<?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-7737298226880447414</id><updated>2011-04-22T00:54:23.745-04:00</updated><category term='spring'/><title type='text'>little nothings</title><subtitle type='html'>Just a girl attempting to be a woman.  A wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, secretary and general go-to biotch.  I love life and make attempts to remain positive, no matter the challenge.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>47</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-2261842864817032145</id><published>2008-06-17T22:11:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T22:46:20.580-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm swollden</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Yup, that's right, I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;swoll&lt;/span&gt;-den.  Day 7 of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;prednisone&lt;/span&gt;.   6 more to go.  I tried to go to the gym yesterday to do my run but I.just.couldn't.  I got on the treadmill and started to work and had the most terrible throbbing pains in my legs starting below my knees and extending down.  Terrible.  Then I started to run... I thought "I'll just jog it off" &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;umm&lt;/span&gt;... yeah, right.  I lasted maybe .25 miles and had to stop.  I have terrible swelling and pain in my legs when I try to do anything and my belly is near about grown out to Africa or maybe Egypt, I'm not sure which.  I have gained 9 pounds since starting this wonder drug, which did ward off the hives, but I'm so over it and ready to be done.  Too bad the weight, water and bloat won't magically fade as it so lovingly appeared.  All this, just in time to attend the wedding.  I'll be nice and moon faced I'm sure.  Nice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Tomorrow I get my hair did and I'm excited for that.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Everytime&lt;/span&gt; it's time, it's time I think I can't go another day longer with being the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;fugliest&lt;/span&gt; person around.  I'm sure it's not that bad, but I'm ready and excited... not that it's been more than 5 weeks or so.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ashley's preschool is participating in Vacation Bible School this week and she appears to be having a blast.  I still really enjoy the fact that she is soaking up religion, even it is not particular to our own.  Today when I went to school to pick her up her teacher told me I wouldn't believe what she had been telling them today.  Of course, I had to know.  Apparently Ashley thinks her Mommy has a baby in her belly (and with the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;prednisone&lt;/span&gt;, it's actually hard to deny that it looks to be true) but oh no no, it's not.  How is this... now even the two year old thinks I'm looking fat and her spreading the news people will probably start to ask me more and more about it.  I think Ashley's Daddy thinks it wouldn't be such a bad idea and although I'm not against the idea, I just know that we'd set ourselves back so far in all money progress we've made by trying to swing the daycare of a then 3 year old and an infant.  Daycare was average $641.00 a month before Ashley turned 2 and went to her preschool.  Now it's $380 to go up to $400.00 in September.  I can't be adding another $650.00 on top of that and expect to pay our bills.  We'd be right back where we were before and although I know some might say it would be more friendly if I just didn't work and stayed home, I'm close to reality knowing that even though I don't make a lot more than that a month, I do get insurance for the whole &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;fam&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;damily&lt;/span&gt; for free (good insurance at that) as well as BONUSES... one of which is hoping to be right around the corner.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;YAY&lt;/span&gt;!!!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I guess since I've been thinking about it, I'll share some of the "Dave" in my life.  Referring to Dave Ramsey.  Since September, we have paid for everything we have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;purchased&lt;/span&gt;.  Okay, so maybe that's not completely true... however, the only purchases that were made on a credit card totalled about $100.00 while hubby had my check card and were paid off within the same month and therefore, incurred no interest or fees.  We redid our spare bedroom, or maybe I should say "did" the room because it was a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;trainwreck&lt;/span&gt; with a blow up mattress in it, before my parents came to visit and we PAID for it.  We bought a new mattress for our room, switched our old one into the spare room, bought a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;bedframe&lt;/span&gt;, paint, decorations, it looks spectacular and WE PAID FOR IT.  Now that feels good.  All in all though, our spending has been a bit steeper than it should and we haven't been buckling down it still feels good to know that we aren't CREATING more debt to try to wipe away later.  I do plan now though to get back on the boat after this wedding crap and visits to Virginia the next two weekends... I mean, damn, a girl does gotta look good for it, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, we are still in debt but I think it's cracking and it feels good although we, of course, like most still yet have a way to go.  We're getting it, not accepting it... I guess that's what really matters :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I find this blog thing funny.  I enjoy it, but I really haven't had too much to say.  I find myself rather boring at times and just follow you all but I do like the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;sitemeter&lt;/span&gt; thing.  I find it interesting to see what has brought people to my blog.  The #1 hit getter has got to be the word "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;yuve&lt;/span&gt;".  I talked about Ashley saying "I don't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;yuve&lt;/span&gt; you" and apparently from that, I have found that my little one speaks &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;spanish&lt;/span&gt; because folks from all over &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;spanish&lt;/span&gt; speaking countries have come to my blog from far and wide with regard to the word "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;yuve&lt;/span&gt;".  I still haven't really figured out what it means though.  Any idea?  Is it bad?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Okay, so I've come, I've blogged, I've shared some not-so-interesting stuff and I'm not going to proof... I'll just spell check and post, hope it makes sense!  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;TTFN&lt;/span&gt; blog land.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-2261842864817032145?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/2261842864817032145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=2261842864817032145' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2261842864817032145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2261842864817032145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/06/im-swollden.html' title='I&apos;m swollden'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-981868764456770724</id><published>2008-06-11T21:35:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-11T21:56:25.285-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ohmigoodness... did ya miss me?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;baaaack&lt;/span&gt;... and been up to so much that couldn't even begin to share or tell it all. Life is rolling, indeed with no way to stand it still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been around. Gardening, getting tattooed (for the 3rd time), running, parenting, disciplining, traveling and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;alot&lt;/span&gt; more whatnot in between.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now I'm itchy. Seems as I'm having one of my terrible allergic reactions that send me into shock (literally) but this time I presented myself to Urgent Care within minutes of noticing my rash had turned to hives. See people, this is bad for me. The hives put me in the hospital, swell my throat, drop my blood pressure and oxygen saturation... it's bad stuff. This time I'm not playing around. A $25 visit to urgent care, and $80 later at the drug store I'm stocked up and will be pill popping for the next 15 days. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Yay&lt;/span&gt;... okay, not really &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;yay&lt;/span&gt;. I'm sure to be swollen and puffy after 15 days on steroids (good old dose pack) and gee, just in time for the wedding I was asking fashion advise for a while back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ashley.is.potty.trained. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Yay&lt;/span&gt; for that... no doubt. She's done so well, and actually has been since about the time that I left you for my short &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;stint&lt;/span&gt; away, 2 months ago!!! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Geeforevertimeflies&lt;/span&gt; :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's hot and my flowers are blooming. We are seeing all sorts of critters that I could do without. You see, I'm from the mountains of VA and we don't have critters, bugs and snakes this big up there. I don't know what it is but one glimpse of a 2-3 inch flying roach will set you scared, well it will me anyways! I could do without the frogs, toads, lizards, snakes and big a*s bugs I see daily, however I don't mind the cute little bunny that hangs around my house from time to time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've starting running on the treadmill during lunch. I had previously been going to Curves and quit there and then started at the club I belong to now. Did I mention that the firm I work for now pays for our family gym membership? But at any rate, I had been doing and doing the elliptical and lifting a little big of weight and seeing no results. Over the past 3 weeks I have switched it up and now I spend my entire workout time on the treadmill. I've gotten to where I walk .5 miles, run 1, walk .5 and then run 1.5 (total 3.5 miles a day) damn do I feel good afterwards, despite the terrible sweat I break out into. Sometime I feel like I can't breathe, but it's getting better and truly, the feeling of accomplishment when I cross my finish line is all the encouragement I need! Talk about feeling good!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I have put down the Dr. Pepper. I have figured out that I drank approximately 5 sodas a day on average. Regular sodas at that for a total of 750 calories and 200g sugar so what did I do but put it down. I'd never really thought about it but I was consuming probably about 1/2 of what should have been my daily calorie intake in freaking Dr. Pepper. Oh how I do love it and miss it so. I started out last Monday, drank 1 12 oz can this weekend and had 1 can this evening. Only 2 sodas in 10 days is crazy good for me and for that I'm also quite proud. Talk about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;DT's&lt;/span&gt; though coming off all that caffeine!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I'm tired, 15 days of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;benadryl&lt;/span&gt; is also bound to take a toll. I'm going to finish up so you think you can dance and then go to bed. Here's to showing up about 2 months late :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. yes, that's right, you read that I got my third tattoo. Yes I know it's big and if tats aren't your thing I'm really okay with that and really don't care, so just don't share.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210806888684251154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/SFCBQdku6BI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/VSWoMVV5HmA/s320/100_3257.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-981868764456770724?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/981868764456770724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=981868764456770724' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/981868764456770724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/981868764456770724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/06/ohmigoodness-did-ya-miss-me.html' title='Ohmigoodness... did ya miss me?'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/SFCBQdku6BI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/VSWoMVV5HmA/s72-c/100_3257.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-8132536411506451236</id><published>2008-04-11T14:12:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-11T14:16:46.009-04:00</updated><title type='text'>all fixed</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Today around 10:00 am I received the call.. little one has a fever. She seemed all right to me this morning, and last night too, but none the less her little body is hot and so we are home. Beautiful day outside too, we'll be going out after little one gets up from her nap. Nothing that sunshine and bubbles won't heal, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got my video working that I was trying to post last night. Blogger thought there was something wrong with the html code, I told it to ignore it and now it works, yay! At any rate - Happy Friday!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-8132536411506451236?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/8132536411506451236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=8132536411506451236' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/8132536411506451236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/8132536411506451236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/04/all-fixed.html' title='all fixed'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-3025945584878219145</id><published>2008-04-10T23:49:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-11T14:11:38.461-04:00</updated><title type='text'>For your viewing pleasure</title><content type='html'>Nothing much new to share except for a little tidbit of everyday life that was so amateurishly put together by me. Enjoy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed width="448" height="361" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" src="http://i103.photobucket.com/player.swf?file=http://vid103.photobucket.com/albums/m141/lisebugg/4102008.flv"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. I don't think this video is working but I'm tired and tired of trying so I'll fix it tomorrow!  Night Night!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-3025945584878219145?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/3025945584878219145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=3025945584878219145' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3025945584878219145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3025945584878219145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/04/for-your-viewing-pleasure.html' title='For your viewing pleasure'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-8593506420970138034</id><published>2008-04-07T21:51:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-07T22:31:00.683-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Yup, I said it... it was Me.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Somewhere along the way "Damn it" has become my new favorite word.  When you are at that point, when you think you might break, when frustration is at the peak just before losing it, there's nothing that a good loud "Damn it" won't heal.  You say it, and it all loosens up and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dissipates&lt;/span&gt;... like "Damn it"... (POOF... it's gone... did you hear it, did you hear it?)  Well, okay, maybe it's not quite that healing but man, it does tend to feel good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So maybe, perhaps, it was me, in a few of those 'I'm either going to lose it or curse' moments, that I take the high road and curse.   Not directly at anyone, just to lay it out there.  So it was me that said it... it was me.  Damn it.  In the words of my bosses' granddaughter "Damn its the magic word" and I so believe that cute little 3 year old.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So here we go... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Rewind to March 15 (I think).  We had gone to Virginia for Joey's nieces' birthday party.  She turned 6.  We were going to stay at his brother's house in VA Beach and had left the party and followed him to a gas station.  Joey got out and topped off our tank because, why not, gas is about 30 cents a gallon cheaper in VA than NC.  While waiting in the car I looked over at his brother's big red truck and saw the biggest dent/scratch running down the passenger door.  When hubby got back in the car I asked him what happened to Jimmy's truck.  He said "damn. I don't know".  And there we have it spewing from the back seat "damn, damn damn".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Now, fast forward to about a week or so.  Nice, beautiful day here in Eastern NC.  Came home from work and Ashley and I went out front to blow bubbles and wait for Daddy to come home.  When Daddy arrived home it was time to go inside and get dinner together but Ashley just wasn't ready yet.  A 2 year old is never ready to do something just because Mommy said so.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, in an effort to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;appease&lt;/span&gt;, as I do so often, I decided it would be okay to sweep off the back porch really quickly cause the pollen was BEYOND thick and leave the sliding glass door open and let Ashley blow more bubbles on the screened-in porch while I got dinner together.  Okay, done.  I even moved her little Dora table and chairs from the corner to the middle of the porch and set up the matching umbrella that had been hiding in the garage for her.  I was finishing up the last little bit of sweeping as I see her, walking around the edge of the umbrella touching each little plastic piece at the end of each spoke along the way putting the magic word in full effect.  "Damn it, damn it, damn it".  Calm and collected.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Fast &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;forward&lt;/span&gt;... Daddy was at work last night, Ashley and I were fixing baked potatoes for dinner.  I had cooked them in the microwave, cut hers in 1/2 and turned in upside down on the plate to smash the insides off the skin so we could put butter and cheese on it.  She was standing next to me, on the stool so that she could help.  I ended up somehow touching a piece after I had repeated to her over and over not to touch it, cause it was hot.  I said, "ouch, it's hot"  she adds "damn it".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Having already known that this was a fun new word for her I had asked her teacher if she had ever shared it at school.  She's young and laid back and she and I are on friendly terms.  She laughed and said no, but she would tell me if she did.  Today was the day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I went in to pick Ashley up at regular time.  Her teacher told me she had said "something" today but she wasn't sure if it was the same word.  I mouthed it to her and she chuckled and said "yup".  Apparently Ashley, in great angst was trying to tell one of her friends during snack or lunch or something.  One of her friends moved her cup:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ashley looked at her and said "no, it goes right &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;der&lt;/span&gt;, damn it". &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Friend said "yeah, damn it".  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Oh &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;lawd&lt;/span&gt;... I've done it now!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So apparently I'm not the only one that feels that there is a magic word out there and it just ain't please or thank you.  What am I to do now... can't really take it back, now can I?  All I can do now is either learned to spell it real fast, which will only be a temporary fix until such time she learns to spell or just cut it out all together... I think I'm make a conscience effort for the second idea.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*Disclaimer*  Please be advised that each and every time the dear children using said word or adult phrase were corrected and told, without too much drama, cause that would just make it even more fun, that we should not say that, that it was a bad word and that sometimes big people say things that they should not and that little people really shouldn't.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Ahhh&lt;/span&gt;... so funny, like when your teacher made you say "Penis penis penis, vagina vagina, vagina" in sex ed, kind of way.  Do not punish, do not chastise, I know, dears, I know, "I bad, damn it".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-8593506420970138034?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/8593506420970138034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=8593506420970138034' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/8593506420970138034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/8593506420970138034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/04/yup-i-said-it-it-was-me.html' title='Yup, I said it... it was Me.'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-7412848742977019067</id><published>2008-04-02T23:33:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-03T00:05:18.082-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey there...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;so it's been awhile.  I find myself saying that quite often these days.  I guess the bottom line is that my life just isn't.that.interesting.  It's funny though, cause when I do have something to say I really have something to say but the times in between are just that.  The times in between.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Tonight hubby went to bed really early and for some reason, that just makes me stay up even later.  I suppose because he's usually the one that makes me go to bed.  He's always wanting more sleep, as I am, but the night owl in me always gets the best.  So, when he goes to bed early it's like my free pass to stay up way later than I should and not "be in trouble" for it.  Not that I'm ever really "in trouble", it's just that we like to go to bed together.  Don't get any ideas though, it's not at all, most of the time, for the dirty adult reason that one would expect.  It's just cause that's what we do and its nice to climb into bed and spend those last waking moments with the one that you love.  Simple as that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, in my time using my free pass tonight I spent a while looking at the blogs that I heart and then hopping on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;myspace&lt;/span&gt; and then &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;facebook&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; has a thing, new to me, that tells you, based upon the information you provided who you might know.  I thought, oh, interesting.   Wrong.  Clicked on the link, and they were right, they are all, 100% people that I know, or used to know for that matter.  Mainly old girlfriends.  Not a single one of them is one that I think I wish to know now however. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I don't regret my decisions.  I don't.  But they make me different, they make me hide from those that I knew long ago.  Mainly in the way that I look.  I suppose that's why I can be free and post pictures of the here and now on here, my blog... because you all didn't know me, with the exception of one, two counting hubby, and you all just don't know any better.  Not only that but I've not yet come across a blog that I care to read in which I've thought, 'if I comment, if they know I'm here they will think I'm fat'.  'They will think I'm ugly'.  You all just aren't that type, now are you?  (If you are, please leave).  Even better yet, you didn't know me, the young, rested looking Lisa (did you even know my name?).  You all didn't know me, the skinny, fit Lisa of years ago.  The Lisa before life became beautiful and I met my hubby and had Ashley.  It's just that.  My life became beautiful but yet, I hide from those that might remember the old me, not know the new/different me and might look and say, 'wow, she's put on some weight' or 'did you see Lisa, she's fat'.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In response to that I'd probably say "well duh, you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;dumbass&lt;/span&gt;" but I know, it would hurt my feelings, even if I didn't know and of course no one would think that and actually say it, well I would hope not, but still, I don't even want to give those an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;opportunity&lt;/span&gt; to think it.  I looked for a picture of me to update those above referred pages but pictures of me are few and far between because I love to be the one to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;harass&lt;/span&gt; others with the camera and the ones that are between the few and far between are just.plain.bad.  Cheese and Peas, I look like shit.  Do I really walk around like that all that time or do I just somehow break and morph the camera &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;every time&lt;/span&gt; we two come in contact?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I think I've had this discussion a dozen million times with myself.  The one in which I will get up earlier, fix my hair a little better and apply makeup in front of a mirror on the wall rather that the one attached to the visor in my car.  Yup folks, I'm the lady you passed the other day putting mascara and lipstick on in her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;rearview&lt;/span&gt; mirror.  I've had the conversation with myself in which I will be hot when hubby comes home and he will look at me and think wow, she's hot, but truly, most evenings, by the time he gets home from work I'm already worn out and used up the rest of the way, wearing pajamas (and I don't mean the sexy kind) because who can bear to wear those clothes a second longer?  Funny, he loves me anyways.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, that's it.  They.just.don't.matter.  I need not worry or give a care but maybe it wouldn't do harm to use that mirror on the wall rather than the one in the car.  Love you all.  Happy Thursday!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-7412848742977019067?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/7412848742977019067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=7412848742977019067' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7412848742977019067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7412848742977019067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/04/hey-there.html' title='Hey there...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-5088867343449111290</id><published>2008-03-25T21:21:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T22:00:54.469-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Before it all becomes too dated to post</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So... a lot has been going on here. So much, that I can't decide or figure out exactly what I should share - especially since I tend to be so long winded.