good.  We are now dummy free!  Hooray!  Last Saturday, we lost the one pacifier we had, so Boo had to go to bed without it.  She was really unhappy about it, but she finally fell asleep after I told her that she had to quit crying and I would look for it (and then I retreated and played solitaire on the computer).  I gave her the same story the next afternoon at naptime (after I had found the dummy and hidden it), and that night, she didn't even fight it.  And she's done great since.  She even got rid of it for naptimes at Grandma's house!  I knew she was ready.  Next big girl task:  potty training.  But I'm not sure she's really ready for that.  She's showing zero interest, and I don't think she knows the feeling and that it means she needs to go to the bathroom yet.  She'll get it down - she just turned 2 in December.  Miss Priss was about 2 months shy of 3 before she got it all figured out.  So, Boo's got a way to go before I get too worried about it.  I am, however, looking forward to no longer changing diapers.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5541109232516278100?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5541109232516278100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5541109232516278100' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5541109232516278100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5541109232516278100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/04/work-has-been-so-busy.html' title='Work has been so busy!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-7063291212589729772</id><published>2008-03-31T22:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-31T22:18:07.494-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another birthday party, another bad day for Mommy.....</title><content type='html'>Miss Priss is always so excited about going to her friends' birthday parties until we get there. We went to another one this weekend. I thought it was going to go well - when the leader told all the kids to follow her, Miss Priss followed - I was shocked. Until, that is, she came back sobbing. I feel so bad for her. I don't know how to help her get over this anxiety. From what I can tell, she's afraid of large groups of people and of people she doesn't know - this was a large group of people that she mainly didn't know. I can't say much since that is exactly what causes me anxiety, but that's why I want to help her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm not always sure how to handle a situation myself. I finally got Miss Priss calm enough to get on one of the balance beams (that was 6 inches off the ground), and she was walking along and this other little girl got on the other end and started walking toward Miss Priss. She yelled to her mom (who was sitting and talking to another mother nearby), "Mommy, that little girl is on &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; balance beam!"&lt;br /&gt;Her mom yelled back, "Well, was she there first?"&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, but I want to be on this one." Then she glared at Miss Priss. I didn't know a 4 year old could put that much venom in her stare.&lt;br /&gt;"Well, get down since she was there first."&lt;br /&gt;She totally didn't listen (and her mom made no move to make her listen). She came toe to toe (literally) with Miss Priss (who must have sensed that I wasn't about to let her get off the balance beam ). She started to put her arms up to push Miss Priss off (which was not about to happen - I would have pushed that her off first - okay, maybe not, but I would have wanted to), and her Mom came up, grabbed her by the arm and told her to go sit down in time out. She laid down and had this huge temper tantrum (which her mom ignored and went back to talking), but Miss Priss and I continued down the balance beam. I'm not about to tell someone how to parent their child, but their child isn't going to get away with trying to push my child around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is why I'm better with blogs than I am with people IRL. Miss Priss' classmates' parents are a group that is especially tough for me. It's one of the only places where I feel like there's this - I don't know what to call it - animosity almost? - between SAHMs and working mothers.  Around her classmates' parents, for the most part, I feel like they look down on me for being a working mother which, #1 irritates me to no end (hello?!  Can't we all just respect each other's choices for our respective families?) and #2 makes me so uncomfortable and anxious to prove that my child is as happy and well-adjusted as any of them. That probably explains why it makes me so crazy when Miss Priss starts crying at these parties, and my own anxiety probably doesn't help her. I don't want to teach her to avoid situations that make her nervous because I know from experience that she can't do that all her life, but this is one instance where I really don't think I'm the best role model for her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-7063291212589729772?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/7063291212589729772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=7063291212589729772' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7063291212589729772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7063291212589729772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/03/another-birthday-party-another-bad-day.html' title='Another birthday party, another bad day for Mommy.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-2214714966817877902</id><published>2008-03-27T20:32:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-27T20:35:23.363-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny Conversation</title><content type='html'>from the backseat on the way home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miss Priss:  Mommy are we going to our house?&lt;br /&gt;Boo:  &lt;em&gt;My&lt;/em&gt; house. &lt;br /&gt;Miss Priss:  No, it's -&lt;br /&gt;Boo:  &lt;em&gt;My&lt;/em&gt; house. &lt;br /&gt;Miss Priss:  No, we share it. &lt;br /&gt;Boo:  Mommy and my house.&lt;br /&gt;Miss Priss:  What about me?&lt;br /&gt;Boo:  Me and Miss Priss's house.&lt;br /&gt;Miss Priss:  And Mommy.&lt;br /&gt;Boo:  No.&lt;br /&gt;Miss Priss:  If I sell you to the circus (a silly threat that we've always made to Miss Priss), then it will be my house and Mommy's house.&lt;br /&gt;Boo:  No, I sell &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt; to the circus. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOL&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-2214714966817877902?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/2214714966817877902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=2214714966817877902' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2214714966817877902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2214714966817877902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/03/funny-conversation.html' title='Funny Conversation'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5150602656770512644</id><published>2008-03-16T12:45:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T18:44:52.566-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Wolves</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5cbEoKezbns/R91dIB-vAxI/AAAAAAAAAA0/ZL4D34BoSAY/s1600-h/000801c85008%244aba6870%24887b4018.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178397539097838354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5cbEoKezbns/R91dIB-vAxI/AAAAAAAAAA0/ZL4D34BoSAY/s320/000801c85008%244aba6870%24887b4018.jpeg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside all people. He said, "My son, the battle is between two "wolves" inside us all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: "Which wolf wins?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5150602656770512644?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5150602656770512644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5150602656770512644' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5150602656770512644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5150602656770512644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/03/two-wolves.html' title='Two Wolves'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5cbEoKezbns/R91dIB-vAxI/AAAAAAAAAA0/ZL4D34BoSAY/s72-c/000801c85008%244aba6870%24887b4018.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-536201376337813417</id><published>2008-03-13T21:02:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-13T21:04:50.700-05:00</updated><title type='text'>AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!</title><content type='html'>Okay, I just had to get that out (and if I did it sitting here, my neighbors would probably call the police....LOL).  People at work are driving me crazy!  And I can't even vent on my own blog because I don't want to get fired!  But, I can scream.  LOL&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-536201376337813417?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/536201376337813417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=536201376337813417' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/536201376337813417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/536201376337813417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/03/ahhhhhhhhhhh.html' title='AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-7905842973411090819</id><published>2008-03-11T19:16:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T19:19:03.390-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Serves me right.....</title><content type='html'>for even thinking (even if not out loud) that I hadn't taken a sick day since last fall.  I haven't been to work the past two days since the girls were kind enough to share the cold that they are still trying to get over with me.  So, now I'm trying to get over this cold.  On the plus side, I've lost 5 pounds in 2 days.  Not the diet plan I wanted to be on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-7905842973411090819?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/7905842973411090819/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=7905842973411090819' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7905842973411090819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7905842973411090819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/03/serves-me-right.html' title='Serves me right.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-605684698457900720</id><published>2008-03-09T19:01:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-09T19:06:31.417-05:00</updated><title type='text'>She did pretty well....</title><content type='html'>better than I expected.  She did have a long period of being shy and scared.  She didn't want to participate.  But in the end, she did well and spent a lot of time running around and playing with her friends.  I'd definitely call it an improvement.  She is very shy around large groups of people (as is her mommy), so a birthday party that has lots of kids at it as well as lots of adults, and it makes her very nervous.  And I think that part of the reason that it bugs me so much is that I'm so self concious of myself in situations like that as well.  I don't want to be the parent who has to constantly be at my child's side - I don't want people to think that she can't handle things by herself.  What did I do wrong as a parent?  All these things go through my mind.  So, it's as much my social anxiety as hers.  So, I guess we'll see how she does at the next birthday party on the 30th.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-605684698457900720?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/605684698457900720/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=605684698457900720' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/605684698457900720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/605684698457900720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/03/she-did-pretty-well.html' title='She did pretty well....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-280596803312261772</id><published>2008-03-07T21:47:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T21:49:22.488-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dang it.....</title><content type='html'>Blogger deleted my post.  Basically, Miss Priss is going to a birthday party tomorrow, and since her mother declared her a social phobic at age 3 last time she went to a birthday party, her mother is trying to be better now that she's 4.  Her teachers assured me at the parent/teacher conference that she's doing much better this year (raising her hand even!).  So, we'll see how the party goes.  :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-280596803312261772?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/280596803312261772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=280596803312261772' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/280596803312261772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/280596803312261772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/03/dang-it.html' title='Dang it.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6675375889911117535</id><published>2008-03-03T19:58:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-03T20:01:20.184-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Why can't people drive in the rain?</title><content type='html'>It's freezing rain, I know, but what reason is there to drive as fast as possible?  It's really annoying.  And I'm in an annoyed mood.  I'm ready for my girls to come home.  They'll be home tomorrow.  :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6675375889911117535?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6675375889911117535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6675375889911117535' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6675375889911117535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6675375889911117535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/03/why-cant-people-drive-in-rain.html' title='Why can&apos;t people drive in the rain?'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-4123506390716311942</id><published>2008-03-02T20:23:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-02T20:27:44.971-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It's been interesting....</title><content type='html'>with the girls gone this weekend.  I've gotten a lot accomplished - some laundry, cleaned the fish aquarium, shampooed the carpet in my living room (it looks sooooo much better).  I went and saw The Other Boleyn Girl today.  I was not impressed.  I'll post my opinions on that movie tomorrow.  Oh, and the best part - I slept until 9:00 AM this morning.  9:00!!!!!  I haven't slept that late in ages.  And what woke me up?  A phone call from the girls.  LOL  I'll be so glad to have them home.  Mike and I have been talking a lot about the future between us and what it will hold.  He knows that I won't commit to anything at all until he gets a job here and has moved.  I won't commit to him until I know he's making plans and following through in an effort to commit to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-4123506390716311942?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/4123506390716311942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=4123506390716311942' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4123506390716311942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4123506390716311942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/03/its-been-interesting.html' title='It&apos;s been interesting....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8249321351489202806</id><published>2008-02-26T20:49:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-26T20:51:31.944-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh, come on!</title><content type='html'>I'm trying to consolidate my student loans.  I've been turned down now by two companies (one of them being the company who loaned me the money in the first place) because - this is my favorite - I don't owe enough money.  If I had $25,000 or $30,000 in debt, they'd do it.  Since my debt is a measly little $21,000, they aren't interested.  It's infuriating.  Now I'm off to surf the web for someone who will actually consolidate my loans.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8249321351489202806?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8249321351489202806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8249321351489202806' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8249321351489202806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8249321351489202806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/oh-come-on.html' title='Oh, come on!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8428060680193501302</id><published>2008-02-25T19:52:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-25T20:07:22.380-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Now that's an interesting development.</title><content type='html'>I got a call from my STBX around lunchtime today.  He sounded kind of upset, and he told me that he had two questions for me:  Would I be willing to work on our relationship provided he got a job and moved back home and cut off all contact with Smalltown, Texas?  and do I still love him in a romantic way? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I a horrible person that my first thought was - what kind of game is he playing? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honestly, this was kind of the moment I've been hoping for for months.  I didn't want things to end in divorce, but I was not going to be the little wife sitting at home while he's out carousing.  So, now I've got all kinds of things going through my head.  Am I willing to try and work it out?  And if so, am I doing it for the right reasons?  I mean, to really make it work, I would have to do it for me and for what I want - not because of the girls, not for the security that it would provide, not because I don't want to be alone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do still love him.  Will it work though?  I don't know.  Does &lt;em&gt;he&lt;/em&gt; love me that much?  I guess that's what remains to be seen.  I would have more faith in him if I saw him actually work toward a reconciliation.  I'm not going to do the work on my own.  &lt;em&gt;He'll &lt;/em&gt;have to search for a job.  I won't help.  It's a small thing to ask if he truly wants to be with me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our relationship would not be the same.  I know I've changed (for the better in my opinion), and even he's noticed that.  Could he deal with that?  I have no desire to go back to being the woman I was when I was with him previously.  I'm a little more outspoken about what I want.  I have no desire to swallow my anger and just do things myself.  Instead, he's going to have to help pull his weight around the house.  He got lazy about that, I got resentful, things went downhill.  I would want to avoid the things that drove us apart in the past. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God help me, I've gotten my hopes up that he's serious and no just playing me for the fool (again).  My head is telling me not to be an idiot.  My heart is telling me to give it one more shot - all I lose is a little time before I file the divorce if things don't work out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish their was a clear cut answer.  I wish there was a magic way of knowing that I was making the right decision in giving him another chance.  I guess a good start would be if he got a job locally and moved back home.  I guess that's the jumping off point.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8428060680193501302?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8428060680193501302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8428060680193501302' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8428060680193501302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8428060680193501302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/now-thats-interesting-development.html' title='Now that&apos;s an interesting development.'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5919066235127374078</id><published>2008-02-24T12:27:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-24T12:46:24.889-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I've started the paperwork....</title><content type='html'>for my divorce.  It's actually easier than I thought (or else I'm doing it wrong).  There's a lot that we need to sort out still, but we had a nice long conversation yesterday morning regarding some of the arrangements. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's been talking to some of his divorced friends because he's suddenly concerned about the financial arrangements.  He's afraid that I'm going to take him to the cleaners when it's his mother who's watching the girls and providing all the childcare.  Does he honestly think I haven't thought of that?  I realize that, but it doesn't mean he doesn't have to provide any support at all for his kids.  He suggested $300/month.  Which I'm inclined to agree to in some respects (especially considering the child care thing), but that is supposed to pay all of their insurance costs as well.  Uh, no.  I'm thinking $300 plus the insurance premiums and any medical/dental bills.  Which would actually make it $450 or so per month.  He would like it if I don't consider his second job income since he doesn't know how long he'll have that.  He told me that he's not going to "put himself in a financial hardship" and that I make more money than he does.  So, therefore, I have no right to savings?  I have money enough to pay my bills (as long as childcare is covered), but I would like to put money away for a house and a new car and for the girls to eventually go to college (not that I'm paying for all of it, but I'd like to help some).  I know he's pretty incapable of saving money, so that's going to be up to me.  I want to have the life I want rather than getting by as I have been.  I agree that he doesn't have to finance my life, but still - they are his children, and he should support them some.  As it is, he provides &lt;em&gt;no&lt;/em&gt; support - his mother does, but that's her choice.  I can't even really talk to his parents about everything because when I asked him how much his parents knew (so that I can don't reveal things he doesn't want them to know), he told me that when everything started, he told them that it's his life and his business.  Oh, great.  Way to stay on their good side. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the car.  We bought the truck (which I should never have agreed to) in October.  We've made 4 payments, so only 68 more to go.  He's going to be paying those, but if I can arrange it, he's going to have to refinance it into his name only.  I want no liability for it - I'm not going to carry insurance on it (well, I'm still debating that - once it's out of my name, I certainly won't, but until then, I might just to cover my ass in case it gets wrecked - the finance company would want money, if he's at fault, other people might want money - I'd rather an insurance company be responsible for that).  So, anyway, when he got the truck, I got the Hyundai which we got in 2004.  His parents bought it for us and we signed an agreement that we would pay them back.  Which we haven't so far.  We actually haven't paid them anything.  When we were considering buying the truck and I was hesitant, he told me that if things didn't work out between us, he would take the truck (and refinance it) and I would get the Hyundai and he would assume all debt for it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, now the negotiation begins.  Now I'm getting to have all the fun of trying to figure this all out and hope he agrees -which means just like any bargaining thing, I'll have to start out higher than I really want or have tradeoffs that I'm willing to take.  So there we are.  I guess we'll see where it goes from here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5919066235127374078?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5919066235127374078/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5919066235127374078' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5919066235127374078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5919066235127374078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/ive-started-paperwork.html' title='I&apos;ve started the paperwork....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-7536129474556837472</id><published>2008-02-20T20:05:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T20:14:09.000-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It's been one of those days.</title><content type='html'>I swear, I feel like I'm getting picked on.  I realize this is probably just PMS, but still.  At work, I got a couple of snippy emails and a phone call that I wasn't overly friendly (well, actually, in that guy's defense, he was friendly, but he wanted the problem to be resolved, so I can't really be mad at him).  And then my STBX (soon-to-be-ex-husband) told me on the phone tonight that he was just asking about my day and I didn't have to  be short with him.  That just about set me off.  So, I think I'm going to go paint my toenails, take a nice hot bath and go to bed.  Oh, wait, Project Runway has to figure in there somewhere. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the plants are already sprouting!  I think we're actually going to have flowers!  :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-7536129474556837472?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/7536129474556837472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=7536129474556837472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7536129474556837472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7536129474556837472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/its-been-one-of-those-days.html' title='It&apos;s been one of those days.'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3112792697698239060</id><published>2008-02-19T19:52:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T20:08:10.641-06:00</updated><title type='text'>We planted flowers!</title><content type='html'>The girls and I planted flowers in one of &lt;a href="http://www.hhydro.com/cgi-bin/hhydro/HH00800.html"&gt;these&lt;/a&gt;. We planted Impatiens, Shasta Daisies, 2 different colors of Morning Glories, Bluebonnets (State Flower of Texas), and Zinnias. We'll see what comes up - hopefully a lot and hopefully quickly! Then I'll have to figure out what do with them, but I'm just waiting to see if they actually sprout first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm reading a really great book called &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Between-Rock-Hard-Place-Ralston/dp/074349282X/ref=pd_bbs_2?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=books&amp;amp;qid=1203473003&amp;amp;sr=8-2"&gt;Between a Rock and a Hard Place&lt;/a&gt; by Aron Ralston, the guy whose arm got pinned while he was hiking in a canyon and had to amputate his arm.  Very interesting book.  I'd recommend it to anyone who likes non-fiction.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3112792697698239060?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3112792697698239060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3112792697698239060' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3112792697698239060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3112792697698239060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/we-planted-flowers.html' title='We planted flowers!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-1438610847188842657</id><published>2008-02-17T21:14:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T21:26:00.992-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't think he's thought this through....</title><content type='html'>because if he had, he'd know that moving in with his mistress for "financial reasons" is not a good plan.  By lying to me, by leading me on, not smart - he gave up any chance of any reconciliation, and he's going to find out that he's going to be worse off when he starts paying me child support and for the girls' insurance (because that's the standard agreement - a percentage of his income as well as all medical bills and premiums).  Since he'll never be able to find any insurance for the girls for cheaper (especially good insurance), it makes sense to leave it under my insurance and he can just pay me for what comes out of my check.  But he's not thinking straight.  He's consumed with her and with guilt toward me.  He keeps asking how I'm doing (apparently, I've seemed kind of "blah" lately.  Really?  Maybe that's because I don't feel the need to confide in an asshole who can lie to my face.  Just a thought.  See - I knew that anger/bitterness phase would kick in.  I got the book on how to do my own divorce from the library (including the disk which has all the necessary forms on it).  I'm willing to do this without lawyers if he's more agreeable to that (which I'm sure he is since it's waaaaaaaaay cheaper).  But I'm going to be the one writing it up, so it's going to be what I want (and I like to think I can be fair).  Don't worry, though, if he decides to get lawyers involved, my uncle is an attorney, so I have someone I can turn to if it goes that way.  I'm getting to the point where I am ready to get this over with.  I want it all done and worked out, so that I can start saving my money (which he's leaving alone - it's a joint account).  The only thing that remains to be seen is child care for the girls.  I am a little worried about it.  I like to think that his mom will realize it's what's best for the girls, but still.   That's the only thing I'm really worried about.  Thank God that I'm at a point in my life where I can pay for things on my own.  I don't have a mortgage.  