<?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-4025715738398196085</id><updated>2012-01-12T23:37:50.478-06:00</updated><category term='Patrick'/><category term='Jason Robert Reyna'/><category term='Jason Reyna'/><category term='mourning'/><category term='sadness'/><title type='text'>Mommy Behaving Badly</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>59</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-22436613775635958</id><published>2012-01-12T23:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-12T23:05:54.534-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ahem....</title><content type='html'>So some assmunches (is that the correct plural of assmunch?) stole my laptop back in August. Along with a bunch of other stuff, but the laptop is most important in this case because it had all my 30 days of truths on it. And I got a little busy in there. All that parenting, working, Sick mother-in-lawing, wifing shit got in the way of blogging. Damn it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alas, I have passed all my certifications, I have taken over the Tiger Cub Den as Den leader and I just keep truckin with the whole sick mother-in-law thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her breast cancer returned in the lymph nodes. And we learned this week that the spot on her lung is indeed cancer. &amp;nbsp;She has it in 3 different areas. &amp;nbsp;The plan is for another 4 rounds of Chemo and then treatment with hormone therapy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like this to be done and the best possible outcome. Seriously. No More death or sickness. Just happiness and peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Dad had his rotator cuff repaired. So he's been a little gimpy, but progressing nicely. &amp;nbsp;Still freaks you out to see your Dad all bundled up in medical stuff in the house. &amp;nbsp;ACK!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is always an adventure. &amp;nbsp;I'm 36 now. &amp;nbsp;I don't *feel* 36. &amp;nbsp;I still feel like I'm in my mid-20's. &amp;nbsp;My Dad and I were discussing it and he said that he thinks you reach a certain point of higher&amp;nbsp;consciousness&amp;nbsp;and self-awareness and you stop growing at that point. &amp;nbsp;For him it was 19, for me I think it was 29. &amp;nbsp;When I because a parent to 2 children, that was it. &amp;nbsp;I think I've grown since then, but not in any leaps and bounds. &amp;nbsp;Now it's just about keeping it all in perspective (or as Dory says, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming".)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm fortunate to have the most wonderful people that love me. &amp;nbsp;Life always has surprises. &amp;nbsp;Friends come and friends go. &amp;nbsp;But the true friends that you love and love you back almost always find a way back into your life. &amp;nbsp;And I can appreciate that right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Spanish words/phrases learned this week:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pendejo&lt;br /&gt;No vale madre&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were others, but that's all I can remember right now (and really, pendejo is my favorite thus far, because I say that a lot in English).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, let's see if I can track down the rest of the 30 days of truth.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-22436613775635958?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/22436613775635958/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=22436613775635958' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/22436613775635958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/22436613775635958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2012/01/ahem.html' title='Ahem....'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-5955290958335887429</id><published>2012-01-12T22:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-12T22:53:38.126-06:00</updated><title type='text'>30 Days of Truth - Day 5</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Day 05 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;→&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt; Something you hope to do in your life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Interesting. &amp;nbsp;This could be taken one of many ways. &amp;nbsp;But I'm going with a Master's degree. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;I hope to travel a lot more. &amp;nbsp;I want to go back to Europe and explore that more. &amp;nbsp;I'd love to go to Africa, Asia, Australia, South America, etc. &amp;nbsp;Basically, I'm greedy in the area of travel. &amp;nbsp;I want to learn all I can and experience it all. &amp;nbsp;I'd love to see the Christ the Redeemer statue, etc.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;I hope to see our children graduate from college; see them married and have children.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;I hope to be a good person and an even better mother and wife.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-5955290958335887429?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/5955290958335887429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=5955290958335887429' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5955290958335887429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5955290958335887429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2012/01/30-days-of-truth-day-5.html' title='30 Days of Truth - Day 5'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-182795928624850265</id><published>2012-01-12T22:48:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-12T22:48:04.994-06:00</updated><title type='text'>30 Days of Truth - Day 4</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Day 04 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;→&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt; Something you have to forgive someone for.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Well, the obvious answer is to forgive Jason for taking Patrick away from us. &amp;nbsp;But I think I really did forgive him last February. &amp;nbsp;It's honestly not been an issue for me since then.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;So is this a cop-out answer? &amp;nbsp;A little bit. &amp;nbsp;But I'll try harder tomorrow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-182795928624850265?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/182795928624850265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=182795928624850265' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/182795928624850265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/182795928624850265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2012/01/30-days-of-truth-day-4.html' title='30 Days of Truth - Day 4'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-6592416038685177045</id><published>2012-01-12T22:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-12T22:46:35.270-06:00</updated><title type='text'>30 Days of Truth - Day 3</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Day 03 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;→&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt; Something you have to forgive yourself for.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;Not being the perfect wife/mother. &amp;nbsp;I try. &amp;nbsp;But my house is way messier than I'd like. &amp;nbsp;I have dog hair goobers all over. &amp;nbsp;I lose patience. &amp;nbsp;I sometimes yell. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;All in all, it could be a million times worse, but then again, there's a lot of room for improvement. &amp;nbsp;I feel like I owe them all so much more for the love and joy they give me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-6592416038685177045?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/6592416038685177045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=6592416038685177045' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/6592416038685177045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/6592416038685177045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2012/01/30-days-of-truth-day-3.html' title='30 Days of Truth - Day 3'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-101823797202079087</id><published>2011-08-24T19:51:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-24T19:51:27.059-05:00</updated><title type='text'>30 Days of Truth - Day 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Day 02 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;→&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt; Something you love about yourself&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;Thankfully, I'm not afraid to love things about myself just as easily as I hate things about myself.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;My sense of humor. &amp;nbsp;How awesome I am. &amp;nbsp;I generally succeed at most things I try (knitting being a glaring exception. &amp;nbsp;The Devil's craft, I tell you)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;I try to laugh a lot daily.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;I love my freckles and my eyes. &amp;nbsp;I love how Gumby looks at me when I'm all dressed up and how I get a completely different look when I'm dirty from head to toe and look like a complete tom-boy (completely different, but still means the same thing as the aforementioned dressed up look. &amp;nbsp;He's easy ;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;I love that my 30 days of truth stretched into almost 300 days of truth. &amp;nbsp;I've been lacking her on the writing scene since I started the new job.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"&gt;That's the other thing I love about myself. &amp;nbsp;I embrace this job and OWN IT. &amp;nbsp;It's is awesome. &amp;nbsp;Which means, I'm sure, it will change and no longer be awesome, but I will love until I can love it no more.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-101823797202079087?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/101823797202079087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=101823797202079087' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/101823797202079087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/101823797202079087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2011/08/30-days-of-truth-day-2.html' title='30 Days of Truth - Day 2'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-1545634078734744573</id><published>2010-10-13T08:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-13T08:51:34.718-05:00</updated><title type='text'>30 Days of Truth</title><content type='html'>Admittedly, I'm totally stealing this from an awesome blogger. &amp;nbsp;If you're not reading &lt;a href="http://www.avitable.com/"&gt;Adam's blog&lt;/a&gt;, well, you should be. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So basically, it's 30 days of me answering questions truthfully (duh). &amp;nbsp;I'm going to try to be very diligent about keeping up, but between family, work, school, etc, it may not happen everyday. &amp;nbsp;And I don't think I'll have internet on our vacation in 20 (!!!) days. &amp;nbsp;So there you go. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And with that, away we go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;Day 01 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;→&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt; Something you hate about yourself&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;Just one thing? &amp;nbsp;Golly. &amp;nbsp;It's so easy to hate things about yourself. &amp;nbsp;Most are trivial, but some are not.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;I think the one thing I hate most about myself would be my lack of motivation to work towards being healthier. &amp;nbsp;Losing weight. &amp;nbsp;I want to. &amp;nbsp;But let's be honest. &amp;nbsp;It's easier to be overweight. &amp;nbsp;I keep wanting to work out or eat healthier. &amp;nbsp;But I just don't. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;And it's lame, lazy, pathetic on my part. &amp;nbsp;I can do it. &amp;nbsp;I've done it before. &amp;nbsp;It's not that I can't do it. &amp;nbsp;So that's what I hate most about myself at this moment in time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #333333; font-family: &amp;quot;Georgia&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;That said, all I want is a cool pair of tall boots. &amp;nbsp;That fit my freakin' calf. &amp;nbsp;I don't have a huge calf, but obviously, it's larger that the "standard" size. &amp;nbsp;And it's just frustrating. &amp;nbsp;ARGH! Clearly, losing weight would help with this issue as well. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-1545634078734744573?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/1545634078734744573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=1545634078734744573' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1545634078734744573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1545634078734744573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2010/10/30-days-of-truth.html' title='30 Days of Truth'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-69903451823388894</id><published>2010-10-11T08:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-11T08:50:07.649-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Wait, where did summer go?!?</title><content type='html'>Bah. &amp;nbsp;Fall is here. &amp;nbsp;It's been beautiful this past week, absolutely gorgeous. &amp;nbsp;Which has been nice. &amp;nbsp;Prior to that, we were panicked about getting the boiler working so we actually had heat in our house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were never really able to test the boiler during our inspection, but presumed because it was new from 2004, that it would probably be OK. &amp;nbsp;Yeah, not so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gumby and my FIL had to replace the motor in the boiler and then some pump thingy (I know, very technical of me. &amp;nbsp;You're astounded by my in-depth understanding of a radiant heating system, aren't you?). &amp;nbsp;Then there needed to be some repairs made to the copper pipes they replaced (apparently they sucked at unions, so it leaked at each of the unions).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So&amp;nbsp;voile! &amp;nbsp;One night, they got it going. &amp;nbsp;And then left for the Home Depot. &amp;nbsp;And I was going through Baby Girl's dresser with her going through summer and winter clothes to see what we should keep, what needed to be donated, etc. &amp;nbsp;And it was getting hot in her room. &amp;nbsp;And then it really started to get hot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At which point the puppy barked to go outside (oh, yeah, we got a puppy, more on that to come). &amp;nbsp;So I took Sparky out and when I walked back into the house, it was like a freakin' sauna. &amp;nbsp;I checked the thermostat and &amp;nbsp;it was set at 80 (holy crap people!). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out someone (honestly, not us!) painted over the thermostat several times. &amp;nbsp;So it couldn't accurately detect the temperature. &amp;nbsp;So, we now have a new thermostat :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kids are in school full time. &amp;nbsp;Baby Girl seems to be having a touch of trouble with behavior. &amp;nbsp;We've had to have a discussion at least once a week since she's returned. &amp;nbsp;Thankfully Little Man had one instance of not behaving, I had my discussion (Ok, more of a Come to Jesus discussion) and he's been sweet as can be since. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Baby Girl is trying my patience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;School started back up for Gumby and I. &amp;nbsp;And let me once again declare my hatred for group projects. &amp;nbsp;They suck in general.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have adopted a black lab mix from the Humane Society. &amp;nbsp;He's adorable, growing at a freakish rate (perfect fit in this family!) and too smart for his own good. &amp;nbsp;We will need to start puppy school when we get back from our vacation next month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gumby and I went to Farm Aid last weekend. &amp;nbsp;It was amazing and I'm glad we went. &amp;nbsp;Any excuse to see Dave Matthews, right? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that, I must return to homework. &amp;nbsp;Ugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-69903451823388894?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/69903451823388894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=69903451823388894' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/69903451823388894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/69903451823388894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2010/10/wait-where-did-summer-go.html' title='Wait, where did summer go?!?'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-4988660146394751333</id><published>2010-07-31T08:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-07-31T08:46:53.341-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The move is complete (mostly)</title><content type='html'>Well, we moved this past week. &amp;nbsp;A frickin' nightmare, but it always is. &amp;nbsp;We hate moving. &amp;nbsp;The only things worse are dead brothers and cancer ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bathroom is mostly done. &amp;nbsp;Still can't shower, but that it OK for a few days. &amp;nbsp;Hopefully by the end of the weekend, we'll be able to shower. &amp;nbsp;When Gumby and his Dad started to do a few tweaks to the bathroom, it turned it a full-on gutting of the bathroom. &amp;nbsp;There was mold everywhere. &amp;nbsp;Alas, it's looking great and we're just waiting for the dumb tub enclosure to finish adhering to the wall correctly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did manage to get the living room, dining room and all bedrooms painted before we moved in. &amp;nbsp;There is still trim and cutting in to be done, but that can be done while we're here. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our new refrigerator is being delivered this morning. &amp;nbsp;Very exciting. &amp;nbsp;Plus it will be nice to finally have a fridge and we can eat at home rather than going out to eat for each meal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, there are hiccups, but the move has been positive. &amp;nbsp;We have too much shit, but we knew that. &amp;nbsp;But I'm very content and exciting for what the future holds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We go camping next week, which will be nice. &amp;nbsp;State Fair starts in 5 days. &amp;nbsp;Summer is winding down. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's gone by much too quick. &amp;nbsp;I'm signed up for classes in the fall to continue for my Bachelor's degree. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The in-laws celebrate their 39th anniversary today by going to a funeral for their friend's grandson that committed suicide. &amp;nbsp;There's so much wrong with that statement, I will leave it at that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-4988660146394751333?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/4988660146394751333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=4988660146394751333' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4988660146394751333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4988660146394751333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2010/07/move-is-complete-mostly.html' title='The move is complete (mostly)'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-4232269906122038130</id><published>2010-06-28T08:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-28T08:50:08.519-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome summer, how I've missed you old friend.</title><content type='html'>Summer finally arrived. &amp;nbsp;And a lot has gone on in the past few months since I last blogged. &amp;nbsp;I just haven't been able to face it. &amp;nbsp;But it's time. &amp;nbsp;We are moving on, which is a good thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's see. &amp;nbsp;I graduated with my Associate's degree in May. &amp;nbsp;With honors and everything! &amp;nbsp;Gumby realized that he graduated with higher honors than me (which I had immediately realized, being much too competitive! &amp;nbsp;I just chose to not mention it ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We bought a house. &amp;nbsp;It's super-cute and very much a fixer-upper. &amp;nbsp;I'm not even sure how we're going to fix it up by the time we move in at the end of July. &amp;nbsp;We are in the process of getting a grant from the city of Milwaukee to help with the rehabilitation. &amp;nbsp;Hopefully by this week we'll be set with that as it's going to pay for our new windows and roof. &amp;nbsp;There's a lot of other putzy stuff that needs to be done, but it will be great when it's finally done. &amp;nbsp;And it's OURS. &amp;nbsp;No more rent. &amp;nbsp;No more landlords. &amp;nbsp;It's very exciting. &amp;nbsp;A tad smaller than where we currently live, but we'll survive (though, the 1 bathroom situation may kill me!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The children had their birthday's and Baby Girl graduated from K5. &amp;nbsp;Next year they will both be in school full-time, which is hard to imagine. &amp;nbsp;I'm not ready to not have a child home with me. &amp;nbsp;But I guess with all the work the house needs, it's not the worst thing in the world!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hours will be cut next week at the Pharmacy. &amp;nbsp;Well, not just me. &amp;nbsp;The entire Pharmacy lost almost 40 hours per week, so a lot needs to be cut. &amp;nbsp;Unfortunately, I think I shall be hit hard. &amp;nbsp;Eventually it will turn around, but in the meantime, it will be a touch brutal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have started swim classes again. &amp;nbsp;They are both doing amazingly well. &amp;nbsp;And I love the time at the park to just read a book and enjoy the summer sun (which I did get yelled at last week by my doctor for...oh well).