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hubby applied and interviewed for a new job about a month ago (because he had great dislike for his old one). He waited and waited to hear back and finally, 20 minutes after deleting all the evidence in the form of old emails and writing the possibility off he received "the call" offering him the position. Not quite as much money as he wanted, but I don't run with the crowd that ever really gets as much as they want. This all came the day after his "old" boss had sat him down and told him he knew that he was due to "be bumped up" (pay wise) but that the work they had him working on wasn't making him (bossman) any money and they would have to revisit it another time. Jerkface much? You gave him the work, that's what you told him to do, he's doing it - so why is that his fault that you gave him a thankless task? So... in the afternoon, the day after being given that talk, when he was offered the new job we were, or I was beyond estatic. I couldn't believe Mr. Thomas has such gull, such nerve. So, the next morning, 2 days after being given "the talk" hubby was able to march himself into bossman's office tell him that what he had said to him was extremely unfair and that he was formally giving his two weeks notice. Imagine - bossman was shocked. Go figure. I believe it was a few minutes later that bossman walked up to hubby, handed him 2 paychecks, one of the remainder of last week and one for this week and told him if he didn't want to be there he could go ahead and go. That rawks. Specially since hubby was able to start his new job a week early and we got an extra week's pay! Yippy!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WOOOHOOO... we are cruising down the Road of Dave. This morning, officially, the final payment on my Victoria's Secret CC was posted and the balance is now 0. Big fat 0. Imag that at one point I had managed to rack up over $900 in undies, bras and clothes on that mammajamma! Now that's a lot of panties folks, even at VS. But now, it's officially PAID OFF and we are down one more credit card, in fact, that leaves us with just one (okay, it's huge) credit card - the revoked one - to be exact. How exciting. Next we will be working to pay off my car. Indeed, one chunk, one step at a time!  We are so excited for that we decided it would be a great idea to wash the car... okay... not really cause we are going pay it off, but because it was FUN!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181861654156689090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R-mruEM6PsI/AAAAAAAAAHo/xlT8_mZ8lq8/s320/100_3150.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We had a good Easter and Ashley also enjoyed herself. Hubby, being jobless at the end of last week, and me, having the day off on Friday were able to go to the egg hunt and lunch at Ashley's school. My, what fun. Ordinally we don't get to participate in activities such as that and we were even able to volunteer our time to set up, hide eggs and clean up. We really enjoyed ourselves. It was also nice because after the lunch and clean up was over it was Ashley's naptime so we left her that at school and headed to the gym for a little while. It was nice to be together and not have to worry about Ashley. Geeforever, that never happens.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181862384301129458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R-msYkM6PvI/AAAAAAAAAIA/rD-29lSq-mM/s320/100_3144.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ashley was excited about Easter. She's forever going around, singing Jesus Loves Me and The Bible Song. At her preschool, which is at a methodist church. They go to Chapel twice a week, and although we are Catholic, I see nothing wrong with that. She is little. They are teaching her that Jesus loves her, who Jesus and God are and all at the age of 2. I love to hear her tell me, as we talk about the people that love her, that Jesus loves her. I always smile, and say "yes, baby, you are exactly right, Jesus loves you. I think it's special. I think it's sweet and most of all, important. She and I read part of the Bible, right before Easter and we talked about Easter. I think it's imporant and not the least bit harmful for the littles ones to believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny but I also always want her to know and remember there is a more important, divine reason for the hoopla, presents, eggs and hoopla. We talked about "Jesus is Alive!" and read the story and she's gone about exclaiming it a few times. Love it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We went to Church on Sunday, had a egg hunt, dyed eggs and had a marvelous time. Illustrated below:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181862732193480450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R-mss0M6PwI/AAAAAAAAAII/3TsLYIjgA-Q/s320/100_3177.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;It was soooo naptime!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181862130898058978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R-msJ0M6PuI/AAAAAAAAAH4/d7ZAvzDIPow/s320/000_0005.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181861924739628754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R-mr90M6PtI/AAAAAAAAAHw/jiyUdaCQ8mQ/s320/000_0002.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Another note - the gym and Curves. I was having a really hard to getting to Curves like I needed to because they are only open 3 days a week during my lunchtime, which is not flexible. So, I decided to abandon my old lady friends and join the gym that a few of my friends/coworkers go to. It has been great so far. I was able to get to the gym 5 times last week and dripped sweat like I haven't in a long time. This week I've started off strong. Made it Monday and today - both days, especially today, sweat pouring off when I was done. Seriously, what an absolute wonderful, soul healing feeling for me! I'm looking forward to seeing results! I do miss my old ladies though - although, now that I think of it, I did spot one on the recumbant bike yesterday. At least 70. Maybe I'll befriend her :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay... That's enough... Talk at ya later!  Enjoy your week!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-5088867343449111290?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/5088867343449111290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=5088867343449111290' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/5088867343449111290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/5088867343449111290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/03/before-it-all-becomes-too-dated-to-post.html' title='Before it all becomes too dated to post'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R-mruEM6PsI/AAAAAAAAAHo/xlT8_mZ8lq8/s72-c/100_3150.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-297526880159280580</id><published>2008-03-17T15:38:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-17T15:49:38.479-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I come seeking opinions...</title><content type='html'>It's been a while.. I know, I know, I'm a slacker.  I've come today looking for opinions big and small.  I'll update you later on "life". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In June, I know, its a ways away, I will be attending a wedding with hubby. &lt;br /&gt;Bride and Groom are high school classmates of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hubster&lt;/span&gt;.  Groom is also a former roommate of hubby, one that I didn't end things all that well with.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;.  What a little bitch I was. *insert evil laugh here*.  Hubby is a groomsman, his ex-girlfriend (oh my) is also a part of the wedding party -  Maid of honor or bridesmaid. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am not part of the wedding, don't get me wrong, this does not upset me, I'm just adding it for clarification purposes but you see, damn, I'd &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;betta&lt;/span&gt; be looking good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hubby has had measurements taken for a tux, so obviously, the attire is formal.  Here's my question..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What the hell do I wear?  I want to take the chance, of this possibly Mommy-Free Moment, to look nice and to somewhat compliment my husband that will be dressed up and snazzy in a tux but I don't want people to look at me thinking I'm all trying to be a part of the wedding party and what not.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I told hubby to ask what color the vest/ties are when he calls the tux place to tell them he's lost 30-some pounds so that I could make sure that I do NOT match.  Suggestions, comments, loaners?  Leave 'um here.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-297526880159280580?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/297526880159280580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=297526880159280580' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/297526880159280580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/297526880159280580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/03/i-come-seeking-opinions.html' title='I come seeking opinions...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-2421526715227203081</id><published>2008-03-06T21:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-06T23:19:09.777-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Yesterday was a good day.  Despite Ashley being sick we had a good time together.  We laid in bed until 12:00 or so watching movies and catching some much needed zzzz's.  I know it will sound horrible of me to say, because she wasn't sick, but it was even more relaxing because she was just laid back, kickin' it, not whiny and needy.  She.was.just.happy.  I think sometimes all mommies and their babies need days like that.  To.just.relax.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Today however, it was back to the daily grind.  I was a little worried to send her back to school so soon, even though she no longer had a fever, because she has a cough but I really couldn't say home another day and hubby didn't feel like he could either.  It's sad... I wish I weren't in that position, but I am, so I must accept it and just go with it, despite my discomfort, like it or not.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This morning when we got to school Ashley walked in the room and all her friends were so excited to see her back!  I really get a kick out of those little kids.  So small, so innocent but yet with such big people ideas!  I told her I loved her and I bent down to give her a hug and it brought joy to my heart when she said "I yuve you, Mommy" and planted a big one on me!  Oh how I do love her so. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It's amazing to me, how you can spend so much time with a little one and fall in love with them more and more every day.  Don't get me wrong, I've always loved my child, but if you have children of your own, I willing to bet you probably understand!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Today was a day.  Beside my boss going crazy, not so much on me so much or the other girl that works for him, but more on our situation.  We are drowning in car accidents, good ones and bad ones.  Ahhh... the joys of personal injury.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I've been thinking of going back "home".  To my home, in the mountains of Virginia.  Of course, I would want hubby to go too, and wouldn't make the move without him, but I doubt we will.  I really do like it here in eastern NC and I can't wait for this summer cause I know we will have the most fun ever beachin' it but it is so hard to be away from family, especially when you have a sick child or Heaven forbid an emergency and no where to turn.  Not that I would expect anyone to stop what they were doing or take the day off, just that there would be someone to count on, some back up, some relief.  All the warm and fuzzy feelings aside, however, I know that we both have jobs that pay decently, we own a house, in need of "fixing up" before it could be sold for a "profit" and we truly do love it here.  Catch 22.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Well, I'm off now, to finish my toes in case its warm enough for flip flops tomorrow (I don't think it will be, but I'ma gonna wear um anyways), clean up the "was clean 5 minutes ago" kitchen and finish my laundry for the week (yay... that usually doesn't happen until Sunday!).  Thankgoodness tomorrow is Friday!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-2421526715227203081?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/2421526715227203081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=2421526715227203081' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2421526715227203081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2421526715227203081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/03/yesterday-was-good-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-1139195194965502376</id><published>2008-03-04T22:29:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T22:34:39.305-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spring'/><title type='text'>One more thing</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;because I'm a bitch (well really, I like to think I'm not) and I know some of you all are buried in white stuff that you are sick of looking at, I am hereby sharing another "spring is a coming" picture.  Here he is, first one of the season... "idn't he cute"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174095208877347074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R84ULc8vUQI/AAAAAAAAAHg/crXLlBboK8g/s320/100_3098.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-1139195194965502376?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/1139195194965502376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=1139195194965502376' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/1139195194965502376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/1139195194965502376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/03/one-more-thing.html' title='One more thing'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R84ULc8vUQI/AAAAAAAAAHg/crXLlBboK8g/s72-c/100_3098.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-7639639762579971739</id><published>2008-03-04T21:41:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T22:25:09.681-05:00</updated><title type='text'>*insert something catchy here*</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So I found myself clicking around tonight.  The usual spots for the most part and then some others I click on at random times.  I found myself clicking with some disappointment that there wasn't all that much new to read since the last time I clicked around, some time earlier today.  And then... returning to my own blog, where I started from, I caught a glimpse of the last time I posted and realized I've left you all (if anyone is out there) with nothing new to read.  So, here goes...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This past weekend Ashley and I went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Blacksburg&lt;/span&gt;, VA to visit with my parents, Ashley's Nana and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Poppie&lt;/span&gt;.  Oh how she loves them, not to mention, of course, that every single bit of that love is returned and exceeded by them.  We had a good time.  I got a rental car because mine is getting up there in the miles and since we would be traveling the almost 7 hours without hubby (who had to work) we decided it was the best thing to do.  I reserved my weekend special - only $56.00 for Friday afternoon through Monday morning (I thought that was really good) - through my former employer (from whom I'd never rented a car before) and scheduled pick up for 12:00 on Friday afternoon.  I wasn't able to have them fulfill their slogan of having them pick me up until around 1:45 when I was able to get home from work.  Got there, got my car - a not so cool Hyundai something or other.  Left the branch and got a block away when I remembered to check the inspection to make sure that it wasn't expired or expiring and sure enough the inspection expired that day, 2/29.  So, kind of pissed off, I whipped her around, I was so not going to take the fall for that.  In NC and in VA (the state of my former residence) an expired inspection goes against &lt;u&gt;your&lt;/u&gt; driving record, even if the car does not belong to you and they so were not going to taint me and my clean (knock wood) driving record!  I pulled back into the lot, walked back in to the branch, put the keys on the counter and told them that.  "Oh we are so sorry, our computer didn't tell us that, we just got the car..." blah blah blah.  "Do you want the Grand &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Prix&lt;/span&gt; or the Dodge Caliber?".  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Yay&lt;/span&gt;... I'll take the new, beautiful, shiny, black with black interior Grand &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Prix&lt;/span&gt;!  And there you have it, my ride was spectacular!  Ashley even enjoyed it to... when I picked her up from daycare she hopped in and exclaimed in her little 2 year old voice "this is a cool black car".  She and I were both so sad to have to take it back Monday morning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We had a good time in VA, staying up late and sleeping in.  But now, the price will be paid, as always happens after times like this... my baby is sick.  Last night after &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;bathtime&lt;/span&gt; she laid on her Daddy for a while and said that she was sick and needed medicine but I figured she was really tired from our trip.  This morning around 5:00, Kyle (the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;yorkie&lt;/span&gt; boy) started pacing around on the bed growling and faintly barking.  I sat up, worried, I could hear scuffling, someone was in my house.  Then, there it was, the little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;silhouette&lt;/span&gt; of a two year old.  Her tongue hurt.  I gave her water and medicine and told her it was dark outside and it was still time to sleep a little bit more.  This morning when I went to wake her up she wasn't grumpy but very quickly told me again that her tongue hurt.  I couldn't give her medicine again because it was too soon and made the decision to make the "working mom, need my job" move and hurry along to preschool and work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This afternoon I got a voicemail saying that Ashley hadn't let her teacher put her down since 3:30 but I didn't have to come get her because she didn't have a fever.  By the time I got there, 35 minutes after the voicemail was left (but almost immediately after receiving it) she was indeed running a fever.  She went through a list of the things that hurt.  She had told her teacher it was her belly.  She told me it was her tongue and opened her mouth and pointed inside.  Then in the next breath she said, "no, my ear" and pointed at it.  Then on the way home it was her "booty" because apparently she slept or slipped or swept (I couldn't figure out which one) on a fire truck.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Ahhh&lt;/span&gt;... so tomorrow, apparently I will be staying home.  Thankfully I was able to squeak a call into the doctor's office in the last few minutes before they closed this evening and get an appointment tomorrow, although not until the afternoon, to get her checked out.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Geez&lt;/span&gt; I hope it's not an ear infection.  She's had 100% effective tubes since December of '06 but they most likely have worked their way out which will most likely leave us with the decision of whether to go for the tubes again, which &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;undoubtedly&lt;/span&gt;, the answer will be yes.  Gee, my boss is going to be so happy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Yesterday I made my a doctor visit of my own.  To the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;crotchologist&lt;/span&gt;.  Yeah, I think I made that word up, but I really like it.  Thing of it is that all the girls that I work with and I make sure that we go right at the year mark or as soon thereafter as we can schedule an appointment.  We have some "ducky" insurance that includes a cancer wellness policy so after we go for the usually dreaded pap smear (sorry guys) we pay our $25.00 copay that our regular health insurance requires and then send a letter along with our doctor paper slip thingy they give you when you go and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;wala&lt;/span&gt; - they mail a check for $75.00.  Now come on, you get to have the reassurance that everything is okay, or not okay, but at least you know about it and you get to make $50.00 profit for doing so.  My closest coworker and I like to refer to this as the yearly "whoring ourselves" and joke that without a doubt we'd go every day at lunch to make our money if we were allowed more than one time a year.  Okay, okay, so I seriously doubt it but at least it sort of makes it worth the trip to go!  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Hmmm&lt;/span&gt;... how will I spend my extra $50.00.  After all, it should be mine to spend on myself personally, shouldn't it?  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;LOL&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So I'll be staying home tomorrow.  It you read this, if you are out there, please post wonderfully &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;hilarious&lt;/span&gt; things that I can read during &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;naptime&lt;/span&gt; and rest times &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;in between&lt;/span&gt; and oh yeah, if we have to have one, wish us an illness that is quickly healed and non-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;traumatic&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-7639639762579971739?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/7639639762579971739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=7639639762579971739' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7639639762579971739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7639639762579971739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/03/insert-something-catchy-here.html' title='*insert something catchy here*'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-6846335482717309806</id><published>2008-02-23T22:41:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-23T23:14:44.064-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Scrubbing Day is my Favorite Day...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Okay, so not really, just thought the words of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Pippi&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Longstocking&lt;/span&gt; were so catchy. Thanks &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Pippi&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So this morning Ashley came in around 8:30 or 9:00 to say that it was not time to sleep anymore. She took the invitation to climb into bed as usually upon her arrival, the thought of actually getting up makes me want to do something really bad. It dawned on me sometime within the past 24 hours that since motherhood began just 2 years and 4 1/2 months ago I don't recall a single day when I have awoken on my own. It's always an alarm clock screaming at me throughout the week day or a child deciding it's just that time. I know, I know, I'm no different from the rest of the free world really, but it's just that I've always thought of myself as a champion sleeper of sorts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am not a morning person, never have been, but rather a night owl of sorts and indeed, I do cherish a nap in the middle of the day on the weekends!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Growing up I could sleep and I mean SLEEP. Mom said it started from a very early time, as she took me into the doctor and asked what was wrong with me because I slept so much. During childhood, growing up and on into my short stay at college I continued with my marathon sleeping abilities. I always had to be drug out of bed, basically by my hair - never voluntarily - and there were even times when apparently I have said horrible wretched things to loved ones during their quest to awake me. Hubby really doesn't even try anymore and I feel compelled to add that one time my own mother did not speak to me for 3 weeks because of something I said. I promise you... I do not remember... I really was asleep... I do not know what I said... I did not mean it and I suppose I really don't even WANT to know what I said! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Geeforever&lt;/span&gt;. Now that's bad! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Those were the days of glory. When I was a true champ, sleeping in until 3:00 or 3:30 in the afternoon. With the worst sleep headache/hangover possible, but still was completely in love with doing so besides the "hit by a bus, spent all night under the tire of a mack truck" kind of feeling that always came with my hobby. I never felt like I was wasting the day away, like I was missing out on something good and I never really cared for breakfast anyways. I'd much rather have it for dinner thank you!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then, of course, there was Ashley. She too is a sleepy baby. She has always done very well in the sleep department. I think if my sister were reading this she was scoff at the 8:30/9:00 I'm complaining of that Ashley woke up this morning. Well it is early, isn't it? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And here's where the title all falls into place. Scrubbing Day. I've declared Saturday my new scrubbing day. We got the house tidy, all clothes put away, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;vacuumed&lt;/span&gt;, cleaned up and out last week and now I've decided that I will dedicate each Saturday morning to getting everything done, in line, in place and be able to relax the rest of the weekend. By 11:00 a.m. we were in the final stages of scrubbing day, dancing around the kitchen in our scrubbing shoes amongst the bubbles, and it was before noon when the entire house was picked up, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;vacuumed&lt;/span&gt;, bathrooms cleaned, blah blah blah and we were out the door to enjoy our day! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So I've begun to reevaluate the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;scrubbing&lt;/span&gt; day vs. sleeping situation and perhaps, just perhaps I'm getting old as when Ashley wakes me up and climbs into bed sleep is really over, no matter how hard I try I just can't get back to sleep. I've come to realize I'm so much prouder of scrubbing day than I would be telling someone I am a champion sleeper that slept til 3:30, my house looks like shit and my kid ate the dog's food cause she was hungry and Mommy was sleeping. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;. (Please believe, this never happened)(&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;ahhh&lt;/span&gt; the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;googlers&lt;/span&gt; that will find this).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And P.S. If you haven't ever had the pleasure of The New Adventures of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Pippi&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Longstocking&lt;/span&gt; you must check it out! It's the BEST!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5170394072204646834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R8DuA8aLGbI/AAAAAAAAAHY/UF0k6oayBEU/s320/The-New-Adventures-Of-Pippi-Longstocking.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-6846335482717309806?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/6846335482717309806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=6846335482717309806' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6846335482717309806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6846335482717309806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/02/scrubbing-day-is-my-favorite-day.html' title='Scrubbing Day is my Favorite Day...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R8DuA8aLGbI/AAAAAAAAAHY/UF0k6oayBEU/s72-c/The-New-Adventures-Of-Pippi-Longstocking.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-4185595077306031564</id><published>2008-02-19T22:02:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T22:06:50.175-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't yuve me...