I don't live beyond my means.  And if worst came to worst, I could even pay for childcare for the girls (the little things like the internet and satellite would have to go, but it could be done).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-1438610847188842657?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/1438610847188842657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=1438610847188842657' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1438610847188842657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1438610847188842657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-dont-think-hes-thought-this-through.html' title='I don&apos;t think he&apos;s thought this through....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6358804714843291999</id><published>2008-02-12T20:37:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-12T21:11:22.423-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Okay, let me see...</title><content type='html'>if I can spit out all the stuff I'm thinking.  First, let me tell you what he told me.  Or paraphrase.  Blah, blah, blah, he loves how easy it is to talk to me, how easy it is to have a intelligent conversation.  He loves so many things about me, but there's no chemistry.  I agree with the no chemistry part - that part of our relationship admittedly died a long time ago.  And I don't want to be second best or what he's settling for.  So, from my perspective, this is best. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I have a problem with is her.  I'm not naive.  I realize that two people were involved in this affair.  I question his morals as much as hers, but only one of them is a parent to my children.  They &lt;em&gt;have&lt;/em&gt; to be around him.  I don't want them around her.  And part of that is because of what he told me about her.  He seems to have no respect for her or at least doesn't think she's very smart.  What does that tell my children?  That tells them that men value the 21 year old idiot more than the 27 year old with half a brain (or maybe even more than that LOL).  He is their role model.  Has he forgotten that?  That's my current issue with him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I understand that financial reasons are driving part of this.  And, realistically, since I've done more research on it, I know that he'll be paying me child support at 25% of his income as well as all medical bills associated with them (including the premiums that I pay for their insurance).  Plus, he'll also have to get his own car insurance (I'm currently paying for that policy).  So, yeah, there are expenses.  That's for the two of them to work out.  As long as my child support is coming in, it's not my problem. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I do have a major problem with is that he thinks I'm an idiot.  Does he think I really believe that they're going to be roommates for the most part (that's what he told me!)?  Seperate rooms?  Hello!  Do I have stupid written across my forehead?  If he's going to live with her, he might as well own up to it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, back to the original thing - he wants the girls to come out and visit for a long weekend (Saturday through Tuesday) soon.  This is where I have a very, very hard time knowing what to do.  My girls miss him so much it hurts.  They jump for joy when he's home.  They don't know or understand what is going on.  And hopefully, they're not old enough to understand that their father is choosing a physical relationship with her over everything that we built together.  But, how do I explain her to them?  Daddy's new roommate?  She has a son and does childcare out of her home (or will be when she moves).  I asked him how he would handle things when he is working.  He didn't give me an answer - just a, well, I'm going to try and take a day off kind of crap.  I don't want them left alone with her &lt;em&gt;especially&lt;/em&gt; the first time.  They're used to being with me or with Grandma.  They don't even know her.  And Miss Priss is extremely shy around strangers.  Does he really plan to leave her alone with one?  Even if the only other child around is her 2 year old - if the 3 of them are playing and something gets broken or someone gets hurt, who's she going to assume was at fault?  Her kid?  Yeah, right.  I'm a parent - I know that my kids would probably be found guilty. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, he wants to just pick them up or meet up halfway or something.  And how exactly does he expect me to explain this to them?  I can't just wait until he gets here so that we can explain together because I would have to get their stuff together and ready.  "You're going to visit Daddy out in Smalltown."  "No, Mommy's not going."  I'm not going to explain their relationship to my children.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't know what to tell him.  I'm not about to deny him access to the girls or, more importantly, I'm not about to deny the girls access to the father that they love no matter how flawed he is.  We are all flawed.  He is a good father for them, so I have no reason to keep them apart.  I just wish that the girls weren't involved.  That's the hardest part of this for me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder how much his parents know.  They're eventually going to know it all, but I would really like to be able to talk realistically to his mother.  I don't think anything will change with the child care arrangements we have right now.  She loves the girls and knows that the best thing for them is consistancy, and that she is part of that.  They know about the other woman and that he cheated on me.  I don't want them to feel like I'm taking advantage of them and everything they've done for us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny, my parents still don't know a thing.  I should really tell them.  But, I'm their baby girl, and I know they're going to think the worst of him.  And even I can't think the worst of him because at some point I loved him enough to conceive two beautiful children with him.  And I want to believe that I wasn't so stupid in my choice of men.  The thought of all my family gossiping about me makes me want to throw up.  And I have a gossipy family.  Maybe I'm wrong.  I just don't know what to think or how to explain anything to anyone.  Most importantly though, I want to make sure that no one ever says anything bad about him around the girls.  They love him no matter what, and I don't want them to hear things about him from other people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6358804714843291999?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6358804714843291999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6358804714843291999' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6358804714843291999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6358804714843291999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/okay-let-me-see.html' title='Okay, let me see...'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-7763756145580586851</id><published>2008-02-11T20:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T20:59:41.707-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm so excited!</title><content type='html'>We got our tax return last Friday, and all of my bills are caught up and current!  There were a couple that I had gotten behind on in the effort to continue eating - just a month behind, but now I'm completely caught up!  Yay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bad news is that we are definitely moving forward with our divorce.  The woman (if you can call her that - I've got other names I would also substitute) he (don't worry, I've got other names for him too!) was cheating on my with is moving in with him.  It's a purely financial and physical thing.  Well, that's good to know.  I wonder if she knows that.  No matter what, it's not my problem.  I've got so much more to say on the matter, but it's still rolling around in my head, and I haven't gotten my exercise in for the day, and I refuse to sacrifice something that will help make me more gorgeous than I already am to dwell on him.  (see, my ego hasn't suffered a bit - LOL!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-7763756145580586851?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/7763756145580586851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=7763756145580586851' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7763756145580586851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7763756145580586851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/im-so-excited.html' title='I&apos;m so excited!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-1705305283486663466</id><published>2008-02-07T21:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-07T21:35:37.425-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm such a dork!</title><content type='html'>Tonight was the first time that I joined the book club chat for a message board group I'm a member of.  It's a monthly chat, and I've read the books before but never participated in the chat.  Now I'm all excited about reading this month's book! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also off a day.  I've been a day ahead since Tuesday, so I'm very disappointed I have to go to work tomorrow since I've been thinking it's Friday all day today!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-1705305283486663466?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/1705305283486663466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=1705305283486663466' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1705305283486663466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1705305283486663466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/im-such-dork.html' title='I&apos;m such a dork!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-4190412729706983991</id><published>2008-02-06T19:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-07T21:37:45.592-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Because You're The Momma!</title><content type='html'>That's what Miss Priss told me was the reason that everyone had to get out of the car on her side. I told Boo that she needed to go out Miss Priss's door, and Miss Priss said, "Why? Oh, wait, because you're the momma!" LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was almost as good as the "Mommy, when I grow up, I want to be just like you," that I got the other day. That just melted my heart!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-4190412729706983991?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/4190412729706983991/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=4190412729706983991' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4190412729706983991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4190412729706983991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/because-youre-momma.html' title='Because You&apos;re The Momma!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-568367711297164132</id><published>2008-02-05T20:31:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-05T20:36:56.316-06:00</updated><title type='text'>So it's not so bad.....</title><content type='html'>divorce can be cheap if two people are getting along well enough to do it without lawyers.  Something for us to consider.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been completely Effexor free since Thursday (or well, I'm not taking any anymore).  I was dealing with some awful headaches for a few days, but those seem to be going away.  Thank goodness since the only thing that seemed to help was Excedrin, but the caffeine level in it was making me jittery and anxious (or maybe that was a withdrawl effect).  Either way, I did okay today going without any kind of headache medicine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm really getting tired of the stupid tax return commercials.  Maybe that's because I've already done my taxes.  LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's see....other random thoughts for the day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, as of this morning, I have lost 9 pounds since the new year!  Woohoo!  :D &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that's pretty much it.  I did read an incredible book, so I'll leave that as a "review" tomorrow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-568367711297164132?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/568367711297164132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=568367711297164132' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/568367711297164132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/568367711297164132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/02/so-its-not-so-bad.html' title='So it&apos;s not so bad.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-2580057775154793844</id><published>2008-01-28T20:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T20:53:00.118-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Blah</title><content type='html'>It's expensive to get divorced.  Eeek!  No wonder people stay "seperated" for a long time.  After seeing how expensive it is to get divorced, I'm tempted to give marriage another shot.  Just kidding.  But this is going to cost a pretty penny.  I think that having children involved is the "problem."  Custody, visitation, child support - all add to the price.  Even for two people who are willing to do this without fighting about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, well.  It's a blah day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm dreading tomorrow.  I get to do the "fun" part of being a supervisor.  Since I don't want to get fired, I can't talk about it on a blog, so suffice it to say, I get to have a conversation with one of the employees I supervise.  Keep you fingers crossed that it all goes well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-2580057775154793844?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/2580057775154793844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=2580057775154793844' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2580057775154793844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2580057775154793844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/blah.html' title='Blah'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-17108246184777866</id><published>2008-01-24T20:33:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-24T20:41:51.450-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't know what to think....</title><content type='html'>Actually, I think I do.  I just wish it was different.  We talked on our way back from visiting my parents house.  We stopped for about an hour.  He wants to start investing the "other option."  It's weird - like a weight off my shoulders.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today, he calls to just talk (while I'm at work no less).  He tells me he's not sure what to think.  We get along well, he enjoys talking to me and hanging out with me, but there's no spark.  He's not sure what to do.  Well, hello!  Does he think I want to be the one he settled for because he didn't know what else to do?  He can't decide now that he wants to make it work.  I'm tired of being up in the air about this.  He's never home, so we're seperated anyway in fact if not in name. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want to get out while we're on good terms.  We're not fighting; we don't hate each other, so this would be the right time to get divorced in my mind.  It would be best for the girls for us to be able to get along, to show up at the same school events without any awkwardness.  I know that eventually we'll both move on, and I know that won't go over well no matter what, but he can't control my life.  I just don't want things to get ugly.  I want things to go well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-17108246184777866?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/17108246184777866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=17108246184777866' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/17108246184777866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/17108246184777866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-dont-know-what-to-think.html' title='I don&apos;t know what to think....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6852683170614493206</id><published>2008-01-23T19:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T20:03:22.183-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Because I needed more stress....</title><content type='html'>remember that thyroid test my doctor did &lt;strike&gt;at my urging&lt;/strike&gt; (I love my PCP - she's willing to do the test based on my suggestion)? Anyway, since the rest of my family has hypothyriodism, I fully expected to hear back from my doctor that I too have developed this condition. Oh, no. The message on my voicemail was something to to the effect of, "Hey, this such and such nurse from Dr. K's office. We got the blood test results back, and it seems that you thyroid is mildly overactive. We can either wait and retest again in 8 weeks or send you to a specialist. Please call us back and let us know what you want to do. Thanks!" Beep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For someone who obsessed about all the medical illnesses she does &lt;strike&gt;and does not&lt;/strike&gt; have, what kind of friggin' message is that?!!!! Hello, numbers please. You know I'm going to google it, so you might as well give me the actual numbers before I find out all sorts of crazy, scary things on the internet that started out as "mild hyperthyroidism." So, I'm calling back tomorrow to tell them that I will self-refer (since my insurance gives me that option) to a specialist (if, ahem, they would be so kind as to tell me what kind of specialist to see - please don't make fun of my lack of knowledge). And then I will ask physicians I work with who I trust, hey, yo, who should I go see? &lt;strike&gt;And can you pull some strings so I don't have to wait 3 years to see them?&lt;/strike&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm going to assume that &lt;a href="http://www.webmd.com/"&gt;www.webmd.com&lt;/a&gt; was correct when things like caffeine and stress (who's stressed?) can make the problem worse.  What about obsessing over blood pressure that goes down at the doctor's office?  Does that count as stress?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6852683170614493206?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6852683170614493206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6852683170614493206' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6852683170614493206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6852683170614493206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/because-i-needed-more-stress.html' title='Because I needed more stress....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6262274963568646271</id><published>2008-01-21T21:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T21:11:06.470-06:00</updated><title type='text'>This will probably be a bit disjointed....</title><content type='html'>I think my marriage is coming to an end.  I hate that.  I feel like such a failure (as if it's entirely my fault).  I just keep thinking, what did I do wrong that so many other people get right?  Every time I think things are getting better, they don't seem to progress.  My husband talks a big game, but his actions don't follow suit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's really sad is that I don't feel completely heartbroken.  Maybe I've already done my grieving and never really thought it would work out after he cheated.  I don't know.  I feel more....embarrassed.  Like I can't tell anyone.  I haven't even told my parents anything.  I don't know what I think will happen.  It's really no one's business except his and mine, but I don't really want people to think badly of him.  Or maybe it's more, I don't want people to speak badly of him because my girls don't know or understand what's going on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's my other worry.  I don't want them to be the children of a broken home.  All the statistics say that puts them at a disadvantage.  Of course, statistics are what happens on average.  We wouldn't be the average divorced couple (or at least I don't think so).  I think we would get along pretty well.  We both love the girls and would go to great lengths to make sure they're protected and always know how much they're loved.  And wouldn't it be better anyway for them to see their parents in true functioning loving relationships even if it's not with each other?  Wouldn't that be the good example to set? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it's a sign of how bad things have gotten that my fears are not about being alone or being single or "losing" him.  It's how to make all the day-to-day stuff work out and how to do what's best for my children.  Or maybe I know I've already "lost" him and I'm past that and working toward how to take care of myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He doesn't say "I love you," when he finishes our phone conversations any more.  Just bye.  Maybe I'm supposed to be the one to say it, but still.  It's weird.  I think we both know that we aren't going to make it long term, but neither of us wants to be the one to quit on our marriage.  It's strange, and I feel confused and kind of sad and angry, but not much.  I just don't feel much of anything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I would have a peaceful feeling that I'm making the right decision if I end it.  I know eventually I would know that it was right, but going into it, I don't know and I don't know what to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6262274963568646271?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6262274963568646271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6262274963568646271' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6262274963568646271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6262274963568646271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/this-will-probably-be-bit-disjointed.html' title='This will probably be a bit disjointed....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6592007848639802240</id><published>2008-01-17T19:58:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-17T20:01:04.655-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My poor baby....</title><content type='html'>My littlest princess is sick.  I hate when kids are sick.  I love the cuddling, but I don't want them to be in pain or hurting (or running a fever).  At least she likes the taste of medicine.  Of course, I better make sure it's out of her reach.  I don't want to test the "child proof" cap.  LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm off to a good start on my reading this year.  I've finished 7 books and I will probably finish another one tonight.  If you have any good recommendations, please feel free to share!  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6592007848639802240?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6592007848639802240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6592007848639802240' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6592007848639802240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6592007848639802240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-poor-baby.html' title='My poor baby....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-1867975103470957572</id><published>2008-01-14T20:33:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T20:36:57.944-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My First Staff Meeting</title><content type='html'>I presided over my first staff meeting today as boss. Kind of weird, but it worked. Told about some policies that are not going to be very popular, but they'll get over it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And one for the "from the mouths of babes" file:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night as we were getting out of the car, Boo told me, "Look, Mama!" as she was holding up her finger. Since she has been in a I-have-a-cut-and-need-a-bandaid mood recently, I assumed I was supposed to look at a non-existant cut. So, when I asked, "What, Boo?" she replied, "I got booger from my nose." Ah, the joys of being a parent.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-1867975103470957572?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/1867975103470957572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=1867975103470957572' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1867975103470957572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1867975103470957572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-first-staff-meeting.html' title='My First Staff Meeting'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-7760335460946882370</id><published>2008-01-11T16:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-11T16:06:36.052-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My Doctor's Appointment</title><content type='html'>After keeping very careful records of my blood pressure (which remains high), I went to the doctor this afternoon.  And, of course, I forgot the page where I'd written them down. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the nurse took my blood pressure.  118/72.  Of course.  Because why would my blood pressure be as high as usual when I go to see the doctor about it.  I was so surprised, and I hope I didn't offend her with my surprise, that she took it again in the other arm.  122/74 (must have been up from how surprised I was).  Either way, it was a far cry from the 160/101 reading that I got yesterday at work.  Hmmm.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, my doctor and I agreed that it is best that I stop taking Effexor (not cold turkey, obviously).  She gave me samples to wean me off of it and hopefully, my blood pressure goes down with it.  If not, I'm declaring that the damn machine at Walmart is really messed up!  Anyway, she's checking my thyroid as well.  We'll see if that is doing anything strange.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-7760335460946882370?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/7760335460946882370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=7760335460946882370' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7760335460946882370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7760335460946882370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-doctors-appointment.html' title='My Doctor&apos;s Appointment'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-1839928836548614730</id><published>2008-01-06T14:48:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-06T14:58:23.863-06:00</updated><title type='text'>129/73</title><content type='html'>That's a very good thing to see (especially when shopping with two children who stayed up too late, got up too early and haven't quit whining all day, but I'm not griping or anything). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby and I have been talking a lot and we had a very long discussion on Christmas Eve about our future together (or if there is one).  Heaven help me, but I love the man even with all his faults.  I think he's still thinking that he got off too easy and that I'm still waiting to drop the bomb on him.  And I'm not sure how to convince him that I'm not going to divorce him (wouldn't I have done that already if I was going to?).  He's still mired down in a lot of guilt and seems to think I deserve better, so he doesn't want to hold me back from this ideal life he thinks I could lead without him.  Personally, I want a life with him.  I want him to come home and to build our life together.  He's gone so much.  I don't think he's cheating on me; I think he's depressed, and he can't seem to see it.  I've updated his resume for him (at his request - his only computer access is through a work computer, and he is hesitant to search for a new job while working at his current job).  And I'll probably do his applications for him as well.  I'm still trying to be positive.  I just wish I knew what he was thinking and feeling.  He still opens up to me, so I guess I have to trust that what he's telling me is true.  He mentioned something last night about seeing what our options are as far as home loans.  With our bad credit, probably not much, but maybe an FHA loan or something.  A small part of me is hesitant, but mostly, I think this is a step in the right direction.  I hope I'm not making a big mistake.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-1839928836548614730?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/1839928836548614730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=1839928836548614730' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1839928836548614730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1839928836548614730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/12973.html' title='129/73'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-2899455737368941506</id><published>2008-01-04T21:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T21:21:35.797-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Looks like I'm headed to the doctor.....</title><content type='html'>A couple of weeks ago, while shopping at Walmart, I tried the little blood pressure machine thing.  And it said my blood pressure was 137/86.  A little higher than I would like.  I think the machine said that was "pre-hypertensive."  And last night, same Walmart, I tried it again.  143/93.  "Hypertensive."  Hmmm.  So, to make sure my local Walmart had a working machine, at work today, I walked over the clinic (I work in a cardiology office) and had one of the nurses take my blood pressure.  150/101.  Not good at all.  So, I got back to my desk and called to make an appointment with my doctor.  (And I went back to Walmart again tonight - 145/94).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm guess (or maybe just hoping and praying) that this blood pressure issue is because of the Effexor that I take.  I knew that high blood pressure was a possible side effect when I started taking it.  Which means, of course, that it's time to stop taking Effexor (don't worry, I'm not stopping cold turkey or without seeing my doctor).  She and I will come up with a plan. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's my plan:&lt;br /&gt;Reduce dose of Effexor down to 0.  (I will probably keep getting my BP checked by one of the nurses at work to see what it does as my dose goes down).  Continue diet and exercise.  I'm doing good so far.  Not as much exercise as I should be getting, but I'm working on it, and I was so proud of my grocery cart full of health food at Walmart yesterday!  Between the two of those, I assume that my blood pressure will return to the "normal" range.  I don't want to even think about if it doesn't.  I'm a little young to have a blood pressure problem.  So, I assume I'll be getting some bloodwork done (I have a feeling that my cholesterol is elevated too since that's also a possible side effect).  So, I think I'll have her check my thyroid while we're writing orders to the lab. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you want to see genetic in action, you can look at me and my family.  Anxiety and depression?  Check - right on down through my dad's side of the family to me.  Heart problems?  Check - bouncing off of every branch of the family tree.  Hypothyroidism?  Check - very much in my mother's family tree.  Grandma, my aunt, my mom - all in their late 20s.  Hmmmm.....guess what one "consequence" of hypothyroidism is.........can you guess?  Hypertension.  Wow.  I swear, if I have hypothyroidism, I want to know why all the bad genes came to me! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, since I will be stopping my current anti-depressant, that leaves, of course, the question of how to handle my depression problem.  And I'm not sure actually.  I seem to have an issue with every anti-depressant I've tried.  Zoloft?  Hives.  Celexa?  Very, very depressed.  Paxil?  Weight gain.  Effexor?  High blood pressure (look at me make that diagnosis like it's set in stone!).  So I think I'll go back to nothing and hope that exercise has a positive effect on my moods.  And I'll try to pay attention to the warning signs of depression (I get very sleepy and don't want to do anything at all). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be going this week until Friday to the clinic to keep getting my BP checked.  I don't have any hope at all that it's going to go down, but at least I have some reading to take to my doctor so she doesn't think it's all in my head.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-2899455737368941506?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/2899455737368941506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=2899455737368941506' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2899455737368941506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2899455737368941506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/looks-like-im-headed-to-doctor.html' title='Looks like I&apos;m headed to the doctor.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5133453332462596151</id><published>2008-01-02T20:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-02T20:28:10.301-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My silly girl....</title><content type='html'>When we got home today, we saw that Mushu (our kitty) had ever so kindly unrolled a ball of yarn on the living room floor.  Boo immediately started yelling, "No, no!  Bad kitty!" at her.  When we discovered the fish food all over the floor in the kitchen (Mushu was on a real destructive streak today), Boo said, "No, no!  Timeout!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5133453332462596151?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5133453332462596151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5133453332462596151' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5133453332462596151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5133453332462596151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-silly-girl.html' title='My silly girl....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-7516850403210327757</id><published>2008-01-01T08:18:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T08:50:56.934-06:00</updated><title type='text'>2008 New Year's Resolutions</title><content type='html'>This is liable to be a long list. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Get in shape and lose some weight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Use the exercise bike at least 4 times a week for 30 minutes. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Use the toning DVD I just bought at least 3 times a week. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Follow the points system stuff Mom gave me to eat better.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;At this point, based on yesterday's weight, I would like to lose 31 pounds total (goal weight: 145).  Again, based on my weight yesterday, my current BMI is 26.0.  At my goal weight, my BMI would be 21.4 - smack dab in the middle of normal (and healthy!).  Hopefully, my blood pressure will go down as well.  I certainly hope so.  I think my Effexor is causing it to be a little higher than I would like.  Since it's working very well for me, I'm hoping a little diet and exercise will fix the blood pressure problem.  As much as I hate to say it, I'm going to have to start cooking my own food and starting from scratch (well, maybe not scratch, but closer to it).  Sadly, many of the boxed food that I tend to eat are high in sodium (probably contributing to that blood pressure problem as well), so to avoid that, I'm planning on looking for low sodium recipes.  Since we will no longer be getting free food at work for lunch, I will have to take my lunch, and therefore, I can make food on the weekends to take during the week (or at least plan if I'm going to have a sandwich or something).  I see a lot of salads and soups and vegetables in my future.  Maybe I'll learn how to use my crock pot as well.  I need to go shopping very badly (and alone - kids just make me want to rush through my shopping).  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;2.  Make all those appointments I don't want to.  Well, okay, there's just one that I'm avoiding - the dentist.  I haven't been to the dentist since June 2002, so it's been a while.  I know I need to go, and my in-laws have even recommended their dentist (whose name I can't remember now).  I need to bite the bullet and go.  I just know that it's going to get expensive to fill all the cavities that I'm sure I have.  But they're not going to go away on their own, so I should go now before they start getting worse (or maybe I'll luck out and there won't be any of them).  Either way, I need to set a good example for my girls and take care of myself.  And therefore, I should probably make appointments for them as well (or at least for Miss Priss).  What age do children start going to the dentist?  I know Miss Priss is old enough, but does Boo need to go?  I can just see the dentist looking at her teeth and telling me to start saving my money for orthodontics.  I do need to make an appointment with my optometrist (I think in February so that I can catch tax return and get extra contacts and maybe even glasses), and I'm due for my yearly check with my PCP in March.  Other than that, it's just the dentist.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;3.  Get all bills caught up.  Almost all of them are, and none are really far behind (just one month), and I think once our tax return comes in, we will be able to catch up the others - there are only 2 totalling around $400.  I think it's a good thing to spend the money on.  Other than that, my money plans include putting money into savings every month (I'm thinking at least $50 in savings each month).  I think making my own meals will help here - I will be paying more for groceries, but I will be paying less by eating out.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;4.  Last year I read 146 books.  This year, I think I can make 156.  That is 13 books per month, and I think I can do that.  I would also like to read at least 2 non-fiction books a month.  I know that can easily be accomplished, and then I would feel like I'm still somewhat intelligent.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;5.  The kids.  Since I don't see them for very long on weekdays, I want to make sure that I spend that time with them (which means late dinners - hmmmm).  On the weekends, I want to start planning activities and going places and seeing things.  When did museums get to be so expensive?  Not sure what I'm going to do - as the weather gets nicer, at least we can go to the park and stuff like that.  But I don't think the weather will get nice for a couple months, so I will have to do some research into some things we can do around here that are inside activities.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;6.  The apartment.  Oh, it needs some cleaning.  I don't want to have a "Closet of Doom."  I want to have a clean, organized place to live.  I don't think that's too much to ask.  I think it's time to get rid of some baby stuff that I've been saving too long.  Not sure how I'm going to manage to do that, but it has to be done.  It's just taking up room, and I don't see a baby anywhere in my near future if it's in the future at all.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I think that's about it.  I might think of more in the next few days to add, but those are the main ones.  Have a safe, happy, and prosperous 2008!  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-7516850403210327757?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/7516850403210327757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=7516850403210327757' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7516850403210327757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7516850403210327757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2008/01/2008-new-years-resolutions.html' title='2008 New Year&apos;s Resolutions'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-2302905479240306924</id><published>2007-12-31T20:20:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-31T20:33:05.690-06:00</updated><title type='text'>2007</title><content type='html'>Wow.  It's been quite a year.  Definitely unlike any other, but what year isn't?  I've learned so much in the past year.  So much about who I am, and also who I would like to be.  I have so many things to be thankful for and so much I intend to accomplish in 2008 (see my New Year's Resolutions tomorrow). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, here on the last day of 2007, I'm going to bed soon (midnight isn't happening when my girls will be up first thing in the morning), I'm feeling hopeful that I can accomplish so many things. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and for Alison who is looking at this in December 2008, I currently weigh 176.2 (Ugh!), and measurements are:  44, 36 (over the 35" limit puts me at a higher risk for heart disease), 41.  The fat part of my thighs that I hate is 24," and 12" around my chubby arms.  I think I'll even take some pictures to see how far I progress.  I would like to add that it is cycle day 1, I just ate, and it is 8:30 at night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-2302905479240306924?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/2302905479240306924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=2302905479240306924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2302905479240306924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2302905479240306924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/12/2007.html' title='2007'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8085470957823537224</id><published>2007-12-30T19:56:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-30T20:00:36.673-06:00</updated><title type='text'>145.....</title><content type='html'>or maybe 146. That's how many books I've read this year. Gotta love that commute! So, I figure why not aim for 150 next year? I'll put that in my new year's resolutions. Which I will write tomorrow. &lt;strike&gt;And then break by this weekend.&lt;/strike&gt; I'm going to have to keep up with my library stuff so that I don't get any fines or I'll never make it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should probably make some work resolutions too.  We should be up to a full staff soon, and that will be good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I read in an email that eating black eyed peas on New Year's isn't a tradition all over.  Do you eat black-eyed peas on New' Years?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8085470957823537224?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8085470957823537224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8085470957823537224' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8085470957823537224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8085470957823537224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/12/145.html' title='145.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-9060182095615691436</id><published>2007-12-29T19:16:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T19:18:33.854-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Resolution Number 457</title><content type='html'>or somewhere around there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will not, I repeat NOT, rack up another $26.50 fine at the library.  Ahem.  I am a big library user, so I'm still coming out ahead in the end (considering the number of books I've checked out from the library in 2007 and how much it would have cost to purchase them all - at least those that aren't out of print), but still.  That is ridiculous.  That would pay my renter's insurance for a month.  If I can get through 2008 without a library fine, I can donate $25 to the library if I feel so inclined.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-9060182095615691436?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/9060182095615691436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=9060182095615691436' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/9060182095615691436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/9060182095615691436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/12/resolution-number-457.html' title='Resolution Number 457'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8546960505656990455</id><published>2007-12-27T20:20:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-27T20:31:21.978-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Work, work, work.....</title><content type='html'>I'm the only one in my office this week (which was approved before I became supervisor). New rule: not everyone can take off at the same time unless Alison isn't there to handle the fallout and all the extra work to cover for everyone being gone. That goes well with my rule on the thermostat. If Alison's hot, we turn on the air conditioner, and if Alison's cold, we turn on the heat. And since our thermostat has a lock box on it, guess who has the key? Mwahahahahahaha Okay that's not really the rule. If I start feeling hot, I ask the rest of the people in my office if they're hot and adjust the thermostat accordingly. So far, so good. One of these days, they will not be hot when I am, and I'll have to be sneaky in changing the thermostat. Just kidding. Kind of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The new year is upon us (almost), so it's New Year's Resolution &lt;strike&gt;that I will not keep&lt;/strike&gt; time!  I'm working on a few.  Topping the list is the obvious need to get in shape.  I'm phrasing it differently (like that will help).  Instead of "lose weight," I'm going to get in shape.  Maybe I'll go see my doctor to set some goals.  Realistic ones like - blood pressure down.  This one is tough since I can't get an accurate reading.  The Walmart machine always comes out kind of high, but I do all my shopping with two children in tow who have to touch absolutely everything, so it might be a little skewed.  Also, there's the good ol' going to exercise more resolution.  I'm going to have to be more specific to actually make that one stick.  And instead of rewards, I think I'm going to have to create some sort of consequence plan.  Still working on that one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a more fun resolution note, I'm doing a challenge with a book club I'm in (it's an online book club - don't worry, I haven't suddenly become a social person or anything).  You read through the alphabet.  You read a book by an author for each letter of the alphabet.  For example, I plan to read &lt;em&gt;Fearless Fourteen&lt;/em&gt; by Janet Evanovich when it comes out in June (just in time for my birthday!).  I can either use the J or the E and cross that off my list.  I think it will be fun and I'm hoping to read through the alphabet twice (just 'cause I'm an overachiever like that).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8546960505656990455?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8546960505656990455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8546960505656990455' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8546960505656990455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8546960505656990455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/12/work-work-work.html' title='Work, work, work.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5669422273226329628</id><published>2007-12-26T19:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T19:11:24.643-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It looks like....</title><content type='html'>a toy store threw up in my apartment.  It's crazy.  What's worse - when I tried to put up "old" toys in the closet to make room for new toys, those old toys suddenly became favorites that the girls couldn't live without.  Oh, well....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girls had a great Christmas.  Lots of toys obviously.  The guitar that Miss Priss got was a big hit.  Not as much as the microphone though.  I thought the guitar would be bad.  It's a joy compared to the microphone with the echo feature.  Miss Priss loves to hear her voice "echoing."  But, I've been a nice mommy.  The batteries have not been removed........yet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby Boo turns 2 tomorrow.  I think I'll have to shorten her name to Boo.  "Baby" just doesn't seem to apply anymore even if she'll always be my baby girl. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work was incredibly quiet today.  Hardly anyone was around, so naturally, I got a lot done (and did only a minimal amount of goofing off). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One last thing, when the Lean Pockets say "Caution:  Filling May Be Hot," listen.  I have a not-so-beautiful blister on my mouth.  Yeah, it blistered.  Immediately.  Hot cheese is yummy, but very hot.  I told Hubby I was going to sue, and he informed me of the warning that is probably on the package (and that I would have to stand up in court and show what an idiot I am for burning myself so badly with food - he didn't point that out - I know that for myself).  I did it on Christmas Eve.  It looked really awful yesterday.  Now it looks like a horrible fever blister that people don't want to ask about, but they don't want to get too near me either.  LOL&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5669422273226329628?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5669422273226329628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5669422273226329628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5669422273226329628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5669422273226329628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/12/it-looks-like.html' title='It looks like....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-1217359440801345971</id><published>2007-12-23T07:31:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-23T07:35:44.214-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Merry Christmas!</title><content type='html'>I know it's a little early, but I probably won't post again until after Christmas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do I convince my children to sleep late on weekends?  This is the second day in a row that I've been up before 6:30.  I don't mind doing that on weekdays when I have to go to work, but on the weekends? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, well.  For those who celebrate Christmas, Merry Christmas!  And for those who celebrate other holidays, Happy Holidays!  May the peace and joy of the season be on you and your family!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-1217359440801345971?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/1217359440801345971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=1217359440801345971' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1217359440801345971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1217359440801345971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/12/merry-christmas.html' title='Merry Christmas!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-2760783237699584026</id><published>2007-12-22T07:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-22T07:46:09.506-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What is it about laundry baskets?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Baby Boo is currently carrying everything around in one.  Maybe Santa should just bring her some laundry baskets.  She'd be very happy that way.  When she's not carrying it around, she's sitting in it (even though she's way too big for it!).  I'm not sure how she gets out.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm definitely making a new year's resolution to lose some weight!  I now know what "they" mean by yo-yo dieting.  What the heck?!  I lost almost 15 pounds and I've gained it all back.  Ugh!  I'm going to have to actually exercise to make this work.  LOL  I'm not an exercise queen by any means.  But I think I'm going to enjoy the holidays first and then go on a diet.  No reason to doom it from the beginning, right?  How's that for the right attitude?  LOL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-2760783237699584026?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/2760783237699584026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=2760783237699584026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2760783237699584026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2760783237699584026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/12/what-is-it-about-laundry-baskets.html' title='What is it about laundry baskets?'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6165918055594644591</id><published>2007-12-17T19:47:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T19:54:33.661-06:00</updated><title type='text'>She did great!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;She didn't run off the stage or anything crazy like that.  LOL  Miss Priss sang the songs and did the hand motions and even smiled once in a while.  She did spend the first part chewing on her sleeve, but hey, if that's the worst thing she does when she's nervous, she's not doing too bad for a 4 year old.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The singing was followed by a party in her classroom.  Baby Boo walked right in like she owned the place, and both of Miss Priss's teacher told me they couldn't wait to have Baby Boo in their class.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I spent the time in the corner watching Baby Boo walk all over the place and Miss Priss keeping up with her to make sure she wasn't getting into trouble.  I guess it's no wonder my daughter is shy considering her genetics.  I barely talked to anyone.  I just feel like an outsider at events at her preschool.  I think it's because I'm the only working mother.  Her class meets from 9 - 2, so most working parents couldn't make those hours.  And since the mothers sit and talk while waiting for the kids, they plan other things during the week when I'm at work.  Miss Priss isn't excluded at all (in fact, quite the opposite, she gets invited to everything), but it's weird.  I don't think I'm excluded so much as I'm not included.  And that's probably in many ways by choice.  I'm on the email list for playdates and stuff, but unless it's a birthday party on the weekend, it's not likely that I'm going to attend.  Just my mother in law and the girls (and Baby Boo gets invited to everything too - Miss Priss isn't the only one with younger siblings).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I guess I'm just in a feel sorry for myself mood today.  I need a good night's sleep.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6165918055594644591?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6165918055594644591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6165918055594644591' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6165918055594644591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6165918055594644591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/12/she-did-great.html' title='She did great!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8134781816158535730</id><published>2007-12-16T20:39:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-16T20:49:49.937-06:00</updated><title type='text'>No, I'm not sick ---</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And your eyes are not decieving you.  I am posting my second post in 2 days.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Anyway, I'm almost ready for Christmas.  We've got almost all of the shopping done.  Only siblings and parents left (and they're gift cards).  The girls are done.  I've even done things for the people at work.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Baby Boo is almost 2 years old.  Eeek!  Where did the time go?  She is loving the Christmas season.  She sings Jingle Bells.  Actually it sounds more like, "Jingle all the waaaaayyyyy!"  "Way" sound more like "Y" in her little Texas accent.  Funny how that is coming out already.  I don't think I have that much of an accent, but apparently she's picking it up somewhere.  LOL  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And Miss Priss, well she is too smart for her own good.  Her preschool concert is tomorrow.  She said something in September about me attending her concert, so I started calling her preschool at the beginning of December to find out the date so I could get the time off work.  She's so excited that I'm going to be there.  They stand on a stage in front of all the parents.  I have a feeling my shy girl isn't going to sing, but I could be wrong.  She's made major improvements in the shyness department.  It's really amazing.  She's still shy, but I wouldn't say she's more shy than a normal 4 year old.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I guess we shall see.  I'm headed into work early tomorrow morning so that I can leave early for the concert.  :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8134781816158535730?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8134781816158535730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8134781816158535730' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8134781816158535730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8134781816158535730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/12/no-im-not-sick.html' title='No, I&apos;m not sick ---'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5462012240834094654</id><published>2007-12-15T19:47:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-15T19:52:27.266-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Please forgive my lack of posting recently.  I've been so busy with my new promotion that I come home exhausted.  LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I got the promotion effective December 1st.  The person who is replacing me starts on January 7th, so I get to do both jobs for a month which means that I am super busy at work and get home ready to hit the sack.  Once the girls go to bed, I'm not far behind. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I love it.  I think this is the perfect job for me.  So many of the things that my boss wants to do make so much sense and are things I've thought of doing myself, so we're completely on the same page (always a good thing). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm hoping to update more often (I know I've been saying that for months, but I really do LOL).  But it might be January before I'm a lot better at it.  I've got lots of resolutions for this year.  I'll just add "Update my blog." to the list. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope everyone is doing well and enjoying the holiday season!  :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5462012240834094654?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5462012240834094654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5462012240834094654' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5462012240834094654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5462012240834094654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/12/please-forgive-my-lack-of-posting.html' title=''/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3473697041683163186</id><published>2007-11-11T21:06:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-11-11T21:14:11.721-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello, hello....</title><content type='html'>I applied for a new job. It's at the same place, but a higher position, so I guess I applied for a promotion. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would have many new responsibilities including supervising all the people that I currently work with as well as my replacement (which is, of course, &lt;strike&gt;very&lt;/strike&gt; a little scary).  I would also take over a lot of little things that usually slip through the cracks, and since I'm a very detailed person, well, I would be perfect. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, about a week after submitting the application, I got an email for the interview.  I interviewed with the woman who would be my supervisor (who is also my current supervisor) and another woman who would have some say in my new job if I were to get it.  They both remarked that  they were surprised I applied for it (not a good way to start an interview), and they asked a lot of questions (and a lot of the pertained to my supervising experience or lack therof).  I thought it had gone okay, but didn't have a great feeling about it.  Then about 4:30 before I left work, the supervisor called me into her office to ask me a couple more questions.  It was very interesting.  She asked me about the current dynamics in the office and how I would handle them.  And as I was walking out of the office, she asked me, "Well, could you work for me?"  She said it in a joking manner, but still.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, then I got an email to interview with her boss.  Alright, a second interview.  That's got to be a good sign.  I had that interview last Tuesday.  And it went well.  Apparently, after a staff meeting where they asked us about flexible staffing hours, I sent an email that was "very mature."  I not only explained from my point of view, but considered the entire group.  Go me!  She told me that I would probably have one more interview, but she wasn't sure.  She didn't even tell me who it would be with.  How helpful.  But, I've since learned that it's most likely with her boss (which will scare me half to death since I've been introduced once and never talked to him more than that). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, everyone keep your fingers crossed for me that this works out.  I think I would really like the job and it would be very challenging (which is important for me to like a job).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3473697041683163186?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3473697041683163186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3473697041683163186' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3473697041683163186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3473697041683163186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/11/hello-hello.html' title='Hello, hello....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-7901490982793445133</id><published>2007-10-31T12:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-31T12:57:42.723-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Halloween!</title><content type='html'>I hope everyone is having a great Halloween.  I am all alone.  The girls are visiting my grandmother-in-law (my husband's mother's mother), and they've been gone since Saturday.  They will come home on this Saturday.  It's a long time to be without them, but I'm surviving.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As far as Hubby and I go, we're doing pretty well.  I think we're headed in a really good direction, but things have changed somewhat.  I am more agressive in expressing what I want and how I feel, and he's adjusting to that.  What this basically means is that we fight (like normal couples do) over little things like money.  In the past, I just swallowed my anger and let things go, but there was so much resentment building up that it was causing problems.  Now I just let him know how I feel.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, everytime I get angry, he gets concerned that I'm going to tell him it's over.  So he's adjusting.  But he's home more often and is working on getting a job where he'll be home all the time (which will cause it's own problems).  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work has gotten very, very busy (and I'm much happier that way).  We had someone leave, so I picked up a big chunk of what she used to do.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since the girls are out of town, I'll try to get online tonight and catch up on what everyone is doing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-7901490982793445133?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/7901490982793445133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=7901490982793445133' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7901490982793445133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7901490982793445133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/10/happy-halloween.html' title='Happy Halloween!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3879124365975558806</id><published>2007-09-25T15:59:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T16:00:20.249-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Happier Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Holy cow, when did my kids get so big? LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miss Priss is truly an example of a child having a mind that soaks up information like a sponge. We watched a show on volcanoes, and now she’s spouting facts about lava and magma and assures me that daddy works near a volcano (which he doesn’t, so I’m not sure where she got this idea). She understand they are dangerous in some cases, so I’m glad I can tell her that there are no volcanoes in our area. She seems destined to be my math and science child just like her mommy. I can do okay in English and literature stuff – I love to read, but I don’t think I write well. I can edit things, I know comma rules and such (which drives me nuts because I always notice if commas are missing or out of place no matter what I read). However, I’ve always been a scientist at heart. Miss Priss seems to share this ability. She wants to know more….more information, more in depth. Currently, she is obsessed with the human body. She knows that we have bones, and when she figured out that they have specific names (femur instead of leg bone, for example), she wanted to know their “correct” names. Which, of course, forces me to think back to my high school biology and try and remember them all. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She’s also grown a lot physically. My little “petite” child who cruised the 50% mark for about 3 years is way above that now. She goes to the doctor next month, but judging by her friends (she’s the tallest in her pre-school class even though she’s the youngest) and by her size (I’m buying 6 and 6X clothes! Eek! And her size 12 shoes are getting too small! Double eek!), she’s above the “average” now. The potential was always there for her to be tall (I’m 5’9” and Hubby is 6’2”), but there was potential to be petite (my mom is 5’3” and my grandmother is even shorter). Miss Priss is headed for another growth spurt soon, I think. She’s pudging out and eating everything she can get her little hands on – a sure sign that she’s about to shoot up some more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then there’s Baby Boo. My fearless child. She’s so different from her sister that it still amazes me. Where Miss Priss is very shy (although getting better – I should write about that too), Baby Boo doesn’t consider anyone a stranger. She even introduces herself to people now. She shakes hands, points to herself and says her name. And that’s not all she says. She’s got a huge vocabulary and is making sentences with 2 or 3 words on a regular basis. My mother warned me that the second one learns from the first, but she seems to have developed language skills so much faster. Maybe she’s just destined to be a chatterbox. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She also doesn’t believe that there’s anything in this world that she can’t do. If her sister can do it, so can she (even if she really can’t, she’s determined not to let Miss Priss be able to do anything without her).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby Boo is hardly a little girl herself. She will be 2 in December, and her shirts are 3T (pants are still 2T) and wears size 7 shoes. So my monster children are doing well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I’m doing well. Hubby and I are slowly working through some things. He’s still gone most of the time, so I see him very little. This requires a great deal of trust from me since I only communicate by phone and he can lie to me if he wants to. I feel better when I see him. He can’t lie face to face without me knowing or suspecting it. So far, we’re seeing where things go. It’s hard, but I’ll manage no matter what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it doesn’t hurt to have an occasional ego boost. The girls and I went last week to the picnic dinner at Miss Priss’s pre-school. They had police, firefighters, a train, a pony ride, and a tow truck. A couple of the firefighters were very friendly and gave Miss Priss and Baby Boo some extra stickers and even let Baby Boo in the fire truck when they had just told another parent that it was full of gear and no one could go in. One of them assured me that I need a sticker (a junior firefighter badge sticker LOL) too, and he peeled it off the backing and handed it to me with a big smile. Hey, at least there would be one advantage to being single (not that I’m willing to throw everything away for an over-flirtatious firefighter, but it’s nice to be noticed).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3879124365975558806?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3879124365975558806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3879124365975558806' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3879124365975558806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3879124365975558806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/09/happier-update.html' title='A Happier Update'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5505032365312998329</id><published>2007-09-05T20:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T20:45:01.477-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Whole Story.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;of my marriage woes that is.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;He cheated.  It was one time.  He was drunk.  She was drunk (and engaged at the time).  I was on vacation with the girls and my family.  He was working those days, and one night he was hanging out with his friends and got drunk.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The first I knew of it was the day before we left my parents house.  He called at 1:00 in the morning asking weird questions like do I love him and stuff like that.  I knew something was up.  He sounded really distraught, and I hadn't heard him like that for a year when he had some major anxiety issues.  Over the phone, he told me that it wasn't really that bad (not sure if he was trying to convince me or himself) and not to worry too much.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The next day in the car on the way home, he told me that he had gotten drunk and done something he regretted.  He told me that he had kissed her and that was it.  Considering what I feared, that wasn't too bad.   But his anxiety was still really high, so I suspected there was more.  After a couple more days, he confessed the rest.  He had slept with her.  He said that he was very drunk and could barely remember anything.  However, he was sure that he used protection (what a great selective memory).  The only demand that I made (and have made to date) was that he get tested for STDs.  While I'm in the habit of making all his doctor's appointments, I wasn't about to make that one.  He did as I asked and was tested (and, thankfully, had no diseases).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;For over a month, he seemed truly repentant.  He called and seemed distressed with each call (like it was hard to talk to me).  I rarely saw him since being around me caused him so much anxiety, so he stayed away working in Smalltown, TX.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The first week of August or so, he called me at work on a Friday afternoon and asked me to think about us and about our future.  He wanted to know if I loved him enough to work past everything.  He didn't want to just jump back in as if nothing had happened.  He wanted to take things slow.  After lots of thinking, I decided that I thought we could make things work (and told him so).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;In the month of August, I saw him for a couple hours on Miss Priss's birthday and for a few hours another time.  He assured me that he was working up to staying home longer, but there was a lot of anxiety on his part.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, those are the basic facts.  He came home over labor day weekend.  We went out Monday night, just the two of us, and I took off Tuesday.  During our "date," we went to dinner and a movie.  Before we had even gotten our food, he got a call (despite the fact that I asked him not to bring his cell phone along).  He said that it was the president of the chamber of commerce of Smalltown, TX, and he that he probably needed to see what she wanted.  He asked if it was okay by me for him to take the call.  I agreed (I know I'm an idiot), and he spent almost 10 minutes outside the restaurant taking the call.  He came back and said that he didn't actually talk to her, but that she left a 2 minute message.  He sure was gone a lot longer than that.  She called back.  And he took the call.  When we went to the theater, before the movie started, he didn't talk to me, he sent 3 text messages and took yet another call from someone he knows out in Smalltown.  By the time he came back in, I was obviously pissed off, and he turned the phone off for the rest of the movie (not sure if that was for my benefit or the benefit of the other movie patrons).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, here's the thing.  I am honestly confused.  If someone came to me and said, "Hey, my husband cheated on me, what should I do?" I would answer that she should leave.  Hands down.  So why didn't I react that way?  I'm not sure.  And I'm not sure it was the right decision to try and make my marriage work.  I can't explain it, but I felt the need to try, and I still do.  I want no regrets no matter what happens.  If we split up, I don't want to every wonder if I tried my hardest to make things work.  I have two children who will be greatly effected.  If we decide to work things out and things actually do work out, I don't want to give up my self-respect.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I realize that I am a very fortunate person.  My job gives me the freedom to remove finances from the equation for the most part.  My salary would pay the bills for my apartment.  The only thing that I could not cover would be daycare (which my mother-in-law currently provides).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I've been weighing the pros and cons in my head for a while.  I feel like I'm fighting a battle with myself, and I'm not sure who's going to win or who should win.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;On the one hand, the rational side of me has the once a cheater, always a cheater thing going on.  She says that he's not acting right anymore.  He seemed genuinely contrite to begin with, but somewhere along the way, he quit trying to make it up to me and began to take advantage of my good nature and understanding.  He uses the excuse of anxiety as a reason to stay away and as an excuse for his actions (like the phone calls during our date).  He counts on my experience with anxiety (which is extensive) and my understanding because of it.  But what he forgets is that my experience also taught me that anxiety can be overcome.  This side of me also says that he should be acting as open as possible.  There should be no reason to take any phone calls behind closed doors or check email behind closed doors either.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;There is a spiritual side of me that is trying to pray my way through this.  Sadly, this side of me is lacking a lot.  I think she's fighting a losing battle, but she does have the best backup support.  This side of me is trying to remember that I made a vow for better or for worse.  How strong is my love?  No marriage is perfect (most aren't as imperfect as mine, I hope), and everyone has to work at marriage. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;There's the romantic side of me.  I've never been a romantic in the sense of flowers on hallmark holidays or anything like that.  But maybe I've read too many romance novels lately.  The overall theme seems to be one of men who are willing to do whatever it takes to win the heart of the woman they love.  They will fight for her.  I want to believe that he wants me and that he would fight for me, but his actions speak louder than his words (which aren't so romantic either).  He's not willing to fight his own anxiety to be around me.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;There's the bitter, mean side of me.  I would like to think that she doesn't exist, but she exists and she's a real bitch.  He still has contact with his one night stand.  They were friends before and they have continued to be friends.  The fact that I make him anxious, but he doesn't have any problem being around her.  How is that supposed to make me feel?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;There is the mother in me.  The thought of spending holidays away from my children is terrifying and sad.  The thought of my kids spending some time with me and some time with daddy really makes me sad.  As it is, they spend a lot of time with me and very few hours with him.  I guess I'm selfish.  I like this arrangement better than a week with mom, week with dad kind of arrangement.   I know that I would adjust, but still.  And the mother in me is weak.  Miss One Night Stand has a son a few months older than Baby Boo.  He had to go to a children's hospital to have some tests done on a possible heart problem.  She asked my husband to go with her because she had no one else who could.  He told me that he would let me make the decision of whether or not he went.  The wife in me said, "Hell, no!" but the mother in me could only think of getting bad news about my child and having no one there with me.  So, I told him to go, and he did.  I do not regret the decision at all.  I still think it was correct.  (And her son is fine, by the way).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;He is coming home this weekend.  I'm just not sure what to think anymore.  Through work, I have access to some counseling.  I get a certain number of sessions for free.  I'm guess very few, but they will refer out of their office if necessary.  I'm going to call and make an appointment tomorrow.  I want to go to some counseling by myself.  I also think that if we're truly going to give our marriage a shot, we need marriage counseling.  He's seemed reluctant to do that, but I have asked very little from him since this happened.  If he refuses, I consider that a bad sign.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm not looking for any answers here.  I just wanted to explain my absense and why I just can't seem to get it together.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It's funny, I've always avoided conflict and hated to get into disagreements with him because I was always afraid.  Not necessarily of him leaving, but of my reaction.  My own anxiety.  And wouldn't you know it.  I haven't had one single panic attack over this entire thing.  Maybe that's a bad sign in and of itself.  Or maybe it's a sign that I'm stronger than I think.  I've developed a real sense of self-worth and pride in the strength I know I have.  I guess I always knew I had it, but knowing that I might have to make the decision to strike out on my own without him and that I will make it through (and will not collapse into a bundle of anxiety) has given me a self-confidence that I don't think I've ever known.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5505032365312998329?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5505032365312998329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5505032365312998329' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5505032365312998329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5505032365312998329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/09/whole-story.html' title='The Whole Story.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-7646135195328330490</id><published>2007-08-15T14:36:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-15T14:36:50.383-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Is it Friday yet?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I’m so ready for this week to be over!  I’m tired.  I shouldn’t have stayed up late last night reading, but I started the book, and then I kept reading a few more pages and a few more pages until I had finished the book.  I’ve read 14 books in the month of August and I’ll finish another one on the bus ride home today, so I’m averaging a book a day.  I read fast, and I have an hour for lunch and anywhere from 2 to 3 hours of bus riding time to read everyday.  So, I have 3 to 4 hours of reading time everyday.  Plenty of time to read a 300 – 400 page paperback book (at least for me).  I’ve recently started reading romance novels (something I swore I would never read).  Sadly, I can’t seem to stop.  I just keep reading them and finding more authors I like and reading those and on and on.  I still read some of the other books that I like, but there are a lot of romance novels being read in my world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I wore my little black (work) dress.  I also call it my ego-boosting dress since last week when I wore it (for the first time to work), I got lots of appreciative looks.  And when I was shopping after work for Miss Priss’ birthday presents, someone driving by whistled at me.  Now, as a feminist, I have to disapprove of that kind of behavior, but as a 27 year old mother of 2 kids, I had to be flattered.  LOL  I haven’t been whistled at in a long time.  So, I wore the dress even though my only pair of wearable heels that go with it are killing my feet (more from the blisters I got from yesterday’s shoes than these shoes in particular).  So, I can feel physically good or mentally good.  I chose mentally good this morning.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-7646135195328330490?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/7646135195328330490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=7646135195328330490' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7646135195328330490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7646135195328330490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/08/is-it-friday-yet.html' title='Is it Friday yet?'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6871291460433264420</id><published>2007-08-13T11:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-13T11:53:09.063-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Baby Girl is 4!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Miss Priss turned 4 on Friday.  I have a 4 year old.  Wow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cousin got married on Saturday.  The girls and I went to my parents’ hotel and met up with them and my brother.  We then went to the family “compound” (as my father liked to refer to it) where the rest of the family was staying at some overpriced resort.  We spent some time talking and swimming for a while before the girls, my mom and I went back to their hotel to see if the girls would lie down and have some quiet time (which, of course, they did not). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got ready for the wedding and I got the girls all dressed up (they looked so cute!).  I took some pictures of them before we left for the wedding which was good because Baby Boo pulled her hair out before we were out of the parking lot. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wedding was interesting.  Miss Priss was hungry (she told me that she was starving).  She wanted to lie down on me the entire time.  Baby Boo wanted to sit in my lap.  She started playing with the pencils and visitor cards in front of us, so I let her hoping it would keep her entertained.  Then she broke the pencil and was very unhappy about it.  She started to take the other pencil from the holder and Miss Priss reached for it at the same time.  In a quiet part of the ceremony (of course it was), Baby Boo yelled “Mine!”  I rolled my eyes, took the pencil from Miss Priss and grabbed a pencil from the holder a little way down from me.  Thankfully, the ceremony wasn’t too long. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to the reception which was crowded and very hot.  Summer. Texas. Over 100 degrees outside.  Gotta have some A/C going big time!  Anyway, we stuck around for a little while back in a corner in one of the rooms before the girls and I left to go home.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6871291460433264420?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6871291460433264420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6871291460433264420' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6871291460433264420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6871291460433264420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/08/my-baby-girl-is-4.html' title='My Baby Girl is 4!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8748020822383907735</id><published>2007-08-01T13:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-01T13:58:44.925-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Snake Bite Blues</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The Planet Earth thing reminded me how different it was growing up for my brother and I.  We lived in the country until I was 10 year old.  We got 5 channels.  NBC, CBS, ABC, PBS, and FOX.  That was it (okay, we might have been able to receive some Spanish channels, but those weren’t programmed into our TV).  No wonder we spent so much time playing outside.  I do remember watching 3.2.1…Contact on PBS in the afternoons.  And Nova.  But, our science education through TV was very limited.  Even when we moved into town, and we got cable (all 35 channels of it), we still had only one Discovery Channel.  I was so excited when the added The Learning Channel as well.  Now, there are so many science, animal, discovery, and history channels that it will make your head spin.  And to a large degree, I like that (especially since I have DVR and can record different shows at once and don’t have to watch commercials). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember when my brother got bitten by the rattlesnake.  Have I told that story?  Not sure, but if I have, well, I’m going to repeat myself.  A few years ago, right after 9/11, my brother, Hubby (not Hubby then, but my boyfriend), and I went out to a local outdoor gun range to go trap shooting.  After a while, we decided to move a table closer to put stuff on, so when Hubby and my brother went to lift the ends, my brother jumped back and yelled, “Ouch!”  Okay, maybe not that word exactly, but it was another 4 letter word.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Anyway, we quickly realized that the little snake slithering away from his feet was the culprit.  Now, here’s the part I’m ashamed to admit.  Being the IDIOTS that we were, we continued shooting and having a good time and finally went home and had dinner with my dad (my mom was out of town at a conference).  No one said a word to my father who would have probably been much smarter and taken my brother to the hospital.  (And just to clarify, at the time, we were 21, 19, and 19, so we weren’t too young to understand that a snake bite is a serious injury).  After we all went home to our respective dorms, I got a call from my brother.  From the emergency room.  It seems that his hand had started swelling up.  He spent 3 days in the Burn ICU (that was the only place that they could provide the right kind of monitoring) reading &lt;em&gt;War and Peace&lt;/em&gt; and being completely bored until his blood clotted normally again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the entire point of that story is that when my father did find out what happened, part of the conversation went like this:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dad:     So, I assume you killed the snake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The rest of us kind of shuffled our feet and wouldn’t look at him.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dad:     You didn’t kill the snake?!&lt;br /&gt;Brother:            It hadn’t really done anything wrong.  As far as it was concerned, it had only been defending its den.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hubby and I agreed.&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Me:      We did take a picture of it. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;em&gt;Good pictures too.  We made sure there were some shotgun shells in it so that you could get an idea of the size of the snake (which was small and about 13 inches long).&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Dad:     Unbelievable!  Three people with shotguns, and you didn’t kill the snake. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;em&gt;By the way, my dad is not a big fan of snakes in general.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Dad:     That’s the difference between my generation who grew up watching Bonanza and your generation who grew up watching The Crocodile Hunter.  