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday we went up to the Dells. &amp;nbsp;We had free coupon books from the radio station. &amp;nbsp;As we arrived at the Ducks I heard my name and knew I was being yelled at by a family member, but didn't know who. &amp;nbsp;Suddenly I saw my Aunt in the van that had just pulled in, waving and laughing. &amp;nbsp;So we met up with a good chunk of family, completely unintentionally, but had a blast. &amp;nbsp;We did the Ducks, the Robot Exploratory and the Jet Boat tour with the family and had a blast. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They headed home and we headed for dinner (curse my weak stomach...it had been a few hours since we'd eaten and I normally get sick on boats. &amp;nbsp;I seem to do OK on the calm Wisconsin River, but the lack of food, I was getting ill). &amp;nbsp;We were going to go home, but the children were set on going mini-golfing, so we did. &amp;nbsp;I actually did well and kicked Gumby's butt for once at it. &amp;nbsp;I got a hole in 1 on the last hole. &amp;nbsp;Baby Girl got a hole in 1 on her first hole and Little Man also had one somewhere in there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a long drive back (2 hours). &amp;nbsp;Baby Girl made it the majority of the way before she passed out. &amp;nbsp;Little Man didn't even make it out of the county before he was asleep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realized on the way home that it was almost 15 years to the day of our fateful first date (and nearly our last) to Noah's Ark in the Dells. &amp;nbsp;It's interesting to think of where we started and where we are now and Lord only knows where we're headed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ended last night's adventure by coming across a drunk driver. &amp;nbsp;We called 911 and followed them. &amp;nbsp;The operator had us and the car that he nearly hit kind of corral him to help the Sheriff's Deputy find him. &amp;nbsp;He was arrested almost immediately. &amp;nbsp;Gumby said to the Sheriff, "I didn't know you could fail a field sobriety test that quickly." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh yeah." was simply the response from the Deputy. &amp;nbsp;We gave a statement and headed home. &amp;nbsp;Trying not to ponder it all too much. &amp;nbsp;Because really, that was not something I wanted to ponder last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still miss Patrick. &amp;nbsp;But I don't find myself in a crippling depression anymore. &amp;nbsp;Which is a good thing. &amp;nbsp;I know Mother's Day and Father's Day were the worst for my in-laws. &amp;nbsp;We celebrated the days on the Saturday before this year (as I had to work on both days and then hang with my family). &amp;nbsp;That seemed to make it easier on them to not have to pretend on the actual day that everything was OK and they aren't missing 1/3rd of their children. &amp;nbsp;My MIL shared this with me a few days after Father's day. &amp;nbsp;I think we will do this in the future so they can have their day's to mourn, which is inevitable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we continue to try to side-step the pain that will sometimes sneak up on us, but all in all, we're doing quite well. &amp;nbsp;I'm sure Patrick is very proud of us,&amp;nbsp;wherever&amp;nbsp;he is stirring up trouble now. ;) &amp;nbsp;But at least he knows he is loved and remembered.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-4232269906122038130?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/4232269906122038130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=4232269906122038130' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4232269906122038130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4232269906122038130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2010/06/welcome-summer-how-ive-missed-you-old.html' title='Welcome summer, how I&apos;ve missed you old friend.'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-1568141509295042039</id><published>2010-03-02T07:57:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T08:48:14.332-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Patrick'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jason Robert Reyna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jason Reyna'/><title type='text'>You know, guilt and everything</title><content type='html'>Last week I traveled with my Mother-in-Law to California.  Patrick's killer was being sentenced.  We were going to speak at the sentencing (which really, was a waste of time, but whatever.  I'll get to that.)&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was a bit of a hellish trip there.  The airline was late on both portions of our flight.  We started traveling around 1 PM, CST and were in our rental car by 8:30 PM, PST.  With a 2 hour drive ahead of us.  Ugh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We stayed at a Casino that was about 45 minutes outside of Joshua Tree (good thing too, there is not much in Joshua Tree, much less anything comfortable enough for my somewhat fragile MIL...you know, whole neck and back fusions and all).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Casino was comfortable, though I was a bit appalled when they had a game room for children.  Mere feet away from the gambling floor.  Start 'em young I guess.  I'm pretty sure children are not allowed anywhere near the gambling floor here, but I don't frequent Casino's enough to be certain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was nice to wake up and be outside without a jacket and be comfortable.  The air was chilly in the morning, but the equivalent of a late spring morning here.  The courthouse was woefully small.  I think the city of New Berlin has a bigger courthouse.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We met immediately with the Victim Advocate.  Eventually we met with the District Attorney who went over everything.  And it turns out that he was not serving 3 months in jail like we were lead to believe.  No, he's going to serve 6 months of house arrest with a SCRAM bracelet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;blink::blink&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Say what?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;blink::blink&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yeah.  So, he was drunk and killed someone and is getting 6 months of house arrest.  3 years of probation.  He has lost his driver's license and will never be able to drive anywhere again.  That would be a blow to me, so I that's appropriate in my mind. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But no jail time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was a bit of a blow there in the little room we were sitting in.  And at the same time, acceptance.  Because really, what are we going to do?  Scream at the judge how unfair it is?  Hardly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Instead, we walked into court and saw his killer.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And he was alone.  No family supporting him.  No friends.  Simply his attorney.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He stood before the Judge and said he understood what he was pleading guilty to.  He stood at military attention as the Victim Advocate read my Father-in-Law's statement.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He stood alone as I read &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Gumby's&lt;/span&gt; very angry statement, as I tried very hard to not sob too much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As I read my own statement.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And as I read something from a dear friend of Patrick's.  It was well written and more positive than anything else I could have written before that moment.  They are words that I knew going into this that I had to accept as what I needed to do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I struggled through it all, turned to see most of the courtroom crying (ha!  See, I can do dramatic!  I'm no one-trick comedic pony!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When it was done, we were asked if we wanted a personal apology, "Fuck no" was my immediate response (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;, I'm not always the most gracious creature).  But my Mother-in-law said yes.  Damn it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We were taken back to the small office as we went over everything and then the Victim Advocate noticed his attorney left before he apologized.  She went and checked and it was decided he much not be "able to do it".  So that was that.  He's not allowed to speak to us.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, that's a little anti-climatic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, you know.  I don't like open ends.  I excused myself to go to the bathroom.  And when I came out, there he sat.  Completely alone.  Even his attorney left him.  You see where this is going, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Again, not one to let sleeping dog lie, I walk up to him.  He sees my shoes (because he stared at the floor the entire time) and looks up at me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"You need to do right by him for me."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;blink::blink&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I'm sorry, ma'am?"  (good Christ, do I look like a ma'am?!?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"You need to do right by him for me."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Yes ma'am, I will."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I turned to leave and he said, "I really am sorry."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I somewhat snorted, looked back at him and said, "Yeah, I'm sorry too."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because I'm sorry for vilifying him for the past year.  I'm sorry for all the bad thoughts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because Uncle &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Kage&lt;/span&gt; is right.  He is a young man that made a seriously horrible mistake.  That we have paid dearly for.  That Patrick paid dearly for.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But this young man has lost his future.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hope that he will be able to move past this.  To never forget, but to learn from it and have a meaningful life.  To not let that mistake be his defining moment.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And so the hatred turns to compassion.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Which is good.  Hatred and anger are not good for my constitution.  It's never really been something I'm good at.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I miss Patrick so much.  And I just don't understand why Jason's family was not with him.  We would give anything to have Patrick back, to hold him, to support him.  And I hope them not being there was for a good reason (though, there are few that come to mind).  I hope they have not turned their backs on him.  Because he needs them now, more than ever.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm such a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' Mom.  Ugh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So it was a hard day.  And I took the Mother-in-law to do the one thing that always makes her smile, YARN SHOPPING!!!!  Oy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We stayed at a very nice Hilton in San Diego.  The next day we were going to go to Downtown Disney, but holy cats did it rain.  We didn't get very far and there were minor mudslides (ah, you know, trees slid down onto the freeway).  We turned around and went shopping at Horton's Place in downtown San Diego.  Which was weird because Lynne immediately realized she had been there with Patrick when he was stationed there.  and then I looked at the bank in front and realized I had been there when Patrick was stationed there.  Very trippy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next day we went to Disneyland.  It was time for some fun, to try and relieve the stress and sadness that the trip held to that point.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Disneyland was cool.  It's very bizarre, because it's set up very similar to DisneyWorld, but some is different, so I would get confused when trying to navigate.  It was crazy busy, but thanks to my MIL being gimpy, we got priority on most of the rides.  Yeah to disability!  (kidding!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will say, I think Pirates of the Caribbean is cooler in DL than in DW.  And I almost think the Haunted Mansion is better there too.  I have a slight tan, which is cool.  Got a very cool "Jack" hoodie from "The Nightmare before Christmas".  I had wanted it desperately in DW, but could never find a 2x.  For whatever stupid reason, both my MIL and I left our jackets in the rental car and it did get cold that night so we were "forced" to buy something warm.  I still never found the "Jack" hoodie in bigger than an xl, but sucked it up.  It fits, I just don't have as much room as I normally like in a sweatshirt.  Hopefully it won't shrink ;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We came home yesterday.  It wasn't so bad coming home, though we didn't have time to eat lunch in Denver as our plane was late arriving, so our layover was pretty much gone.  Luckily we had snacks in our carry-on, so we survived on Cheeto's until we got back.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Final note...holy crap the airport in Milwaukee is getting busy.  It was like Chicago busy last night.  It's good for the economy, but annoying as shit when all you want to do is get out of the freakin' airport.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-1568141509295042039?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/1568141509295042039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=1568141509295042039' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1568141509295042039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1568141509295042039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2010/03/you-know-guilt-and-everything.html' title='You know, guilt and everything'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-771670831018329796</id><published>2010-02-18T08:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T07:57:44.837-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Patrick'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sadness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mourning'/><title type='text'>Year One</title><content type='html'>At approximately 5:52 PM, PST we lost Patrick one year ago today.  In many ways, the year has been a paradox.  Sometimes the time has just flown by, so much madness, craziness, sadness.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Other times, the year has been the longest of our lives.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm tired of harping that this was such a senseless and unnecessary loss.  No shit.  But I still can't wrap my head around it sometimes.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I don't need to wrap my head around it.  Because it doesn't make sense.  And it isn't fair.  And yes, it sucks monkey-butt.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I leave with my Mother-in-law in exactly one week for California.  For what I expect will be the most difficult trip of my life, thus-far (and hopefully, will remain my most difficult trip for the rest of my life!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will face Patrick's killer.  I will do my best to remain composed, to honor Patrick's memory.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And when it's done, he'll serve his 3 months in jail and then go about his life.  Maybe he will live a better life as result.  Maybe he'll rise to the occasion and honor Patrick's memory and attempt to give back to the world a little bit of what he took from it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But after Friday, I don't care anymore.  I don't have to.  He will officially be part of the past and something I cannot dwell on.  I need that piece of this cluster-fuck to be in the past.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;God-bless my in-laws for being so much more gracious than me in all of this.  For having forgiveness in their hearts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I still don't.  I'm not angry anymore (much), but I simply cannot forgive him for what he took from me, from my family and from this world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And for now, I'm OK with that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-771670831018329796?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/771670831018329796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=771670831018329796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/771670831018329796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/771670831018329796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2010/02/year-one.html' title='Year One'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-3274605934354127471</id><published>2010-02-16T08:20:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-16T08:29:37.982-06:00</updated><title type='text'>February midpoint</title><content type='html'>Things have been crazy with school and work and an internship and everything else that is going on in our lives.  I'm doing well in school (though, I should be doing homework right now, not goofing off on the computer).  Alas, the kids are adjusting as well.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They are with Grandma and Grandpa on Tuesday nights until about 6:30 and then Grandma and Grandpa come to our house on Thursdays.  I'm only working one night during the week, which sucks financially, but is really nice on every-other front ;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have signed up for 2 more sewing classes (since stinkin' Joann canceled my fleece robe one!  Jerks.)  Hopefully they will come to fruition (doubt it only because they are day-time classes during the week).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Gumby and I are dominating our Marketing class.  It's actually rather entertaining.  Normally it's one or the other when we have classes together, but we're tag-teaming this one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have not gotten very far with the Victim Impact Statement.  Not exactly easy.  Plus I can't remember where I saved what I already started, heh.  Gumby upgraded all the computers which wiped out the normally "recently saved docs" paths that I leave all over.  Time to do a search, I guess.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thursday is the anniversary of Patrick's death.  This isn't going to be easy.  The realization that it's been a full year.  A year since I spoke to him (which that's probably today...I think this was the last time I spoke to him).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And at the end of the day, we still miss him terribly.  While it's gotten easier, it's certainly not easy by any stretch of the imagination.  Which sucks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-3274605934354127471?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/3274605934354127471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=3274605934354127471' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3274605934354127471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3274605934354127471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2010/02/february-midpoint.html' title='February midpoint'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-1748887666482625833</id><published>2010-01-24T15:55:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-24T16:10:43.555-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Quiet Moment</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; took the children to his Fantasy Football meeting and I left work a few hours early, so here I am ALONE.  This doesn't happen often, unplanned alone time.  When I'm done with this post, I'm moving to laundry and packing up some things I've sold online over the past few days (woo &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hoo&lt;/span&gt;!).   Then it will be time for the piles of homework that I have waiting for me.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have a marketing paper due this coming Thursday, homework for my Tuesday writing class (which, I have not received my book yet and subsequently cannot do my homework, damn it) and then lots of studying and homework for the pharmacy tech certification.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Oy&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was a panicked, crazy week.  We got word that the driver that killed Patrick has pleaded guilty *FINALLY* to the charges and would be sentenced this Monday.  I quickly made reservations for my MIL and I to go to California only to find out there was a mistake in the system and the actual sentencing isn't until February 26&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But the development of his guilty plea and the sudden realization of it all was overwhelming.  I have to write my "victim's impact statement" that I will read before the court.  That in and of itself is such an overwhelming thing to write.  The eulogy was hard, but requires me to quantify HOW his actions have impacted the family.   This is not easy to do.  But I trudge on.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's been raining here for the past few days, which is very unusual for Wisconsin, especially in January.  It's depressing in one way, but nice because it's melting all the shitty, dirty snow.  The hope for warm weather is reinvigorated by the melting snow.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course, traveling to California next month, while difficult, will be nice to experience some warm weather.  The MIL and I have some ideas of what to do in our spare time there, which is exciting.  I've always had crazy love for California, not quite sure why, but it will be nice to return again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm watching Wisconsin Foodie, a new food geek show on a local channel.  