</title><content type='html'>A conversation last night between my precious 2 year old and I... I'm telling you, this child is goofy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: I love you!&lt;br /&gt;A: I don't yuve you. (you see she can't say "l"s)&lt;br /&gt;Me: That is so mean.  That hurts my feelings.&lt;br /&gt;A: Go cry in orrs room, Mommy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-4185595077306031564?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/4185595077306031564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=4185595077306031564' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/4185595077306031564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/4185595077306031564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/02/dont-yuve-me.html' title='Don&apos;t yuve me...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-6096328795574415926</id><published>2008-02-08T10:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T22:14:27.292-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A little bit of Dave in my life...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So its been quite some time since I spoke about Dave Ramsey and his role in our life. Back in May of last year my husband and I sat down (as my birthday present to him - that's what he wanted) and figured out that every month we were $400.00 in the hole. NO WONDER we couldn't pay our bills on time and every debt collector from here to China or maybe it was India was calling to ask where their money was. Not to mention that just on monthly bills we were $400.00 in the hole... that didn't account for gas, food, diapers or any of the extras that we always seemed to think we could afford. I didn't realize nor had I ever been willing to admit just how bad off we really were despite the fact that I found myself calling the electric company asking for a little more time and even the city regarding our water. It was bad - but we really didn't want anyone to know so we really kept it to ourselves. I hope that my parents don't read this... I think it might make them sad or perhaps disappointed. It seemed beyond all hope and then... we made a plan... but these sorts of plans take time, patience and dedication.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;We sold my husband's beloved truck. '04 black Z71. Nice truck - Just not for us cause it carried a BIG monthly payment. That saved us $506 in payment, $100 or so in insurance and $70 a week in gas because he started driving the more economical 98 Saturn SL2 that my parents had given us. Although we did have to take out a small loan on the Saturn that was free and clear in order to make up for the negative equity an expensive vehicle can carry to enable us to sell the truck but that payment is only $115.00 a month. Don't worry... Joey actually cleared this with Dave himself (by calling the show and being heard on the air) and Dave thought it was the right thing for us to do in this situation and even went so far as to say, "you see, that guy right there, he's got a plan and he's going to be all right." Words of encourgament from the man himself! At any rate, from there, we started to try to get things more in line. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;One day about the middle of summer we were outside working in the yard, enjoying a beautiful day. It hit one of us that we should check the mail. It was the usual - bills we still couldn't really afford to pay and a notice regarding our MAJOR debt, "The Credit Card", that carried a huge balance and a huge monthly payment - one that we had not been able to pay for months. It wasn't the usual statement inside but rather a notice stating that "The Credit Card" had been REVOKED. (Capital letters and all). Need to remit payment in full immediately, blah blah blah. Believe me, I wanted to... but I just couldn't find it in me to shit that much money. Don't I wish I had been able to. Instead, I wanted to do nothing but DIE.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then, it hit me even harder that we still weren't doing everything we could be doing. Although we had gotten rid of the "monthly deficit" we still were overspending. We were still living a lifestyle that we could not afford. We still weren't being honest with ourselves and how much we really could spend and still be okay... not to mention the fact it's hard to catch up once you get behind - and we were that... behind. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;One of the things that hurt my feelings the most was the way we were treated. NO ONE that could help us would or wanted to help us (bank wise. We did not ask family friends or relatives). In all eyes - we were bad people. Terrible people that didn't pay for what they purchased that never sent a payment in on time and in most eyes we were going straight to hell. Thing of it was that we were not bad people and we had not intentionally created the mess we were in, although we assume full responsibility for doing so. We were young. We got married. We bought a townhouse. We had a baby. We decided it was in our best interest to move from VA to NC. We had medial bills. Sale of home fell though therefore Mortage in VA, rent in NC. My job in NC fell through while I was still on maternity leave from job in VA. Ended up having to live in different states until we could get it all sorted out. We were in a living hell and were too proud and almost too stupid to realize just how bad our situation was spiraling and raging out of control.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We were trying and we really do and did intend to make EVERY payment and repay EVERY cent we have ever borrowed but like I said, these things take time and I still hadn't figured out a way to shit money. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Next plan of action... in September our neighbor got Joey a job working as a pizza delivery boy. Ahhh... breathing room and relief.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Since that time, with the job and bonuses from my job we have been able to get back on track with all payments being paid on time enough to count. No more late fees for us and as of December we have paid off 3 medical bills and two credit cards which reduced the deficit even further. Today we are busy chipping away at our other debts. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;One of the things I am most proud of is that since September we have PAID for everything we have purchased (including Christmas). We really don't have any/much credit available to us but none the less we have found a way to purchase and actually pay for everything for the past 5 months.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We have cut back enormously. We have scrimped and found ways to scrape by when before we would have said "oh well, what can ya do?" Within the past month and 1/2 we have taken it even further and I know before long we will see it bigger than we are able to see it right now. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Our "further" is this: Hubby and I each get $100.00 a month and that buys it ALL. If you want shoes, if you want your hair cut, if you want those pants or shirt or that shit, your $100.00 a month has got to buy it. If you want lunch with your friends or you want to stop by and get a sub cause you are really really hungry, that $100.00 had better cover it, cause if not you are SOL. At first when I got my $100.00 I thought that would buy me the world. I quickly, oh so quickly, found that $100.00 a month really isn't much in the grand scheme of things. You think it is, I dare you to REALLY add up when you spend a month... hair cuts, shoes, clothes, fast food, coffee, beer - whatever your vice... I really was shocked!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The only things that are not inclusive of the $100.00 are food from the grocery store, from which you are highly encouraged to pack your lunch and gas for the cars. We also have a $100.00 a month rule for Ashley, which has not been as closely followed because in all honesty, I've paid close mind and we don't think we buy her $100.00 worth of crap each month or even close to it. It's not like she's begging and dying to cruise up the road to catch a movie with her friends. Thank goodness for that. She's only 2 and is just as entertained by the dollar tree as she is about some expensive something or other. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Also, I have begun to put $10.00 a week into A's savings as I would like to be able to have a nest egg for her some day in the FAR FAR future when she is old enough to know it is there. But don't fret, we also plan to try to instill other saving brainwashedness into her head just as soon as we think she is able to understand the concept. And further don't worry because she does love to hoard the "monies" in her "pocketbook" already.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So... there are many ways to save. We no longer eat fast food as a family and we only have basic cable which costs $7.80 a month for our 5 channels (there was a clarity issue with the rabbit ears). I haven't had real cable for 2 1/2 years now and although there some times occassional things I hear of that I just so wish that I could watch - you all are so much more entertaining anyways!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Now of course, let me step off my high horse - cause there are of course, those downfalls. We have the internet (which I believe is an ABSOLUTE must). We both have our memberships to health club/work out facilities. Me to Curves, he to Golds Gym HOWEVER believe me, I've implemented a rule. You must attend at least 10 times a month (just shy of 3 times a week) in order to have the money come from our account. If you do not attend 10 times a month and you are a slacker, you must pay for it out of your $100.00. Now that would suck, wouldn't it?? So get your ass to the gym and workout... now, damn it! LOL. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;All this talk... despite the fact that we have been able to get ourselves in a better position, it's still just not good enough. We want to be debt free. We want to be free from those things that tie us down and we want to be able to provide better than we ever had, which, I promise you is QUITE A LOFTY GOAL.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I do not have a new car, nor does hubby... in fact I'm almost scared to say it out loud... mine will be paid off next January and his the following May at which time we have all intentions of running them til the floors rust out. Shit - I think I just heard my car die out in the driveway. How grand would it be NOT to have a car payment and to be able to save that money to pay cash towards our next un-new car? Believe me, if I could have one, if I thought someone would actually loan me the money for a newer/nicer car I'd want to be all over it like bread on butter, but I like to tell myself that there is no harm from a mistake if a lesson is learned and therefore I realize I must not have a new car, I must keep mine and I must love it cause that's all I've got.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Thing of it is that I've learned a hard lesson that hubby has been right there beside me for and although I may want something so bad I think of my $100.00 and then I analyze the situation a little bit harder and a little bit longer and usually *usually* I put it back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I've looked at my post and nearly wanted to laugh but I'm much too brainwashed for that now. When hubby first started talking about this Dave Ramsey character all I could do was roll my eyes and shrug him off. Ha. You really think you are going to trick me into reading and falling for that shit? You got another thing coming. And then I realized we were trapped and no one was going to bail us out. No one was going to throw us a life vest or even one of those kiddie pool floaties and boy was I tired of treading water and desperately in need of CPR. So here it is. This is now and let me be self indulgent as I stand on the roof top and scream while I take control of my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I would like to add one final thought. a disclaimer of sorts. After all, this is my "space". This is my life. Just my thoughts on where WE are and where WE want to go and be. It is NOT at all a hit, a stab, a slap or a freaking upper cut on any one of you beautiful individuals that may happen to grace my blog. I enjoy everyone of you and I'm so glad you've stopped by. Words of encouragement or here to tell me my struggle is over because you've just found me a rich uncle?? Joy!! leave a comment!! Otherwise, please realize I'm speaking of my trap and my trap alone and do not speak a word of this to judge you so please, don't hate :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"...you see, that guy right there, he's got a plan and he's going to be all right." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-6096328795574415926?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/6096328795574415926/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=6096328795574415926' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6096328795574415926'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6096328795574415926'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/02/little-bit-of-dave-in-my-life.html' title='A little bit of Dave in my life...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-8127510566248145619</id><published>2008-02-06T22:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-06T22:42:47.109-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's on it's way</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6p9RjS_RZI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/nntoHHnUIeg/s1600-h/100_3048.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164077663219828114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6p9RjS_RZI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/nntoHHnUIeg/s320/100_3048.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The first bloom of the season.  We've had our cold days but we've also had our nice days here in eastern N.C.  I so much enjoy the flowers outside my house and much to my excitement this bloom opened yesterday, just a couple of days after first appearing.  I can not wait to behold the beauty that hopefully will continue to bloom outside my door!  Yay for spring that appears to be on its way!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-8127510566248145619?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/8127510566248145619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=8127510566248145619' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/8127510566248145619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/8127510566248145619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/02/its-on-its-way.html' title='It&apos;s on it&apos;s way'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6p9RjS_RZI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/nntoHHnUIeg/s72-c/100_3048.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-1359080966083145809</id><published>2008-02-05T22:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-05T23:27:45.379-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A little bit of randomness coming your way</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Thoughts that have occurred to me and some of which I have dedicated way more time than I should have throughout the day:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Every clothing store should have a "funeral" section. One in which no bold vibrant reds, blues or greens are allowed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I am a girl, 26, uncomfortable in her own skin. I am short, I am thick, I used to be skinny and now I have no waist. I'm waiting to blossom - waiting to bloom. Just that... waiting. Just a girl attempting to be a woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. When will I 'grow up'? When will I learn to speak my complete thought rather than parts of the mixed up shit in my head, thinking all the while that someone is following my complete thought? It's always later, after I walk away that I realize something I said didn't make sense, that I only actually said bits and pieces of what I meant and that something I did was just a little bit or a lot a bit stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. When will I stop being a "dits"? Please refer to statement/thought #3.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. When I get to spend one penny I want to spend 5 more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I was almost in a bad accident coming home from work today. Two lane semi-curvy highway, 55 mph, me driving 59, gotta mind since I got out of having my other ticket count against my record. Blazing towards me I see headlights as it was starting to get dark. Closer, closer, slam on brakes and horn (horn - not cause I didn't think he saw me coming, just as sort of a f*you), partially pull off the road and good thing at that because the space I pulled off was the space he needed to squeeze back into his proper lane. Dear Lord, please, if I ever HAVE to get in an accident please allow my baby to be safe and sound at preschool or with her Daddy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Mrs. Alice was brought home one last time today... poor "Mr. W." Please refer to yesterday's post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Damn, Cheerios Snack Mix is good and you really must try it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. I miss my parents. Why do I live so far from home and what is really tying us here, to this place to which we have no connection but yet we chose?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. I guess this answers #9 as I can't wait for summer and to hit the beach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. I am pasty. Please refer to #10.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. I am proud of my hubby. Check out &lt;a href="http://www.operationfitin2008.blogspot.com/"&gt;his blog&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Working vs. Stay at Home Mom. Another blog, written by &lt;a href="http://sistersofadifferentorder.blogspot.com/"&gt;sisters&lt;/a&gt;, I just recently found that I like to stalk, touched on this today but not necessarily on my own situation:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I work not because I want to, not because I love to but because the company I work for pays 100% of health insurance for me, hubby and baby. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I work not because I want to, not because I love to but because, even though I don't come out much on top each week, its still worth the benefit, and we couldn't make it any other way. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I work not because I want to, not because I love to but because we got married, a baby was born a year later. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Lets just say I work not because I want to, not because I love to but because I love my child and therefore I must be responsible for the choices that were made and I have faced the facts that I must. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Not because I want to, not because I love to turn my child over to a preschool/full time program or some individual other than immediate family each and every weekday and although she may cry and she may fuss - I can do nothing but kiss her and tell her I love her and ask her to tell me to "get outta here, Mommy" and then leave with my own guilt. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So no, thank you very much, I haunt myself, leaving me without need for anyone else's gift of guilt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-1359080966083145809?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/1359080966083145809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=1359080966083145809' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/1359080966083145809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/1359080966083145809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/02/little-bit-of-randomness-coming-your.html' title='A little bit of randomness coming your way'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-3424198417357154152</id><published>2008-02-04T22:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-04T23:17:13.158-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Legacy and His Wife</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This morning, shortly after arriving to work I was told by my boss that the wife, Mrs. Alice, of the "most senior" partner in the law firm I work for passed away this morning at 3:00 a.m. Neither of them have been "well" as they both have had their ailments. Mr. W, as we'll call him, although we refer to him by his whole last name, was born in 1918, making him 89 years old, to turn 90 this August.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;He and Mrs. Alice had been married since they were fairly young, somewhere around and above 60 years, I believe I remember him telling me, not that long along, it was 66. Although "Mr. W." has retired approximately 4 times, he has never lasted more than a few hours out of the office aside for a couple years of military service during WWII, since joining this firm, the firm that his Daddy founded in 1941. He has had surgeries, cancer and only has one eye remaining. It has been said, by his son, also a partner in the firm, that during one surgery, to have most of his colon removed due to cancer, he requested that the doctor withhold the full amount of anesthesia as "he had to get back to work". I think he's going for the excellent attendance award. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163337464261068162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="248" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6fcETS_RYI/AAAAAAAAAHI/-ER_bIglK7Q/s320/Mr.+W.jpg" width="200" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Despite his outward grumpy demeanor, which I think he has earned every right to, "Mr. W." is a man that deserves and is given much respect. He has stood out and above in his field, and although we all wish that he "would go home", now, sad to say, he has absolutely no reason to, as he has missed his chance and Mrs. Alice has made her own trip "home".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This has really got me thinking. He has worked so hard, he has strived and he has succeeded and now this man is all alone. Sure, he has his grown children, but he no longer has the presence of his bride. Despite the fact that she was probably mommicked and cursed a few (thousand) times in her life (cause we've all heard those stories as well), I know he loved her and I know that he must be so badly heartsick right now that it makes me hurt for him, especially knowing that there is nothing that anyone can do. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;As was done "back in the day", "Mr. W." was to bring Mrs. Alice's body to their home today, where she will stay until her funeral service on Wednesday. That too, just makes me hurt for him. He will have her brought home for the last time, where he will stay, alone with her, his love, until she is to be taken to be buried. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Recently, we have been able to hear him coming from down the hallway and around the corner, as his breathing is so labored and heavy. We have seen his big frame stumble into walls and doorways as he probably has more ailments that this strong willed man is willing to admit. We've noticed a decline in the use of the left side of his body, without a doubt he has suffered strokes that he also, so stubbornly, has failed to tell anyone about. It has been said, not out of nastiness, just out of understanding and compassion, that it won't be long for him now as well. What more to live for when your love, your companion of 60+ years has made their journey home? I pray for him, I pray for his peace. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This is my tribute to Mr. W. and Mrs. Alice. May he find peace, may he not be as heartsick as I suspect he is, as I don't believe a single one of us would ever wish such pain on anyone and here's to eternal life for Mrs. Alice. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-3424198417357154152?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/3424198417357154152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=3424198417357154152' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3424198417357154152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3424198417357154152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/02/legacy-and-his-wife.html' title='A Legacy and His Wife'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6fcETS_RYI/AAAAAAAAAHI/-ER_bIglK7Q/s72-c/Mr.+W.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-3214990140864883075</id><published>2008-02-02T22:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-02T22:39:53.472-05:00</updated><title type='text'>MUST pray for U.S.A...</title><content type='html'>So I was surfing, looking for a particular color heels and stumbled upon this. I will say no more, just show pictures and ask that each of you say a silent prayer as this... well this... is uncalled for...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162592476413773154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6U2gTS_RWI/AAAAAAAAAG4/boIV5uFePO8/s320/nascar2.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162593013284685170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6U2_jS_RXI/AAAAAAAAAHA/LHjBmdurLTI/s320/nascar5.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162590921635611954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6U1FzS_RTI/AAAAAAAAAGg/YlLmyAH2Cno/s320/nascar4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162590852916135202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6U1BzS_RSI/AAAAAAAAAGY/I0n6ZvajipU/s320/nascar3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162591076254434642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6U1OzS_RVI/AAAAAAAAAGw/Fx6BBgGI5Ig/s320/nascar6.jpg" border="0" /&gt; Yes my blog world friends, that label does say NASCAR and that for sho is a checked flag on the heel that apparently is on all pairs whether jean, plastic, on fire or checker flag print. Wow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;And honestly, I have to add... these are not cheap shoes... way more than I'd ever consider paying even if they didn't say Nascar. (despite being a new found penny pincher and on a budget).&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Now that is what I like to call just a little bit country or a lot-a-bit redneck. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;*Disclaimer* I'm sorry if you own these, it's just my opinion, but you might want to consider Free cycle.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-3214990140864883075?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/3214990140864883075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=3214990140864883075' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3214990140864883075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3214990140864883075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/02/must-pray-for-usa.html' title='MUST pray for U.S.A...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R6U2gTS_RWI/AAAAAAAAAG4/boIV5uFePO8/s72-c/nascar2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-1097154688478674043</id><published>2008-01-29T22:50:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-29T22:52:42.839-05:00</updated><title type='text'>why don't I have anything to say?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The daily goings on of life just don't seem that interesting to me these days, not that I'm bored or upset with it, just really not anything that interesting to share or that I wouldn't feel guilty wasting someone's time with.  It's pretty much the same stuff, just a different day. I feel provoked to share some of the sweet things that my daughter, just 2 years and 3 months old has recently said to her Daddy &amp;amp; I...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me (on the car ride home): Did you have a good day baby?&lt;br /&gt;Ashley: Yes Mommy, I had a very bood day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ashley was upset about the fact that her dvd player for the car is broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ashley: My movie broken, Mommy?