We would have shot the snake, and you just took a picture of it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We still buy my brother strange rattlesnake memorabilia whenever we find it and give it to him for his birthday and Christmas.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8748020822383907735?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8748020822383907735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8748020822383907735' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8748020822383907735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8748020822383907735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/08/snake-bite-blues.html' title='Snake Bite Blues'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-2151138556224669487</id><published>2007-07-23T12:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-23T12:49:01.923-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Miss Priss and Planet Earth</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Have you seen the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://dsc.discovery.com/convergence/planet-earth/planet-earth.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Planet Earth&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; series? I think it was originally on the Science channel, but since I don’t get the Science channel (we have the 120 package so that we can have all of the movie channels instead of the 180 package with no movies), I’ve recorded a few of them off of Animal Planet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recorded one a while back about forests. It was very interesting (and beautifully done), and Miss Priss really liked watching it. There was a part where an ant died, so it was forever after that dubbed the show, “the one where the ant dies.” Hmmm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I saw one that the info said was about Shallow Seas with humpback whales and dolphins, etc. I thought Miss Priss would really like this one, so I recorded it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She thought the whales were great, and then it showed a reef with lots of fish and other plant life, etc. Then it showed some banded sea skates (I think that’s what they were called). Miss Priss immediately said, “Mommy! Mommy! I know what those are! Those are anacondas!” Thank you, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.noggin.com/shows/diego.php"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Diego&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;. She saw snakes in the water, so she put her knowledge together to get anacondas. I was impressed (and I did tell her what they really were).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We saw some dolphins and the whales, and then there were some really cute seals. In South Africa. And I had a bad feeling about where this was headed. The next thing they showed was the sharks. Oh, no. I thought about turning it off, but she had really enjoyed it up to this point, and I would have to explain why I was turning it off. And when she said that sharks are mean, the naturalist in me came out, and I had to explain to her that they aren’t mean, but that they have a bad reputation. They are a vital part of the food chain. During my food chain lecture, however, the shark proceeded to eat a seal. Miss Priss wasn’t exactly as horrified as I thought she would be. She was more curious about why the shark at the seal. I again commenced with the food chain lecture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the seals, it showed some cute little penguins. I knew where this was going as well. I don’t think it showed a brutal penguin attack, but it left no doubt that the seals eat the penguins, but it also showed a penguin escaping. Then, just when I was sure that my food chain lecture had gotten nowhere and I had probably traumatized my child with my parenting mistake of letting her see how brutal nature can be, she said, “So, the seals eat the penguins, and the sharks eat the seals.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess she got it after all. And she also told me that it was okay for the shark to have 2 seals (it showed 2 attacks) so that he wouldn’t be hungry. So, now you know my daughter watches too much TV.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-2151138556224669487?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/2151138556224669487/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=2151138556224669487' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2151138556224669487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2151138556224669487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/07/miss-priss-and-planet-earth.html' title='Miss Priss and Planet Earth'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3147563785292151437</id><published>2007-07-20T14:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-20T14:57:44.410-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Harry Potter</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;comes out tomorrow! I can't wait! My copy was pre-ordered from Amazon, and I told Hubby that if it isn't here first thing in the morning, I was going to go out to a bookstore and buy it and we'll see how Amazon returns works. LOL I could hear his eyes rolling over the phone. If it's not here by Sunday, I will though. I also told him that I'm skipping to the back and reading the last chapter first. Again with the eye rolling. He probably had a headache when he got off the phone with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the homefront, things are going okay. I wouldn't say we're out of the woods yet, but I don't think we're headed for divorce. I'm optimistic that everything's going to work out for the best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I have several blog posts that I want to do: Miss Priss and the Planet Earth series, the blanket I finished for my cousin (who had her baby earlier this month!), and I know there were a couple more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy your Friday!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3147563785292151437?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3147563785292151437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3147563785292151437' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3147563785292151437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3147563785292151437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/07/harry-potter.html' title='Harry Potter'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3869206375605807777</id><published>2007-07-15T10:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-15T10:45:48.421-05:00</updated><title type='text'>That was a long few days.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I am having a lot of marriage issues right now. I'm not sure what to think or how to act, but if you are the praying type, please pray that things resolve themselves as they should, and pray that God gives me the guidance I so desperately need.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3869206375605807777?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3869206375605807777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3869206375605807777' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3869206375605807777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3869206375605807777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/07/that-was-long-few-days.html' title='That was a long few days.'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-4529140482007861485</id><published>2007-07-10T21:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T21:47:23.081-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Going home tomorrow....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;and going back to work on Thursday.  I am going to be very tired that day.  LOL  Oh, well, at least it's almost the weekend by that point.  I can't wait to see Harry Potter this weekend!  :D&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-4529140482007861485?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/4529140482007861485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=4529140482007861485' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4529140482007861485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4529140482007861485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/07/going-home-tomorrow.html' title='Going home tomorrow....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-9059216082336319628</id><published>2007-07-09T09:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-09T09:10:15.283-05:00</updated><title type='text'>We've been....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;busy, busy, busy.  We are visiting my parents for a week, and we've been going non-stop.  :)  I'll update when I get back home and have a few minutes.  I've got a lot of blog reading to catch up on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-9059216082336319628?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/9059216082336319628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=9059216082336319628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/9059216082336319628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/9059216082336319628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/07/weve-been.html' title='We&apos;ve been....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6500953095774731067</id><published>2007-06-25T14:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T14:58:57.262-05:00</updated><title type='text'>This is my 300th Post</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;At least that's what Blogger says.  LOL  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I have to tell you about my successful shopping trip yesterday.  I had $225 from my birthday, and Hubby said that I had to spend it all on myself since I never spend any money on myself (or so he says).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, for my $225, I got:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;7 shirts (wearable for work)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;1 pair of slacks&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;1 pair of jeans&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;1 skirt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;1 black dress (once I tried it on, I had to have it)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;a purse &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;and 4 pairs of shoes.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I was pretty proud of myself.  And my recent 9 pound weight loss (of which I've gained back 3 pounds or so -- grrrr) meant that I actually fit pretty well in a lot of them.  It was the first time in a long time that I liked trying on clothes rather than just going -- well, it fits well enough.  Maybe I should have gone swimsuit shopping.  LOL  But, I think that would have been pushing my luck.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I saw my doctor this morning, and after a discussion of anti-depressants as well as my symptoms (classic depression symptoms), she put me on Effexor.  I hope it works well for me.  She gave me some samples, and I go back to see her in a month to see how I'm doing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6500953095774731067?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6500953095774731067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6500953095774731067' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6500953095774731067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6500953095774731067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/06/this-is-my-300th-post.html' title='This is my 300th Post'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-1773262201095552672</id><published>2007-06-24T21:22:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-24T21:26:26.625-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dr. Appointment</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm going to see my doctor tomorrow.  It's time.  I need anti-depressants again.  I was hoping never to revisit this fun little section of my personality, but alas, it was not meant to be.  Last weekend seemed so weird.  I didn't want to do anything.  I just wanted to sit.  And this week, when Hubby and I were talking on my birthday, I told him how I was feeling and that I thought I was getting to the point of being depressed again, and he told me that he was concerned about me and thought I should go see my doctor.  I wonder how long he's thought that.  So, anyway, I have an appointment tomorrow morning.  I assume it will go well.  I have a wonderful history with depression, so we can go over the physical symptoms or she can take my word for it.  Either way, I feel pretty sure I'm leaving with anti-depressants.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, the I don't want to do anything feeling is probably why I've been such a bad blogger over the past couple of months.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-1773262201095552672?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/1773262201095552672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=1773262201095552672' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1773262201095552672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/1773262201095552672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/06/dr-appointment.html' title='Dr. Appointment'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-4003576672940229357</id><published>2007-06-19T15:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T15:36:46.603-05:00</updated><title type='text'>27 Years Old Today</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So young, yet classmates.com keeps reminding me that my 10 year reunion is next year. No shit?! They think I can’t count? I did learn something in those years I spent in school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m really torn on this reunion thing, and I don’t need a reminder over a year in advance. On the one hand, I want to go. I want to see the people I went to high school with, see how they turned out. Who has kids, who’s gotten married, who’s gotten divorced, who lives where, etc. Wanna hear my reason for not going? This is good. I don’t have a degree. I graduated valedictorian in my class, and in 10 years I haven’t gotten a degree. And somehow, I can’t face everyone I knew because of that &lt;em&gt;one&lt;/em&gt; thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My rational mind knows this is a ridiculous reason – I’m married to a wonderful man (who I would have to beg to go LOL), I have two beautiful children, a good job, bills paid, everything I could want for this point in my life except for the degree (and owning my own home, but I figure I’ve still got plenty of time for that – I bet most people at the reunion don’t own their homes – maybe by the 20 year reunion).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, maybe it’s more complicated than that. It’s the judgement from the people I went to high school with. I should probably point out that I graduated in a class of 45 people in a small, conservative town where everyone’s parents knew everyone else’s parents (except mine, of course). I never felt excluded so much as I never felt included. And part of that was on purpose. There was no one there I was dying to be friends with. I’ll be brutally honest here. I wasn’t close to anyone. I didn’t date, I was shy, I was nerdy, and I was okay with that persona. I guess that’s why I have reservations about the reunion. Without a degree, I’m not the shy, nerdy high school person. I’m just me. And I’m not sure anyone has ever seen who “just Alison” is, and I’m not sure I want them to. Ah, self discovery through blogging. I’ve never actually thought about it in these terms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, there is an evil part of me. The part that wants to see some of the popular, pretty girls from high school after they’ve aged 10 years. Am I horrible or what?! Don’t answer that – I’ve got myself mostly convinced that’s why most people go to reunions! For all that I would like to lose 20 more pounds, I still look pretty damn good (if I do say so myself) for someone my age with two kids, or hey, I don’t look bad in general. LOL I saw one of those popular people a couple of years ago. I almost didn’t recognize her. I swear she looked 10 years older than me (and I don’t think I look that young). So, the only part of me that wants to go is the curious and very mean part of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately, I have another year to decide. And if I lose those 20 pounds and once again fit into the little black dress I wore in college (not sure if it would even fit over my hips anymore no matter how much weight I lose LOL), maybe I’ll consider it. If nothing else, just to prove I’m not afraid of them anymore, and I don’t care what they think. And if I could truly make myself believe that, I would have no qualms about going.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-4003576672940229357?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/4003576672940229357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=4003576672940229357' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4003576672940229357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4003576672940229357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/06/27-years-old-today.html' title='27 Years Old Today'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-2151491138275991644</id><published>2007-06-14T21:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T21:50:46.641-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Musings From a Bus Rider.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I have now been taking the bus to work everyday for 10 months.  I have never driven to work since I started my job last August.  In that time, I have learned a lot of things (much more than you think you would learn simply by riding the bus LOL). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;1.  There is still some chivalry left in this world.  There are men (from all social and economic classes, from all races, from all walks of life) who still will not sit on the bus if there is a woman (of any age) standing.  Kind of renews my faith in humanity.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;2.  There are still a lot of a$$holes as well.  I noticed the other day that some chick had a bunch of shopping bags taking up an entire seat, and she wouldn't move them for a woman who definitely needed to sit down.  She looked like she was about to pass out, and I gave her my seat.  She obviously needed it worse than I did. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;3.  If you have to have a phone conversation on a cell phone, the bus is not the place for it.  We don't all want to hear your opinions on your best friend's new house and whether or not he got ripped off.  And while you obviously can't hear very well over the bus noise, that's no reason to talk louder.  If all the other bus passengers are giving you dirty looks, that should be a sign to call them back later.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;4.  I take 2 buses.  One is an express bus from my suburb to downtown.  The other is from downtown to my job (and ouf course the reverse in the evening).  It's amazing the difference in the passengers.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;5.  I have saved a TON of money by taking the bus.  I only fill up my car once a month (which is getting more and more expensive), and my bus pass is less than $3 per month.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-2151491138275991644?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/2151491138275991644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=2151491138275991644' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2151491138275991644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2151491138275991644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/06/musings-from-bus-rider.html' title='Musings From a Bus Rider.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3276634726915066847</id><published>2007-06-09T20:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-09T20:23:03.412-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Shy Girl....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;is starting to come out of her shell a little.  This is requiring a lot more of me than I expected.  I have to smile and make polite conversation as well to show her that is what is "expected."  I'm trying to show her by example, but this forces me to push my own comfort levels.  However, seeing her playing with other children at the playground (including a trip to Burger King that was extended to over an hour because she and another little girl were having such a good time).  She seems more relaxed and will introduce herself and be friendly.  She even has begun shaking hands with adults at church during the times when people are supposed to.  So, progress is being made.  She is very proud of herself and is always excited to tell me about it.  I hope she has some great kids in her pre-school class this fall.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3276634726915066847?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3276634726915066847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3276634726915066847' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3276634726915066847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3276634726915066847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/06/my-shy-girl.html' title='My Shy Girl....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6085878488398144043</id><published>2007-06-07T21:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-07T21:40:14.735-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sorry...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm still around (and I even avoided being sick -- knock on wood). I've just been very busy at work (and I say that with a smile on my face because I like to be busy -- it makes the day go so much faster). So, now the girls are in bed, and I'm going to catch up on my blog reading. And tomorrow I'm going to post about Miss Priss's progress as far as her social anxiety. I hope everyone has a great night. :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6085878488398144043?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6085878488398144043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6085878488398144043' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6085878488398144043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6085878488398144043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/06/sorry.html' title='Sorry...'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6303769631639525186</id><published>2007-06-01T21:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-01T21:50:32.265-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sick.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Both girls are sick.  And it looks as if they intend to be that way all weekend (although I hope against hope that I'm wrong).  They've got some sort of throat thing going on where they're both coughing and dealing with runny noses, etc.  Neither is running a fever, thank goodness, so I doubt it is strep throat or ear infections or anything.  It's funny, for the most part, my girls are very healthy and rarely get sick, so when they do, (and I hope this doesn't make me a bad mommy) a part of me loves to just lie around with them and cuddle (which they never do when they're well) and watch movies and just take care of them bringing the juice or whatever they want.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, everyone keep your fingers crossed that the sickness passes quickly and that Mommy doesn't get it!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6303769631639525186?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6303769631639525186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6303769631639525186' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6303769631639525186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6303769631639525186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/06/sick.html' title='Sick.'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-819884664030521890</id><published>2007-05-31T21:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-31T21:19:55.230-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Big Girl</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Miss Priss finally got to the point where the 5 point harness on her car set no longer fits her.  Well, it fits, but she's past the weight limit, so we're switching her to just the seatbelt (in the carseat, of course -- it's the seatbelt re-adjuster thingy).  I was shocked to see what a big girl she looks like with just a seatbelt.  If that makes me kind of sad in a bittersweet sort of way, I'm going to be a mess when she finally makes it to kindergarten!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-819884664030521890?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/819884664030521890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=819884664030521890' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/819884664030521890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/819884664030521890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/my-big-girl.html' title='My Big Girl'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-4785667611483917230</id><published>2007-05-30T16:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-30T16:18:53.170-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Graduation Comparison</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It’s been almost 10 years since I graduated from high school (in a small town).  Here is the comparison between my graduate and my sister-in-law’s graduation that we attended yesterday.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Length:&lt;br /&gt;Mine: 2 hours&lt;br /&gt;SIL’s: Just under 2 hours&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number of Graduates:&lt;br /&gt;Mine: 45 (yes, it still took 2 hours!)&lt;br /&gt;SIL’s: over 1200&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number of Cliché, Idealistic, and (let’s face it) Crappy Valedictory Speeches:&lt;br /&gt;Mine: 1 (given by yours truly)&lt;br /&gt;SIL’s: None – their valedictorian was hilarious and gave a great speech&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number of Children I Had To Keep In Line During Graduation:&lt;br /&gt;Mine:  Um, none&lt;br /&gt;SIL’s: 2.  Two cranky kids who did not want to sit still.  Baby Boo kept throwing her pacifier at the man in front of us, and Miss Priss kept asking for more snacks out of my purse (good thing I packed a lot).  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We did get to skip out early after my SIL had walked across the stage and gotten her diploma (or her paper that said, “Congratulations, blah, blah, blah, here’s some quotes, blah, blah, blah, pick up your diploma beginning May 31st, blah, blah, blah).  That way we avoided traffic and another hour of watching people slowly get up make their way to the front and walk across the stage and back to their seat.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I think long straight hair is very “in” with the teenage crowd.  Just a guess since practically every girl who graduated had long straight hair.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-4785667611483917230?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/4785667611483917230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=4785667611483917230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4785667611483917230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4785667611483917230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/graduation-comparison.html' title='Graduation Comparison'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-4882834497906679132</id><published>2007-05-27T20:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-27T20:37:39.419-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Wahoo!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I lost 2 pounds this week (and that's even with my parents being in town this weekend, so I haven't been watching my eating as well as I should have been).  A little at a time.  It's all going to go.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I started working on the blanket for my cousin's baby that I'm making.  I hope she likes it.  I've knitted one and a half squares of a 9 square blanket.  Now I just need to learn how to crochet to put it all together in a nice finished looking way.  So I'm off to search the internet to learn to crochet.  I hope it's not that hard.  LOL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-4882834497906679132?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/4882834497906679132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=4882834497906679132' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4882834497906679132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4882834497906679132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/wahoo.html' title='Wahoo!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5960947612188797699</id><published>2007-05-26T22:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-26T22:11:38.364-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mommy Guilt</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;We all have it.  We all wonder how we have already screwed up our kids.  It's funny; my parents are in town, so we were talking with my cousin E this afternoon (she came over for a while).  It's funny.  My parents still worry about me (of course), but they have a lot of guilt over a lot of things.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;This came up because Hubby and I have decided that Miss Priss will go to kindergarten when she is 6.  