The owner from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Meritage&lt;/span&gt; is currently on, which is interesting as we'll be eating there next Friday with friends.  We desperately need a night out, a night of laughter and good company.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I must get going on my piles of laundry and homework now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-1748887666482625833?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/1748887666482625833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=1748887666482625833' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1748887666482625833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1748887666482625833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2010/01/quiet-moment.html' title='A Quiet Moment'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-4506709077208631695</id><published>2010-01-04T23:35:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-24T15:55:24.605-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Split Pea Soup</title><content type='html'>It's cold out.  It's been cold as hell the last few days (which, is that even possible?  Modern theology would have you believe Hell is hot, a burning inferno....but we often say cold as hell...is that a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;simile&lt;/span&gt;?!?  Damn, I should have paid more attention in English)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I made a gigantic pot of split pea soup today with the leftover ham and ham bone from Christmas.  I managed to do it before it got funky!  Yeah to me!  But it turned out very yummy; quite like my Grandma's.  Which is awesome.  There are somethings you just have in your head how it should taste and when you do it right, it's such a feeling of accomplishment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still have a bit of ham leftover, so I'm going to check for recipes for scalloped potatoes and ham; a favorite of my Dad as I was growing up.  He always just used the boxed scalloped potatoes, but I'm interested in testing if homemade scalloped potatoes are worth the extra effort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've worked everyday since the 1st and have 2 days left in my marathon.  Then I'm off most of the following week due to asking off for my birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turn the big 3-4 on Friday.  It's funny, going through all the old photos, I see how 'young' &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; and I looked when we had Baby Girl.  And then I look at myself now.  And holy shit, I look old.  The little badgers have sucked the life right out of me ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Year's Eve was a quiet night with the in-laws.  We had &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;fillet&lt;/span&gt;, lobster tail, crab legs, shrimp, baked potatoes, roasted carrots and hot cabbage salad.  I remembered to pick up some sparkling juice when I ran into &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Walgreens&lt;/span&gt;, so we did a nice toast at midnight and the boys handled the pyrotechnics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are going back to school.  I feel like I've wasted the past 6 months, not being in school.  But with everything going on, it was for the best.  Hopefully I'll be able to get classes that affect the kid's minimally.  I'm hoping Thursday night works for &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; and I to take a class together.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Perhaps&lt;/span&gt; a Saturday morning class too, but I won't hold my breath.   Those are hard to come by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will be nice to be back in school, finishing the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;seemingly&lt;/span&gt; never-ending degree.  It's time.  Time to be done, time to move on to the next part of my 30's.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-4506709077208631695?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/4506709077208631695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=4506709077208631695' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4506709077208631695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4506709077208631695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2010/01/split-pea-soup.html' title='Split Pea Soup'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-1518186270840285021</id><published>2009-12-31T10:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-31T10:39:34.663-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodbye 2009</title><content type='html'>One can only hope that 2010 will be better than 2009 in many ways.  With any luck the economy will continue to improve, job rates will improve, child abuse will go away and we won't lose any one else to stupid mistakes (like, oh, I don't know...drunk drivers?!?).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Walgreens&lt;/span&gt; has digital prints on sale for 9 cents this week and yesterday I got an additional 5% off my usual 20% discount.  I was able to get all the Disney pictures submitted to be printed, which was nice.  I'm trying to go through all the old pictures now to see about getting those printed since we have no pictures printed really since Baby Girl was born in 2004.  We have a million in storage on the server, but no physical albums (funny, this was my exact &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;argument&lt;/span&gt; about getting a digital camera vs a film camera).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm currently &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;editing&lt;/span&gt; the 2004 files, pulling out the crappy ones or duplicates.  And I came across a picture of Patrick at our cousin's wedding.  And it was a bit of a shock and then a hit to the stomach. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's almost been a year that he's been gone.  And it's gotten easier, but not much.  It still hurts and I still have way too much anger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what I want for 2010 is to let go of some of the anger.  Not all of it, I'm not ready for that.  But I want the criminal case against his killer to be done and I need some of my anger until that happens.  I'm tired of the continuances, tired of the stalling.  Finish it.  Perhaps this is why so many people lack faith in the judicial system?  I understand it's working, but there is no doubt he killed Patrick.  There is no doubt he was under the influence of alcohol.  Why continue to draw-out the pain of the victim's family by allowing him to keep stalling? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Argh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish everyone success and happiness in 2010.  I hope you are able to do what you want most in life and find it's even better than you imagined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stay safe and for the love of all that is holy, have a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;designated&lt;/span&gt; driver!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-1518186270840285021?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/1518186270840285021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=1518186270840285021' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1518186270840285021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1518186270840285021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/12/goodbye-2009.html' title='Goodbye 2009'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-7856878833782880453</id><published>2009-12-07T08:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-07T08:23:26.399-06:00</updated><title type='text'>there is no hope for....</title><content type='html'>breasts.  I'm watching the new Britney Spears video "3" and she's got this deep-V swimsuit thing on and her boobs are sagging.  And not in the "cute" no &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;under wire&lt;/span&gt; way, in the I've squeezed out 2 kids and am quickly approaching my 30's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which means that I, who has squeezed out 2 kids and am well INTO my 30's and certainly do not have Britney's body (ahem) has absolutely no hope. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately I had noticed a few months ago that the girls were looked a little depressed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Urgg&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, the gray hairs is probably more distressing.  I'm gonna blame Patrick for that one.  Because holy crap, I went from a few gray hairs to a lot of them in the past year.  Even though I color my hair, those little bastards are stubborn.    Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;T-minus 18 days until Christmas.  I ordered Baby Girl's "big gift" from &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;JC&lt;/span&gt; Penny's...it was clearance and I had an additional 20% off code (which basically paid for the shipping).  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Stinkin&lt;/span&gt;' thing has not shipped yet, so I'm nervous they will sell out of it or something, which would suck so bad.  So I continue to stalk the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;JCP&lt;/span&gt; website shipping status.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Man's "big gift" arrived Saturday, a kid's digital camera.  He does really well at taking pictures.  He's been using our old Canon (yep, we've let the 4-year old use a better digital camera than some of our friends have...).  But it would suck if he destroyed the camera, so we went for one of the tough ones meant for little hands.  I love a lot of his pictures, it's fun to see the world through the eyes of a 4 year old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So just a few small gifts for the kids to complete them and then a gift for my BIL.  All that will be left is small gifts for the kindergarten teacher's and making the chocolates for my MIL and her &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to a concert at the Irish Cultural and Heritage Center Saturday and it was simply amazing.  So enjoyable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lots of work this week, then dinner and cookie decorating with a friend and her family this weekend.  Very excited to see her, it's been far too long.  Next week is a weird week of work...I work Monday and Wednesday during the day.  Which will give the kids some time with the in-laws.  Always a good thing.  Plus I'll have time with them in the evening. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm excited for that Friday, dinner with friends at a restaurant that is getting a lot of good press/reviews.  And I see these friends too far and in-between.  I wish jobs could be created based on &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;availability&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;.  I can work Monday-Friday 7 AM to 10 AM.  See, 15 hours a week!  Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's always next year for a job when Little Man is in school full-time.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Oy&lt;/span&gt;.  I can't believe it's almost 2010 and that we're 1/2 way through the school year.  34 is upon me in 32 days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But first the holidays.  Which are always magical because the kids BELIEVE.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-7856878833782880453?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/7856878833782880453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=7856878833782880453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/7856878833782880453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/7856878833782880453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/12/there-is-no-hope-for.html' title='there is no hope for....'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-227142071261422945</id><published>2009-12-04T09:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-04T09:32:24.709-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Mournnig</title><content type='html'>Really, this grown-up shit sucks. There was an accident last Friday. Family friends lost their son and his best-friend when a drunk-driver plowed into their truck. The truck burst into flames, the family put the fire out, trying to save the driver, not realizing their son was in the truck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you imagine?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I will pay our respects this Saturday and I will try to keep it together. With a little help from some anti-anxiety pills. Which brings a whole different issue. I'm all for taking medication when you need it. Never thought I'd have to take anti-anxiety pills. Yet another piece of fall-out from Patrick's death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I never could have delivered that eulogy so coherently without them. I'm not too proud to admit that; I was a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' mess. I knew I was a mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the doctor a few days before the funeral and my blood pressure was through the roof. The medical assistant got shitty, "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Why's&lt;/span&gt; your blood pressure so high?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Probably because my baby brother was killed about a week ago in a car accident."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She stared at me for a moment and, of course, my doc had just come out of a room to hear the exchange and even he stared at me for a moment, unable to move, processing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was quickly ushered into the room, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this accident is really hard to process. To come to terms with. Because I really don't understand the whole driving drunk thing. Why it's so much more common than anyone wants to believe. But I live in Wisconsin. The land of drinking and driving. It was only a matter of time before it affected our family again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I wish I had words that could ease the pain of my Aunt and Uncle and cousins. Because these kids were like their kids/brothers. And it enhances my pain and the loss of my family this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if I'm strong enough for this. To not lose it there. I've been to church exactly once since Patrick died. And I cried through most of Mass. And I am a coward, I haven't been back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate to have the kids see me cry more. I feel like I've used up my quota of crying-in-front-of-the-kids this year (and perhaps for the next 5 years?!?).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the worst is the time in the car, driving alone to pick a child up from school. Because that just leaves too much time for my mind to wander and ponder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, I tried my best to not. I blasted the radio with great songs. As loud as it would go. And I still cried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am still crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*don't worry, I'm not in a deep, dark depression.  More of a passing depression...it's really only bad when my mind is unoccupied and can go back to these things.  Which would explain my need to fill every-freakin'-minute of my days lately.  Even the simple task of crocheting is enough to occupy my mind most of the time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-227142071261422945?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/227142071261422945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=227142071261422945' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/227142071261422945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/227142071261422945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/12/mournnig.html' title='Mournnig'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-40039717243575477</id><published>2009-12-01T00:43:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T00:43:32.639-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Falling out of bed</title><content type='html'>Literally. I was stretching my much too tense back and didn't pay attention. Suddenly I was falling in slow-motion on to my hardwood floor. Gumby flew out of the bathroom swearing. It's been a banner night in the Reed household!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-40039717243575477?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/40039717243575477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=40039717243575477' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/40039717243575477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/40039717243575477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/11/falling-out-of-bed.html' title='Falling out of bed'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-4969954996035585719</id><published>2009-11-30T13:57:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T14:04:00.586-06:00</updated><title type='text'>And the countdown to Christmas begins...</title><content type='html'>Which means I am making lists, lists and more lists.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What cookies am I making with who and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;splitting&lt;/span&gt; up ingredients.  What am I making for Christmas Eve?  What am I making for Christmas Day?  Who's getting what gifts? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankfully most of the shopping is done.  All that is left is my brother-in-law and my Dad and a few gifts for the kids (OK, actually I still need to get Baby Girl's "big" gift and a few small ones, but it's still mostly done!).  I ordered Little Man's "big" gift today along with a small gift for Baby Girl.  We got a $10 off a $10 purchase @ Kohl's this weekend, so I plan to get a small gift Friday night during the Night Owl specials. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our Christmas tree is up, very early for us.  We had a yummy dinner Saturday night and put it up.  The kids did a great job decorating.  It's now just been an issue to remind them to leave the ornaments alone!  Oscar has resumed living under the tree. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next up will be making chocolate candies for my Mother-in-law and her &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt; for their gifts. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much to do in the next 24 days!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-4969954996035585719?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/4969954996035585719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=4969954996035585719' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4969954996035585719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4969954996035585719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/11/and-countdown-to-christmas-begins.html' title='And the countdown to Christmas begins...'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-3437844098296933424</id><published>2009-11-25T09:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-25T09:27:01.172-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  Much to do to prepare.  The kids are off of school this week.  I had Parent/Teacher conferences on Monday.  Overall, they are both doing extremely well.  Baby Girl is still &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;pokey&lt;/span&gt; and always last in line, to recess, lunch, etc.  Ultimately, we think it's a control issue with her.  She will deal with you and your demands when she is good and ready *sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, she must be broken to realize she needs to do what she's told, when she's told.  We've always expected that of her, but have been a bit lax as of late and now it's coming back to bite us in the ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Otherwise, she is very ready to start reading and at or above where she should be on everything.  Which is great since she is one of the youngest, if not the youngest, in the class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Man is doing spectacular as well.  His teacher had the same observations as me.  We noticed such a difference in the first 2 weeks.  She indicated he thought it was playtime when school first started and after about 2 weeks he got it that it was time to learn, not play.  They do, of course, play, but it's learning and playing.  We need to keep working on counting with him, but he's exactly where he should be, again, being one of the youngest in the class (I actually do think he is the youngest...damn me and my late spring/early summer due dates!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did the Thanksgiving shopping Monday before conferences and made the green bean casserole yesterday along with the stuffing/dressing.  Today I will make the sweet potatoes, glazed carrots and pumpkin pie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm working quite a bit again, averaging 20.5 hours a week the next few weeks.  Good to have the hours, but makes for a very tired girl!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-3437844098296933424?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/3437844098296933424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=3437844098296933424' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3437844098296933424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3437844098296933424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/11/thanksgiving.html' title='Thanksgiving'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-1167081117396006003</id><published>2009-11-14T14:06:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-14T14:17:34.206-06:00</updated><title type='text'>November</title><content type='html'>There are moments when life is pretty shitty.  Take this past week.  Money is tight (isn't it always???).  But when you just get back from Disney World, it tends to be really tight.  