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yes Baby, it is.&lt;br /&gt;Ashley: Daddy gonna fix it?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Baby, Daddy tried to fix it but he couldn't. We have to safe some extra money to get you a new one.&lt;br /&gt;Ashley: Oh, we got to get extrada monies, Mommy? I got some extrada monies in my pocket book. (As she gets up off the bed to go get her "pocket book" to show me.&lt;br /&gt;Me (laughing): yes Baby, you do have money in your pocket book but its not enough, we need more money.&lt;br /&gt;Ashley: Go to work Daddy, get more monies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bathtime.&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: you ready to get out now?&lt;br /&gt;Ashley (pointer finger up in the air): Wait, just one more minute Daddy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-1097154688478674043?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/1097154688478674043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=1097154688478674043' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/1097154688478674043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/1097154688478674043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/01/why-dont-i-have-anything-to-say_29.html' title='why don&apos;t I have anything to say?'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-6483339775610048969</id><published>2008-01-24T23:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-24T23:50:09.011-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Nothing else to blog about</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So it's been awhile since I've shown my presence here so without anything further to add of any substance I thought I'd share with you a few of my crafty moments... I love to be crafty and I love to make things. There, now you've learned something about me that you may not already have known. Promise... you might find it interesting as I must warn you, the last one is &lt;u&gt;NOT&lt;/u&gt; for children's eyes. Enjoy!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I love to make hairbows &amp;amp; clippies, both for Ashley to wear and also to sell! Here are a few...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159264117277541474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5ljYTS_RGI/AAAAAAAAAE4/KXdWiu1rET8/s320/100_3025.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5lnPjS_RMI/AAAAAAAAAFo/9psKeHtY320/s1600-h/turkey.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159268365000197314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5lnPjS_RMI/AAAAAAAAAFo/9psKeHtY320/s320/turkey.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5lmkTS_RLI/AAAAAAAAAFg/6KwS2UcEEsU/s1600-h/penguin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159267621970855090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5lmkTS_RLI/AAAAAAAAAFg/6KwS2UcEEsU/s320/penguin.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5lmPjS_RKI/AAAAAAAAAFY/tHjOs9oRhFg/s1600-h/minnie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159267265488569506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5lmPjS_RKI/AAAAAAAAAFY/tHjOs9oRhFg/s320/minnie.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5ll1DS_RJI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/1sdC1nxsfWQ/s1600-h/bees.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159266810222036114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5ll1DS_RJI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/1sdC1nxsfWQ/s320/bees.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159264473759827058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5ljtDS_RHI/AAAAAAAAAFA/Lbd8luzV8jk/s320/100_3008.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made this sweet baby's dress as well as, of course, her hairbow...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5lkQjS_RII/AAAAAAAAAFI/sXe73DL2Hro/s1600-h/100_2308.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159265083645183106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5lkQjS_RII/AAAAAAAAAFI/sXe73DL2Hro/s320/100_2308.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Yay for scrapbooking... if I ever had time... also, I love to take pictures...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159269060784899282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5ln4DS_RNI/AAAAAAAAAFw/OLZujKoUrkE/s320/100_3033.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Made this ornaments as Christmas presents, went straight to the beach, my favorite place of all time, and picked the seashells and sand myself...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5loGTS_ROI/AAAAAAAAAF4/GWyk5EmmkxI/s1600-h/100_3035.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159269305598035170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5loGTS_ROI/AAAAAAAAAF4/GWyk5EmmkxI/s320/100_3035.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And last but not least, this little beauty, my lastest creation, as of this evening, finished just a bit ago... yes folks, its a cake and I must say, unfortunately its so not modeled after my own mommy boobies... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159271019289986290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5lpqDS_RPI/AAAAAAAAAGA/eg4NbAuFgaM/s320/100_3032.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-6483339775610048969?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/6483339775610048969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=6483339775610048969' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6483339775610048969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6483339775610048969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/01/nothing-else-to-blog-about.html' title='Nothing else to blog about'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R5ljYTS_RGI/AAAAAAAAAE4/KXdWiu1rET8/s72-c/100_3025.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-1258222695952355028</id><published>2008-01-13T20:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-13T21:17:38.353-05:00</updated><title type='text'>God bless the Bedtime Chart...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So seeing as it's been a really long time since I've posted and I feel like the biggest slacker alive, seeing as I've been reading all of the goings on of you all I suppose the only thing left to do this very boring night is to post about my seemingly not-so-interesting life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I came up with the magnificent idea that I should start bring the work laptop home on nights that hubby has to work so that I could catch up on some files at the office that I NEVER have time for. Seems some of our clients want their accidents settled and there are just not enough hours in the day to take a terrible mess of a file for a person that seemingly was not that hurt and turn it into a masterpiece that an insurance &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;adjuster&lt;/span&gt; is going to offer thousands of dollars on to settle. bummer. After setting up my new wireless router and getting the work laptop connected to said router, I am unable to remote into the work server. Seems no one knows the password. bummer... or maybe not.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is happening here. Same old stuff really, nothing too interesting to blog or brag about for that matter. I've cleaned, washed piles of clothes and kept the dishes up only to look around and realize it all needs to be done over again. I've dropped off and picked up at daycare, I've given baths and brushed teeth only to realize the day is gone again and its time to start over. What is this life and why the hell is it moving so fast. My darling baby is now 2 years and 3 months and I'm asking myself where ever did that 60 pound pregnancy go other than to my never shrinking gut?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And then... there is the Bedtime Chart - Ashley, as you may have read about before was having quite the time getting and staying into bed. I previously admitted that I had to lock the door to keep her in her room at bedtime and was backed up by several other &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;commenters&lt;/span&gt; as well as a doctor saying that was indeed the thing to do. Afraid to admit that after giving this a go and awaiting the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;epiphany&lt;/span&gt; that my child was supposed to have - 2 months later - it still wasn't sinking in. Hubby and I then discussed the bedtime chart. The rules are simple. Stay in your bed, in your room for that matter, and in the morning, if you succeed, a sticker is given to be placed on the next open square. And there it is... God Bless the Bedtime Chart. My sweet baby has fallen for this, hook, line and sinker. She has &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;undoubtedly&lt;/span&gt; stayed in her room EVERY night, EVERY &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;naptime&lt;/span&gt; since the creation of the beloved Bedtime Chart and without fail, immediately when she comes into our room in the morning or after &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;naptime&lt;/span&gt; she tells me "I need a sticker, Mommy" and if I don't remember then, oh she remembers to sweetly remind me again later that she needs a sticker for her "cart". Here is it, crooked in the picture, hanging in the hallway next to her doorway, in all its glory, I present you with the Bedtime Chart: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155142765133994690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R4q_CCI8msI/AAAAAAAAAEw/dQGwRt3vgmQ/s320/100_2992.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Sweet child of mine received her first prize, for filling up the first row on Friday morning after staying in on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Thursday&lt;/span&gt; night. Friday after work she and I went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-mart ("&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;yay&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-mart" as she likes to say) to get her prize. We thought that a movie would be appropriate. She wanted a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;pincess&lt;/span&gt; movie (aka Princess) but when we got there she saw "Cars" and had to have that one instead and so I must admit, for the better part of the weekend "Cars" has been playing at my house non-stop. (cute movie). I am proud of her, but the prizes are going to have to decrease in value as I will be the first to admit, that if she keeps this up, I will go broke buying a new movie every 11 bed/&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;naptimes&lt;/span&gt;. I somehow doubt though that this 2 year old is going to notice the value of her prize decreasing if the value of a shiny little sticker is so high despite the fact that regularly she tells my hubby and I: I want money, Mommy (or Daddy), whichever she is speaking to. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;LOL&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;On a funny note, speaking of "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;yay&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-mart" I do have a story to share of our travels over the Christmas holiday. On the 22&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; of December, we left to go to my Mom and Dad's house on the south-western side of Virginia. We stayed there, over Christmas before driving to the eastern side of the state on the 27&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; - to our ears in presents - where hubby's parents live. On the 30&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; we began the drive home. As we were driving down the highway, somewhat late in the night, we passed a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;prison&lt;/span&gt; out in the middle of no where. Ashley should have been asleep, but as usual, was not (not a car-sleeper). She saw the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;prison&lt;/span&gt;, all the fences, the barbwire and all the lights and with delight shouted "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;WAL&lt;/span&gt;-MART". Conversation continued as this:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Me: "that's not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-Mart baby..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;interrupted by her with: "uh-huh it is" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Me: "no, that is a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;prison&lt;/span&gt;, baby... that was where bad people go"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Her: "Bad people go a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-Mart?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;With a chuckle, I just had to leave it at that... so bad people go to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-Mart and maybe now she'll be more convinced she really does need to hold Mommy's hand after all. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;... only kidding.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Another time, during the trip hubby and I were having a discussion over something or another. I really don't recall what it was but let me make it clear we were not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"&gt;fighting&lt;/span&gt; and we always try our very best not to do so in front of her. She will never learn to divide and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"&gt;conquer&lt;/span&gt; this pair, I tell ya... and out of the blue she says - "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"&gt;yay&lt;/span&gt;, fighting". Conversation dropped, middle of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"&gt;sentence&lt;/span&gt; leaving us both chuckling while trying to explain that no one was fighting, that Mommy and Daddy were just talking. (promise, its true). Where on earth did she get that from?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Seriously though, this child amazes me, perhaps because she's my first, perhaps because I only have baby sitting experiences from long ago to compare her to but her vocabulary, her understanding and the things she comes off with never cease to amaze me. She is such a little person and understands way more than I think she should - anyone found the "stop time now" button we're all so &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"&gt;desperately&lt;/span&gt; in search of?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-1258222695952355028?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/1258222695952355028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=1258222695952355028' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/1258222695952355028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/1258222695952355028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2008/01/god-bless-bedtime-chart.html' title='God bless the Bedtime Chart...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R4q_CCI8msI/AAAAAAAAAEw/dQGwRt3vgmQ/s72-c/100_2992.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-377460337309796851</id><published>2007-12-16T21:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-16T21:31:59.138-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pick a drawer... any drawer or a closet for that matter</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit this but I shall anyways since I am so proud of my hard work and accomplishment this evening.  My house was overrun with papers.  With junk mailers, shit I've kept for some unknown reason.  In true &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;packrat&lt;/span&gt; fashion, close to my roots, I have saved every piece of shit that has been mailed, given or handed to me and packed it all in drawers, closets and more drawers.  Every single drawer I could find in the common areas of my house that were not dedicated to silverware or utensils had become a "junk drawer".  Coffee table, end tables, desk drawers and 4 kitchen drawers all included for a massive total of 10, not including one closet.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The other night I mentioned to hubby in, I believe after we had crawled into bed, that we needed a shredder, a good one.  One that cross cut and did not fit on top of a trash can.  A couple days later he told me he had gotten one of my Christmas presents through his work and that it had come in that day.  I quickly mentioned that I had already given him 3 of his Christmas presents in the form of shirts I found big time on sale at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Belk&lt;/span&gt; that he could wear to work.  Without too much twisting of the arm he went out to the car and came in with a box revealing the beautiful little black and stainless steel shredder that I had in passing requested.  (oh he does listen after all).  Since then I have been &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;shredding&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;shredding&lt;/span&gt;.  We also went out today and purchased a pretty filing cabinet and 4 bins, one to go under the bed for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Ashy's&lt;/span&gt; artwork, one for her cards (I always save have and will continue to save these), one for markers and one for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;playdoh&lt;/span&gt; so they can all be neatly put away in the closet.  This evening I have cleaned out 11 drawers and demolished the contents of a closet that hubby cleaned out this morning and everything with the exception of a small stack has been filed.  I have more to do in the form a storage room that is built into our garage but I am thrilled to pieces with the fruit of my labors in the form of a more organized less cluttered life with only 1 "junk drawer" left to speak of.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Ahhh&lt;/span&gt;, it's embarrassing but oh it feels so good.  I leave you with that as I go to sit on the couch and feel good knowing what is NO LONGER hiding in all those drawers!  Wait, now I'm so pumped up I'm off to the kitchen to reorganize the food closet.  Here's to a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;shredder&lt;/span&gt;, a pretty filing cabinet and beautiful plastic containers to store goodies away neatly and massively organized!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-377460337309796851?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/377460337309796851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=377460337309796851' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/377460337309796851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/377460337309796851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/12/pick-drawer-any-drawer-or-closet-for.html' title='Pick a drawer... any drawer or a closet for that matter'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-6015108251706576078</id><published>2007-12-01T20:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-01T21:45:20.840-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So it's been a while. I've been keeping up with you all though, despite my own blogging absence. Life is happening, as it always does. I'm in full Christmas spirit mode now. Enjoying the Christmas tree and the lights and the beauty of it all. Loving to hear the screams (even though they are much too loud and attention getting) that come from my daughter's mouth at every glimpse of Christmas. The lights and trees in the stores, the pictures and hangings of Santa Claus and snowmen. It's a wonder and amazement that never ceases. I love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Apparently though, the Trooper that I passed going 67 in a 55 failed to have the Christmas spirit as I was issued my 1st fast driver award in my 11 years of driving. Now don't go thinking that I had cried my way out of other tickets because the last time I was pulled over for speeding was 7 or 8 years ago. I have a 5 over rule that I follow pretty closely. Well on Wednesday morning I was headed down to work and Ashley wanted, needed, was asking for a cracker. So I turned around just ever so slightly to hand it back to her. As I did so, I paid not a lick of attention to just how fast I was going. When I turned completely forward again... there he was... and I looked down and saw the glorious 67 that I was traveling. Of course, I stepped on the brakes and began to say a silent prayer or maybe it was a "shit" or a "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;damnit&lt;/span&gt;" but at any rate he whipped himself around in the wide open country and flipped on his lights. I wish now that I was going to tell you I turned down a side road, went on a roaring chase, but there was no where to go, I'm too scared of breaking the rules and I'm just not that smooth so I sucked it up and pulled over well before he even got to me. No point of driving further full well knowing my fate. He pulled up behind me, took forever to get out, came to the car, introduced himself (my how nice of you Trooper Pittman), told me how fast I was going (well duh), I gave him my license and registration, he asked me if I was wearing my contacts, I answered "yes sir" (of course I am d.a... I'm so blind you'd never had had the chance to pull us over cause I'd a hit a tree or a person a while back down the road for not being able to see). He took my info back to his car, spent another forever back there, came back with my fast driver award, told me when my court date was and asked if I had any questions. My answer was, of course, "no sir" but in the back of my mind I was asking "was that really necessary?". This sounds bad of me to say but I'm just not that worried about it. It does stink that both of hubby's old tickets just hit their 3 year mark and fell off his record and therefore our insurance so me having a new ticket will cause our insurance to go up another 3 years (if I'm convicted) but here's where I sound like a nanny nanny boo boo. I work for an attorney's office. One that has an attorney who handles "criminal" matters (woo &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hoo&lt;/span&gt; I'm a criminal now) which means I don't have to "hire" an attorney... I was able to walk in the back door of work, straight to his office and tell him "hot off the press" that I needed his help. My court date is January 28. Wish me luck. He's going to try to handle it that day in court and have it reduced and ask the Judge to throw the costs out. Now THAT would be grand. If not, I'll just have to pay the costs of $150.00 but at least he will/should be able to have it reduced to improper equipment - which does not count against your driving record. Well &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;BahHumbugg&lt;/span&gt; to you too Mr. Officer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Funny thing of it all is Ashley says to me "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Wha&lt;/span&gt; ya &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;doin&lt;/span&gt;' Mommy" when I pulled over on the side of the road. "Mommy got pulled over" she tilted her head to the side in that cute cute way and said "oh, got pull over, Mommy" me: "yes baby, I got pulled over". Then she recognized the uniform similar to the one from the other night when I locked my keys in my car and after he left the window she said "Mr. Office pull you over, Mommy?" Chuckle chuckle. I should not be in not such a bad mood over this, but I just am... what can ya do?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I know I may have mentioned before that I am a bit of a ditz from time to time. Rather gullible and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;naive&lt;/span&gt; and innocent of the sort...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I order Ashley the V.Smile game system for Christmas. She's a bit young for it just yet but I didn't want to buy her "more junk" so I ordered it the other night off &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Walmart&lt;/span&gt;.com. The item came two days later. Joy you can count on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Wal-mart&lt;/span&gt; thick through thin. When I opened the box I noticed the tape that sealed the game box was rolled back and therefore the game was already "open". Figured it wasn't a big deal, took it home, opened it that night and noticed that the microphone was not in the box. I didn't open or unwrap any of the other contents because I was scared if I did that they wouldn't let me return it seeing as video games are to be returned "unopened" and all. Called &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-mart the next morning. They apologized, gave me options of returning to the store, returning via mail exchange. I choose to try to take it back to the store. Luckily they had another one there so I got that one instead. Got it back to the office and NO MICROPHONE. I was peeved. So I called V.Tech - the manufacturer and after a few quick questions the lady (from India) began to chuckle and told me that the microphone could be located inside the unit itself as it is stored in the compartment. Ha ha... joke it on me. I had bitched, gripped, whined and all but worried myself to death that they were going to think I stole the microphone and then was returning it and then... &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;WALA&lt;/span&gt;... it is stored inside the unit compartment (which you can't see through the tissue paper and plastic they pack it in). So I'm a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;ditsy&lt;/span&gt; d.a. that has returned an item to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-mart because part of it is missing that probably was never really missing at all. I thought of calling the store to advise them of this but was advised by a co-worker to "let it die" that they would really think I was an idiot then.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I tell you what - this also just called to mind of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;ditsy&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-mart story. I have also absently &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;mindedly&lt;/span&gt; "stolen" curtain ties that I didn't see hidden beneath my mums (flowers) in the basket last year. I saw them in the bottom of the cart when I took the mums out to put them in the car and threw them in the back seat real quick. I didn't know why to do... I was going to be late for work and had to get back. The whole way back to work I worried that I was being followed that someone knew that I had "shoplifted" without meaning to. I felt guilty, I felt awful, I felt ashamed so I took them back to the store and told the friendly old greeter man that I had gotten them "yesterday, and when I got home I didn't see them on my receipt so I just want to pay for them". He laughed. But I did (all $4 worth)... and I felt better for it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hubby is at work now and will be at work from 11a-2p and then 5p-10p tomorrow. Hopefully I can wrap up this weekend with getting a picture for our Christmas cards and get the house straighted up just a tad more. Until next time I'll leave you with this little beauty...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5139197548066844786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1IY8PsVMHI/AAAAAAAAAEc/4tYkDWfE1Qg/s400/100_2906.1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-6015108251706576078?