Well, we've pretty much decided (we've been parents for less than 4 years, but we know that nothing is ever set in stone when it comes to parenting).  She will go to pre-school next year 3 days a week, and then she'll go to the 5 day a week pre-k class for the year after she turns 5.  Then she will go to kindergarten when she turns 6.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;My parents immediately take this as "we shouldn't have put you in kindergarten when you were 5."  Well, I have a June birthday, and there was never any problem with me being one of the absolute youngest in my class.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;While my mom and I went to get dinner, we talked some more about it.  I have so many things that I've done as a parent that I'm not proud of.  I wonder if I criticize Miss Priss too much.  Do I let Baby Boo get away with too much because she's the baby and "doesn't know any better?"  My mom assures me that the fact that I worry about it means that I'm probably doing well.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Both my cousin and my parents told me that Hubby and I are doing great.  The girls are happy and well-behaved (which kids are they looking at?).  So maybe I shouldn't feel so guilty about all the things that I do wrong.  I must be doing something right.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5960947612188797699?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5960947612188797699/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5960947612188797699' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5960947612188797699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5960947612188797699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/mommy-guilt.html' title='Mommy Guilt'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6473830997027744158</id><published>2007-05-25T22:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-25T22:36:41.493-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You know you grew up in tornado alley if....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I got this in an email and laughed and nodded through the entire thing. Those who live in tornado alley will totally understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know you grew up in tornado alley if....&lt;br /&gt;The first thing you do if you hear tornado sirens during the day is check your watch to see if it's noon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You don't get worried unless the sky looks "green".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You use the word "tornado" as a verb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You chuckle at all the facebook groups called "I survived the ___ tornado."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You might go indoors when there's a tornado, but you won't "seek shelter" for anything less than an F3.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what Doppler radar, Hook echo, wall cloud, and rain-wrapped all mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've never exactly memorized the tornado precautions, but you've heard them enough times that you know them by heart anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watching the weather is entertaining. And red on the Doppler radar is exciting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The phrase "Tornado on the ground, take your immediate tornado precautions" sends exciting shivers up your spine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've seen photos/videos of tornados and said, "Wow, that's a nice one!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can feel/smell tornado weather brewing a few hours before the storm actually begins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's an odd feeling as though you've misplaced something if you make it all the way to June without a tornado warning near you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You think people that live in earthquake and/or hurricane prone areas are crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what people are talking about when they mention the "May 3rd" tornado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You watch the movie "Twister" just so you can point out all the inaccuracies in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know your weathermen by their first names. i.e. Gary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you hear the tornado sirens go off, you go outside to watch the storm and take pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of the tornado video footage comes from everyday people with camcorders instead of from actual news/weathermen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're sure there's a giant tornado magnet hidden somewhere in Moore. And that there are smaller ones distributed throughout trailer parks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that the four seasons are actually: summer, late summer, winter (if you're lucky), and tornado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You don't consider it windy until the windspeed is faster than 20mph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You are highly entertained by people from outside tornado alley when there is a tornado watch. (Especially if you're the one who's visiting the other state.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your school has tornado drills. And you assumed that schools in every other state had them as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's enough random stuff in your tornado shelter that you could live there for a year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You stand under your carport or open your front door to watch hail and/or thunderstorms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know the difference between a basement, a cellar, and a storm shelter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weather is a completely acceptable subject for conversation, at any time, for any occasion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your local mall has "tornado shelter" signs posted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't bother you the next day to find out that your area was under a tornado watch the night before and you had no idea. Unless, of course, it caused you to miss some interesting cloud formations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting to "play" in the basement/cellar/storm shelter excites you or numbers among your favorite childhood memories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You keep matches, candles, and candleholders in more than one place in your house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your town will never get hit by a tornado because you're between two rivers or because an old Indian legend says so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You complain about severe weather reports that interrupt the TV show you're watching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can get together all your most important possessions in 2 minutes flat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When tornado sirens woke you up in the middle of the night...you rolled over and went back to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've ever tried to reassure someone by saying that "if anything forms it will only be a little tornado"...and couldn't understand why this didn't calm them down any.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's normal for your area to be under a tornado watch for multiple days in a row.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You laughed at everything in this list, but you also respect a tornado's power. And you know that after it's over, clean-up and re-building has to begin.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6473830997027744158?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6473830997027744158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6473830997027744158' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6473830997027744158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6473830997027744158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/you-know-you-grew-up-in-tornado-alley.html' title='You know you grew up in tornado alley if....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5088152228790392415</id><published>2007-05-25T22:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-25T22:31:04.962-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I have all sorts of things.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;going on in my head. I just can't quite commit them to words yet. Nothing bad, mind you, but, what's the word? Deep, maybe. Deep thoughts. I will work it all out soon, and I have a couple of posts that are trying to work themselves out of my head. I promise I'll be back soon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5088152228790392415?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5088152228790392415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5088152228790392415' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5088152228790392415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5088152228790392415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/i-have-all-sorts-of-things.html' title='I have all sorts of things.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3480235761315925049</id><published>2007-05-17T13:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-17T13:56:08.125-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Reading</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I’m on a reading spree this month.  I’ve read 11 books this month.  LOL  So, as you can imagine I’m starting to run out of things to read.  Anyone have a good suggestions of authors or books I might like?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3480235761315925049?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3480235761315925049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3480235761315925049' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3480235761315925049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3480235761315925049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/reading.html' title='Reading'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-4317662388940403341</id><published>2007-05-16T10:16:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-16T10:17:15.993-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I lost 1.2 lbs last week which is, of course, much more consistent with what I was doing last year when I was losing weight. I think the 3 lbs was a fluke (probably brought on by my monthly visitor and all the water weight she brings with her). So, I am hoping to lost about that this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m doing pretty well. I’m still eating all the same food that I love, but I have just significantly cut back on portion sizes. It was hard for a few days, but now it’s easier. My stomach seems to get full faster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I need to work on drinking more water. That’s the story of my life – I’ve never been good at drinking enough water (except when I’m pregnant, and even then it’s forced for the good of the baby), and I got some of the little things from Walmart to put in bottled water. But, of course, I left those at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also got some &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.nabiscoworld.com/100caloriepacks/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;100 Calorie Oreo Bars&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;. This helps satisfy my mid-afternoon craving for something sweet without buying a million calorie candy bar from the store downstairs. They’re not full fat oreos by any means, but they’ll suffice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, if I actually add more exercise into my time, I should be doing even better. I’m trying to lose 10 lbs before we go on vacation (and I’ve lost 4.2 already) in July. And my goal is not to gain in those 2 weeks (I can’t hope to lose, but no gain would be good). I think I’ll easily make my goal, and I realistically think I can keep from gaining. We eat out too much (well, we pick up from fast food places and take it home), but I’m getting much better about making choices when I eat out. Since I avoid caffeine, there are no choice for drinks that aren’t full of calories and sugar, so I usually get a lemonade and give that to the girls and get myself a caffeine free diet drink that I have on hand at home. I skip fries or chips and just get a sandwich or burger or a salad if they look appetizing (with very little dressing – have you seen how many calories those little packs of salad dressing have in them?!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I’m hopeful that I’ll actually be losing weight again soon. And this time for good.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-4317662388940403341?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/4317662388940403341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=4317662388940403341' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4317662388940403341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4317662388940403341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/update.html' title='Update'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3930113880136453145</id><published>2007-05-11T15:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-11T15:17:28.429-05:00</updated><title type='text'>So, what will the results be?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I've been trying so hard again to lose weight.  And last week I lost 3 pounds.  Ahem, it was also "that time of the month," so I assume most of that was water weight.  I weigh again on Sunday.  I changed it to the end of the weekend to try and curb my weigh in before the weekend so you can splurge attitude.  That isn't helping my weight loss.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, I guess we'll see how I'm doing come Sunday.  I don't have anything planned for this weekend, so I'll get bored and hopefully stay away from the snacking.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3930113880136453145?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3930113880136453145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3930113880136453145' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3930113880136453145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3930113880136453145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/so-what-will-results-be.html' title='So, what will the results be?'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-2274057400811657234</id><published>2007-05-09T10:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T18:44:53.533-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My 3rd Child</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5cbEoKezbns/RkHujd8KNXI/AAAAAAAAAAo/0518hCp_LRY/s1600-h/Mushu.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062589749240935794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5cbEoKezbns/RkHujd8KNXI/AAAAAAAAAAo/0518hCp_LRY/s320/Mushu.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Who could resist that little face? And if you're wondering why I'm posting this, check &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.parentingourchildren.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I need to go check out &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.greetingflix.com/greetingflix/GetPro.aspx"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;greetingflix.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; because it looks like a really cool site. I needed an idea for Mother's Day. :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-2274057400811657234?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/2274057400811657234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=2274057400811657234' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2274057400811657234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2274057400811657234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/my-3rd-child.html' title='My 3rd Child'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_5cbEoKezbns/RkHujd8KNXI/AAAAAAAAAAo/0518hCp_LRY/s72-c/Mushu.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6519845433117783686</id><published>2007-05-09T10:37:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-09T10:37:56.113-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sisters</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It’s funny how very different two children from the same parents can be.  While they have their similarities, my girls are so unlike each other in so many ways.  Miss Priss is shy, anxious, and introverted.  Yet, she has a heart of gold and will pretty much do as she’s told (most days).  Baby Boo is much more outgoing and easy-going.  I don’t think she’ll be the super-outgoing belle of the ball type, but she’s definitely more outgoing than her sister.  And she’s stubborn.  Miss Priss is stubborn in her own way, but Baby Boo is openly defiant even at 16 months.  She will be a handful for years to come. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a nice thunderstorm last night.  I love thunderstorms (as long as there are no tornadoes).  I love the rain and the wind and the lightning.  I love it all.  When the thunder started, Hubby and I thought it would be less than five minutes before Miss Priss joined us in our bed.  As it turned out, 7 minutes later, there was a very close bolt of lightning that killed all the lights in our complex and the thunder was so loud that it made us jump.  I immediately got out of bed and headed down the hall because there was no way that the girls slept through that.  Hubby had a flashlight next to the bed and was right behind me (thankfully, too, since the girls had left a minefield of toys).  We gave Miss Priss her little flashlight and told them to go back to sleep (the lights were already back on).  Then we watched her play with the flashlight for a good 15 minutes before going to sleep.  LOL  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6519845433117783686?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6519845433117783686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6519845433117783686' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6519845433117783686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6519845433117783686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/sisters.html' title='Sisters'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-4657965505973065000</id><published>2007-05-08T10:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T10:19:21.557-05:00</updated><title type='text'>How Can I Punish Her?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Baby Boo has a new thing. When she's in trouble, she will try to give kisses. It's so adorable. How can I punish her when she's doing that? LOL If you want a Baby Boo kiss, all you have to do is tell her no. She's going to be a charmer. Her political career is taking off already.  LOL  Go for the cute distraction.  I didn't think it was possible to have 2 daddy's girls, but they've both got him wrapped around their little fingers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now Miss Priss will be my doctor. LOL She's getting growing pains in her legs again (not surprising since she's also getting a little pudgy, so I know a growth spurt is coming). So, one night to distract her, I went into a detailed (well, for a 3 year old, it was detailed LOL) discussion of growth plates and that's why her legs hurt. There was even a drawing in a magna doodle of her leg and what hurts where. Then we had to watch &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://pbskids.org/curiousgeorge/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Curious George&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; ("the one where he hurts him's leg).  That way we could see the x-ray that the doctor does in that episode and discuss bones some more.  I need to brush up on my biology.  And she's upset that her toy stethoscope doesn't actually allow her to hear her own heartbeat (again, thanks, Curious George).  I told her that's because it's a toy and she can't get it into her ears far enough (on purpose no less).  So, now she wants a "real" stethoscope so that she can hear her heartbeat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-4657965505973065000?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/4657965505973065000/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=4657965505973065000' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4657965505973065000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4657965505973065000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/how-can-i-punish-her.html' title='How Can I Punish Her?'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8170351931482060162</id><published>2007-05-07T14:54:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-07T14:54:42.547-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Miss Priss Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I’ve been working with Miss Priss on her social anxiety.  And I’m seeing some improvement.  I’ve noticed that she does best in places she’s familiar with (and the local playground counts as one of those).  She was even standing up for herself and bossing a couple of older kids around at the playground yesterday.  There were two other boys there.  I’d guess their ages were around 4-5 and 6-7.  Miss Priss was playing with a chain that hangs down from the bridge.  She likes to bang it against the post because it makes a clanging sound that she says is a school bell.  Well the younger boy came up and told her to stop because it was hurting his ears.  Instead of nervously walking away, she stood her ground and gave him a nervous smile.  That may not seem like much, but that is huge progress for her.  Then she and the little boy were playing and running around and over the bridge and stuff while my mother-in-law was the troll under the bridge and would try and grab their feet.  (Just to clarify, my mother-in-law is about as un-troll-like as they come).  Miss Priss even scolded the two boys, the younger one for going up the slide (our rule is “you can only go down the slide”), and the older one for putting rocks down the spiraling slide.  She told him that rocks don’t go on the slide.  Only people. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She has also gotten a little more relaxed around strangers.  She still won’t talk to cashiers who talk to her, but she’ll smile and sometimes wave when we leave.  And for some reason, she always waves to the people at McDonald’s.  LOL &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far, all I have done is told her how proud I am seeing her playing with children at the playground or whenever she smiles or waves or does something friendly (especially if it requires no prompting from me).  She also will tell me if she is feeling “shy today.”  Or she’ll tell me that she’s shy around people she doesn’t know.  And she seems to really relax when I tell her that makes me nervous as well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But she seems to be doing better, so I’m hoping that with time she’ll really start to open up a little more.  Only time will tell.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8170351931482060162?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8170351931482060162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8170351931482060162' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8170351931482060162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8170351931482060162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/miss-priss-update.html' title='Miss Priss Update'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3844519830211449296</id><published>2007-05-03T13:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-03T13:49:24.945-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I really like Nuva Ring</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Besides not having to worry about that whole we’re having a baby scenario, the PMS is much less.  That, of course, get a big jump for joy from more than just me.  LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m trying to think of something fun to do this weekend.  We might just stay home since I want to, ahem, clean out the girls’ closet.  That would be quite an undertaking.  I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge, but I need some more of the hand me downs for Baby Boo, so I have to find them.  And I’m afraid they’ll manage to mess up my precariously stacked mess.  So, I think that will be my weekend project.  Wish me luck. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, after paying my $24 library fine (no that’s not a typo – 25 cents a day times 7 books that I had out at the time times I don’t remember how many days works out to be $24), I have been reading up a storm.  I have 8 books at home (5 of which are ready to go back) and 6 more on hold at the library.  I’m going to try and make it by this afternoon to pick those up.  Good thing I’m a fast reader.  LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone have any great books they’d like to recommend?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3844519830211449296?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3844519830211449296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3844519830211449296' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3844519830211449296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3844519830211449296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/i-really-like-nuva-ring.html' title='I really like Nuva Ring'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-907304934332169636</id><published>2007-05-01T11:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-01T11:16:12.267-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ugh!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm almost 27 years old.  Why am I still getting acne?!  I think I was better off as a teenager!  What happened to the acne help that is supposed to come with hormonal birth control?  Huh?  Not seeing it.  I'm not rich.  If I was, I would have the very best skin care products, but since I'm a Walmart brand kind of girl, I guess I'm getting what I pay for, right?  LOL  My skin has been so oily lately.  Within the last month actually, so I'm thinking the birth control is causing the skin problems.  However, it solves so many other problems, I'm willing to work around it.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Any magic cures you know about and would like to share?  :D&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-907304934332169636?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/907304934332169636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=907304934332169636' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/907304934332169636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/907304934332169636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/05/ugh.html' title='Ugh!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6605060925396128854</id><published>2007-04-30T11:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-30T11:21:25.525-05:00</updated><title type='text'>We've hit....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;the monster stage.  I figured we'd eventually get there.  Miss Priss has a tendency to be very scared and nervous as it is.  Now she's afraid of monsters.  The other night, she got up in the middle of the night, came in with me and asked, "Mommy, are there monsters?"&lt;br /&gt;I told her no, that they aren't real.  She said that she had "told herself a story in her head with her eyes closed" (I guess that's Miss Priss-speak for dreaming) that monsters were trying to kill her.  That freaked me out a little bit.  I can see monsters trying to get her, etc, but she said the were trying to "kill" her. &lt;br /&gt;She doesn't watch any violent TV or anything (even if she probably watches too much, it's Noggin or Nick Jr.).  I'm scared of monsters movies myself, so I know she's not seeing those.  LOL  I wonder if she's catching commercials from horror flicks on the shows we do watch when she's around (sitcoms and stuff -- nothing that would cause any alarm).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I hope this phase passes quickly.  I had the hardest time getting her to walk into our apartment the other day because she "saw a shadow."  I was carrying Baby Boo and 3 bags, and she stopped right in front of me and wouldn't move.  I had to make her wave to her shadow to show her it was the way the sun was coming in and that it was &lt;em&gt;her&lt;/em&gt; shadow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6605060925396128854?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6605060925396128854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6605060925396128854' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6605060925396128854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6605060925396128854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/04/weve-hit.html' title='We&apos;ve hit....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3350452412338535247</id><published>2007-04-27T14:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-27T14:48:10.799-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Potty Training Already?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Oh, he!! no!  LOL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Miss Priss went to the bathroom the other day, and Baby Boo followed her in (don't ask -- Baby Boo has a fascination with bathrooms).  When Miss Priss was done, Baby Boo walked over and was backing up toward the toilet (the same backing up she does when I'm sitting on the floor and she's trying to sit in my lap).  Miss Priss, without missing a beat, pulls her potty chair out from underneath the sink and puts it down in front of Baby Boo.  