Which is cool, I mean we had the trip of a lifetime.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But the exhaust decided to literally fall off the car.  To the tune of $425 we really didn't have to spare, but there wasn't much choice as we kinda need the car. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next I decided it was time to be sick.  And by sick, I mean holy-crap-my-brain-is-about-to-explode-congestion sick.  My first sinus infection in quite some time.  And they decided I probably have the flu, quite possibly the swine flu, so I got treated for that too.  To the tune of another $90 for 3 prescriptions (because America's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;health care&lt;/span&gt; situation is just fine!!!!!!  We don't have to rob Peter to pay Paul!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But now I sit here on the couch, finally listening to Christmas music (because although &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; has a post-Thanksgiving rule, if the radio stations switch before that, I am exempt as long as I'm listening to the radio.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Heh&lt;/span&gt;.  I love my clauses.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the children are playing in the sandbox and the dog is sitting 10 feet away on high-alert for a rogue squirrel trying to attack them (it could happen!).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And although I feel pretty horrific, it's a moment of sheer perfection.  Satisfaction in life and reflection of blessings.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2009 has left a lot to be desired for our family.  A lot of loss and mourning.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But we are still standing at the end (albeit, short 1 Reed and a set of breasts).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I still struggle over the loss of Patrick as we come to the 9&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; month since his death.  But in this moment, I can mourn him and be content with where we are all at once.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-1167081117396006003?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/1167081117396006003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=1167081117396006003' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1167081117396006003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1167081117396006003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/11/november.html' title='November'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-2773155649531270037</id><published>2009-10-15T23:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T13:53:26.341-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Grief</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Grief is a tricky little bitch.  Sneaky.  Stealthy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thirty years ago today (or tomorrow, depending on when I post this....we're close to midnight, so I guess it all depends on where you are in the world) Patrick was born.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His time was cut way too short.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It soon will be 9 months since Patrick was killed.  A few days ago I picked the kids up from my in-laws and Little Man said with such sadness in his voice, "Mommy, I really miss Uncle Patrick."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And more than anything I want to take away the pain of my family, to make it whole again.  For my husband to not miss his little brother.  For my in-laws to not grieve their son and brother.  To not have my 4 and 5 year old children know such loss.  Such an unnecessary loss.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;I would gladly take all the pain myself to make it go away for the rest, but I can't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here we are 8 months later and I still have days where I sob in the shower.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;Days where I have such angry, illogical, irrational, imaginary verbal &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;diarrhea&lt;/span&gt; towards his killer.  Who's still free.  Who's still fighting the felony charges.  Who gets to live his life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know, he has to live with the guilt, blah, blah, blah.  I don't really give a fuck.  Everyone says I need to forgive him.  And at this point, no, I really don't have to forgive him.  There is nothing &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;forgivable&lt;/span&gt; about the situation.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;BECAUSE HIM GETTING &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;ROTISSERIE&lt;/span&gt; CHICKEN COST MY FAMILY WAY TOO FUCKING MUCH.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Order a fucking pizza next time, k?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would have liked to have written a nice post about how great Disney World was and all that, but soon it will be Patrick's birthday and we, as a family, have to figure out how to get through the day without Patrick.  Because we've figured out the mundane, everyday life without him.  And we continue to dodge the mines of the holidays, but this would have been his 30th birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Such a monumental birthday that he never got to see, to celebrate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weather is unseasonably warm for Wisconsin and we will go to the zoo as a family to get the in-laws out of the house and to celebrate his life once again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*****I started this post in mid-October, but didn't post until November 7th...apparently the blog software decided to use the date I started the post on.  Dang, I really need to pay more attention to this stuff.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-2773155649531270037?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/2773155649531270037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=2773155649531270037' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/2773155649531270037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/2773155649531270037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/10/grief.html' title='Grief'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-5049224083512327535</id><published>2009-10-03T02:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T23:23:51.122-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Allergies can kiss my ass</title><content type='html'>About 18 months ago, I was finally &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;diagnosed&lt;/span&gt; with an allergy to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;dust mites&lt;/span&gt;. Little fuckers. Which means our mattress and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;box spring&lt;/span&gt; need to be encased in a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;gigantic&lt;/span&gt; plastic bag and our linens must be washed on hot pretty frequently to avoid an allergy attack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keep in mind, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;dust mites&lt;/span&gt; are EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE. So, if I sleep on our 20 year old couch, allergy attack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight it's chilly. In addition to our hypo-allergic comforter, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; brought a very comfy blanket to bed. I'd been asleep maybe 30 minutes and woke up, hardly able to breathe and a horrific allergy attack. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ARG&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I sit here, waiting for the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;benadryl&lt;/span&gt; to kick in, so I can go back to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby Girl is completely into her routine and loving school. Little Man also fell right in and loves being there in the morning and coming home with me for a few hours in the afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day I arrived just a moment late to pick him up, they were just excusing him and I could see him scanning the crowd of parents with a huge grin on his face, wearing his sunflower mask he made. When he didn't see me, I saw the disappointment. It's interesting to see the impact. I stepped out from behind a parent and he was instantly back to happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had Parent's Night at school a few weeks ago. We each met with their teachers. This time I made &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; take Little Man's class and I went to Baby Girl's class. I figure &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; never remembers the details and since Baby Girl actually has homework and such, it was more important I see her teacher. Afterwards &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; went to choir (and he's still struggling with the idea that the Choral Director told him he was a tenor) and I went to the parent assembly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's amazing the things that they have going for fundraising. Lots of opportunities to volunteer in the coming months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's also amazing is what the kids are going to learn in 5K. Basically it seems like what was 1st grade when we were kids is now 5K. That's a lot of responsibility for a 5 year old. I do like that they are teaching the kids to read now as one large group, but they will break them into groups later in the year based on their level.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today we took the kids to the Elegant Farmer.  Thought they'd both go for a caramel apple, but Little Man got a huge cookie, then opted to share Mary Mac's caramel apple with her (poor woman!) and Baby Girl copied Mommy and got a piece of the famous apple pie baked in a bag.  I had mine topped with cinnamon ice cream and she opted for blue moon (just like her Daddy!).  Which was gross, by the way.  But she liked it.  *gag*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are closer and closer to our trip to Disney.  It's very exciting and I can't wait.  The kids still don't know that's where we're going, through Baby Girl has some very strong suspicions.  A friend from K5 went a few weeks ago, Baby Girl mentioned we're going to Florida and the friend said, "That's where Disney World is!  Are you going???"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby Girl then told me this in the car and asked and I almost choked on my laughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will be a great time.  A healing time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow is another court date for the man that killed Pat.  I'm sure it will simply end in another continuance.  It seems like they have not real desire to end this.  Which feels like they don't want to give us closure, but I know that's reading way too much into it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's still frustrating to miss him so much 8 months out.  To still have to have crying jags in the shower where the kids can't see or hear me.  I know it's healthy for them to know I'm still sad about it and to know that's OK, but I don't need them to see me when I have a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' breakdown.  They saw enough of that in the weeks immediately following the accident.  So you can see the problem, no?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alas, Florida is our time for healing.  It will be a wonderful, difficult time.  I'm loading up on my anxiety pills now......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-5049224083512327535?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/5049224083512327535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=5049224083512327535' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5049224083512327535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5049224083512327535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/10/allergies-can-kiss-my-ass.html' title='Allergies can kiss my ass'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-363931356211059578</id><published>2009-09-08T08:42:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T08:52:23.657-05:00</updated><title type='text'>New Week</title><content type='html'>As we move into the 2&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; week of September, we celebrated Labor Day.  I can't say I really know why we celebrate Labor Day, but I'm always willing to take a day off.  Additionally, the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Walworth&lt;/span&gt; County Fair is Labor Day weekend and is by far, my most favorite fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I get weepy about State Fair like a child.  And it's cool and we have fun.  But &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Walworth&lt;/span&gt; is a different kind of beast.  First of all, it's a dry fair.  Which rocks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;blink::blink&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, it does rock.  And let me tell you why.  I can actually keep my children there past 7 PM and I don't have to worry about a bunch of drunks either swearing in front of them, spilling beer on us or getting into a general brawl as is so common at summer festivals in Wisconsin. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last year we stayed and saw Huey Lewis and the News perform.  This year?  Styx.  At the ripe ages of 4 and 5, the kids have seen more concerts than &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; had at 18!  We sit off to the side on the race track on the grass and the kids can dance around and I don't have to be neurotic that it's too loud for their little ears.  They have a wonderful time and we get to giggle at them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby's&lt;/span&gt; parents came with us this year.  His Mom was well enough to do it.  Which was so much fun.  And a friend of his from work met up with us with her 2 1/2 year old so.  Ah, good times.  The kids had a blast climbing all the different tractors and such for well over an hour and then saw a lumberjack show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I said, way different from the State Fair, but my favorite by far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today my MIL has her reconstruction surgery.  She's a bit worried and tried to distract herself all weekend the best she could, so we had a BBQ at their house yesterday.  Very yummy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So hopefully this will be her easiest surgery to day and it will be a quick recovery. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides, the woman is beside herself that The Beatles Rock Band comes out tomorrow.  I have strict instructions to go buy her the super-deluxe edition (yep, with all the instruments).  Which is cool, because now we'll have back up drums, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Disney will pretty well set.  I still need to get the car rental for our day at the ocean and then one for my in-laws when they stay after we leave.  I'm getting pretty excited about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of school went well last week.  Now on to another week.  Hopefully it will go well too!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-363931356211059578?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/363931356211059578/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=363931356211059578' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/363931356211059578'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/363931356211059578'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/09/new-week.html' title='New Week'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-6926266434194597639</id><published>2009-09-02T07:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-02T08:16:01.710-05:00</updated><title type='text'>First Day of Kindergarten</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was the first day of kindergarten.  Some Mom's cried.  Other's rejoiced.  I just wanted to get them there on time (did I, you ask?  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Meh&lt;/span&gt;, close enough).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The one thing we really didn't consider in all of this is that we live 15 minutes from the school without traffic.  With traffic?  Who the hell knows.  So we need to get the rhythm down that we leave 15 minutes earlier than we did yesterday (today was a bust, left at the same time...hopefully traffic won't be bad for them).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to the first day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being a Catholic school and yesterday being the 1st day and all, the morning involved the entire family.  We got there and did an art project downstairs.  Follow in His footsteps is the theme for the year, so the kids had a foot picture to decorate as they wanted. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As usual, I had Little Man and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; had Baby Girl.  Little Man started to draw our family on the foot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's you &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Mumma&lt;/span&gt;!" (big smile, so that's good)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And that's the Duck!" &lt;insert&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby's&lt;/span&gt; new name with the kids is The Duck.  I won't go into it, but let's just say he doesn't talk like Donald Duck :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the project there was a special Mass for the families.  It's been a while since Little Man was in church.  He was so &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;frickin&lt;/span&gt;' squirrelly.  But we survived.  Barely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next up was a special performer in the gym.  Good God in Heaven, aren't we done yet?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Er, I mean, cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end, Little Man and I left for the day and Baby Girl stayed.  Her first full day.  And I was excited for her and she was super-excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided to make her some Apple Nut Muffins we'd seen Paula Deen make the week prior on Foodnetwork (yes, Baby Girl was watching with me and asked me to make them).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things got a bit off schedule with making the muffins, but Little Man and I were to her school in plenty of time to pick her up (because there's no frickin' rush hour traffic at 3 PM!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Out she comes.  Into the sea of parents cheering and laughing and having a general celebration.  And holy shit did she scowl at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How was your first day sweetie?!?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bad.  I don't want to go to school anymore." she snarled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK.  Time for plan B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Say goodbye to Mrs. NiceLady."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Goodbye Teacher."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No hug, no &lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;pleasantness&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whoa nelly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Into the car we go and I try to get to the bottom of the crabbiness (other than sheer exhaustion).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So what was wrong with the day Baby Girl?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't want to go back because a little girl in my class got hurt by a boy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose honey.  It was an accident."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"NO, Mom.  He said he did it on purpose."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Did you hear him say he did it on purpose?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, but I'm sure he did."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;blink:blink&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OK.  You can't say he did it on purpose if you didn't hear him say it, that's mean."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then proceeded to get yelled at for not sending her with a spoon (oh shit, now I just realized I forgot to put one in today's lunch too.  Fuck.) and that her teacher was yelling at lunch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"She was yelling at students?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, she yelled for another teacher to grab a milk for her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh good grief.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, she was nearly passed out as we pulled into the driveway.  Next thing I know, she let's out a hysterical shriek and I nearly drive the car onto the lawn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is it?!?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Little Man hit me on the forehead." she sobs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look at Little Man who had such a shit-eating grin on his face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why'd you hit her?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I was waking her up Mumma."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Personally, I think she was irritating him as much as she irritated me, so he just whacked her for it.  Alas, I had to stiffle the giggle and tell him not to hit his sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I mention I was glad I had to work last night?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than that, not a whole lot going on.  Just trying to get through this adventure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-6926266434194597639?