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/6015108251706576078/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=6015108251706576078' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6015108251706576078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6015108251706576078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/12/so-its-been-while.html' title=''/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1IY8PsVMHI/AAAAAAAAAEc/4tYkDWfE1Qg/s72-c/100_2906.1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-7228698604926823680</id><published>2007-11-19T21:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-19T21:58:47.128-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm such a slacker</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So it's been way too long since I've posted so I'll provide a top 15 of the recent &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;occurrences&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;occurrences&lt;/span&gt; soon-to-come here in North &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Cackalacky&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Last Sunday Ashley &amp;amp; went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-mart while Hubby was at work (pizza delivery boy). Pulling into the parking lot I heard a radio commercial for On-Star. My car just isn't that nice or that new. The commercial talked about all the vehicles they were able to remotely unlock over the past year. I thought to myself (how dare I)... it's been a really long time since I did that. Now that I have a remote to my car it's hard to do. We parked, went inside, shopped, came out, I put my stuff in the truck and slammed her shut - just as I realized that I had put my purse, with keys, in the truck before unlocking the doors. Damn me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Ashley is having a hard time going to bed. I can not believe I am about to admit this, but I have to lock her door at night to get her to stay in her room. We have lovely levers, instead of knobs, and therefore she can open any unlocked door she so desires. I feel terrible, awful about having to lock the door but she only cries for a short time before getting in her bed and falling fast asleep. At night she tells me "no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;yock&lt;/span&gt; door Mommy" in her stern &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;miniature&lt;/span&gt; voice. I remind her that she knows the rule, that Mommy will not lock the door if she stays in her bed, but if she gets out of her bed Mommy will have to lock the door. She repeats "no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;yock&lt;/span&gt; door Mommy" and then, if I allowed would proceed to come out of her room 20 times over (I have learned this lesson and now only allow once). Before bed I always unlock the door and leave it cracked so she can come out in the morning. It's funny, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;once&lt;/span&gt; she's in there and asleep she's fine, even if she wakes up and I hear her moan or cry out she still manages to get herself back to sleep without coming out *fingers crossed*. I am keeping myself sane by reminding myself of all the people that have told me they were told to do that exact thing by their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;pediatrician&lt;/span&gt;, the fact that mine told me it would not be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;traumatizing&lt;/span&gt; to allow her to cry for an hour plus, without soothing... besides, really, it's no different than putting a child in a crib and letting them cry it out there. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Geez&lt;/span&gt; I feel really do feel terrible about this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Thanksgiving is this week. Ashley and I will be going to my Grandma's house. Most of my extended family will be there. Hubby has to work and will not be able to travel the 6 hours with us. He has said he wants for us to go, but my feelings are very hurt that he will not have turkey (unless its &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;coldcuts&lt;/span&gt;) for Thanksgiving Dinner!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. My boss is in China. China??? Really??? He will be gone until November 30&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;, which I love, but there are tons of crazy clients chomping at the bit, and although this should also be a mini vacation for me, it is not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I have hopes and dreams of winning the lottery. Happened yet, I think not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. For the past month, Hubby has worked his part-time job for all but 1 or if he's lucky, 2 nights a week. The money is nice but I feel so bad for how tired he must be. Poor kid probably works 70 + hours a week between leaving for his regular job to be there around 7:00 a.m. or so to arriving home around 10:30 or 10:45 p.m. from his part-time job. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Geez&lt;/span&gt; I'm one lucky girl. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Definitely&lt;/span&gt; married a keeper!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Since really cracking down and Hubby having his part-time job, Hubby and I have managed to pay off the remainder of 3 medical bills that having been hanging over our heads in the form of "small" or "not-so-small" monthly payments. We have also paid off a "small" credit card. Keep on trucking!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. I hate when my phone rings. It is never, "oh, someone was thinking of me, someone wants to talk to me". It's more of a "what do they want now, what am I late on again" feeling. I dread until the caller id clears my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. I have taken up the hobby of making &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;hairbows&lt;/span&gt;. I have made more &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;hairbows&lt;/span&gt; than Ashley has hairs. It is so much fun to me. I'm thinking of starting to sell them. People around here love to put big-ass hair bows in their babies hair - even when they don't have any to speak of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. I CAN NOT wait to hang up Christmas lights and put up the tree. Every night on the way home (30 minute drive) Ashley and I search for "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Cismas&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;Yights&lt;/span&gt;". She loves loves loves them and the thrill and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;excitement&lt;/span&gt; for her makes me feel like a kid again myself. Hubby and I have planned to do the decorating on Saturday or Sunday after Thanksgiving. Yay for that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. I don't like not knowing where you stand with someone. If you like me, you like me and act that way. If you don't, you don't... now lets move on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. I raked all the pine needles, cut down the dead and part way dead plants in my "garden" on Saturday.  Hello blisters! Our yard looks the best and I am the proudest. I bet the neighbors are pissed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Laundry, Laundry, Laundry there is no end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. My dog will get his hair cut tomorrow. He is a 4 year old &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;yorkie&lt;/span&gt; boy. There is a lady in our area that drives a retired ambulance that she has converted into a mobile grooming salon. Tomorrow she will find our hidden key, come in the house, get the dog, take him outside into her Zoom-n-Groom mobile, wash him, groom him, the whole 9 yards, put him in the house, take her check, lock the door and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;rehide&lt;/span&gt; the key. Now that's what I call service!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. I only have to work 1 1/2 more days this week. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;Yippy&lt;/span&gt; for that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-7228698604926823680?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/7228698604926823680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=7228698604926823680' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7228698604926823680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7228698604926823680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/11/im-such-slacker.html' title='I&apos;m such a slacker'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-6825631215472679726</id><published>2007-11-04T19:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-04T19:56:10.019-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Been awful busy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So it's been a while. We have been busy. Hubby worked his part-time job every night except Monday and Wednesday this past week. He is scheduled for this coming week every night except Wednesday. It was very nice last week that hubby was able to be here for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ashygirl's&lt;/span&gt; first time out trick-or-treating. We had fun and as usual I took the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;monumental&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;occasion&lt;/span&gt; to torture everyone with the camera as I so love to do. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ashley is acting better, for the most part. We had a rough time the week before last, from sun up to sun down. She was usually fine until I needed to redirect or change directions and it was then that she fell to pieces. Whether it was regarding taking off her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;pjs&lt;/span&gt;, changing her pull-up, dressing, combing the hair, going to bed, STAYING IN BED, etc., etc., etc., it was horrifyingly impossible. This week has been much better. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm not much in the mood for writing more than I have already (I figured I had been absent for too long) so I will share pictures from the past week of fun (pumpkins, Trick-or-treat, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;playdoh&lt;/span&gt; and makeup)! Enjoy!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129149260633443842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Ry5mE8ADjgI/AAAAAAAAADU/tjmTsIcxIB8/s320/100_2760.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129149531216383506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Ry5mUsADjhI/AAAAAAAAADc/qSONBjLL-qA/s320/100_2785.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129149887698669090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Ry5mpcADjiI/AAAAAAAAADk/DHGANQHFxq4/s320/100_2786.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129150699447488066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Ry5nYsADjkI/AAAAAAAAAD0/sKQOhWwWoB0/s320/100_2814.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129151034454937170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Ry5nsMADjlI/AAAAAAAAAD8/ff2JuZAXWF4/s320/100_2827.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129151287858007650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Ry5n68ADjmI/AAAAAAAAAEE/qP-hEvBTToA/s320/100_2828.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129151618570489458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Ry5oOMADjnI/AAAAAAAAAEM/1qi6OwQj56I/s320/100_2842.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129152765326757506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Ry5pQ8ADjoI/AAAAAAAAAEU/EKg44VCIeSI/s320/100_2844.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-6825631215472679726?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/6825631215472679726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=6825631215472679726' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6825631215472679726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6825631215472679726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/11/been-awful-busy.html' title='Been awful busy...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Ry5mE8ADjgI/AAAAAAAAADU/tjmTsIcxIB8/s72-c/100_2760.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-7628196352453302020</id><published>2007-10-27T00:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-27T01:00:56.905-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm simple</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;inspired by &lt;a href="http://augs-casa.blogspot.com/2007/10/im-simple.html"&gt;Augs&lt;/a&gt;, wordless style:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125870929276276082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyLAc8ADjXI/AAAAAAAAACM/jIQdRXzS2CY/s320/100_2552.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125874365250112946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyLDk8ADjbI/AAAAAAAAACs/BLxvYatDdoI/s320/100_2542.JPG" border="0" /&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125871534866664834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyLBAMADjYI/AAAAAAAAACU/UEYpYxOj19g/s320/100_2676.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125872265011105186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyLBqsADjaI/AAAAAAAAACk/PH5DU2f16uo/s320/100_2230.edit.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125872045967773074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyLBd8ADjZI/AAAAAAAAACc/B9W2HlfiTjY/s320/100_2164.crop.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125875941503110626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyLFAsADjeI/AAAAAAAAADE/q_tDz4Am1bE/s320/100_2205.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125875129754291650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyLERcADjcI/AAAAAAAAAC0/ku-QdweWaNU/s320/100_2219.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125876607223041522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyLFncADjfI/AAAAAAAAADM/ogWiWKSCvn0/s320/100_2212.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-7628196352453302020?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/7628196352453302020/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=7628196352453302020' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7628196352453302020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7628196352453302020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/im-simple.html' title='I&apos;m simple'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyLAc8ADjXI/AAAAAAAAACM/jIQdRXzS2CY/s72-c/100_2552.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-6583042250845291213</id><published>2007-10-25T14:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-25T14:11:52.629-04:00</updated><title type='text'>All you ebayers out there...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm thinking of selling some things on ebay.  I've had a little bit of luck in the past but I'm looking for tips that anyone has to share that they feel contributed to their success!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-6583042250845291213?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/6583042250845291213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=6583042250845291213' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6583042250845291213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6583042250845291213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/all-you-ebayers-out-there.html' title='All you ebayers out there...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-2261261215422262743</id><published>2007-10-25T09:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-25T10:18:55.480-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Reduced to Nothing...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;that's how I feel, that's who I am right now.  I guess the patience I was praying for last night did not or could not have gotten here fast enough.  After our spell last night I thought that maybe after some rest (not much more on my part) that today would be a brand new day.  How wrong was I?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This morning, I was running a little bit behind (as usual) but decided that I would get Ashley up before I was ready so that she could lay in her daddy and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;I's&lt;/span&gt; bed and watch Blue's Clues (or Cue Cue's as she calls it)... I figured this would give her some extra time to wake up before I needed her to function and cooperate.  This is not an out of the ordinary move for me, as we have done this countless times.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, I woke her up, gathered up her, her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;tassy&lt;/span&gt; and her beloved teddy bear and laid her in our bed, that wasn't quite right though, cause she wanted to lay on her Daddy's pillow instead of mine, as she usually does.  That was fine, didn't have a problem with that so she laid on her Daddy's pillow and pulled the sheet up for her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;After I finished getting ready I grabbed a pair of pants and two shirts (so that she could have a choice - she always behaves better when she has a choice and what's the big deal anyways?)  She does have a little mind of her own and so long as I pick both choices it's no skin off my back.  Grabbed a new &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;pull up&lt;/span&gt;, her no more tangles and some "tail" holders and went back to our bedroom.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The next 20 minutes were spent screaming, thrashing, yelling and crying.  Where has my child gone?  I had to "man handle" her to get her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;pull up&lt;/span&gt; off and her shirt on.  I wasn't strong enough nor quick enough to get the pants done.  Finally, I had to get up and leave.   She cried and screamed for me but I had other stuff to get ready.  I got the rest of the stuff ready and she came out of the bedroom with her other shirt.  I went and got the pants and attempted yet again to put them on her.  We wrestled, she fought, I fought, she screamed, I screamed.  Still, no pants.  So... I pulled the age old "do I need to call your Daddy", her response "yes".  I called him and told him of my situation, the situation in which I was about to go &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;friggin&lt;/span&gt;' nuts because she is B.A.D. bad and I can't take it.  The one in which I have been trying to put pants on her for 30 minutes, the one in which I know I am going to be LATE for work, yet again and there is not a damn thing I can do about it.  She wouldn't talk to him and eventually threw the phone down.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A few minutes later, still screaming and crying and now I've joined in on the crying because I'm at the end and I don't know what else to do.  I can't make this little human want to cooperate.  I can't talk her into cooperating, I'm helpless... all at the hands of a 2 year old.  She walk up to me, from just a few feet away, and began to brush the hair from in front of my eye as I hung my head down and she handed me the tissue I had used to wipe her nose.  Do you think she was ready to cooperate after showing she cared that Mommy, for some unknown reason was crying?  No.  She was ready to scream and yell and throw herself on the floor.  She said she wanted to call Daddy, so I did.  He told her again to get her pants on and simple as that.  Like "oh, you want me to put my pants on, why didn't you say so" she bent down and picked her pants up and started to put them on.  Are you kidding me?  This point, I'm still crying and I've shrunk about 5 feet all the way down to an inch.  That's when hubby tells me I need to do this and I need to do that to get her to listen to me and why are you so upset?  Some of which I know, some of which I feel I already do.  But at any rate I don't suppose it matters cause obviously none of it is effective.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So... finally I get her out of the house and into the car.  Crying for her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;tassy&lt;/span&gt; (which is not permitted other than at bedtime) and yelling about how she wants to give Kyle a kiss (that's the dog).  Ah, she's strapped in and now she is yelling for cheese.  She loves nothing more than string cheese.  Guess what.  We're out, I don't have string cheese, I only have cheerios and juice.  Do I need to even ask you if you think that will do?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Over the next 30 minute ride to work she cried and she screamed and she yelled between wanting cheerios and not wanting cheerios (thankfully she got over the cheese pretty fast), wanting her Daddy and wanting her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;tassy&lt;/span&gt;.  Now that's a long ride.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I explained to her, not long after our 30 minute drive began, in my very loving voice (I'm serious here) that Mommy and Daddy need for Daddy to work 2 jobs so that we can take care of her and buy her the things she needs, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;yada&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;yada&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;yada&lt;/span&gt;.  I know, sounds silly, that didn't work either.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;20 minutes into same I look back in my handy dandy baby viewer mirror and see that she is now, one arm out of the car seat as I drive down a dangerous 2 lane (1 each way) highway in the rain.  I had to pull over in some church parking lot to get the rouge arm back into the strap as just asking, telling or screaming at her to do it wasn't effective (which allowed the big miller beer truck that I had already passed to pass me.  Perhaps I should have waved him down and asked him for a cold one).  The rest of the ride scream, cry, yell was all about cheerios, Daddy, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;tassy&lt;/span&gt; and juice (the middle two items, unfortunately were not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;producible&lt;/span&gt; at that given time).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When we finally got to her school we went inside to the bathroom (they request that you wash your child's hands before entering the actual school hallway, which is inside the church).  Then she wanted to go potty.  Not a good thing at this particular moment.  In order to go potty she must strip below the waist because one could not possible go to the bathroom with their pants just pulled down or their shoes on.  But - she didn't want me in the stall with her.  She wanted to shut it and tell me bye bye.  P.S. Not gonna work, that toilet is as tall as her chest.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She wouldn't wash her hands so I did the best that I could and we left the bathroom.  We saw one of the teachers in the hallway and instantaneously there she was, my girl was back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We walked into her classroom she smiled, she gave me a kiss and immediately began playing with her teacher (who I did tell that she was B.A.D. this morning) and that was it.  No crying, no kicking, no screaming, just one happy girl.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm kind of wondering if this all does not have something to do with Daddy being at work on some nights.  When I pick her up from work we always have the discussion about whether or not Daddy will be home from work and I truly believe she understands.  The concept Daddy or Mommy or Nana or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Poppie&lt;/span&gt; is at work is not a new one but she seems to be worse off when Daddy worked the night before, thus meaning that she doesn't seem him the morning before, she didn't seem him that night and then he's gone again the following morning.  I know she misses him, and I know he misses her but what is a Momma to do in the meantime, attempting to hold it together, while Daddy is out there busting his so we can pay our bills?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Comments please, just not ones that tell me I am a bad or incapable mother as I really just don't think I could take that right now... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-2261261215422262743?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/2261261215422262743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=2261261215422262743' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2261261215422262743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2261261215422262743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/reduced-to-nothing.html' title='Reduced to Nothing...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-7163897195274475982</id><published>2007-10-25T01:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-25T02:37:21.606-04:00</updated><title type='text'>More Patience Please!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It's 2:00 a.m. I'm awake now, although yawning because after a rough night with Ashley I fell asleep on the couch after putting her to bed. Hubby had to work tonight and due to my falling asleep early, I missed his arrival home from work only "waking" for a few seconds, if that, to smile at him. I'm thinking now, that I hope I remembered to tell him I love him, but I can't recall if I did. Hubby usually arrives home from work (his 2&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; job, delivering pizzas) around 10:45 on the week nights when he works. Generally, I'm worn out from playing "single mom" for the night. Ashley listens to her Daddy much better than she listens to me, as I suppose I come off as a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;softy&lt;/span&gt; most of the time and when I do try to get tough, I suppose it comes across as being mostly a joke or that what I say, not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;necessarily&lt;/span&gt; is rule, but more of a suggestion for what I would like her to do (not at all the case). "Let's get your pull-up on", "no", kick kick scream scream, "I no like it". She's all 2, what can I say? I love her to pieces but there were clear moments of absolute aggravation tonight, however, I do think I was doomed from the get go with the impending arrival of AF. For some reason, will I ever learn, I also decided that I would treat her to a little sliver of chocolate pie (oh its the best), which I think contributed to the absolute meltdown that occurred as she told me she wanted to "watch Elmo Potty Time", after which time I turned it on she proceeded to run back and forth between me, the couch, the chaise lounge and bouts on the floor crying while turning it on and off, screaming "I no like it, I no like it" and "watch Elmo Potty Time". I'm not quite sure what the lapse in communication was but she was off the chain!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It's hot and steamy here in NC. It was only in the 80's today but it rained and the humidity is/was enough to melt a person. It's raining again now, something I don't think I'll complain over due to reading and hearing of the wildfires in California. Now that must be a time, an unimaginable time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyAzW8ADjWI/AAAAAAAAACE/k9MEGK71pNg/s1600-h/100_2702.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125152845104123234" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 258px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 199px" height="199" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyAzW8ADjWI/AAAAAAAAACE/k9MEGK71pNg/s320/100_2702.JPG" width="320" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night we celebrated our 3 year wedding anniversary with dinner from Chick-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;fil&lt;/span&gt;-a (I hadn't had it in forever cause the closest one isn't close and its sort-of a joke between Joey and I because we ended up going there on our "first date") and despite the steaming hot weather, hubby built a fire in the fireplace (doesn't it make sense to have your fireplace burning and the air conditioner on) so that I could do one of my favorite things and roast marshmallows over the fire. Don't I love &lt;u&gt;him&lt;/u&gt; the &lt;u&gt;best&lt;/u&gt;! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hopefully tomorrow will be "a better day", not that this one has been truly bad, just that I'm praying to more patience. I foreseen now though that I am bound to be tired beyond belief as it seems that even if you get an early evening catnap on the couch it doesn't help to count towards the normal sleep one (well me anyways) needs at night. You think that you would get credit for your nap, but it just doesn't work out that way. I think at this point I am mostly awake and mourning over having stayed asleep after hubby came home from busting ass to make ends meet and that I failed to even have a good conversation with him all day long.