She then turned to me and said, "Mommy, Baby Boo needs to go potty on my potty chair.  I'm letting her borrow it."  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;O-kay.  So, Baby Boo goes to the potty chair, lifts the lid, sits down (fully clothed), stands up, puts the lid down, lifts the lid back up, sits down, stands up, you get the idea.  Over and over and over again for about 5 minutes when I'd had enough and told her to get out of the bathroom.  She gave me the are-you-talking-to-me look, went over and got a little square of toilet paper (it would have been a whole wadded up roll had Miss Priss left more than just a little square), sat back down on the potty, wiped, and then stood up looking for a way to flush "her" toilet.  I could barely contain my laughter.  Then, with the same haughty look (what did I do to deserve that?), she stood on Miss Priss' little stool so that she could wash her hands.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm hoping that she'll be potty trained faster than Miss Priss, but I have every intention of procrastinating the way I did with Miss Priss until she figures it out herself.  Maybe Miss Priss could help her.  LOL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3350452412338535247?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3350452412338535247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3350452412338535247' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3350452412338535247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3350452412338535247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/04/potty-training-already.html' title='Potty Training Already?'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8641150376996143811</id><published>2007-04-26T14:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-26T15:05:31.909-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Miss Priss Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I read a great article by a psychologist who had a shy child himself.  It talked about what behaviors his daughter and other shy children exhibit, and then what he and his wife did to help her.  If you’re curious, you can read the article &lt;a href="http://www.une.edu.au/psychology/staff/malouffshyness.php" target="_blank"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While reading through it, I kept nodding my head in agreement with the things he observed in his daughter, and when reading the suggestions, I realized some things I could do to try and help Miss Priss.  I really liked that he gave good suggestions and examples of ways to do what as adults we would consider behavior modification therapy.  I’ve learned a lot through my own battles with anxiety, but needed a way to impart some of that knowledge to Miss Priss.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This will, of course, require me to come out of my shell a little bit.  I’ve looked up Saturday activities where we can get out of the house for a few hours and go to different events in the area.  I’ve found some nice (free!) activities that will get us out and about.  I’m hoping to get her more comfortable being around people and strangers even though this means I have to face my own discomfort at the same situation.  I’ve decided I can just be honest with her and tell her that it makes me nervous too, but we can handle it.  That way she understands that it’s okay to be nervous and (I know it sounds backwards) she might relax a little bit knowing that even mommies get nervous sometimes.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy who wrote the article gives his contact information at the end of the article.  I’d love to be able to email him a year from now and tell him my story.  Maybe that’s wishful thinking, but I think Miss Priss has an outgoing streak to her personality sometimes.  Which, of course, triggers the “bad mommy” response in my head that I’ve just been such a horrible example for her socially that she isn’t sure what to do when we’re out and about.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I guess we’ll see how it goes.  And I’ll leave you with a funny from our trip a couple of weeks ago.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were in the car driving near the water, and Hubby looks off to the left and says, “Man, that’s a big ass ship.”  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked over at this huge oil tanker (have you ever seen one?  They’re enormous!) and say, “That &lt;i&gt;is&lt;/i&gt; a big ass ship.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which Miss Priss from the back seat calmly says, “Where’s a big ass ship?”  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, yeah, I’ll take my prize as bad mommy of the year.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8641150376996143811?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8641150376996143811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8641150376996143811' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8641150376996143811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8641150376996143811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/04/miss-priss-update.html' title='Miss Priss Update'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5327513441902430255</id><published>2007-04-25T10:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-25T10:46:21.156-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Crazy Baby....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Baby Boo is a determined little thing. I remember reading books when I was pregnant with Miss Priss on discipline, and everything talked about redirecting them when they were little. I had worked in a daycare, and I had seen this work very effectively. And then Miss Priss hit the age where she needed to be disciplined (or at least kept away from a few things). So, I redirected her. And she went back to what she was not supposed to be doing. So I pointed her in a new direction, and she went back to what she wanted to do. Let's just say that redirection didn't work so much as just having a "minimalism" look to my house. No knick-knacks anywhere. Nothing that would look "fun" for a toddler. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I found early on that redirection didn't work with Baby Boo either. She is even more determined to do whatever she wants than her sister is. Case in point, last night I was washing the dishes. She was in the living room climbing on the couch.* She was using a stool that came with Miss Priss' table that she got for her 2nd birthday. It came with 2 stools. One is in the bathroom that Miss Priss uses to wash her hands and brush her teeth. The other normally stays with the table in the kitchen. So, I went in and took the stool from Baby Boo and put it back in the kitchen. She gave me "the look." I told her she had no right to give me the look, that I had the look way before she did, and she should stop climbing. I took the stool to the kitchen and continued doing the dishes. A few minutes later, I saw her little back disappearing out of the kitchen into the living room carrying the stool. I took it back, and she took it back, and finally, I put it in the bathroom with the other one and closed the door. This is only a temporary solution since I've found that she can sometime open doors as well. Damn those tall genes! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;*She has recently found her climbing ability. She climbs on the couch and even onto Miss Priss' twin bed. I'm not sure how she gets up there. Hubby found the pair of them on her bed one day, and got them both down. When he turned back around, there was Baby Boo sitting on the bed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5327513441902430255?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5327513441902430255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5327513441902430255' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5327513441902430255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5327513441902430255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/04/my-crazy-baby.html' title='My Crazy Baby....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-902816951566815084</id><published>2007-04-23T10:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-23T10:02:16.481-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Not sure what to do.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I took Miss Priss to a birthday party for one of her classmates yesterday. It was at a place that has lots of bounce houses, and the kids get to play for an hour and half before cake and ice cream, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got there, and Miss Priss is so exceptionally shy. She won't talk to any adults (won't even look at them), and she won't even talk to any of her classmates. I was ready to go home seeing how she didn't want to talk much less play with any of her "friends." She spent the first 15 minutes watching other kids play but not leaving my side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then her friend C showed up. She and C are really good friends, and all of a sudden, she was gone, and I was having trouble keeping up with her and seeing where she was. She was smiling and happy and running around. And then she wasn't. There were older kids there, and they were very rough and not looking out for the littler kids. Every few minutes, she would come to me crying because C was playing and climbing and having fun, and she "couldn't keep up" (which wasn't true, she just wouldn't follow when C would go somewhere). She was also upset that C was playing with another little boy. I told her that C could play with other kids and that she could, too, but she is not interested. As background here, her teachers told me at the parent/teacher conference that she and C play almost exclusively together at preschool. She would get upset if she couldn't find C or if she couldn't find me. I swear she spent half the time crying. It just made me want to cry myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's where my question comes in. At this point, I don't even want to take her to any more birthday parties for her classmates. It just depresses me to see that she is such a loner and seems happiest playing by herself or with her one friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In all honesty, I can't say much. I spent 3 minutes (if that) talking to C's mom and only passing comments to anyone else. So, I spent almost 2 hours talking to no one myself. For the most part, I'm a loner. I don't have anyone I would describe as a close friend. I've dealt with social anxiety my entire life (I was painfully shy as a child as well), and I guess I just want something different for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that her anxiety in social settings provokes a physical reaction in Miss Priss. She tells me that she is cold (she is usually shivering, so she assumes it's cold), but I recognize that as a symptom that I get a lot of times when I'm nervous or in the middle of a panic attack. She only gets this way when she's nervous in public, so I know it's not a symptom of something else. I was so hoping that my girls wouldn't have to deal with any of these things that I did. I'm about to start crying just thinking about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to my original question (for real this time). I'm not sure how to help her be more comfortable in social situations (where I'm usually uncomfortable myself). I know she can probably sense that, but I'm helpless to change my own comfort level. I don't want to throw her to the wolves and make her go do things that she doesn't want to do. I don't know if I should get her involved in more activities (since she does well at school even if she only plays with one child) or a different preschool or if I should just accept this as a facet of her personality and not try to "change" it. I also found out that this is C's last week at preschool. She and her family are moving back to Finland, so I don't know who Miss Priss will play with now. I'm kind of hoping it will force her to play with other children. I don't know what to do. The other thing is DH asked her if she had fun, and she said yes and proceeded to tell him that she played with C. So maybe she's happy how she is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know. Congratulations if you made it this far and still understand what is going on. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-902816951566815084?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/902816951566815084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=902816951566815084' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/902816951566815084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/902816951566815084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/04/not-sure-what-to-do_23.html' title='Not sure what to do.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-48767856493885342</id><published>2007-04-19T13:04:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-19T13:05:23.579-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm so sleepy....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I have not been sleeping well.  Not sure why.  I’m still adjusting to the hormones in my birth control, so that’s probably why.  Fortunately, I have not been having the weight gain thing going on that supposedly is a possible (and usual) side effect, so I’ll count myself lucky.  I’ve done enough weight gaining on my own, so I could use a little less.  A little weight gain here, a little there, and I’m almost back to where I started before I lost so much weight before Christmas.  It’s sad.  I’m trying hard to get back on track, but seeing how easily it comes back, I have kind of a “What’s the point?” attitude at the moment.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m so behind in blog reading.  I think I’ll try to catch up over the next couple of days.  Or at least read about the last months worth of posts on everyone’s blogs.  So, what’s up with you?  Anything exciting I should know about?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-48767856493885342?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/48767856493885342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=48767856493885342' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/48767856493885342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/48767856493885342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/04/im-so-sleepy.html' title='I&apos;m so sleepy....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8580724566509174067</id><published>2007-04-18T13:12:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-18T13:13:38.856-05:00</updated><title type='text'>An Update (Long)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Things have been very busy around my house. Work was busy, and then we were getting ready to go the beach, and then we went to the beach, and now we’re recovering from going to the beach. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drove down to see my grandmother last week, and it was interesting. We got there on Wednesday, and just walking into the house, you realize that there is an animal that isn’t potty trained. It’s gross. Her stupid little dog has probably never been house trained, so her carpet is atrocious. I tried to keep the girls from playing on the carpet and tried to convince them that blocks worked better on the tile (my grandmother has a woman come in and clean her house, so I know the floor probably gets mopped). It’s hard to do things with family (especially my family) because everything is “play it by ear.” That phrase annoys me to no end now. When we were eating dinner, I was asking my parents if they were going to the beach with us on Thursday, and kept getting, “Well see what we can do. We’ll have to play it by ear.” Apparently, this was no vacation for them since my grandmother had “chores” for them like mulching and doing some sod work and stuff. Hubby and I opted out of that since, well, this is our vacation, and she has a yard guy. Pay him a little extra to do that stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Thursday, we went to the beach. It was a fabulous day to go. It was warm, but not too hot, it wasn’t windy. It was just perfect. We got there, and got our stuff out of the car and put it on a picnic table. Then we took a few things down to the water with us. Hubby was doing some surf fishing, and Miss Priss was actually in the water (I was shocked), and Baby Boo was collecting shells (she was very good at it). Hubby decided to walk down the way to a jetty. Within about 15 minutes (enough time for me to put a lot of the stuff from the picnic table back into the car since we didn’t necessarily need it), I got a call asking me if I would be willing to load everything up and move down the beach. Okay. So, since Baby Boo was getting ancy and upset, I gave her some crackers to munch on while I finished packing things up. I was trying to get Miss Priss to come out of the water without having a fit, get things packed up, and then I turn around when Baby Boo started screaming. She had dropped the crackers, and the seagulls (who think that anything on the beach is theirs to eat) had swarmed around the poor little girl. I grabbed her up. She was really freaking out, and Miss Priss was having a fit, and I was trying to calm them both down while still trying to gather our stuff up before the birds crapped all over it. It was not fun. We eventually made it down the beach closer to Hubby. After playing for a while, he decided to drive to the local town to see if they had any deep sea fishing boats going out the next morning. The girls fell asleep on the drive. After securing a spot on a boat, we went to a nearby pier where he could fish, and I could sit in the car with the sleepy girls and read my book. After that, we headed home. That night, my uncle and his family came over for a while, and it was great to talk to them. My uncle, as usual, pissed my grandmother off. He’s a perpetual teenager sometimes when it comes to his mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Friday morning, Hubby left early because he had to be to the boat for the “safety briefing” by 7:30. It was very windy, so it was a rough ride out. Fortunately for him, Hubby doesn’t get seasick. Or at least not when he takes something for it. He always takes something, so I don’t know how he’d do without. In the end, he caught a lot of fish (and had to throw some back since they weren’t in season until this week), and he almost caught a shark. It bit through his line while he was bringing it in. He could see it. He was very disappointed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While he was out having fun, the girls and I stayed at my grandmother’s house, trying carefully to avoid any stains on the carpet (not an easy task). When Baby Boo was down for her nap, Mom took me to buy some shorts and shirts. When we got back, Dad and I took the girls to a playground so that they could run off some energy. They were all over the place, and this was a huge playground, so there were several places to disappear. I’m glad I wasn’t there by myself with them. I also checked Hubby and I into our hotel for the evening. When he got back, he showered, and we left the girls with my parents and had a night out for ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Saturday, when we got back, my parents wanted to go the beach. So, we went. And it was windy and cold. So, we stayed less than 30 minutes. Then we went souvenir shopping for a while. My cousin Tara had driven in to see us, and it was wonderful to see her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We left on Sunday morning and made great time coming home. And back to work on Monday. Now my next vacation isn’t until July. But that’s a nice long vacation. And that’s with Hubby’s family, and they’re more sane than mine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8580724566509174067?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8580724566509174067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8580724566509174067' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8580724566509174067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8580724566509174067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/04/update-long.html' title='An Update (Long)'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-2352747843877104833</id><published>2007-03-30T09:28:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-30T09:30:36.680-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Imaginary Friends</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Miss Priss used to have an imaginary friend named Anton. I was waiting for the “I see dead people” moment because Anton did not pop up until we moved into an old house. And he went away after we moved out of that house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, Miss Priss has a new imaginary friend, Ginny (or maybe Guinea). Either way it’s pronounced with the G sound rather than the J sound. I had to clarify because Miss Priss still isn’t good with the J sound, so I usually say a word back to her. When I said Ginny with a J sound, she told me that was wrong. Anyway, Ginny and Miss Priss are good friends. Ginny has a younger sister as well. And a younger brother. And another younger sister. Wow, Ginny’s mom must be really……busy. I just love to see her little imagination at work, you know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and the dreams can stop already! Last night, it was a boy and he didn’t have jaundice. This is a concern of mine for any potential future (future being a very key word) pregnancies because Baby Boo had jaundice thanks to the difference in our blood types. She and Miss Priss share a blood type, and Miss Priss was fine. Baby Boo had jaundice which of course traumatized me. So, in my dream, I was in the hospital with my new son, and he was doing well and showing no signs of jaundice. Yeah. Cute. I’m scared now. My mind really needs to learn how to shut down at night.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Edited to add:  Just so we're all clear, we are in no way, shape, or form trying to have a baby.   We are trying not to, actually.  But we didn't exactly try to have a baby the first two times, so I know it sometimes happens.  Hence the fear.  So the chances are really pretty slim, so I should really relax.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-2352747843877104833?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/2352747843877104833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=2352747843877104833' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2352747843877104833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/2352747843877104833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/03/imaginary-friends_30.html' title='Imaginary Friends'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6838562004732197257</id><published>2007-03-29T09:15:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T09:15:49.482-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Did Someone Not Tell Me It's Strange Dream Month?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Last night I dreamed that I was pregnant.  In my dream, I took a pregnancy test, and it didn’t just have two lines, no, it had a few lines, a countdown (not sure about that at all), and then it didn’t just say pregnant, it was flashing pregnant.  Like some sort of neon sign or something. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It scared me so bad that I woke up and took a pregnancy test.  Don’t ask – last month we had a little scare, and Hubby got a two pack.  I had one left.  Now I have none left, and a negative pregnancy test to put my mind at ease.  Kind of.  It would probably have been too early, so I’ll be obsessing for a few more days until I start. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least if I was, I would get some life insurance money because Hubby would have a stroke.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6838562004732197257?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6838562004732197257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6838562004732197257' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6838562004732197257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6838562004732197257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/03/did-someone-not-tell-me-its-strange.html' title='Did Someone Not Tell Me It&apos;s Strange Dream Month?'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6465260724677069425</id><published>2007-03-28T10:27:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-28T10:27:29.894-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Appointment</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It turned out to be nothing.  Just an area of dense tissue on my breast that I know is there, but shouldn’t worry about unless it grows or changes.  And they told me to come back when I was 40 for a mammogram. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby Boo had her 15 month checkup yesterday.  Not sure who that child was, but she was so good.  She stood very still on the “big girl” scale and laid on the table while the nurse checked her height and head and heartbeat, etc.  She was charming and adorable.  Who’s child was that?  Not mine.  Mine would have been trying to step off the scale and wiggle of the table.  Once the nurse left the room, of course, my child showed up by trying to fall off of the step stool in the room, and then pushing it noisily across the room to where I couldn’t hold onto her to try and fall off again.  She’s doing everything she’s supposed to be doing.  And she’s growing well, 25 pounds, 32.5 inches, and I can’t remember her head circumference, but it was around the 90th percentile, so I assume it’s good.  She got 3 shots, and the nurse told us that after her 18 month shots next time, she won’t need shots again until she’s 4.  Yay!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6465260724677069425?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6465260724677069425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6465260724677069425' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6465260724677069425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6465260724677069425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/03/good-appointment.html' title='Good Appointment'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3222436281633490255</id><published>2007-03-20T14:51:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-20T14:51:38.442-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Zoo</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;After the fun doctor’s appointment, we took a family trip to the zoo.  We have a wonderful zoo nearby, and it’s not too big (meaning that it’s not too big to walk around with two children LOL).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we got there, the place was crowded.  It was the last day of Spring Break for many of the area schools, so parents were taking advantage of the absolutely gorgeous weather and taking their children to the zoo.  We paid for our tickets and set out for the stroller rentals. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We rented a double stroller rather than a wagon because we didn’t want to fight with Baby Boo to get her to sit down the entire time.  So, we strapped the kids in, and set off.  We saw all sorts of fun creatures including monkeys (Baby Boo’s favorite), cats (lion, tigers, no bears though LOL), and Miss Priss’s favorite, the elephants.  She also liked the rhinos and the kangaroos.  All the animals were sleeping since it was the middle of the day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They also had a tapir.  Miss Priss corrected someone’s pronunciation (thankfully, they didn’t hear) because she knows how to say it thanks to Diego. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite was the penguins.  I just think they’re so cute. And you could see them really well from the monorail.  It was feeding time, so they were all lined up along the wall waiting for food. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a fun time even if we couldn’t keep Baby Boo in the stroller.  She didn’t want to sit down because she was afraid she was missing something.  My bicep got a good workout.  She’s a heavy girl anymore. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got Miss Priss an umbrella from the gift shop, and we got Baby Boo a little shirt that has a monkey face on the front that says “Heads” and a tail on the back that says, you guessed it “or Tails?”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3222436281633490255?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3222436281633490255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3222436281633490255' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3222436281633490255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3222436281633490255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/03/zoo.html' title='The Zoo'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-522853597749447539</id><published>2007-03-19T11:02:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-19T11:03:25.402-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Monday</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I’m not fond of Mondays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, my doctor’s appointment went okay. I really like this doctor. She was very thorough and nice and took all the time to answer my questions and I never felt like I was being rushed. Since I’m a hypochondriac, that’s important to me. My blood pressure was high. Okay, not high high, but on the higher end of normal and borderline high. The nurse asked if mine was usually high at the doctor’s office, so I lied and said it was (because sometimes it is higher at the doctor’s office). Ahem, yes, I know that lying to your doctor (and technically it was the nurse I lied to) is not a good way to start off a doctor-patient relationship, but I really think it was just a stressful morning, so I’m leaving it at that. It’s been normal at Wally World recently, so I’m going to assume that it’s fine and monitor it myself. If it continues to be high, I’ll look into it further. I’m trying not to assume that I’m going to have a heart attack in the imminent future (see, I told you I was a hypochondriac).