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/6926266434194597639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=6926266434194597639' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/6926266434194597639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/6926266434194597639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/09/first-day-of-kindergarten.html' title='First Day of Kindergarten'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-7634787181547749689</id><published>2009-08-26T09:10:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-26T09:18:15.547-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cooking</title><content type='html'>I'm trying to be better about planning our weekly meals. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It keeps me organized and allows me to keep a "budget" at the store.  I'm not buying stuff to throw together to make meals, I'm actually planning the meals, so I know exactly what we need. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday I made chicken cacciatore; turned out well.  Need to use a different wine next time; but Gumby enjoyed the leftover wine :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night they were on their own as I worked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, Ultimate Mac and Cheese with Bacon and Cheese.  Because there's so much cheese they have to list it twice, heh.  But it looks super yummy and I'm excited to try it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow night is the back to school picnic, so I have to make a dessert.  I still have left-overs of the home-made chocolate buttercream frosting, so I'm going for either a cake or cupcakes so I can use that up.  Might have to run to Jo-Ann to buy a cupcake carrier (because I always need an excuse to buy fun stuff!).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-7634787181547749689?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/7634787181547749689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=7634787181547749689' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/7634787181547749689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/7634787181547749689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/08/cooking.html' title='Cooking'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-559769767759330152</id><published>2009-08-19T11:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-19T11:54:45.104-05:00</updated><title type='text'>WTF?!?</title><content type='html'>You know, the world is truly bizarre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Brett &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Farve&lt;/span&gt; has signed as QB for the Vikings.  Again, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;WTF&lt;/span&gt;?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Mayor Barrett of Milwaukee was &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;beated&lt;/span&gt; up after trying to stop a man from assaulting a woman.  He was leaving State Fair with his family and heard the man yelling and tried to step in and the man beat the shit out of him with a pipe.  Who the fuck does that?  Stepping in would have been something &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; would have done, so it could have easily been him.  But it was our mild, kind mayor.  His first news conference will be aired shortly and it's just so upsetting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) My kid's foot is growing at a freakish rate.  I bought her a pair of shoes for school in a size and a half bigger than her last pair and they barely fit.  Back to Kohl's to exchange.  *sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;State Fair was fun this year.  My MIL did well walking, I was impressed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The In-laws hosted a memorial picnic for Patrick this past weekend.  It was a blast.  I think there were around 60 people there at one point.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; smoked his best ribs yet (that was some good shit).  There wasn't enough room to smoke the chickens, so I roasted them on the grill and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;wowsers&lt;/span&gt;, those were good too.  It was so much fun with both new and old friends.  We needed to do that more often (&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;, not the memorial part, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;.  Just the get-together).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Otherwise I'm spending a lot of my time getting the kids ready for school.   I can't believe they are both starting school.  They are very excited.  We have been invited to the back to school picnic next week.  This Sunday after Mass we'll get the rest of their school paperwork and hopefully information on the Home/School Association.  I figure I'll join that and help out since I'll have free time while they are both in school.  We have to volunteer one or two shifts during the school year for both the lunch room and the playground, so I won't be bored, ha ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we returned from camping a week ago, the water main had broke in the basement again.  Lost a lot more.  Holy crap, we are down quite a bit.  Moving won't be such a chore next time, h aha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, here comes the Mayor for his news conference.  Oh, dear Lord, he really did get beaten.  I really don't understand people.  I don't understand how things like this happen.  Fuck, I must be so damn naive.  How can someone do that to another person?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, I still don't understand how someone could be so fucking drunk and "need chicken for fajitas" and kill my baby Patrick on the way to the store.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-559769767759330152?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/559769767759330152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=559769767759330152' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/559769767759330152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/559769767759330152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/08/wtf.html' title='WTF?!?'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-3216027420677374536</id><published>2009-07-20T01:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T22:19:45.353-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Camping and other adventures</title><content type='html'>We've been back a few weeks after a week of camping just outside of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Minocqua&lt;/span&gt;, WI at Crystal Lake. Which means last week was very cold and wet. Because we don't have any other type of vacation, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lake was beautiful and we were able to go swimming one day. The water was so &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' cold, but I finally convinced Gumby to go in with me. We had quite a good time splashing about with the kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we grilled twice, but then the rain got the best of us, so we ate out to save my sanity and to keep us from all freezing to death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We spent an afternoon at the Wildlife Park and were able to feed the bears "bear juice" (which, always makes me think of "Jesus Juice" that Michael Jackson called wine).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not much has gone on since.  The kids had another session of swim class.  This time Little Man was in the Preschool level and Baby Girl was in Level 1 again.  At the end of it Little Man advanced to Level 1 and Baby Girl will be repeating Level 1.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Urg&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the confidence she had last summer in the pool is gone.  Poof.  No idea why, just gone.  I blame it on her being a girl, quite honestly.  We are fickle beasts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Man, meanwhile, seems to have found her confidence and has been a little fish (an &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;inattentive&lt;/span&gt; fish, but a fish, none-the-less).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow is the first day of State Fair.  We are headed out with my MIL and her BFF.  Gumby is working, saving vacation days for Disney.  The FIL has decided not to hang out with a bunch of hens (I said Little Man counted as a man, you know, with his penis and all, but FIL could not be swayed to hang out with 3 women and a 4 year old boy).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I do love the fair, so it's quite exciting for me and the kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterwards we head up to my folks for my Dad's birthday weekend.  Nothing much planned, I think we'll just hang out and take it easy, but I'm sure some trouble will find us, it always does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;School starts in a few weeks for the kids.  I'm beside myself.  I cannot believe both of my kids are starting school.  Little Man will only be in half-day 4K, so that will ease it for me, but Baby Girl goes full-day 5K.  We got a packet from Little Man's teacher today with the school supply list, a list of questions, etc.  Oy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also near the next criminal trial date for the man that killed Patrick.  I've been struggling, I find as we approach each court date, I am more prone to cry when I'm alone in the car or to just be generally pissed off.  I just cannot fathom how any of this is fair/just/whatever the fuck you want to call it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And don't tell me life isn't fair, because I will shove your words up your ass.  Trust me on this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's amazing to me how the smallest thing can be a kick to the stomach.  Tonight as I cleaned out the diaper bag (or now kid backpack as neither are in diapers) I came across the shells from the 21 gun salute at Pat's funeral.  I was OK with that.  Strangely, because during the actually 21 gun salute, I sobbed like a baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I found a key at the bottom of the bag and thought, "Oh, its the blank key we bought for my old Maxima to have spare."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I looked at it.  And it's a Kawasaki key.  Patrick's motorcycle key. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a moment, all the air was sucked out of my lungs and I couldn't speak.  And it was all I could do to not break down in front of Gumby (because the man suffers enough from me randomly crying over the past 6 months).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked if it was Pat's and Gumby looked at it and said, "Huh.  Yeah, I guess so."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I quietly pocketed the key.  It will go on my keyring.  I'm not going all Queen Latifa and wearing it, but it will be close to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Said it before and I'll say it again.  This being a grown-up shit sucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-3216027420677374536?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/3216027420677374536/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=3216027420677374536' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3216027420677374536'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3216027420677374536'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/07/camping-and-other-adventures.html' title='Camping and other adventures'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-9214790254406503547</id><published>2009-07-09T12:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T12:41:02.625-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Oxyclean?!?!?</title><content type='html'>Yesterday while driving the kids over to the in-laws so I could meet friends downtown for some adult beverages and a bite to eat I was asked by Little Man if we have Oxyclean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;blink:blink&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Err, yeah.  Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because it can get the stains out Mumma.  And my shirt has banana stains.  Can you get them out?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;blinkblink:blinkblink&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I can try to get it out with the Oxyclean, it works well, but sometimes it can't get &lt;em&gt;everything&lt;/em&gt; out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which Baby Girl jumps in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Mom, they showed it getting all the stains out.  It's a miracle!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm mildly twitching, wondering just how the hell my children know about Oxyclean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, how do you know about Oxyclean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TV Mumma!  It was on the commercial!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahhhhh...now to talk to your father about letting you watch TV with commercials.   this is why I only let them watch PBS peoples.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-9214790254406503547?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/9214790254406503547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=9214790254406503547' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/9214790254406503547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/9214790254406503547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/07/oxyclean.html' title='Oxyclean?!?!?'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-4610377312024085234</id><published>2009-07-08T13:27:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T13:40:02.814-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ode to the Furries</title><content type='html'>This past weekend, my MIL and I spent in Pittsburgh.  We went to the convention that Patrick went to for many years, volunteering as an EMT.  This was his "thang".  He loved it and loved many of the people there.  One of the many reasons he had 8 million friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, they were having a memorial service for Patrick and wanted family to be there.  I went in my FIL's place for many reasons, but the most important being this is really fucking hard for him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good gravy, let me start by saying how pretty Pittsburgh is when you approach the city from the airport.  You pop out of a tunnel through a mountain and suddenly downtown is in front of you.  We had a good time catching up with many of his friends that we knew and met many more that had been unable to attend the funeral. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was amazing to hear from so many people and the impact Patty had on their lives, a few he had even saved. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The memorial was very nice and moving.  There was a flag ceremony with bagpipes (always a sucker for men in uniform).  It was so hard for his friends, for this final goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What killed me was the final call for him on the radio.  I guess it's tradition for those that are EMT's, Fire, Police, etc.  But holy shit, I cried.  I was not expecting it and it was just so....&lt;i&gt;final&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which has left me in a funk.  Today was the arraignment of the man that killed Pat.  His lawyer called for an independent analysis of the blood alcohol, delaying it even longer.  I would hope it would just end.  Finish it.  But, of course, his lawyer must search every nook and crany to find a way to get him less time.  *sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm tired of thinking about it, tired of crying.  Tired of my anger.  I want to be done missing Pat and to have him home.  Tired of my 4 year old son telling me he misses his uncle and asking why he had to die.  Irrational?  Of course, but a girl can dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alas, we are going camping this weekend.  First *big* camping trip with the kids.  We'll be gone for a week.  Which is exciting and scary at all once.  The FIL is going to try to fix the furnace on the camper this week before we go in the event it too cold in the night once we're up there.  I need to take inventory of what's in the camper for gear and see what I need to hunt down.  I thought everything was in there, but I couln't find the pie irons/s'more sticks on our last trip (though, I didn't check under one of the couches).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, it's pretty exciting.  The kids are excited to go.  I'm slightly bummed because cherries will be ready for picking this weekend, so I probably will not get to make cherry preserves/pie filling this year.  That is a complete bummer!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going to see a bunch of friends tonight, I'm excited.  Hoping to find someone to watch the kids so John can come as well since this was originally scheduled for Friday (which I had covered!).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-4610377312024085234?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/4610377312024085234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=4610377312024085234' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4610377312024085234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4610377312024085234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/07/ode-to-furries.html' title='Ode to the Furries'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-821996431023080489</id><published>2009-06-22T08:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-22T08:57:08.146-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I love blogging, but...</title><content type='html'>I have found it increasingly difficult since Patrick died.  So much sadness and anger that I just haven't found the ability to get "out". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man that killed Patrick has been arrested.  He posted bail and is now out.  He has resigned from the military.  All-in-all, I'd like to speak with him to get my own "radar sense" on his feelings/remorse for taking Patrick from us, but I can't do that.   All I can do is stalk the California circuit court website for updates.   Because they are &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;soooooo&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;accommodating&lt;/span&gt; to the family of the dead. *eye roll*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Father's Day was hard for my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;FIL&lt;/span&gt; yesterday.  His first with only 2 sons.  I cannot even imagine how he felt.  I know how I feel, but for it to be your son.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Uggg&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But we had a nice time with the family, first with mine, then with the in-laws.  The children colored mugs for both Grandpa's, which I think was a hit because both love their warm beverages and anything colored by a 4 and 5 year old is cute ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss Patrick.  for a while it was easy to pretend (or more accurately, not think about it) that he was just overseas.  My "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;spidey&lt;/span&gt;-sense" knew something was a-&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;brewin&lt;/span&gt;' this week, so it's been difficult for me.  I still have moments of just random crying, but they are far less than they were.  I find it's just when we get major updates regarding the criminal case for the man responsible for his death that I have my bad times. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His car is finally coming home from Chicago today.  I'm not sure how I feel about that.  When our car had gotten totaled, the in-laws offered us his car to which we both roared, "NO."  Then we decided we should probably be a bit more grateful.  But driving his car would be a constant reminder of him (plus, the car forever has his stink it in.  I loved the man, but he was hairy and stinky at times.  Neither of which were my favorite quality about him)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My other BIL may take the car as it has a newly rebuilt engine and transmission and would be better than his car, but a decision has not been made yet.  We shall see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We will be camping this weekend, our first of the year.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; and I drove with the camper attached to the truck this weekend as a "refresher" for me.  Plus &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; set up and brought down the camper so I could make detailed notes.  He will not be coming up until Saturday while the kids and I are going up Friday (he has his annual Brewer game with the guys and I couldn't have him miss it, that would be cruel). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So watch out for a 1975 &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Jayco&lt;/span&gt; pop-up careening down the highway next Friday, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;.  I love that camper, it's just so &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' cool.  I'm thinking I may ask for &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Verlo&lt;/span&gt; gift cards for Christmas so I can have new mattresses made for that bad-boy.  Just the two "beds" on the end.  The other two beds are folding, so unless they do foam mattresses, that's a no-go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to sit in my recliner right now, but there was a big-ass spider trying to get me (&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; yelled at me as I shot out of the chair like the lunatic I am).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More swim class for the kids this week and week 2 of soccer class (it only meets once a week for most of the summer).  We've pretty much been non-stop for the past 2 weekends and will be non-stop for the next 4, one week off, then 2 more weeks of planned stuff.  Good grief.  Summer is awesome, but our busy social season.