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;2:21 a.m. and my list of to-dos is not yet complete - I still have a lunch to make for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Ashygirl&lt;/span&gt; for school tomorrow and I need to get my clothes together for Curves - 2 tasks that I imagine if I had to complete in the morning I'd be 2 hours late rather than my usual 15-20 minutes as getting out the door in the morning is no easy feat. Might as well understand that I'm one of those people they talk about that will be late to their own funeral. What can I say, I was doomed from birth, it's in my blood. Good night, good morning, good day to all!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-7163897195274475982?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/7163897195274475982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=7163897195274475982' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7163897195274475982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7163897195274475982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/more-patience-please.html' title='More Patience Please!'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RyAzW8ADjWI/AAAAAAAAACE/k9MEGK71pNg/s72-c/100_2702.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-2865406020120045732</id><published>2007-10-23T14:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-23T14:38:02.958-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Anyone seen this teddy bear?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Rx4-_2GUuEI/AAAAAAAAAB0/qaV315uwX9Y/s1600-h/2168894276277a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124602692568922178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Rx4-_2GUuEI/AAAAAAAAAB0/qaV315uwX9Y/s320/2168894276277a.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I went to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-mart today to get an identical teddy bear to the one that Ashley has been dragging around day in and day out. The one that rarely gets washed and is beyond dirty. The one she takes to school and carries on the playground, the one she asks for as she climbs into bed every night. The one she woke up crying for the night I did decide to take it and "give teddy bear a bath". Do you think they had it? No. Do you think you can buy it on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ebay&lt;/span&gt;, yes, for $37.99 (it is out of stock on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Walmart&lt;/span&gt;.com but before it was I see it was reduced to $10.00 w/ 4 other items included). Next time you go to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-mart, do me a favor, take a peek in the infant/toddler section to see if this teddy bear is still in stock at your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-mart as my investigation has revealed it is discontinued.  I will pay you, just not $37.99.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124603049051207762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Rx4_UmGUuFI/AAAAAAAAAB8/k2faEEhg0F4/s320/2168893277.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-2865406020120045732?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/2865406020120045732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=2865406020120045732' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2865406020120045732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2865406020120045732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/anyone-seen-this-teddy-bear.html' title='Anyone seen this teddy bear?'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/Rx4-_2GUuEI/AAAAAAAAAB0/qaV315uwX9Y/s72-c/2168894276277a.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-3927433792185288843</id><published>2007-10-23T12:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-23T12:36:18.750-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pajamas</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So I wrote a blog yesterday, but am afraid to post it cause it has some info regarding a publicizied trial that boss man is in right now so I'll have to wait on that one until the trial is over, probably end of the week or so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is hubby and I's 3 year wedding anniversary. Has it really only been 3 years? Feels like more but not in a bad way, just in a sort of way kind of like 'what did I do before him or without him?'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby asked me what I wanted for dinner tonight and he would cook it for the occassion. I had not a clue but I was to get back to him before 12:00 to let him know. I called him at 12:05 and told him that I thought he should surprise me. He said he'd figured it would come down to that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I was on the phone with hubby I told him of the new and exciting plan that I have come up with. For Christmas I want for hubby, baby and I all to have matching pajamas. Doesn't that sound like the best idea ever? I told hubby regardless of whether he wanted to participate or not that Ashley and I would have matching pajamas. He said it would depend upon the attire that I picked out (I guess it can't be too loud or girly or blah blah) but that he was not completely opposed to being included in my venture however he did ask me where I came up with all the wonderful ideas that I have all the time, if there was a website I go to to search for random ideas to torture him with or something. Answer to that is: Of course not, it just comes natural to me - lol. So - I have spent some time this morning looking for matching pajamas. You would think that Old Navy or some place like that would have some of the same matching prints in womens, mens and children's but no. There are a few places online that sell matching pajamas for the whole family but I added some stuff to the cart to see how much it was going to cost me and I came to over $100.00. I guess the hole in Miss Salvation Army's wallet has tightened cause it's no longer a burning and that just sounds outrageous no matter how badly I think I want matching pj's for the fam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On another note, my daughter is contining to crack me up these days. She turned two on October 11th and has quite the vocabulary. The other day she said "I have hiccups, Mommy" and she did, she had the hiccups. (I had no idea she even knew what the hiccups were and she rarely gets them at that). Here recently she is on a kick where if you ask her a question that she doesn't like or perhaps doesn't know the answer to that begins with "why" she answers the question with "cause". Now tell me - how is it that my darling, who is just barely two already has enough attitude to answer a question with the one word answer "cause"? I thought that was my job as her mommy to answer questions in such a fashion - seems to me the only thing missing off that answer is "...I said so".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-3927433792185288843?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/3927433792185288843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=3927433792185288843' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3927433792185288843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3927433792185288843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/pajamas.html' title='Pajamas'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-5583200927149593327</id><published>2007-10-15T20:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-15T20:53:38.218-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Birthday Princess</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This past weekend we had Ashley's party for her 2&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; birthday. Attendees were: my Mom &amp;amp; Dad, one of my sisters, her 2 children (ages 8 &amp;amp; 1 1/2), Joey's Mom &amp;amp; "friend", Joey's older brother and his girlfriend as well as one of my friends from work. We had a marvelous time... or at least I think we did. There were no games and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;chaos&lt;/span&gt;, just family fun and socialization. Ashley really enjoyed having the attention, her finger nails being painted, the money put in her pockets (literally), the gifts as she careful removed pieces of wrapping paper placing them &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;directly&lt;/span&gt; in the trash bag provided and making sure that every scrap of paper was removing from the box before attempting to discover the gift she had been given, among other things. My house is empty (but tore up) now, as everyone had to go home yesterday (sadly enough as I don't think I nor Ashley can ever get enough of my parents, Nana &amp;amp; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Poppie&lt;/span&gt; to Ashley). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;One thing that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;surprised&lt;/span&gt; me was a gift that Ashley received, love and paid attention to. It was a gift from her Uncle Jimmy &amp;amp; Aunt Sharon (Joey's older brother &amp;amp; girlfriend). I had no idea that she would put this on and wear it. I wish I had a camera on hand to capture this little girl's face as I took her back to the bedroom to see herself in her crown and earrings once she had them on. However, although I do not have a picture of her expression it will be forever in my heart...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121730072412469298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RxQKXWGUuDI/AAAAAAAAABs/GuE2ZlNEhvE/s320/100_2659.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-5583200927149593327?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/5583200927149593327/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=5583200927149593327' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/5583200927149593327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/5583200927149593327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/my-birthday-princess.html' title='My Birthday Princess'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RxQKXWGUuDI/AAAAAAAAABs/GuE2ZlNEhvE/s72-c/100_2659.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-7769747382569620145</id><published>2007-10-15T14:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-15T14:24:48.437-04:00</updated><title type='text'>problem w/ slideshow</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It appears to me that my slideshow below is not always loading correctly. However, if you click on the little "view show" button it will bring it up in a second window and you will then be able to view the pictures of my darling child in her purple dora sunglasses that she wears all day everyday :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-7769747382569620145?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/7769747382569620145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=7769747382569620145' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7769747382569620145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7769747382569620145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/problem-w-slideshow.html' title='problem w/ slideshow'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-2650257806791966668</id><published>2007-10-12T20:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-14T20:57:46.503-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mike's Farm</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Friday Hubby and I joined Ashley on her first field trip. The field trip was to Mike's Farm. A neat little farm with fun things to do about 1 1/2 hours from home. I took so many pictures and tortured Ashygirl a great deal while doing so. I couldn't choose just one so I have created a slideshow for your viewing pleasure. Oh how I love this little girl...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="WIDTH: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://w103.photobucket.com/pbwidget.swf?pbwurl=" width="300" height="300" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; FLOAT: left; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" src="http://pic.photobucket.com/album/slideshow/wrapper_logo.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://s103.photobucket.com/albums/m141/lisebugg/?action=view&amp;amp;current=ea475d1c.pbw" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; FLOAT: right; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" src="http://pic.photobucket.com/album/slideshow/wrapper_viewshow.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com/redirect/album?action=slideshow" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-TOP-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-LEFT-WIDTH: 0px; FLOAT: right; BORDER-BOTTOM-WIDTH: 0px; BORDER-RIGHT-WIDTH: 0px" src="http://pic.photobucket.com/album/slideshow/wrapper_getyourown.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-2650257806791966668?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/2650257806791966668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=2650257806791966668' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2650257806791966668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2650257806791966668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/mikes-farm.html' title='Mike&apos;s Farm'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-3044326039763428846</id><published>2007-10-11T10:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-11T12:42:22.221-04:00</updated><title type='text'>10/11/2005</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Today my darling baby is turning two. With all my heart I can not find where time has gone. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I knew I was pregnant, I swear it to you, from the day that I conceived. I took 2 pregnancy tests that were negative before I was actually far enough along to have a positive one - and even then - I had no clue of what was yet to come. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I got pregnant 3 months after hubby and I were married. It was not planned, it was not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;un&lt;/span&gt;-planned. For some strange, odd reason I did not think (probably the invincibility of a teenager that still hung on inside me at 23 that I could or would become pregnant. (*not talking about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;premarital&lt;/span&gt; sex - simply speaking of all the things teenagers think could never happen to them*) Now silly, silly me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Over the next 9 months hubby and I fought and fought and fought - over anything and everything. I would say knock-down-drag-outs but there was no violence (other than one incident when hubby got so mad he ripped his shirt open, causing all the buttons to pop off - perhaps it was a superhero moment without the "hero")... Oh how I &lt;u&gt;laugh&lt;/u&gt; now. I KNEW - I was convinced - that our marriage wouldn't last that much longer - that I could take my baby and move. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Geez&lt;/span&gt; - the raging hormones (mine and his)! I hope he's laughing too - remembering all that we've been through as he reads this blog. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And then - a week late - I was induced on 10/11/05 @ 7:00 a.m. and was blessed and fortunate enough to deliver a 8 lb, 21", blue eyed, healthy baby girl @ 7:57 p.m. that same evening. Oh how I have loved her and loved her ever since.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;That was in Virginia. Between then and now she has grown and grown and many things have changed:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;1 house has been sold, 3 jobs have changed, 2 part-time jobs have been worked, 4 day cares, 1 house has been purchased, 1 truck has been sold, 1 ear surgery, many sickness, a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;gazillion&lt;/span&gt; diapers, 1 dog has seizures, many things have broken (cars, appliances as well as families), things have gone unpaid, we have done without, we have found a way, visits and travels have occurred, we have loved, we have laughed and most of all we have told ourselves not to ask if it can get worse because it will.... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;and so I suppose that is exactly where our time has gone... Here's to holding on to the next two years and continuing to realize just how precious and amazing life is. &lt;insert&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;insert&gt;Our Theme Song - for your listening enjoyment or un-enjoyment if it's not your style :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-642dfb6acd4fab64" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v8.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D642dfb6acd4fab64%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331467093%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D3FAEFC7F16A143368AE154D28B64E891E48DAC7E.5080A4D93A36B2A2D501F01787B4D28632BF7138%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D642dfb6acd4fab64%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3D1ECefgpOThY1BvO7RFLP71F_dzg&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v8.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D642dfb6acd4fab64%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331467093%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D3FAEFC7F16A143368AE154D28B64E891E48DAC7E.5080A4D93A36B2A2D501F01787B4D28632BF7138%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D642dfb6acd4fab64%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3D1ECefgpOThY1BvO7RFLP71F_dzg&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-3044326039763428846?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=642dfb6acd4fab64&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/3044326039763428846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=3044326039763428846' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3044326039763428846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3044326039763428846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/10112005.html' title='10/11/2005'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-3061639488013626985</id><published>2007-10-03T23:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-04T00:00:00.509-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Things go wrong and life goes on...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Yesterday, I called hubby on my way home from work, as I do most evenings.  When I leave work I go the couple blocks to Ashley's preschool, pick her up and hit the road to get home.  It's about a 30-40 minute drive.  In my opinion, not too bad... I don't mind cause there really isn't any traffic involved other than the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;occasional&lt;/span&gt; slow driver going down the 2 lane "highway" (they call it a highway but it really doesn't look like one too me).  Hubby was also on his way home, which was good news to me - knowing that he was gone all last week - I've been pretty worn out from my turn at being a "single" working mom.  Getting Ashley ready in the morning as she chooses to look at me and tell me "I need time out Mommy".  (She really is cracking me up these days - apparently she watches other children at school get put in time out and thinks its such a cool things, perhaps a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;privilege&lt;/span&gt;.  I've confirmed with her teacher that she herself has not been put in time out as of yet) and then to get home and do it all over again plus getting the "chores" done was really taxing me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So... there I was, excited that hubby was also on his way home from work and that he would be there to help me.  We live about 15-20 minutes from his work, however, in the opposite direction.  I let out my usual "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;yay&lt;/span&gt;" and told him we'd see him at home.  Not even 5 minutes later hubby calls me and tells me "I'm kind of broken down".  The nightmare of all nightmares seeing as we still do not have our "emergency funds" built up - to say the least - we can go ahead and say they really don't exist and won't until Christmas Bonus time (another huge &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;yay&lt;/span&gt;).  He explained to me that the car was still running but that the gear shifter was loose and was all but ineffective.  He called his friend at work, who he thought might know something about the car.  His friend came to get him and somewhere in that time he/they (I'm not sure which) managed to disassemble the console to figure out what was wrong.  Apparently some rubber piece that holds the gear shifter to the transmission cable has broken.  His friend took him back to work and his boss told him that he could use the company vehicle (don't get excited - its an old Explorer) so he/we wouldn't have to worry about how he was going to get to work (praise the Lord for that).  Today hubby called the Saturn dealership to find out how much it would cost to fix.  Apparently they choose not to fix the rubber piece that is broken, but instead, the whole damn contraption.  Estimate for parts and labor: $500.00.  Tonight hubby found the part on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Ebay&lt;/span&gt; for $22.00 (including shipping).  Please keep your fingers crossed for us that this works.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Second part of the story of things go wrong and life goes on picked up tonight.  Around 10:00 p.m. I was walking into the bathroom and stepped on a wet patch on the carpet.  I paused, looked down, nope, didn't look like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;muttly&lt;/span&gt; Kyle had pissed on the carpet so I thunk it to be even more odd and puzzling.  See - thing is this... the bathroom door is right next to the closet that contains our heating/air conditioning unit.  That's right - you guessed it folks.  Air conditioner is freaking leaking and the carpet is WET.  Hubby wasn't feeling like investigating so I got online and got the number for the home warranty company.  Looks like we are going to get to add another item fixed/replaced (to be determined tomorrow) to our Wonders of the Home Warranty List.  The lady on the phone told us - duh - that we needed to shut the air conditioner off cause that was the only way to make it stop leaking.  Check that box - already done.  So... we sit and wait w/ no air conditioning, at least it's not F-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;ing&lt;/span&gt; blazing hot this evening, we have ceiling fans and its only supposed to be around 81 tomorrow.   I'll let you know the deal of $55.00 trade fee for the home warranty gets us tomorrow. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My boss told me today that he feels sorry for us for all the stuff that has happened to us - it's been bad here recently (however, I know it CAN and WILL probably get worse).  Hopefully he will decide he feels sorry enough for me to give me a raise.  What do you all think - ha ha - yeah, I'm laughing too.  Until next time - here's to days when live goes on when things don't go wrong.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-3061639488013626985?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/3061639488013626985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=3061639488013626985' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3061639488013626985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3061639488013626985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/10/things-go-wrong-and-life-goes-on.html' title='Things go wrong and life goes on...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-7003925246630845405</id><published>2007-09-30T20:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-30T21:07:20.599-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I AM a Curves Quest Conqueror</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;2 posts in 1 day.  Go me.  Really, they were on 2 totally &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;separate&lt;/span&gt; topics so I thought I'd split it up in order to maintain my direction.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Last year hubby, baby and I spent Christmas at my parent's house in Virginia.  Since we got married (3 years ago) we developed a system (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;sucky&lt;/span&gt; but fair) of going to Thanksgiving at one of our family's houses and going to the other one for Christmas and then reversing it the next year (we grew up on different sides of the state, therefore impossible to attend both family celebrations for one holiday).  So we were with my family.  When we are at my parent's house we always attend Midnight Mass.  So there we were at Midnight Mass... in the middle of HIGH SCHOOL REUNION part VII.  You see, I moved away from the town I grew up in 5 years ago and have only visited since and really don't keep in touch with any of my "friends" from high school (with the exception of one or two) because they are not friends and therefore not worth the time, effort or heartache.  I guess you could say if there is anyone I don't smile and say hello to it's most of my high school class. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;.  I usually pretend they aren't really there.  But anyhow - there I was... thinking I was looking pretty good (I mean, I had just had a baby 14 months ago (who was I really kidding??? 14 months???) and if I didn't look as good as I did the last time they saw me I didn't &lt;u&gt;think&lt;/u&gt; I really cared.  Hubby loves me no matter what.  So as I sat there suffocating and in pain for my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;girdle&lt;/span&gt; like object jabbing me in the ribs and my fat roll expanding over the top of it (yeah, I'm sure that was hot) I looked around  (I know, I know... it's Midnight Mass - not really the H.S.R. part VII)  and began to feel more and more like s.h.i.t.  There were others that had babies.  There were others that looked fabulous and I sank.  I thought I had done pretty good without even trying or giving effort to it but perhaps that was my "light bulb on" moment.  My "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;tada&lt;/span&gt;" in which I realized I didn't feel good about myself.  I didn't even really feel like me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It was then that I began to think that maybe the whole of the 58 pounds I had added to my 5'1 frame during my pregnancy wasn't just going to fall off all by itself and although my body is forever changed (those that have had babies will know EXACTLY what I am referring to) perhaps there was something more I could or should do.  I wasn't so delusional that I dreamed I would ever be the same size I was in H.S. - fly on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;cheerleading&lt;/span&gt; squad but Hello - the remaining of the 58 pounds doesn't scream healthy, does it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So - after pondering and pondering and a few commercials later, when we returned home I decided I would join Curves.  Yup - you know the one.  The Curves that the 60 and 70 year old ladies work out at.  The Curves that couldn't possibly be a work out... I mean come on... It's just that ring of machines and walking platforms - better know as "The Circuit" 30 seconds on each one - are you kidding???  Well I am here to tell you - many inches and pounds lost later that "The Circuit" is EXACTLY what you make of it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;On January 5, 2007 I marched myself into Curves and said I wanted to join.  Owner, Lisa, looked and me and laughed saying she could tell I was going to be a very hard sell.  I got myself all signed up and have been going 3 times a week (sometimes more faithfully than others) since then.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I don't think I've ever stuck with any other exercise plan this long.  I appreciate that "The Circuit" is exactly what you make of it and while the other ladies march and barely puff along I can sweat my eyeballs out.  I appreciate that I now have many 60 and 70 year old friends.  Oh the wisdom that I have found there within those walls.  They've done it, they've seen it and they are more than willing to talk about it (you'd really be surprised).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I was afraid I would be looked at funny, that they would wonder what I am doing there and I think sometimes I am.  