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She gave me a prescription for Nuva Ring birth control. This seems like a good plan. The human error factor is down to once a month (surely I can handle that). Let’s hope there are no bad side effects like weight gain or heart attacks or blood clots or stroke. I’m not a smoker over 35, so hopefully, that will help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, I also have a, what’s the medical term, “mass” in my left breast. It is tiny (hence the reason that I haven’t found it before now) and now I have to get that checked out. Which reminds me, of course, that I need to call and schedule that appointment. Maybe I can make that the same day that Baby Boo has her 15 month well check since they’re in the same medical complex. That would make it easy. Well, that was easy. I have an appointment at 2:30, and she has an appointment at 3:50. Easy enough and I don’t have to take off any more time from work to get there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, anyway, somehow I haven’t convinced myself that I have cancer or anything (ahem, but it’s still early, so by next week, I probably will have convinced myself of that). My doctor (who has more experience in the medical field than I do since she went to college and got that medical degree and all) thinks it’s a cyst. So, I’m going with that for now. She just wants me to get it checked out to make sure it’s nothing at all. Which it is. Nothing at all. So, now I wait. I don’t like waiting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, that’s my news. And tomorrow, I’ll tell you about our zoo trip after my doctor’s appointment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-522853597749447539?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/522853597749447539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=522853597749447539' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/522853597749447539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/522853597749447539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/03/its-monday.html' title='It&apos;s Monday'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-4953261349636890383</id><published>2007-03-15T11:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-15T11:35:58.556-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Friday!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sorta.  I’m taking off tomorrow.  I’ve got a doctor’s appointment, and then we’re going to do something as a family.  So today is my Friday. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m going to talk to the doctor about some sort of birth control.  I think an IUD would be perfect for us, but it’s expensive, and our insurance doesn’t see the need to cover it.  I’ve never understood that logic.  How much would it cost them if I got pregnant?  A lot more than the IUD.  I guess they’re willing to take the gamble. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I’m thinking of the patch.  Miss Priss was conceived when was on Ortho Tri-cyclen.  We never figured out why.  No antibiotics, same time every day, no missed pills.  The only thing we can think of is that I missed a pill and took it the next morning or something.  No matter what, it happened.  So, I don’t have a lot of trust in birth control pills.  Too much human error.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the patch sounds like a good plan.  Human error factor is reduced to once a week.  Hubby thinks I should try the shot, but I don’t trust it either.  And it has the nasty side effect of making you gain weight – not something I want to do.  So, I’ll talk to the doctor and get her input because she is, after all, a doctor and might have some ideas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s the week of weird dreams.  I had another weird one last night.  Apparently, I was involved in some kind of epic struggle of good and evil.  I don’t know how I knew it, but in my dream, I knew it was.  I was on the good side in case you were wondering.  LOL  So, in the end (and it kind of skipped from beginning to end or at least my memory of it does), we won.  We won because of the help of Nascar followers.  Now, I’m not a Nascar fan, but in my dream, the world was saved by the Nascar fans.  I’m telling you there is something wrong with my brain.  LOL  It does not shut down properly at night.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-4953261349636890383?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/4953261349636890383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=4953261349636890383' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4953261349636890383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/4953261349636890383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/03/its-friday.html' title='It&apos;s Friday!'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8196067988912051133</id><published>2007-03-14T12:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T12:46:23.277-05:00</updated><title type='text'>High School</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Okay, last night I had this screwy dream about going to my high school reunion. My 10 year reunion is next summer (summer of ’08), and it was so weird. In my dream, I didn’t want to go, but I did anyway. Somehow, though, I didn’t have time to fix my hair or makeup, and I was wearing old, crappy clothes. I saw most everyone from my high school class (and let me just say that in my dreams, my class did not age well -- LOL). The reunion was held in the middle gym* and there was a basketball game going on at the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*In small town Texas, it’s not uncommon to have more than 1 gym. My school had 3. The “Old Gym,” truly old where elementary school kids have PE and play when the weather is bad, the “Middle Gym,” used primarily for middle school PE, middle school basketball games, and JV basketball games, and the “New Gym,” built around 1990 where the high school PE classes were/are held and the high school basketball games are held as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, it was extremely weird, and I woke up with one of those weird feelings of WTH? How can a stupid dream transport me back to high school so quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In case you’re wondering, I am not planning on returning for my high school reunion next year. I might go to the 20 year reunion, but I have no intention of going to talk with people who, all through high school, made me feel like there was something wrong with me because I had half a brain. And since I have no college degree (at this point in time) to show for my braininess, I have no intention of listening to the questions of what is my degree in, etc**. I feel judged just thinking about the people I went to school with. I don’t even have to be in the same room. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**And yes, I have been around people who think that is the main thing that one should do in life. My cousin and her &lt;strike&gt;annoying&lt;/strike&gt; friend came to Thanksgiving. They both graduated from NYU last year with their very expensive educations in TV and Film Production or something of that sort. In a small little question of grammar that got mention, the friend said, “Well, we’re right since we got degrees from NYU***.” Ahem, I can’t remember what the grammar issue was, but I know for a fact that they were wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, where do these two work with their high priced educations? A home improvement warehouse (I can’t remember which one) for the friend, and my cousin works at a very well known chain of coffee shops (you know, the one that started in Seattle). Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so the degree thing is obviously a touchy issue for me. LOL I refrained from asking them how much they make and what their benefits were like. Hubby think I just need to get over it (and he’s right), but I’m not there yet, and for that reason, I refuse to go to a high school reunion. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***For the record, I have nothing at all against NYU. I’m sure it is a fine school. It just happens to be where these two clowns went to school.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8196067988912051133?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8196067988912051133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8196067988912051133' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8196067988912051133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8196067988912051133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/03/high-school.html' title='High School'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8739768857447590698</id><published>2007-03-13T09:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-13T09:47:57.683-05:00</updated><title type='text'>When You Were in Elementary School.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Did you ever grow lima bean plants?  You know which ones I’m talking about, right?  The ones where the teacher gives all the students a Dixie cup with a little potting soil in it and the kids plant a little lima bean and then water it for a few days to learn about how plants grow or something like that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember these from early elementary school, and I remember fervently hoping that my lima bean was actually one that sprouted.  You were labeled a loser or something if your stupid plant didn’t grow.  Anyway, that’s beside the point.  LOL  Well, in my house, the plant came home, we continued to water it a few days, it died, end of story. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miss Priss’s class did the lima bean plants.  And hers grew.  She brought it home, and insisted on continuing to water it.  No problem.  I knew it would die in a few days and I could throw it away.  Lo and behold, it sprouted new leaves.  WTH?  It’s not supposed to do that.  And then it sprouted more new leaves. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, we replanted it in a new pot with lots of soil since you could see the roots growing around the sides of the Dixie cup.  And it sprouted more leaves and now it’s growing little baby lima beans.  I have to say that I’ve never known anyone whose school lima bean plant continued to grow after it came home.  I always assumed that’s why teachers sent them home so soon after they sprouted, so that they could pretend the parents killed them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ll have to post a picture.  I’m still amazed that the damn thing is growing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miss Priss must have gotten the “green thumb” genes from her grandmothers because she certainly didn’t get it from me.  I can’t keep a plant alive.  If you look through my house, it has no greenery.  It’s not from lack of trying.  I like plants.  I think they’re pretty, and someday when I own a house, I will try to plant some kind of flowers, but I will fail because nature has made me some kind of flower killer.  Maybe I’ll have Miss Priss plant the flowers instead.  She didn’t get the flower killer genes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8739768857447590698?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8739768857447590698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8739768857447590698' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8739768857447590698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8739768857447590698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/03/when-you-were-in-elementary-school.html' title='When You Were in Elementary School.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-5708104823851658030</id><published>2007-03-01T15:36:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-03-01T15:37:27.144-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Okay, I need your help.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I have a $25 itunes gift card.  And I'm coming up blank on what to get with it.  I need some song or artist ideas to use.  Even if it doensn't make my top 25 list, it will probably jar my memory of a song that I want to get.  Please.  Help me.  :D&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-5708104823851658030?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/5708104823851658030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=5708104823851658030' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5708104823851658030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/5708104823851658030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/03/okay-i-need-your-help.html' title='Okay, I need your help.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-3980741000461256040</id><published>2007-02-27T10:09:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-27T10:10:19.470-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Thinking....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;There are a lot of thoughts running around in my head right now, so that’s why I’ve been MIA.  You’d think I’d actually be trying to get them all out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We visited my grandfather over the weekend.  He really misses my grandmother.  He has a huge house all to himself, so it must be hard.  In fact, it’s really hard for me to be there.  So very many memories.  He’s planning on selling the house.  I figure by the end of the year, he’ll move.  That’s almost harder for me to take than the loss of my grandmother.  I know that sounds ridiculous – it’s just a house, and she was such a wonderful person, but it’s like losing that last little connection to her.  It’s not that I blame him – it’s a huge house with a big yard, and he’s all alone with those memories and far too much to take care of by himself, but I hate to see the house sell.  It’s in a great neighborhood in one of the best school districts in the area, so I know it will probably sell quickly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s funny because not all of my memories are happy.  I remember having my first panic attack there (or at least the first one that I recognized as a panic attack).  I remember some of the nightmares I’ve had at that house too.  One of them when I was very young, and one when I was in junior high.  But, mostly, I remember the house full of people at Thanksgiving every year.  That’s how it’s supposed to be.  I remember sitting in one of the bedrooms with my cousin while my grandmother read us Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.  In fact, there’s a certain brand of cigarette (and I don’t know what it is) that always takes me back to that time because my grandmother was a smoker for a majority of her life, and her breath smelled like those particular cigarettes.  I remember the summer that my brother and I stayed there for 2 weeks going swimming everyday and staying up until 2 in the morning and sleeping in until 11 or noon.  I remember the Christmas that I got a bike, my cousins and my brother got scooters, and it was snowing, so we had to ride our new toys in circles in the garage. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother and I cleaned out my grandmother’s closet for my grandfather.  He doesn’t want to keep anything, so we cleaned out all the clothes.  She has lots of jewelry that we left, of course, that I’m sure he’ll distribute as he sees fit.  Or not.  Maybe he’ll just wait and let everyone figure it out when he passes away.  Of all the families who would not fight over things when he passes away, it’s my dad’s.  The fight will be over sentimental things.  My grandfather has a silk map of Borneo that he got in WWII.  He was a belly gunner on a B-24 (I think it was a B-24, but I could be wrong).  The map was in case they were shot down.  He was going to throw the map away, but my grandmother wouldn’t let him.  She had it framed, and it’s the only item in the house that I see a fight over when my grandfather dies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s just sad to visit anymore.  There’s not clear cut family reunion at Thanksgiving this year.  There’s a planned family reunion in June, but I don’t think everyone will make it.  My cousin is getting married in August, so that will get everyone together as well (including my brother who is flying down!). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-3980741000461256040?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/3980741000461256040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=3980741000461256040' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3980741000461256040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/3980741000461256040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/02/just-thinking.html' title='Just Thinking....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-912580308391640978</id><published>2007-02-22T11:58:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-22T12:22:47.550-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Miss Priss's Parent/Teacher Conference</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I met with Miss Priss's teachers on Tuesday.  I wasn't sure that I would be able to because my father-in-law was in the hospital Monday with chest pain (and he was there through Tuesday), so my regular child care (my mother-in-law) understandably had bigger things to worry about than whether or not I had someone to watch the girls while I met with Miss Priss's teachers.   As it was, my sister-in-law kept an eye on the for me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, they started by going through their little assessment of Miss Priss.  She is the youngest in the class (which I alrady suspected), so they weren't surprised that she's a typical 3 year old as far as social/emotional development go.  When she started last fall, she would be really sleepy in the mornings (and would even lay down during circle time).  However, she hasn't done that in months, so they figure she's just not a morning person.  She is still a little hesitant in the morning, but by lunch, she's come around and is more talkative.  They have 12 kids in the class:  the four oldest are already 4 (I know Miss Priss got invited to a birthday party for the oldest in September) and most have big sisters, so they are advanced socially; then there are the 4 middle ones; and finally, the four youngest.  Miss Priss falls into this category.  And of the 12, how many does she play with?  1.  Yep, just one.  She will play with the others once in a while, but she primarily plays with one of the little girls in the class whose family is from Finland, so English is her second language.  This explains why, on rare occasions, Miss Priss starts spitting out words that I've never heard -- they're not English or Spanish.  I think she's cursing me in Finnish.  LOL  As it is, for some reason the two of the have bonded and play almost exclusively with each other.  Looks like the social anxiety genes got passed on.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As far as her language development goes, she's right on track for a 3-year-old.  That's good to know since I've been concerned about her speech.  She seems to have trouble with the "j" sound (i.e. -- gelly sandwiches, gumping around, etc.).  She also seems to have trouble with the "ch" sound.  Her teachers showed me a chart that shows that "ch" is something most kids have down by age 7.  So I have a few more years before I need to worry about that.  They are impressed with Miss Priss's vocabulary (and I didn't inquire if they quizzed her on her knowledge of 4 letter words).  Apparently, she can express herself very well if she chooses to do so.  Her ability to use her words instead of lashing out is coming along.  Again, it's the bad genetics.  LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What they were most impressed with are her motor skills (especially fine motor skills).  She is very good at cutting straight lines (I was impressed), and her drawing is improving.  At the beginning of the year, they had them all draw a self-portrait, and Miss Priss's was somewhat human stick-figure form.  A circle, some straight lines, etc.  However, her recent stick figures have fingers, toes, eyes, hair, etc.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her writing skills are some of the best in the class.  Apparently, most of the class can kind of write their names, but most leave out a letter or two or get them in the wrong order.  Miss Priss can write her name correctly and legibly (for a 3 year old).  She can also write Baby Boo's name correctly and legibly.  She actually drew me a picture of Baby Boo and then put Baby Boo's name at the top.  I keep forgetting to bring it to work to hang on my bulletin board.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overall, she's doing great, and I couldn't be prouder.  She seems to be very smart, but lacks the social skills.  She'll probably be the youngest in her class again next year, but I hope she branches out a little more.  We'll have to make the big decision next year of whether or not she's ready for kindergarten, but I'm no longer worried about whether or not she'll be good to go academically.  I think she'll be fine.  The question will be her emotional/social behavior.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-912580308391640978?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/912580308391640978/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=912580308391640978' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/912580308391640978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/912580308391640978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/02/miss-prisss-parentteacher-conference.html' title='Miss Priss&apos;s Parent/Teacher Conference'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-8654815091932547731</id><published>2007-02-15T12:18:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-22T11:47:58.038-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Wow....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I've been blogging over 2 years now. That's strange to think about. LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been very busy, but I promise an update soon. :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-8654815091932547731?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/8654815091932547731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=8654815091932547731' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8654815091932547731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/8654815091932547731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/02/wow.html' title='Wow....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-7807595621258356383</id><published>2007-02-06T14:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-06T14:35:53.284-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ranting and Raving.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;First, I am trying to cancel an very well known ISP (who is also known for being hard to cancel). They won't even talk to me much less cancel my account because I wasn't the one who signed up for it. Hubby did. Well, they're in for a treat -- he's going to make someone's day bad because I cancelled it about 4 months ago (or thought I did anyway, but I don't have a cancellation number sadly), but it keeps showing up on the credit card bill. The fact that I wasn't the "owner" of the account is probably why it didn't actually cancel. I guess we'll see what happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Secondly, our deep freeze went out again! It went out a couple of months ago, and we lost almost everything in it. We threw out so much meat (steaks, chicken, you name it) along with popcicles and frozen pizza and such. We had gotten to where we trusted it to hold frozen pizzas and little frozen dinners and stuff, but our main freezer with our fridge is packed full of meat -- just in case. And that case showed up two nights ago. Hubby was already in an I-don't-want-to-deal-with-anything mood, and then I noticed stuff leaking out the bottom. I was hoping that it was just a spill near the bottom, but no such luck. So, now we have a huge paperweight taking up lots of room in our laundry room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we'll probably get a new one with tax return. Speaking of tax return, our e-file got rejected by the IRS. For some problem with a social security number not matching up on one of the forms. Whatever! The stupid program filled that part in for us. However, after a little time with the people over at &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.taxcut.com"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;H&amp;R Block's TaxCut&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; (&lt;--I will recommend since they solved my problem), I got it sorted out, and the IRS has already accepted my return. And, to further recommend TaxCut, I would like to say that I emailed them with a question. I got their auto-reply email about how they'll get back to me in 24 hours, etc, but it was within 10 minutes. Now, that's what I call a response time. And I used their online chat feature to get help as well. Very nice, and the best part, of course, is that my taxes are good to go. Now we are just waiting on the refund. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, back to the deep freeze. We'll get a new one. We just freeze too much stuff not to have one. This time, though, we'll be smart and get a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.sears.com/sr/javasr/khome.do?vertical=KENM&amp;bidsite=KENM&amp;amp;BV_UseBVCookie=Yes"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Kenmore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;.  I'm full of shameless advertising today, aren't I?  Actually, we should get an owner loyalty discount from Kenmore. We have a Kenmore, fridge, stove, washer, dryer, microwave, and now a vacuum (our most recent appliance purchase).  So, they could easily knock off a good 10-20%, right?  Surely.  As it was, we owned all Kenmore appliances except for our vacuum and our deep freeze.  And both have gone out within the past couple of weeks.  The vacuum just wasn't cutting it for keeping up with two kids who make messes, and well, I've already given you the deep freeze story.  So, we got a Kenmore vacuum; all we need is the deep freeze.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-7807595621258356383?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/7807595621258356383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=7807595621258356383' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7807595621258356383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/7807595621258356383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/02/ranting-and-raving.html' title='Ranting and Raving.....'/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10748509.post-6716171232889901509</id><published>2007-02-05T11:29:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-05T11:35:05.256-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;First, I want to say congratulations to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://ladygrey.typepad.com/fish_out_of_water/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Elise&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; who had her baby girl over the weekend so that I wouldn't know about it until Monday.  LOL  Enjoy your time with your family of 4! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Second, I can now say that in my 5 months of riding the bus, I have now been on a bus that has broken down.  I knew it was only a matter of time.  With our hot summers, I thought it would be the hot weather that did it, but no.  We were already running late and traffic was bad when we were stopped at a stoplight.  Hubby called me to check on where I was, and I gave him the intersection.  His response was, "That's it?!"  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And I replied, "Yeah, and I think we might have a problem."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"Why?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"Because the light is green and we're not moving."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;We waited about half an hour before another bus came along to pick us up.  I wonder how long the driver had to wait for the tow truck.  That officially broke the record for the latest I've gotten home yet.  7:30.  Well, 7:33 to be exact.  It sucked.  But, I pay $35/year for the bus pass, and I fill up my car with gas once a month, so taking the bus has saved me a lot of money (since parking passes are almost $200/year and I would have to fill up my gas guzzler at least once a week).  So, I can't complain too much.  Just a little.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Hope everyone is having a good day!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10748509-6716171232889901509?l=motherswork.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/feeds/6716171232889901509/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10748509&amp;postID=6716171232889901509' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6716171232889901509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10748509/posts/default/6716171232889901509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://motherswork.blogspot.com/2007/02/first-i-want-to-say-congratulations-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Alison</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a128/ALMH/Picture031-Avatar.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