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt; was here from Portland (I typed "home", but really, Portland is now her home with her husband).  It was awesome to see her.  She we able to come to my little sister's graduation and then we had a BBQ that night with her and other friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day we had another BBQ with family and friends for Little Man's 4&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; birthday. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kids are awesome and continue to make me laugh every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; was happy with his Father's Day haul (though was mildly disappointed to get a wallet first from me, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;.  HEY, he needed one!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I still miss Patrick.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-821996431023080489?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/821996431023080489/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=821996431023080489' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/821996431023080489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/821996431023080489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-love-blogging-but.html' title='I love blogging, but...'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-3430861066458013247</id><published>2009-06-01T12:55:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-01T13:07:37.417-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mr. Rogers was a genius</title><content type='html'>I had crazy love for Mr. Fred Rogers as a child.  Nothing made me happier than watching Sesame Street and then my beloved Mr. Rogers.  The land of make-believe always held such wonder for me, such great life-lessons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my sisters were young, they never really got into Mr. Rogers, which was very disappointing.  He wasn't "cool" they'd tell me.  How the hell did they know what was cool at that age?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought, *my* children will love Mr. Rogers.  And we got to the point where they dug Sesame Street, but they would not want to watch Mr. Rogers.  This caused me some heartache, but I decided that it was obviously my issue and tried to let it go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And here we are.  The magic age.  Baby Girl is 5 and Little Man will be 4 tomorrow *gasp*.  And holy crap, they are watching AND liking Mr. Rogers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the issue is that so much kid TV is so colorful and has such spastic movement and Mr. Rogers is just mellow. (I remember that argument being used a few years ago about Sesame Street and the result being they "scheduled" each segment.  I crabbed about it at the time, but now think I understand).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My surgery went well.  Ran about an hour over because they discovered a hernia when they went in (explains why stomach crunches has actually hurt, heh).  And my gallbladder was so impacted with stones, they actually had to extend the incision at my belly button because they couldn't get it out at first.  That's a nasty looking incision.  So if I suddenly lose an amazing amount of weight, I will still be restricted to the "tankini" swimsuit.  I officially have too many scars on my belly to every allow for a true bikini. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been amazed at how much it hurt, I imagine something similar to a c-section (I love walking around, holding my belly because it hurts).   I called the doctor today to ask for a less powerful pain pill.  I still need something, but what they gave me makes me queezy and sleepy.  Since today is my first day with the kids alone, not a good combination.  Plus I'm tired to being queezy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I mentioned, tomorrow is Little Man's 4th birthday.  I'm struggling with how to handle it.  I want him to know it's his birthday, but I don't think he'll *get* why he has to wait for his party.  Not fair to him, so I'm at a bit of a loss.  Plus, my ass is just tired.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-3430861066458013247?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/3430861066458013247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=3430861066458013247' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3430861066458013247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3430861066458013247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/06/mr-rogers-was-genius.html' title='Mr. Rogers was a genius'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-8029340522801612237</id><published>2009-05-14T10:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-14T10:43:42.241-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What the.....</title><content type='html'>*ring*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thanks for calling &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;xyz&lt;/span&gt;, this is Kristen, how can I help you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hi. What '&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;cha&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;doin&lt;/span&gt;'?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Um, working? It's crazy here, what's up?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you think you can come home?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;WTF&lt;/span&gt;?*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Errr&lt;/span&gt;, NO. Why?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, the water main broke in the basement and it's flooded and I kinda need some help."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, so one would think my husband could have been a tad more, shall we say, DIRECT in telling me this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I immediately left work, abandoning my co-workers with a floater pharmacist that had no clue what was going on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holy crap peeps. Our water main had not broke, rather failed and was SPRAYING water across our basement, thus, covering as much ground as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankfully it went the opposite way of our main computer and all that good stuff. There were also a ton of pictures sitting by the computer that were saved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miracle of miracles, our wedding pictures were saved because Little Man's waterproof crib mattress had been thrown down there and it was blocking the pictures from the deluge of water. We almost lost ALL OF THEM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quite honestly we didn't lose a whole lot because most stuff is in &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;rubbermaid&lt;/span&gt; totes, but there were a few things that weren't, but nothing of huge value. My biggest concern is my Rock Band drums, but hopefully they will be OK. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; lost some computer stuff, but as he put it, it was stuff that was nice to have on hand, but not anything we truly needed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I helped clean our basement for about 2 hours, our front yard littered with garbage. Our neighbor watched as people were checking out our loot and someone took off with the toddler bed and mattress within 20 minutes of it being on the curb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the upside, my basement is &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; clean. Now I'm trying to wade my way through all the laundry that got wet (we sort in laundry baskets, which of course, have holes, so the dirty laundry got wet).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took the dog to Baby Girl's preschool for show and tell Tuesday. Of course as I told him to jump in the truck, he took off after a critter. I went into super-sonic shriek (my MIL just about died laughing). And there he was, grinning, then confused by my anger of him with the dead chipmunk in his mouth. He stunk of the chipmunk poo he squeezed out of the poor thing and had blood down his leg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Great, just how I want to put you in the truck, dumb dog. But, alas, he was very good with all the kids and was such a charmer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My surgery is quickly approaching, I have a few nerves about it, but it will be fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;MIL's&lt;/span&gt; surgery is tomorrow, so more nerves about that and the results.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been a tad bitter the past few days over the fact that Patrick's killer still hasn't been charged. It's not fair that he's out, living his life. Makes me a tad &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;pissy&lt;/span&gt;. hopefully that will all be resolved soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The driver that his my sister was uninsured, so it's just becoming more and more of a nightmare. I just got a call from my insurance company letting me know they are going after the woman personally. Good grief.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-8029340522801612237?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/8029340522801612237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=8029340522801612237' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8029340522801612237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8029340522801612237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/05/what.html' title='What the.....'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-1025316274588167498</id><published>2009-05-10T22:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T11:14:12.469-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Mother's Day</title><content type='html'>Five years ago today I became a mother. What a fucking ride. Baby Girl's pregnancy was difficult. The first 12 weeks spent praying that she's stay inside of me. I remember the fear of those weeks, the elation of finally getting to that magical 12 week mark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I progressed rather uneventful in the pregnancy for the next 14 weeks. Then all hell broke loose. My blood pressure went through the roof, I started spilling protein and damn I was bloated. And not the normal-pregnancy bloated, but the my-liver-doesn't-like-this-baby type bloating. Alas, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;bedrest&lt;/span&gt; was my destiny for the next 12 weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you know, I love my OB, but several times a week, she'd snarl at me that I'd be lucky to make it to 30 weeks. To 32 weeks. To 33 weeks, and so on. That weighs heavy on your mind. First I was a failure to keep so many babies in my uterus at the beginning, now I was going to be a failure to keep one in for the full 40 weeks; I just couldn't do this pregnancy thing right!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there we were. 38 weeks. And Baby Girl was HUGE for a 1st baby. They kept testing my blood sugars to make sure I wasn't diabetic. But I perplexed them because while she was thriving, I was losing weight. I was labeled &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;eclamptic&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the effects on a baby during &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;preeclampsia&lt;/span&gt; is &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;IUGR&lt;/span&gt; (intrauterine growth retardation or a small baby). My running joke was maybe Baby Girl WAS &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;iugr&lt;/span&gt;, think how big she would have been otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went in on Mothers Day evening to start my induction. Sleeping in the hospital sucks. I never really slept, they kept checking my blood pressure through the night and monitoring the baby. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; can sleep through a war, so he was fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many hours of induction the next day, 2 failed epidurals and I had her. Delivery was fairly easy, but then she was floppy. And the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Neonatologist&lt;/span&gt; was a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;douchebag&lt;/span&gt;. I wanted to get up and slap him, even with my OB sewing up her handiwork.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But there she was. A full head of hair. Beautiful. And OURS. We actually got to take her home. Some fool, somewhere was trusting US to be her parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And everyday she makes me laugh. She's such a girl. And so much wants to be "grown up" already at 5. Much too independent for my liking, but still my Baby Girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So happy birthday to her. Happy Mothers Day to me. I can't wait to see what our next adventure is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-1025316274588167498?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/1025316274588167498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=1025316274588167498' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1025316274588167498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1025316274588167498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/05/happy-mothers-day.html' title='Happy Mother&apos;s Day'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-4692948523854017689</id><published>2009-04-30T10:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T10:59:12.011-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I've been slacking</title><content type='html'>But it's never a dull moment around here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MIL will have her lumpectomy on 5/15 to see if the cancer spread. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every May Pampered Chef has their "Help Whip Cancer" campaign and sell pink items and a portion of those sales goes towards breast cancer research.  I'm trying to find a time to have a party, I hope every will think about buying something to help support breast cancer research.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had Parent/Teacher conference with Baby Girl's preschool teacher.  Nothing but praise for her as "she's a blessing to have in class".  Very ready for 5K.  That's exciting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things progress with Patrick's affairs, slowly, but there is progression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Man was moved into a big boy bed a few weeks ago.  He loves it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister borrowed my car over the weekend (she didn't have a ride home from work Friday and called, so I sent Gumby to pick her up and told him to just give her the car since she also worked Saturday.  Heh.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The accident wasn't her fault.  The driver behind her wasn't paying attention and rear-ended her going at least 35 mph.  She called, hysterical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God she was OK.  I had to explain the car could be replaced, she could not be.  My car was a total loss.  And of course the driver at fault gave insurance information that was wrong, so now we suspect the car was uninsured.  Lovely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel awful for my sister though. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than that, I've got the Swing Flu (aka a cold for the dramatic).  We are off to buy our new car this afternoon, another Maxima, just 2 years newer.  Wooo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-4692948523854017689?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/4692948523854017689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=4692948523854017689' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4692948523854017689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4692948523854017689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/04/ive-been-slacking.html' title='I&apos;ve been slacking'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-5825502059316739693</id><published>2009-04-06T11:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T12:14:37.273-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Monday Thoughts</title><content type='html'>I'm on the mailing list for a nearby church.  We've never attended services there, but it seems like such a wonderful community there, though a different faith.  Of course, I personally think God doesn't care what flavor you pick, just do right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway.  Today's email said they have a labyrinth walk.  Which struck me as the &lt;s&gt;last&lt;/s&gt; only time I saw a true labyrinth was on our honeymoon in Florida, nearly 9 years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; and I travel very oddly.  We have days with set things to accomplish.  We have other days that we have nothing planned and may just drive and see where the road/wind takes us.  That particular day, I saw a grove of orange and grapefruit trees leading down a road.  I told &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; to drive down it, having never seen an orange tree up close and personal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The road lead to a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;cemetery&lt;/span&gt; and mausoleum, but they also had the labyrinth.  I had never seen a real one before and was interested.  I read the "instructions".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course, forced &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; to do it with me.  I cleared my mind and we started to walk.  What was interesting was the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;revelation&lt;/span&gt; that came to me.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; and I would pass each other as we walked, sometimes we were nearly on top of each other, other times we were on opposite sides of the labyrinth, but we were always on the same path, with the same end-goal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it was there I realized that both in our religious experiences and in our marriage, there will be times we will be completely in sync and others we are &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;light years&lt;/span&gt; away, but our end-goal is always the same and we're on the same path.  We just do it at our own pace.  And that's OK.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was a defining moment in my life.  Such a grown-up through for someone pretending to be a grown-up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I'd be interested in experiencing the labyrinth, but almost wonder if it will be a letdown after my 1st experience.  Of course, it helps that my first experience was outside, 80 degrees and sunny as all get-out, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;MIL's&lt;/span&gt; cancer spread to her "clear" breast.  There was a 3/4" *spot* with clear margins, but that's not good.  Her cancer is a very aggressive, nasty kind.  It has been lazy in her left breast, remaining in her milk ducts, which is good.  But it must have gotten bored and moved to the right breast in a very short time (as the PET scan and mammogram had been clear 2 months earlier).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We will learn tomorrow the game plan.  Obviously the lymph nodes on the right have to come out to see if the cancer spread there (thank God she had the double mastectomy right away).  If the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes, well, it's going to be ugly.  If it hadn't, I'm not sure what the game plan is, but probably not pleasant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying to be there as much as possible while she heals from the 1st surgery.  It allows my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;FIL&lt;/span&gt; to leave and do errands/get out of the house.  Plus the kids entertain my MIL to no end, so that's a bonus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had an odd shopping day.  I went to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sendik's&lt;/span&gt; to get produce and such.  So much better than the crap at &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;PNS&lt;/span&gt; and cheaper too.  Sweet yellow peppers were on sale, so I got Baby Girl a pack, she'll be happy.  Some beautiful strawberries and grapes.  Yum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then I went to Sam's Club.  I hate Sam's Club and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt;-Mart.  Let's face it, we are mildly poor, so I shop there to save money on things like bottled water (and the french bread is so &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' good and cheap).  And it's a completely different experience than &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sendik's&lt;/span&gt;, where everyone says hello to me and asks if I need help.  I miss that service.  Which is also why I shop at &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sendiks&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel so bad for those that say &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sendik's&lt;/span&gt; is so much more expensive.  OK, yeah, if it's not on sale, it probably is a bit more on grocery staples.  But I guarantee the produce is not only better, but it will be less expensive.  Same thing for the meat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prime example.  I always get the kids the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Stonyfield&lt;/span&gt; Yogurt.  I was excited when &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;PNS&lt;/span&gt; started carrying it in most of the stores.  $4.49 for a 8 pack of the squeeze-able stuff.  $3.49 at &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sendik's&lt;/span&gt;.  I buy that crap like it's going out of style, totally worth it to go to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_20" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sendik's&lt;/span&gt;.  I realized this about 6 months ago and haven't looked back.  