Sometimes, when women are there that aren't usually at the same time as me they ignore me, probably wondering why I've brought my 26 year old body in there to torture them.  But for the most part, I have found a sisterhood, a love and friendship that I never could have imagined.  We are measured monthly and the owner will tell the others that are in there working out how many pounds or inches the other has lost (they don't tell weight, just the amount lost) and we clap for each other.  When I am in a bad mood or feeling sorry for myself, I go anyways.  They are expecting me, they will be happy when I walk through the door.  We cheer each other on.  We love each other.  It is wonderful.  I love that place.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So... for the month of September there was a contest - Curves Quest.  Each week your goal to stay on the island (to complete the challenge) you had to come 3 times a week and complete one other challenge (like wear a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Hawaiian&lt;/span&gt; shirt or do a crossword puzzle).  I know it doesn't sound hard but getting there 3 times a week can be tricky for me.   I can only go &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;MWF&lt;/span&gt; because they are closed during my lunch on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;TTh&lt;/span&gt; (and after work I have to get my baby).  One time I missed because of lunch with my boss (so I went on Saturday out of town in VA) and then this past Monday I missed cause of the "sounds of summer in my wall - aka the crickets" - had to go home during lunch to post the eviction notice.  So - yesterday I pulled my tired tail out of bed and drove the 30 minutes down to the Curves I go to (it's near my work) and got my 3rd workout in for the week.  They are only open from 8:30 -11:00 on Saturday but I MADE IT and now - due to my dedication - going 3 times a week - No matter what and completing my challenge each week I AM A CURVES QUEST CONQUEROR.  Although I'm talking about some corny contest at my Curves where I go and do a work out that many &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;perceive&lt;/span&gt; to be nothing (but I promise you it's something) I am &lt;u&gt;so&lt;/u&gt; proud of myself (and I really hope I won the t-shirt).  Next month (can't believe tomorrow is October) we will be climbing "Curves Mountain".   Wish me luck!  Here's to a safe trek and another successful month!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-7003925246630845405?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/7003925246630845405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=7003925246630845405' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7003925246630845405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7003925246630845405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/09/i-am-curves-quest-conqueror.html' title='I AM a Curves Quest Conqueror'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-8528105044688412079</id><published>2007-09-30T19:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-30T20:17:04.191-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Pizza Delivery Boy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;That's right... this post is about the Pizza Delivery Boy. I have to admit that I really have a crush on him, although I also must admit that its really something more than that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When he comes to my house I can't help but to think about the wad of $1.00 bills he has in his pocket and the places that I could spend them or the bills I could pay with them. I only wish that I had the money to eat pizza more often. He may smell like pizza and other things of that variety, but it doesn't bother me to say the least. He has a full-time job and he's said that this is his part-time gig to get the job done, to get the bills paid and to help carry his family through rough times. Now that is what I call a man! A man so dedicated to his vows, to what he promised to do that he is willing to do what it takes to bring home the dough (hahaha) to support his family. Should I ever be so lucky. So there you have it, I'm in &lt;u&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/u&gt; with a married man but I think I'm probably prettier than his wife....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Wait a minute... I AM his wife. That's right folks, this is a tribute to my most wonderful, darling husband who has picked up a part-time job as a pizza delivery boy. Perhaps, when he's not delivering pizzas, he'll stop by and see that I love him, adore him and think that he's way more of a man that I could have ever dreamed of marrying and calling my own.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you Joebaby!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116155295056574498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RwA8ImGUuCI/AAAAAAAAABk/y4uvUh2DSSU/s320/100_2548.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-8528105044688412079?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/8528105044688412079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=8528105044688412079' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/8528105044688412079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/8528105044688412079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/09/pizza-delivery-boy.html' title='The Pizza Delivery Boy'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RwA8ImGUuCI/AAAAAAAAABk/y4uvUh2DSSU/s72-c/100_2548.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-3546030410687942618</id><published>2007-09-28T22:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-28T23:39:07.151-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hmmm...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Today I am compelled to write about one of those things "I think about blogging about during my day".  I think we probably all do that although usually when I find myself thinking of something I want to blog about I play it all out in my head, word for word and that works it all out for me, leaving not much of a reason to blog about it or make attempts to sort my feelings out.  But I'm just so baffled by what is going to appear below that I will blog although I've already pondered and pondered:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I was up to the Courthouse the other day.  Don't worry, nothing unusual for me as in real life I am a assistant/secretary of sorts to an attorney that concentrates in Admiralty/Maritime and Personal Injury cases.  So there I am, getting ready to go into the door to the Civil Division to file something and headed towards me in the hallway/foyer area are a guy and girl, of Mexican decent (or so I assume and would think it's safe to do so).  As I had my hand on the door knob I hear the guy say to the girl something in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;spanish&lt;/span&gt;.  Having taken &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;spanish&lt;/span&gt; for 3 years (mostly coasting through) I pick up on some words and often times can figure out the gist of the conversation.  He said something about '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;punta&lt;/span&gt;', motioned toward me, and promptly she turned to me to ask me where they needed to go to pay their car taxes.  I directed them accordingly and then proceeded in the door to the Civil Division.  Upon entering, Michael, one of the deputy clerks asked me what was wrong as I looked pissed off.  I told him, in my cheerful yet normal ditsy and kind of slow sort of way that I was just confused because some guy had just referred to me as '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;punta&lt;/span&gt;' out in the hallway.  I said "that's a bad word, right?".  He laughed and said he thought so.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Hmmm&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This evening after work I was going into a gas station.  As I approached the door 3 young men, of Mexican decent (or so I assume and would think it's safe to do so) approached the door at the same time.   They were looking at me, one says something about '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;punta&lt;/span&gt;' and another held the door open for me. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Hmmm&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I tell you.  I am not making this up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What I don't understand is this:  why is it okay to talk about people, in front of their face in a different language and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ASSume&lt;/span&gt; that they will not understand?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm not at all making the argument that they or anyone else that speaks another language needs to speak &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;english&lt;/span&gt;, because you see, that's just not my point.  It's not that I care that they were speaking &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;spanish&lt;/span&gt;... that's honestly fine.  It's just that I wouldn't go to Mexico or France or Africa or Timbuktu and call some random man a dick or some random woman a bitch in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;english&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;ASSume&lt;/span&gt; they won't understand me (and if I did I especially wouldn't ask them for directions after I did so).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So do tell... why do I keep getting called a '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;punta&lt;/span&gt;' as I'm busy minding my own?   (I feel the need to mention I am usually minding my own in a cheerful sort of way.  I almost always smile at people and often I add in a "hi" or "hey".)  I work on the philosophy of attempting to spread cheer, being friendly and I always try to be kind to others I meet (even when its really hard) as I TRULY believe that each of us is fighting our own battle.  But even if each of us is fighting our own battle how does that make me a '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;punta&lt;/span&gt;'?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I don't suppose I really expect an answer to what is more of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;rhetorical&lt;/span&gt; question -  I'm just smiling and confused in my normal ditsy and kind of slow sort of way.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Here's to days when I am not referred to as means things in languages other than my own...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-3546030410687942618?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/3546030410687942618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=3546030410687942618' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3546030410687942618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3546030410687942618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/09/hmmm.html' title='Hmmm...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-7849307994796485504</id><published>2007-09-26T21:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-26T22:17:11.861-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Being a Mommy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Being a Mommy is perhaps the most wonderful, fulfilling adventure I have ever been given the gift of. However, there are times, thankfully few and far between when I have to admit that I do not want to be a Mommy (or maybe I just wonder if I can really really handle it).   I know, I know, that's terrible but the times that I am referring to are the times that my baby is sick.  Those are the times when I feel so completely helpless, perhaps incompetent, when I would do anything to take it away from her and give it to myself, no matter the ailment.  I can not stand the feeling of watching my baby, the heart outside my body, suffer and feel bad.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She's only 2, so hopefully we have many more ailments, colds, fevers and other whatnot to come, due to the fact that the alternative would be life without her, because fact of the matter is that children do get sick and as my Mom would so endearingly say, the alternative is the "big dirt nap" (of which I am also terrified).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So I'm sure you are wondering what on earth is wrong with my baby to make me say all this.  Honestly, just a cold for the past 2 weeks and a fever that she had when I picked her up from preschool this afternoon.  I have watched stuff pour out of my darling's nose for the past 2 weeks, which I hate so much for her, for obvious reasons.  I found myself wondering tonight how her head feels and although she has been acting like her usual darling self until tonight I have wondered if she has been as annoyed by the "stuff" as I would be if it were my head or if that is more of a "learned behavior" to be so aggravated by it.  And now, the fever.  She didn't even want to eat dinner and I tell you this child has a very healthy appetite.  Looking at her you'd think she never misses a meal... and believe me, she doesn't when she is feeling well.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I held her for the longest time tonight because I didn't want to put her to bed with her head on fire as it was.  Held her for a good couple of hours and finally, a little while after giving her the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tylenol&lt;/span&gt; she began to cool down a little and doze off.  It's funny too, that I know, because she wants to be cuddled that she doesn't feel well, she has never been a cuddle bug, which has always been sad to me, however, nice at bedtime because even as an infant she always wanted to be put down and left alone to fall asleep.  No endless hours of rocking and soothing as she has always wanted to do this on her own.  I tell you what... she's Miss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Independent&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In her short little life she has been a reasonably healthy child and I do indeed count my blessing for that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Before we left the hospital 2 days after she was born we were visited by a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;pediatrician&lt;/span&gt; from the office I had selected for her care.  She had come to release her from the hospital so we could go home.  The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;pediatrician&lt;/span&gt; said that her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;bilirubin&lt;/span&gt; levels were kind of high and that they would let me take her home if I immediately called their office when I got home to set up an appointment for her to come in the following day.  Of course, I agreed and did so.  The next day we went into the office to have her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;bilibubin&lt;/span&gt; levels rechecked.  Results?  Levels were higher.  So, the next day we did the same.  Results?  Levels were higher.  This continued over the next few days with the same results.  There was talk of admitting her to the hospital for light therapy (as was done me when I was a baby) but the hospital where she was born did not allow babies to be admitted back to the nursery after they were discharged and they did not have other facilities.  That left us with the option of a children's hospital "over the water" or about 45 minutes from home.  Doctor's didn't want to do that so they contacted a home health agency to bring us a "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;biliblanket&lt;/span&gt;" (a unit about the size of a greeting card with a long cord attached that goes on the baby's back and gives light therapy).  She stayed on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;biliblanket&lt;/span&gt; non-stop except for diapers changes and rare &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;occasions&lt;/span&gt; for the next 2 weeks, during which time, every morning a home health nurse came and pricked my baby in the heals to test her levels.  The levels went up and down, up and down.  Doctor's were confused but decided the blanket was ineffective and to discontinue use while letting nature run it's course (after sending us to the children's hospital for a complete &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;hepatic&lt;/span&gt; panel).  Then, 1 night it was little my baby's body rid itself of the jaundice in a matter of hours (through a series of really odd looking diapers) and my nightmare in which I worried about liver function, brain damage and other terrible things was over as quickly as it began.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Last year we went through a major rash over ear infection of a 7 month period of time that resulting in hubby and I making the decision for her to get T-tubes in her ears.  The thought of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;anesthesia&lt;/span&gt; was terrifying to me... although the whole procedure took no more than 5 minutes total and she was back in my arms within 20 minutes I AGONIZED over it for MONTHS before I convinced myself that it would be for the best.  Since last December, when she got her tubes, she has had 0 ear infections and I realize that my agonizing made my baby suffer longer, leaving me feeling incompetent yet again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Other than the jaundice and ear infections we have been so blessed and thankful.  I live this life without the question "could it get any worse?" because if we don't all know, we should know, it can and it will.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So... now I'm questioning as to whether or not I should post this entry in which I admit that there are times that I do not think I can handle being a mother.  Truly though I always feel like I manage to keep my composure and comfort and soothe even if my heart is hurting so bad while my head spins with feelings of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;incompetency&lt;/span&gt;.  Please do tell... do all mothers feel this way?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For now, here's to having enough tissues and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;tylenol&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-7849307994796485504?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/7849307994796485504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=7849307994796485504' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7849307994796485504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/7849307994796485504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/09/being-mommy.html' title='Being a Mommy'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-6282687179463003709</id><published>2007-09-25T21:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T21:20:59.548-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweetness</title><content type='html'>Daddy is gone for work until Thursday so Ashley and I made him this video and sent him it to him via email... I had to share (hope it works!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-4833a9e25162163f" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v4.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D4833a9e25162163f%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331467093%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D6C019FD6D2A0ECD09B6C0FD1AAF8EB2C2E546E98.7D448DF8AE2F45D285B683401A1EA3007396B2A1%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D4833a9e25162163f%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3D_B1RFhsNSkn6Q0uLmCuMynACZ14&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v4.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D4833a9e25162163f%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331467093%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D6C019FD6D2A0ECD09B6C0FD1AAF8EB2C2E546E98.7D448DF8AE2F45D285B683401A1EA3007396B2A1%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D4833a9e25162163f%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3D_B1RFhsNSkn6Q0uLmCuMynACZ14&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-6282687179463003709?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=4833a9e25162163f&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/6282687179463003709/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=6282687179463003709' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6282687179463003709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6282687179463003709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/09/sweetness.html' title='Sweetness'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-1158029026537716561</id><published>2007-09-25T00:47:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T01:29:09.817-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Just a simple request...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;KILL THE BASTARDS. By "the bastards" I mean the sound of summer that is in my bedroom walls. Over the course of summer, from time to time I have heard crickets chirping in my daughter's bedroom wall. I never thought too much of it because it doesn't wake her up... well, if it does, she doesn't cry and I am unaware.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night around 3:30 I was awoken by the sounds and movements of hubby climbing out of bed seemingly pissed off. Of course, 1/2 asleep I asked what was wrong. His reply 'you don't hear that cricket?' (I'm pretty sure profanity was thrown in there, however, I don't remember the exact choice word and even so it probably won't be appropriate since I've already said bastard 2... oops... 3 times in this post). Before he hurled himself from bed and thrashed about I hadn't really noticed our little cricket friend chirping away in the wall and then... it was all I heard and sleep was done for the night. Apparently a cricket or two have taken up residence in the siding on my house, as the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bugman&lt;/span&gt; has told me they sometimes do in the fall, and has proceeded to chirp his little legs off all night. Finally, after realizing sleep was no longer going to occur I hurled myself from bed and went to the living room to browse the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt;. Guess what... the sounds of summer were in full effect in the exterior wall of the living room as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First thing, after arriving to work nearly 30 minutes late (I managed to fall back asleep 30 minutes before I needed to get up and then slept right through my alarm), I called the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;bugpeople&lt;/span&gt; that do our annual termite inspection. A cheerful voice answered the phone. The first and only thing I said before pausing for her response was "I have crickets in my walls". She was a little puzzled but said she would have the technician call me. I asked how long she thought it would be before he could come to my house and she said he would have to call me but it could probably be &lt;u&gt;some time this week&lt;/u&gt;. Well I'll be shitted and damned. &lt;u&gt;Sometime this week(???)&lt;/u&gt; and in the mean time my walls and singing and chirping. I figured that was the best answer I was going to get and told her thank you. Just an hour or so later I received a call that the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;bugman&lt;/span&gt; could come and spray in and out (I guess so the crickets don't get mad about spray being on the outside and decide to come in instead of go out) at 2:00 today. I live 30 minutes from work and only have 1 hour for lunch for I knew I'd be longer and later but I asked my boss if I could take a late lunch anyhow. He's a good guy and of course said that was fine. I called and scheduled my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;appt&lt;/span&gt;. 2:00 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;bugman&lt;/span&gt; came and sprayed... very &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;thoroughly&lt;/span&gt; too. I don't see many bugs in the house and I've never seen a cricket in the house but I figured it was best to let him do his thing. He was there about 45 minutes spraying his little heart out (even sprayed some of my fire ant hills).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;bugman&lt;/span&gt; left he told me if I still hear my little sounds of summer within a week to give them a call back and he would come bait them around the perimeter of the house. Good stuff. So today, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Ashygirl&lt;/span&gt; and I came home from work and on the front porch I found my first twitching cricket. As I watched him laying on his back... I gave an evil, evil laugh and didn't think much about it the rest of the evening. I fell asleep on the couch around 8:30 or 9:00, woke up around 12:00, made Ashley's lunch and walked back to the bedroom to listen for a minute. I cut the light on and stood in SILENCE and then... guess who got the last laugh? Apparently the brother of the twitching cricket on my front porch that has since been killed. I told him I'd get him but I'm not sure he was listening cause he still hasn't packed his stuff and left yet. Perhaps he's waiting for me to call him a cab.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So maybe, hopefully, pray for me, he and the rest of his crew will be gone within the week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Wikipedia&lt;/span&gt; has provided me with the following information:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In &lt;a title="Barbados" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbados"&gt;Barbados&lt;/a&gt;, a loud cricket means money is coming in; hence, a cricket must not be killed or evicted if it chirps inside a house. However, another type of cricket that is less noisy forebodes illness or death. (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Forde&lt;/span&gt; 1988) In &lt;a title="Zambia" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zambia"&gt;Zambia&lt;/a&gt;, the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Gryllotalpa&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;africanus&lt;/span&gt; cricket is held to bring good fortune to anyone who sees it (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Mbata&lt;/span&gt; 1999).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crickets are popular &lt;a title="Pets" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pets"&gt;pets&lt;/a&gt; and are considered good luck in &lt;a title="Asia" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asia"&gt;Asia&lt;/a&gt;, especially &lt;a title="China" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/China"&gt;China&lt;/a&gt; where they are kept in cages (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Carrera&lt;/span&gt; 1991). It is also common to have them as caged pets in some &lt;a title="Europe" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Europe"&gt;European&lt;/a&gt; countries, particularly in the &lt;a title="Iberian Peninsula" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iberian_Peninsula"&gt;Iberian Peninsula&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;a title="Cricket fighting" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cricket_fighting"&gt;Cricket fighting&lt;/a&gt; as a &lt;a title="Gambling" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gambling"&gt;gambling&lt;/a&gt; or &lt;a title="Sports betting" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sports_betting"&gt;sports betting&lt;/a&gt; pastime also occurs, particularly in &lt;a title="Macao" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Macao"&gt;Macao&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;The folklore and mythology surrounding crickets is extensive. &lt;a title="" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cricket_(insect)#_note-0"&gt;[1]&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The singing of crickets in the folklore of Brazil and elsewhere is at times taken to be a sign of impending rain, or of a financial windfall. In Brazilian history, the sudden chirping of a cricket heralded the sighting of land for the crew of captain &lt;a title="Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ãlvar_NÃºÃ±ez_Cabeza_de_Vaca"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Álvar&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Núñez&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Cabeza&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;de&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Vaca&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;, just as their water supply had run out. (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;Lenko&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;Papavero&lt;/span&gt; 1996).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crickets are omnivores and scavengers feeding on organic materials, as well as decaying plant material, fungi, and some seedling plants. Crickets mate in late summer and lay their eggs in the fall. The eggs hatch in the spring and they usually hatch in groups of 2,000.[&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SHIT. I have evicted the crickets that began chirping 1 night after hubby and I figured out we could and are going to be DEBT FREE w/in the next 36 months. Oh what have I done? Perhaps, if I'm lucky, they've mated in the wall and the eggs will hatch in the spring in #'s close to 2,000! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;YIPPY&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to hoping the windfall comes our way despite the eviction notice...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-1158029026537716561?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/1158029026537716561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=1158029026537716561' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/1158029026537716561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/1158029026537716561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/09/just-simple-request.html' title='Just a simple request...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-6932003123137729668</id><published>2007-08-20T22:07:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T22:25:13.668-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Battle Wounds</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RspM-i-xT8I/AAAAAAAAAAk/V_D-975NBgQ/s1600-h/100_2475.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100974165376192450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RspM-i-xT8I/AAAAAAAAAAk/V_D-975NBgQ/s320/100_2475.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RspMvy-xT7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/uiYglEwgFtc/s1600-h/100_2474.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100973911973121970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RspMvy-xT7I/AAAAAAAAAAc/uiYglEwgFtc/s320/100_2474.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RspLzS-xT6I/AAAAAAAAAAU/DMUfyGR9scM/s1600-h/100_2475.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RspLmS-xT5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/QLJzUk8kFzg/s1600-h/100_2474.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Meet my baby... and her battle wounds. Ashley has now been bitten 3 times at daycare. The last occurrance being today. Oooooh am I mad and oh aren't I glad we gave 2 weeks notice on Friday (school policy requires this) as she will be starting a new school on September 4th. The little boy that did this also bit 3 other children today. He has been suspended from school for the rest of the week which I feel good and bad about. We have to ask and wonder if a week from school at 1 year old is really going to teach a child they have done wrong and that "biting hurts". Here's to days without wounds. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-6932003123137729668?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/6932003123137729668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=6932003123137729668' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6932003123137729668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/6932003123137729668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/08/battle-wounds.html' title='Battle Wounds'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/RspM-i-xT8I/AAAAAAAAAAk/V_D-975NBgQ/s72-c/100_2475.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-5302710158901166580</id><published>2007-08-13T10:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-13T15:16:42.695-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Early Start to the Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When my alarm clock goes off at 6:30 a.m. (really 6:10 a.m. as it is set 20 minutes fast), I never ever ever actually get out of bed. I spend the next hour or so, until the very last possible minute before I'm going to be late and then wait 10 more minutes, before I actually get out of bed. It is then that I run around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get out of the door on time... to which never occurs. My hubby asked me why this is today when I made the comment that I really should get up that early every morning. My response: "Because I like to sleep more than I like to be on time". I guess I've been lucky so far, but not everyone likes to get out of bed minutes, much less a hour or so earlier than they really HAVE to. I am a sleeper, have always been a sleeper and will most likely remain a sleeper for the rest of my life. At any rate... here's the reason as to why I actually did get up when my alarm went off at 6:30 (6:10 really) this morning. Because Hubby, who was up and getting ready for work said to me, the split second my alarm went off for the very first time, "you might want to get up". &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Me: "Why" &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Hubby: "Because the hot water pump is leaking"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Me: "How bad"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Hubby: "not too bad"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Me: "Well is there water everywhere"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Hubby: "No, the washing machine was open so it's leaking into there"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;See... that's the beautiful thing. I always wondered why the damn hot water heater was suspended into air, 2 feet or so above my washing machine, boxed in, in such a fashion that I managed to hit my head at least once during each laundry session. And I always wondered how or why my husband hadn't managed to get us a new washing machine hose so that the washer and the dryer could swap places so the dryer would be on the right as nature intended. Now, I know why, so when the hot water heater leaks the water doesn't flood your garage and into the house... instead it just goes straight into the washing machine after which time you can hit the "drain" cycle and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;wa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;-la... problem solved. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;So... on to my next &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;wa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;-la... the most beautiful, ever useful Home Warranty. When we purchased our first home, a townhouse in the ghetto in Virginia, I insisted, without caring what hubby had to say that we &lt;u&gt;would&lt;/u&gt; be purchasing the home warranty. Total up front cost is around $400.00 and each time you need a repair that is covered there is a trade fee of $55.00... TOTAL. When we sold that house, warranty went with it, unused, of course. When we purchased our house in N.C. I insisted, once again, that we would be purchasing the home warranty. Cost was round about the same as the first warranty. The warranty lasts a year and can be renewed. You may think... but $400.00 is a lot up front and $55.00 each time something breaks? Do not kid yourself. It costs way more than $55.00 get get a plumber or electrician &lt;u&gt;to your door&lt;/u&gt;. Not to mention the cost of replacing said item that is broken and labor for the man with his crack showing to fix it should you not wish for your husband to tear something up worse trying to do so himself. That means, should our hot water heater need to be replaced today, which I just found out it does, instead of being sick over it, crying wanting to die... it's going to cost us $70.00 (the warranty people say we have to have some sort of valve installed that wasn't there before so we need to have it installed and they won't pay for it... $15.00 extra (I know that this really does need to be added because it is a safety thing we had to have installed to sell our home in VA). I shall keep a list of the items our home warranty, which has now been renewed one time, has so wonderfully replaced: &lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;On/Off valve for refrigerator water. Hubby and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;FIL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; managed to strip it while turning it on. You see... WE broke it... but for $55.00 they fixed it;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Built-in Microwave. The house had a built in microwave that began cutting out &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;occasionally&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; after 2-3 seconds. Damn-it. Then you'd have to reset the time &amp; date before you could begin cooking your food again. Try that happening 3 or 4 times when you are trying to warm something for 30 seconds. They replaced our 4 (or so) year old built-in microwave with a new one, Home Depot value of: $299.00;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hot Water Heater; plumber said the value on this would be $360.00. I asked hubby to ask him how much his total "parts, repair &amp;amp; labor" bill would have been put I have not heard the results as of yet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Now I shall keep a list of the items that I think I wouldn't mind if they broke:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Dishwasher. It has begun making this terrible, awful crying/groaning/whining sound as it transitions between cycles.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Heat Pump... I think it might be kind of old... but please, please, please on a wonderful spring afternoon!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;I have told Hubby that we will be renewing this warranty every year until they tell us "hell no". You see. Right now. I am laughing, I am care free over this, I'm not about to go over the deep end because of "one more thing that we can't afford but can't afford to live without". Oh the joys of owning a home. So for today, until tomorrow when I move on to other subjects I'm itching over such as motherhood or pressure washers... Here's to Home Warranties and fully operative appliances!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-5302710158901166580?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/5302710158901166580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=5302710158901166580' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/5302710158901166580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/5302710158901166580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/08/when-my-alarm-clock-goes-off-at-630.html' title='Early Start to the Day'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-3074211234704120441</id><published>2007-08-07T13:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-07T13:58:27.743-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Just another day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Although I wish I had something interesting to blog about, I can not say that I do. Same old stuff really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do have to comment that every time, without fail, that I take a day off work, my daughter ends up sick within the next week. I am currently awaiting a call from My School, my daughter's daycare, saying that I need to come and pick her up. They called me earlier and apparently she has been laying down all day and has already had one bad poopie. If she has another I will have to go and get her... and guess what... in the middle of that last sentance... as if I were psyhic... the call came in. I have to go get her. She's had another bad poopie and she didn't eat any lunch! Now I know for sure that she isn't feeling well. This baby is quite the chow hound! So I guess that cuts this short as I am off to get my darling baby from My School. Good afternoon and here's to un-sick days!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-3074211234704120441?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/3074211234704120441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=3074211234704120441' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3074211234704120441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/3074211234704120441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/08/just-another-day.html' title='Just another day'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-2982238555072835325</id><published>2007-08-06T13:51:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-06T14:19:02.227-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to the grind...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So hubby, my daughter, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;puppyboy&lt;/span&gt; and I went to VA for the weekend.  What a wonderful time but I am so sad today.  We left NC on Thursday night around 7:15 p.m. and arrived in VA around 2 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt; on "Friday morning".  I know it sounds "ugh" but it really wasn't a bad drive.  On Saturday we all had lunch with my Mom (she had to work) and then we took the kids to the neighborhood pool.  My daughter didn't care much for the water, I think she would really like it is we had the chance to go more often, but we don't have access to a pool in NC so I can't blame her, at 22 months, for fearing it.  Come to think of it, I'm glad she fears it at least a little.  At least she doesn't try to walk right off into the edge of the deep end as my mom tells me I did when I was little.  On Saturday we... well... what did we do... I can't honestly really remember and on Sunday, yesterday, we left to go home around 4:30 p.m., leaving us to pull into the driveway around 11:15 last night.  It was a nice long weekend, however, the nice long weekend ended way too soon, leaving me teary and sad today.  #1. I miss my "VA" family and #2. I am very sad that I will not have the chance to even think about seeing my "TX" family until next summer.  The moments I remember the most this weekend are those spent talking.  It's fun to get together, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;reminisce&lt;/span&gt; and tell stories and learn things about those close to you that you didn't already know.  And oh yeah, if I do say so myself, I made the most wonderful oatmeal chocolate chip cookies this weekend.  I have been craving them for weeks now but don't have all the stuff to make cookies at my house, so I hadn't been able to but since Mom &amp; Dad's house is full of all the necessities I baked some up and boy were they yummy.  I have the recipe and plan to bake more sometime soon!  Also, at Mom &amp; Dad's house it is always the BEST EATS of all time.  Steak, Kabobs, homemade french fries and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Klondike&lt;/span&gt; bars!  ALL the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;yummies&lt;/span&gt;!    &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I think one things that I will take away and laugh to myself from time to time about it how INCREDIBLY funny my nephew, T, is.  That kid, now I tell you has a promising future in stand up and the best part of it all is that he does not intend to be funny, which would make him not funny, it's just natural.  For example:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My hubby was upstairs in the bathroom shaving.   T came up and was flicking the light on and off.  Hubby jokingly says to him "if you don't stop that I'm going to tell your mom".  His reply... "or you could just give me a wedgie".  Now that's great.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then there was the time that T asked my hubby if he could stop his work (he had house drawings to do on the computer for work - he is an AutoCad drafter).  Hubby replied that he was really busy right at that moment.  T replied that he could "always stop for family".  Wake up call... for the record, Hubby agreed and obliged.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Another time, my sister, Mrs. Happy, was telling him something she did or did not want him to do.  His reply... "end of discussion".  And the best part of it all is that is was not disrespectful, it was not rude.  It was just sweet, innocent, hilariousness.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;T was full of the best comments and tidbits to add to conversation all weekend long.  Quite the entertainer.  I get the feeling that he gets it from his Dad, Mr. Happy, who, although I've only met once, I'm sure has just the same &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;delightfulness&lt;/span&gt; about him.  After all, I have heard that he is "delicious".  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;E, my niece, is also quite the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;cutiepie&lt;/span&gt;.  She is so mature for her age and my daughter absolutely ADORED her.  They had the best time (my daughter did anyways) playing together.  I mean come on, who else on this earth could my daughter possibly get to climb the stairs with her over and over and over again just cause she was too sweet to say "no" until after the 100 millionth time?  Too bad its a 20 hour drive from our house to TX (yes, I've already &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;mapquested&lt;/span&gt; it and looked at the price of plane tickets for next summer) or else she would make the most wonderful babysitter here in a couple years!   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I've also been amazed, even further than I was before, regarding the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;similarities&lt;/span&gt; that my sister and I have despite the fact that we did not grow up together.  At the pool we discovered we have the same bodies (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;, sorry sis) and although some other things may be considered coincidence, the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;similarities&lt;/span&gt; move right on down the line from parting on the odd side (although my Mom does this too) to which pickles are the best.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So I had the best time, seeing my Mom, my Dad, my brothers and sisters and my niece and nephews.  I love them all so much and wish for many more visits.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Until then, I think I'll be sad... Here's to a better afternoon than this morning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-2982238555072835325?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/2982238555072835325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=2982238555072835325' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2982238555072835325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2982238555072835325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/08/back-to-grind.html' title='Back to the grind...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7737298226880447414.post-2990901638797692727</id><published>2007-07-29T00:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-28T21:43:17.725-04:00</updated><title type='text'>At Last...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I've still not decided if I'll even tell anyone I've started this but after perhaps months of "stalking" other blogs (just 2 really), I have come. Perhaps it's rather strange or maybe it's just the nosiness in me, but I find other people's lives to be so interesting. My final breaking point you ask? After spending most of my free time this week reading a blog of a woman in the UK, I decided that although I may not ever be so interesting, it's only fair for me to post my own thoughts and share.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I am a daughter, a wife, a mother, a friend, a hard worker (when I'm not reading blogs) and a MK lady (well sort-of) just to name a few. I always try to give to others what I what expect back from them and often times I end up with hurt feelings when my efforts are not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;reciprocated&lt;/span&gt;. It's been said I am "too sensitive" but I think that's just me. Take it or leave me, and some have. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I live on the east coast of NC with my husband, my daugther and my dog and perhaps my current location, despite having grown up in the mountains of SW Virginia, is where I feel I am "meant" to be. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;My favorite place is the beach, not necessarily to lay out (although I have been accused of worshipping the sun from time to time) and &lt;u&gt;definately not&lt;/u&gt; to swim. Just so long as my toes are in the sand. I don't look good in a bathing suit, pregnancy and my love for food during such time left my body, particulary my stomach and thighs with the resemblance of having been circled by a train (aka strech marks). None the less, I don one and rest with the assurance that I'm probably not the worst thing out there. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I love to look for seashells and often find myself walking with the inability to leave due to the fact that &lt;em&gt;I just know&lt;/em&gt; I'm am going to find the prettiest, the most beautiful, rare seashell of all time. I remember the vacation weeks spent at the beach as a child. For a few years it was the family vacation of choice. I don't remember how old I was, nor do I remember anything about that trip apart from my Daddy and I walking the beach together one night. I don't remember what we were talking about other than finding the ultimate seashell... a conch... at that exact moment, in the pitch dark of night, with only the light from a partial moon and a flashlight... it was there, small, but right in front of our feet. I shreaked with joy and grabbed it up. I still remember the way I felt and perhaps that's why I have an uncontrollable urge to search and search for seashells and continue to walk the beach when I know for sure if I don't get going my lunch hour will be over and I'll be late for work. The desire for seashells and the search has been passed on to my daughter. She's a little thing but has already discovered the joy. Her Daddy doesn't tolerate it as join in as well as I would like but perhaps, maybe someday he'll understand. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I'm tired. I'm 26 and I'm tired. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I am alone on this Saturday night. Well not truly alone as my daughter is sleeping soundly in her crib and my puppy boy is busy pacing for no apparent reason. My husband is out for the evening, not clubbing, as he is a good husband, just merely taking advantage of a "money making situation". Despite my scaredy-catness I went outside on my back porch with the frogs, lizards, toads and other mysterious creatures lerking to contemplate. Among my contemplation I have discovered it, one of the main reasons why I am here:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I have a sister. A sister that I was not fortunate enough to grow up with, although growing up I was quite fortunate, don't get me wrong. I was a couple months away from my 18th birthday when my little brother and I were asked to sit down at the dining room table and my world changed. It was then that I learned of her. That was 8 years ago. We've seen each other twice and our third encounter is to occur within the next week. I love her and her family. She is my sister, of this I am sure. Not having grown up together you might think that we wouldn't have too much in common but its amazing to me how much alike &lt;em&gt;I&lt;/em&gt; think we are. She blogs here, and I read it. I feel close to her and have to admit I almost feel a little disappointed when she doesn't post, however, I've realized it's just not fair. She posts, I read and have only commented perhaps once. I come, I read, I learn of her, her life, what's happened day to day and I close the browser without her knowing I was there, without sharing anything of me, of my day. I don't know if she'll read this, I don't know if she'll pay it mind but at least it's here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I am a procrastonator. I don't do things I know I should. My days are filled with procrastonation. I think I'll leave it at that and talk about it some other day... you see... it's got the best of me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I have a peeve. If you see someone drop something, even if it seems to be of small importance to you, please stop them, pick it up, run after them, whatever you have to do, I beg of you... return it to its owner. I think this is my new found peeve. I probably can't begin to name for you all the things I've lost, dropped, misplaced but there are a couple that stick out in my mind with incredible hurt. The first is the blanket my husband and I brought my daughter home from the hospital in. When she was just a few weeks old I was taking her to the doctor. I had the blanket with me, over her diaper bag. Being a first time mom, I'm sure I had enough stuff with me, enough to fill a suitcase, juggling it all the while desperately trying not to drop my baby.... You see, I've always been an Overpacker. This coming from the girl that packed 21 pairs of shoes in a suitcase for a two week trip to TX for a family reunion around the age of 15. Anyways... I dropped the blanket, discovered it about 10 minutes later, went back to search and of course, it was gone. Do you think perhaps, even if someone didn't see me drop it, they could have, would have, turned it in to the front desk. No. The only way I find to comfort myself in this loss is that I didn't drop my baby, that I still have her and perhaps the blanket was wisked away to a very cold, less fortunate baby. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;My second loss is another close to my heart. MY beloved sunglasses. They were cheap, from Wal-Mart but I live for these things. I have to protect my baby blues, right? Anyways, dropped 'um in Wal-Mart. The rush hour of Wal-Mart. I have a hard time believing NO ONE saw me drop them. I even went back to search, all the while my daughter calling out for them "gasses, gasses". To no avail, they are gone, they are lost. And quite honestly, we just don't have the money to buy new ones, even cheap $10.00 new ones. Here here, that's a story for another day. So please, pretty please, next time you see someone drop something, do your best, give your best effort to see that is returned to its owner. I can't help but think maybe it's karma. I'm sure I've seen the same happen to someone else and not chased after them with all determination, but today is a new day and I'm gonna start over. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I've just gone back over my ramblings and hit the 'justify' button to align all the lines so they are even on both sides. I couldn't help but thinking, when I did, that perhaps this has something to do with the work I do in a law office or perhaps it was my way of trying to 'justify' all these random thoughts. haha. I'm sure I won't have (m)any fans but I do hope I've not bored anyone off that just stumbled across me. Here's to more interesting days...&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7737298226880447414-2990901638797692727?l=littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/feeds/2990901638797692727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7737298226880447414&amp;postID=2990901638797692727' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2990901638797692727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7737298226880447414/posts/default/2990901638797692727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://littlenothingsfromyheart.blogspot.com/2007/07/at-last.html' title='At Last...'/><author><name>Little Nothings</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04203455657087220061</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_un5C0sxq0dI/R1QksfsVMJI/AAAAAAAAAEo/AvcHabUbS1Y/S220/m_2af05aa3e9a1e65eb4fa59f1f566ec38.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