There's very little I go to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;PNS&lt;/span&gt; for anymore (or I go there if I'm doing late shopping, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_22" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sendik's&lt;/span&gt; closes at either 9 or 10 PM).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I must dash to retrieve my children.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-5825502059316739693?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/5825502059316739693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=5825502059316739693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5825502059316739693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5825502059316739693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/04/random-monday-thoughts.html' title='Random Monday Thoughts'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-3101313673119454986</id><published>2009-04-02T10:12:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T10:54:21.510-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I think the snail got stepped on</title><content type='html'>Well, spring is still approaching at a snail's pace.  Actually, I'm fairly certain the snail got stepped on, so now it's kinda stuck.  It snowed last weekend and I think it's going to again this weekend.  *sigh* &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kicker is that Little Man destroyed the zipper in his Land's End parka, so I took it in this week to get it repaired.  Takes 6 weeks to get it back.  Any why couldn't I have waited another few weeks?  Thankfully I have a "spring" jacket from Land's End that is mostly warm enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm finding myself stuck in a bit of a rut.  I'm back in the bad habit of staying up much too late, making it increasingly difficult to get up when I should.  I find myself searching for answers that I know I won't find.  I hope to find some shread of light, but mostly the answers are contained within a few select people.  And unfortunately, at this point, they are not inclined to share a damn thing with me to protect themselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We should have a police report this week in regards to Patty's death.  The reality of that is both a relief (to have answers) and a curse (to have those answers and know what happened).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-3101313673119454986?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/3101313673119454986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=3101313673119454986' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3101313673119454986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3101313673119454986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-think-snail-got-stepped-on.html' title='I think the snail got stepped on'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-4543686957047079439</id><published>2009-03-27T10:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T10:35:01.831-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring approaches...</title><content type='html'>At a snails pace.  We keep getting glimpses of spring, a warm day, the robin's have returned.  And we are expected to get 3-6 inches on Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ARGGGGG&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we signed the kids up for the local Catholic elementary school, we got a notice that enrollment was low and they looked at the budget, these are the changes, are you still committed type of thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We struggled a bit with the decision, because we'd be spending a shit-ton-o-money, sending 2 off the bat.  And part of the changes was a 10% tuition increase and they'd be cutting programs.  Sounding frighteningly like public school....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But after much decision and a last minute pro/con list (because I'm a dork), we decided to stick with it.  The kids loved it there and I was very impressed with the kindergarten teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get yesterday's mail and they are closing the school because only 62 students (37 families) had committed and they could not keep the school open with that level.  Great, just great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where I struggle, is I want Little Man in a 5-day-a-week program next year.  I want him to start getting used to it, so full-day school won't be such a shock to him the following year.  Apparently, few schools in &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Waukesha&lt;/span&gt; County offer 4K, much less 5-day-a-week 4K.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The public schools don't even offer 4K.  So we looked at the school in New Berlin, because the hope is to maybe buy a house in New Berlin next year (yeah, I know.....returning to NB...what are we thinking???  I'm going to lose any coolness I once possessed).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, they only offer 4K 3 days week.  OK, I decided I could deal with that.  But here's the kicker.  School would start for Baby Girl at 7:45 AM for 5K.  Little Man's 4K doesn't start until 8:30 AM.  Are you kidding me???  45 minutes later?  That would not work and is a complete waste of gas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our only other viable options are sending Baby Girl to the local public school for this year and then sending Little Man to her preschool, but I'm not sure they have space (I have to ask, there are signs all over by the office indicated many classes are already full for the fall *sigh*).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or there is another Catholic school in &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Wauwatosa&lt;/span&gt;, not *too* far from &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby's&lt;/span&gt; work.  I love their website, it had just a ton of information and it seems to be an extremely active school.  I'd like to check them out, but &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; is &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;hesitant&lt;/span&gt;.  So we're going to drive there this weekend and see how much farther is it from his work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But all in all, this is really &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' annoying.  Stupid economy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;MIL's&lt;/span&gt; surgery went well.  She's very sore, but that is to be expected.  There was no cancer in the nodes, so that's good news. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The plans for Disney continue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trying to move forward with Patrick's estate, but there are so many stumbling blocks right now.  We still don't have a police report, which is pissing me off.  I have a call and email into the probate attorney to get advice on how to proceed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time Warner can bite my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;frickin&lt;/span&gt;' arse.  If they send one more bill for him, I swear, I will rip into some poor, unsuspecting soul that answers the phone.  Idiots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, I'm pretty &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' cranky right now.   And the people that own the Chinese restaurant by the hospital must think I'm insane.  The past 2 nights I've gone in and gotten nothing but egg drop soup for my MIL and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;FIL&lt;/span&gt;.  But I'm sure these people are like, "Egg drop soup, that's it?  Really?".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-4543686957047079439?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/4543686957047079439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=4543686957047079439' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4543686957047079439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/4543686957047079439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/03/spring-approaches.html' title='Spring approaches...'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-1985509754147408836</id><published>2009-03-20T15:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T16:16:13.266-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I feel like all I do is complain</title><content type='html'>Because, really, I do have an outstanding life, husband, children, family, etc.  But man, can I catch a break?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Friday I was happily shopping at Sendiks with the kids, because I'm always in my happy place there.  Then the phone rings.  It's my MIL.  Sweet, I can ask what groceries they need as my FIL had gotten pneumonia and the general plague (hopefully not from me, but what are ya gonna do?).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She explains my FIL now has a sinus infection on top of the pneumonia.  And there was one itsy-bitsy problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was having chest pain and needed to go to the hospital and my FIL couldn't take her because he'd infect and kill half the population.  Great.  Just frakin' great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off I go to drop the kids off at my folks and to take her to the hospital.  I had to call into work (I'd picked up an extra shift since I missed so much after Pat's death). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around 7:15 PM Gumby calls and says Little Man has an ear infection and is crying.  Gives him ibuprofen.  I call back 30 minutes later and am told, "He's still cranky, but he'll make it through the night."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right.  And I guess you'll be getting up with him in the middle of the night? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, that was bitchy, after all, last time Little Man woke up with the growing pains, Gumby handled it like a champ.  But he was still awake.  Once he's asleep, all bets are off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I leave the MIL at the hospital (she was admitted to have a heart cath the next day) and off I go to get Little Man to take him to Urgent Care. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get him there and he WILL. NOT. STOP. CRYING.  My tough little guy that will fall down a flight of steps, get up and say, "I'm ok Mumma.", then run off, could not stop crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He finally falls asleep sitting up with me rubbing his head.  They take one look in the ear he complained about and went, "Ew."  Checked the other ear and it too was infected.  Poor thing had a double ear infection.  Lovely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday was good, spent most of the day at the hospital.  Went out to dinner with Gumby that night and then the comedy club, which, I will say the comedians were OK, but it was nice to get out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday I worked, all was well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday was the start of spring break.  WOOOOO.  I can sleep in!  Til 7:30.  *sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday was my mistake.  I ate something.  I had a total Homer Simpson moment and ate something I should NOT have eaten.  If you've never seen, "Selma's Choice" from the 4th season of the Simpson's, you've missed out on probably one of the funniest episodes ever that I decided to re-enact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sooooooooooo.  I've been down and out since.  Last night, I finally ate food, a sub from Cousins, which sat well and didn't hurt me.  Score!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I had my abdominal ultrasound.  Turns out I have a rock band in my gallbladder and it must now &lt;s&gt;die&lt;/s&gt; be removed.  So yeah for not only having surgery, but hitting our deductible in the first quarter of the year!  Wooo-hooo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now on to other topics to bitch about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know, nothing irritates me more than pseudo-rich people bitching about stuff they really have no right to bitch about.  We send Emma to a Christian-preschool.  It's not cheap, but it's not as bad as some places, so I don't complain.  She's learned a lot there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I admit, we're probably one of the less affluential parents that use the school.  Whatever.  We chose to spend our money on education. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I listen to these Mom's pick up their kids everyday and all they do is bitch about the school and how they don't like the lunch rules (because is it really so bad to have to pack something from the 4 food groups everyday?).  As I was leaving yesterday, still feeling like shit, one of the Mom's looked at me and barked, "I am so fed up with this, I HAVE to find a new school for them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because, you know, uprooting them in April is the thing to do to a 3 and 4 year old.  And then they stood in the hallway bitching this afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry.  Get over it.  It's PRESCHOOL people.  I've had very few complaints over the past 2 years that Em's been there.  Like, you know, maybe 2?  One major, one not so major.  But good gravy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I see the same thing working at the Walgreens.  I'm no dummy, I made a salary near equal to my husbands when I worked full-time, but we made this decision so I could go to school.  Yet these people with "money" like to come in and try to intimidate me, thinking I must be a moron working a Walgreens.  (a moron they trust with their life as I fill their prescriptions...bwuhahahahahaha).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I'm no moron.  I found a part time job that paid a decent amount, that is flexible around my school schedule and my family life.  Sounds like a win-win situation to me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't understand people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-1985509754147408836?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/1985509754147408836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=1985509754147408836' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1985509754147408836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1985509754147408836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-feel-like-all-i-do-is-complain.html' title='I feel like all I do is complain'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-8001784087620294077</id><published>2009-03-07T23:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T23:25:49.600-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Pneumonia can bite me</title><content type='html'>OK.  I'm really over this.  I'm presuming between the stress of Pat's death, the eulogy, etc and then 8-million sick people hugging me at the funeral, I got the plague.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My little sister celebrated her 18&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; birthday Tuesday.  We went to dinner with my folks, sisters, boyfriends, etc.  I wanted to die half-way through dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Went back to my folks, sister opened gifts, cake/ice cream time.  And I just wanted to be swallowed by the leather couch and spat out in a parallel universe. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We leave and have my father-in-law meet us at home (interestingly enough, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; was concerned enough that he called his Dad before we even left to have him leave for our house.  See, he does take care of me!). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was hoping to go to Urgent Care (less expensive), but &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;WTF&lt;/span&gt;?  All the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;UC's&lt;/span&gt; closed at 9 PM.  I swear, the one downtown was open until 10 PM all summer.  So after we couldn't find an &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;UC&lt;/span&gt;, I decided the ER would have to suffice.  Didn't want to drive downtown to go to my usual hospital, so went to the local one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must say, I need to pull my head out of my ass and just pick a doctor out here in the 'burbs.  Driving downtown when you're already sick sucks.  It's time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway.  After several hours in the ER, I have pneumonia and they suspect I have a full-blown case of influenza.  They do a test for it (which involves them shoving a q-tip up your nose until it touches your brain.  It was so nasty and disturbing.  I'd almost rather be in labor).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rapid test came back negative for it, but it's a 50/50 shot on accuracy (really?  how much did we just pay for a fucking 50/50 accuracy????).  So they opt to send it for the long-term test and gave me a prescription for &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Tamiflu&lt;/span&gt; and an antibiotic for the pneumonia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Walgreens&lt;/span&gt; at 2 AM.  Seventy-&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;-dollars for the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Tamiflu&lt;/span&gt;.  Holy hell.  $10 for the antibiotic.  Good gravy people. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I feel better.  I spent 2 days on my couch, drinking &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;gatorade&lt;/span&gt; and taking drugs and they worked!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still not 100%, but I was able to go to the hockey game last night with the family (which was quite violent, great game!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I've grocery shopped and got a new scratching post for Oscar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But really, I'm sick of being sick now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-8001784087620294077?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/8001784087620294077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=8001784087620294077' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8001784087620294077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8001784087620294077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/03/pneumonia-can-bite-me.html' title='Pneumonia can bite me'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-5119111095612472902</id><published>2009-03-05T22:14:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-05T22:30:52.586-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Today is a bad day</title><content type='html'>I obviously have not posted since Patty's death.  So much has happened since then.  Sadness.  Happiness.  Illness. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We still don't have many details from the accident.  There are rumors abound stating the person that hit Patrick was a "drunk Marine".  We have absolutely no confirmation of that and have no desire to perpetuate that rumor.  If this person was stone-sober, imagine the hell he is living with, knowing his mistake took another life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that is exactly what I'm am struggling with as I sit on the couch this evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some say Pat would want us to forgive the person that hit him.  But at this moment in time, I feel nothing but complete sadness and bitterness.  I don't want to forgive, in fact, I want to inflict great pain on this person.  And it doesn't have to be physical pain, oh no, mental pain would be equally &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;satisfying&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to show this person pictures of our family.  Of our parents, who got a box from the coroner's office yesterday with Pat's belongings, that just sent them into another tailspin of grief.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of his brother's that are now missing 1/3 of their brotherhood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of my children, that are now missing their uncle.  For my son, that is now missing his Godfather.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of me, missing my baby brother that I have protected for so many years. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I am grieving Patrick all over again, I'm not sure why. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The funeral went as well as could be expected.  So many friends came to remember him, to honor him.  It was amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I held myself together during my eulogy until the very end when I read my father-in-laws letter to Patrick (damn it!  mental note!  always &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-read your speech!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I lost it during the military honors.  I feel the need to clarify.  I worry someone may have hear me say I hate military honors. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is not because I don't feel they should be honored, blah, blah, blah.  Quite the contrary.  Military honors make the passing that more difficult for me, to know they selflessly served our country.  I just sob every time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know how much I hate to cry in public?  Especially sob?!?  Because if I'm in public, then I have to do it quietly.  And that shit hurts.  I much prefer to breakdown in the comfort of my own home, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;thankyouverymuch&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved seeing so many of Pat's friends, I had so many conversations, my head was spinning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But back to the issue at hand tonight.  Tonight, I cannot forgive the driver. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God have mercy on him if he was drunk when it happened, because I certainly will not.  Tonight, I hate him, like no one else before, and hopefully no one ever after.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-5119111095612472902?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/5119111095612472902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=5119111095612472902' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5119111095612472902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5119111095612472902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/03/today-is-bad-day.html' title='Today is a bad day'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-6135610838145347090</id><published>2009-02-19T08:06:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-22T09:06:51.562-06:00</updated><title type='text'>RIP Patrick Joseph Reed</title><content type='html'>Much too early this morning, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; woke me from a goofy sleep. I was pointing the completely wrong way on the bed, waiting for him to come to bed, for a completely different reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He pushed me to wake me and growled to come downstairs. I stumbled down the stairs, unable to understand what was going on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;there he sat in the recliner, with a look of such sadness, distraught. His beautiful eyes, completely devastated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I got a call from Mom."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I immediately thought something was wrong with his Dad, that the unthinkable had happened. Obviously it was not the unthinkable as I had just thought it, but I froze on the landing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Patrick died tonight."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Patrick died tonight, he was in an accident with his motorcycle &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;XXXXXXXXX&lt;/span&gt;." (more words I didn't hear).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He repeated it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This truly was the unthinkable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Patrick. My dear, sweet Patrick. Annoying, infuriating Patrick. He drove me insane and made my heart swell with pride all in the same breath. The man, yes man, that was more responsible than most of the people my age that I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew he was in full motorcycle gear. I knew he was hyper-aware of his surroundings at all times. I knew there had to be nothing he could do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pulled John to the couch and cocooning myself around him and I sobbed. God bless him, in his pain, he let me have my moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which I try to tend to him, but he's not having it. Not ready for that pain. He's a dude, I get it.&lt;br /&gt;So I do what comes natural, I turn into a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Tasmanian&lt;/span&gt; devil, throwing toys into the toy room, dishes in the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;dishwasher&lt;/span&gt;, you get the general picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ask if he wants to go to his folks, which of course he does. I can't let him drive, so I call my folks at whatever &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;un&lt;/span&gt;-Godly hour it was. Left a rambling message on the machine for my Dad to call back ASAP. He calls back and gets &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt;, who bluntly says, "My brother Patrick died, we need to go to my folks, can you come watch the kids?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bless my Dad, he hauls himself out rather quickly. Off we go. Fucking freezing last night and with the shock of it all, we were already shaking, so the cold did not help our cause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We get to my in-laws in short order (OK, there was a minor incident where I made the truck go sideways in the subdivision on the slick snow...opps....I was a bit preoccupied. Then &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; yelled at me for driving like a "granny". Nice.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm glad we went, but it was awful. My in-laws were understandably in shock. We stayed for a few hours and hobbled home to relieve my Dad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Patrick was an interesting person. He was a genius. And honest-to-God genius, with some &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;ridiculous&lt;/span&gt; IQ. And he was a pain-in-the-ass. He loved to &lt;s&gt;argue&lt;/s&gt; debate and had to be right.  And he was a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;spaz&lt;/span&gt; as a teen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he was &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' hilarious.  Just when you would resign yourself that he had turned into a complete computer geek, he'd come out with something that I'd be laughing about for days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he had the world's biggest heart.  His ability to love never ceased to amaze me.  It was so pure and good.  He loved who he loved and he did it with the same intensity he did everything else in life, which is more that most people can say about their lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He broke 3 &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;promises&lt;/span&gt; to me.  The most trivial being, he was going to go skydiving with me.  We like to give my MIL some heart palpitations, keeps her young, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;.  Unfortunately we never had that chance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he promised me he wouldn't die and wouldn't make me cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because when he left for Iraq after he'd come home for a bit, I was beside myself when he left again.  I just didn't want him back there.  I wanted him home, where he'd be safe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he finally had enough of Iraq and was coming home.  For at least a year and we could breathe easy.  Because, he had survived all the bombing in Iraq, certainly he could handle a small desert town in California.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want nothing more for my Patrick to be home with us.  Giving my children looks that they are some alien force, but he was so patient with Baby Girl as she would talk his ear off and he smartly would interject a "uh-huh" or "wow" at the appropriate moment.  They freaked him out at babies, but as they are older now, he interacted on a more comfortable level, knowing he could actually reason to some degree with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then there's his Godson, Little Man.  Little Man adored him and would just hang out, watching him playing video games.  I have always been so completely pleased with our choice of Godparents.  Each suits each child so well.  But now Little Man has lost his Godfather.  His uncle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I can't stop crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I don't know how to tell my children and how to not scar them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this fucking sucks monkey butt.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-6135610838145347090?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/6135610838145347090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=6135610838145347090' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/6135610838145347090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/6135610838145347090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/02/rip-patrick-joseph-reed.html' title='RIP Patrick Joseph Reed'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-1167506120212768058</id><published>2009-02-08T20:37:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-08T22:28:13.067-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Grammy Edition of my blog</title><content type='html'>I'm late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I've decided to give the lowdown on my take of the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Grammy's&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jennifer Hudson - Looks great (though I suspect some &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Spanx&lt;/span&gt; was being used..nothing wrong with that, but it's bad if you can see the line).  Sang wonderfully. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jonas Brothers - &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;WTH&lt;/span&gt;?  Are they the new &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;NKOTB&lt;/span&gt;?  And I'm trying to figure out if they are really playing guitar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Craig Ferguson cracked me up, very inappropriate jokes.  Katy Perry, I'm not so sure about.  I like her songs, but I really find her to be not such a great performer live. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Kanye&lt;/span&gt; - Dude, I love you, but what's up with that hair?  The 80's called...well, you know the rest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm glad Adele won the Grammy for best new artist, but isn't there some "curse" that goes along with it?  That worries me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Morgan Freeman - Introducing Kenny?  Wow.  And they're "friends".  Goes to show you that Morgan really is a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' hippie (nothing wrong with that).  I'm loving Kenny as per normal.  Continues to feed my bizarre love of all things musical. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Diddy&lt;/span&gt; couldn't dress up more?  Seriously, you're a good looking man, but a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;frakin&lt;/span&gt;' suit on.  Robert Plant and Allison &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Krause&lt;/span&gt; won, good for them.  I really need to pick up that CD. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dean Martin is dead, how the hell is he getting a lifetime achievement award???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GOOD GAWD.  Holy &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;preggers&lt;/span&gt;.  Polka dots were NOT the best way to go.  I like M.I.A., but &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;dayum&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;OHHHH&lt;/span&gt;...TI is looking &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;mightly&lt;/span&gt; yummy (when doesn't he?).  I do not understand the fascination with &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;L'il&lt;/span&gt; Wayne.  Jay-Z, always dapper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kate &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Beckinsdale&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ohhhh&lt;/span&gt;, very yummy. (oh, and M.I.A. is due today, poor thing.  I was wondering if she was going to drop that kid right there, ha.).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DAVE &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;GROHL&lt;/span&gt;....excuse me while I wipe up the drool from the keyboard. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my question is this....why wouldn't Sir Paul McCartney have Sir Ringo Starr up there with him?  He's obviously the only other living &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Beatle&lt;/span&gt;.  Not that I mind Dave drumming, but I just found it odd (of course I wasn't paying enough attention, so was that a tribute to the Beatles or just to Paul?  If just Paul, then I get it).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, seriously, I like Nicole &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Kidman&lt;/span&gt;, but tone that lipstick down!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kid Rock is Pop?  Oh, I love Jason &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Mraz&lt;/span&gt;.  When I met him, he was just so awesome.  I hope he wins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn, John Mayer won.  I like the damn song, so I guess that's good.  thankfully he's sticking with the shorter hair.  But what's with that suit?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jay &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_20" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Mohr&lt;/span&gt;, seriously, how did he land Nikki Cox?   Knob.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;SugarLand&lt;/span&gt;!  Love 'em.  I'd love to see them live, but I'm pretty sure &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_22" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; would spontaneously &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_23" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;combust&lt;/span&gt; at a "country" concert.  I blame my Grandparents for my love of country. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Grandma, can we listen to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_24" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;xxxx&lt;/span&gt;?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No.  Put the country station on or some Johnny Mathis."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Country it is...Thankfully Garth Brooks was HUGE when I was a teenager, so I've got crazy love for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, Adele is on now.  I love her voice, but I'm not sure about that dress (or the shoes, actually).   Damn that girl can sing (of course so can Jennifer from &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_25" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sugarland&lt;/span&gt;). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HA HA.  Trace Adkins wife did NOT look pleased when the camera went to her.  (you know for a gal that listens to a lot of "alternative" music, I know much too much about country, oh well).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_26" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Radiohead&lt;/span&gt;!!!!!  With the marching band, how fucking cool is that!  Note, I managed to keep swearing to a minimum until &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_27" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Radiohead&lt;/span&gt; came on!  Fucking genius'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow.  I just had my ass blown out.  Amazing.  And I mildly teared up.  I'm at a bit of a loss for words. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck.  Now I lost the remote.  Fucking thing should have a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_28" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;locator&lt;/span&gt; on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sam L.  Baby!  He is a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_29" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;badass&lt;/span&gt; Mo-&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_30" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Fo&lt;/span&gt;.  Oh, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_31" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;JT&lt;/span&gt; and TI.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_32" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Mmmmm&lt;/span&gt;...there's some damn good eye-candy.  Isn't T.I. going to jail?  Oh, felony possession of firearms.  Seriously, why did he need to buy 3 machine guns and 2 silencers?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How did this &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_33" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;yutz&lt;/span&gt; become president of the Recording Academy?  What's his claim to fame?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, I'm cool with Ne Yo playing with the "Four Tops" but Jamie &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_34" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Foxx&lt;/span&gt;?    He annoys me.  'Cause it's all about getting that ass with him.  dude, give it a rest.  We know you're on the prowl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_35" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Awww&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_36" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Jordin&lt;/span&gt; Sparks looks so cute!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So tired.  I have school tomorrow.  I may have to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_37" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;postphone&lt;/span&gt; the rest of my thoughts until tomorrow...... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christina is schilling for Target?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Neil Diamond, Sweet Caroline.  '&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_38" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;nuff&lt;/span&gt; said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, I stepped away to make the kid's lunches for tomorrow and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_39" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; laughed quite hard.  Apparently during the dead people montage, the dude that wrote the original Batman song was on for all of 3 seconds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_40" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' John Mayer can play, I give him that.  Keith Urban, love 'em (back to that whole country thing *sigh*).  BB King, could never tire of him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently John Mayer irritates &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_41" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; as well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm gonna cry, I wanna be done...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Robin &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_42" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Thicke&lt;/span&gt;.  You know, I don't see how Alan &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_43" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Thicke&lt;/span&gt; is his father.  Robin is just one &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_44" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' cool cat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_45" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt;, so I was going to make fun of T Pain, but I have to make fun of myself instead.  Here I was all giggling that the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_46" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Grammy's&lt;/span&gt; did a 5-way split screen for the best rap album and I told &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_47" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; that Lil Wayne would win, but I was hoping that either T.I. or Lupe Fiasco would win and when they read Lil Wayne, I was all, "TOLD YOU!".  Like he was arguing with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm an idiot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, I may miss a bit, had to rewind to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_48" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Radiohead&lt;/span&gt; for &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_49" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt;.  I feel his ass should also be blown out :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Allison &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_50" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Krause&lt;/span&gt; and Robert Plant were awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_51" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Diddy&lt;/span&gt;, take note from Green Day, they wore suits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm rooting for &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_52" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Coldplay&lt;/span&gt; for album of the year, but &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_53" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Radiohead&lt;/span&gt; is my next choice....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Robert Plant and Allison &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_54" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Krause&lt;/span&gt; get it.  They are awesome together, but let's face facts, is that really what the "kids" are listening to.  This would be why the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_55" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Grammy's&lt;/span&gt; are criticized for not being "relevant".  Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_56" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Hmpf&lt;/span&gt;.  That was not how I wanted to end. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shut up Robert, I love the music, stop rambling, you're getting played off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nice, they abandoned Stevie in the middle of the stage by himself.  Ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, tune in next for the Oscar's!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-1167506120212768058?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/1167506120212768058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=1167506120212768058' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1167506120212768058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/1167506120212768058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/02/grammy-edition-of-my-blog.html' title='Grammy Edition of my blog'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-8232015730474732909</id><published>2009-02-06T14:25:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T14:35:28.668-06:00</updated><title type='text'>'Bout time for updates</title><content type='html'>School has been back in session for 2 weeks now and holy crap is the intermediate algebra hard.  Ding dang, I need to study more.  Economics of the Black Community is cool, nothing real ground-breaking yet, but I suspect it will be a lot of fun this semester. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But a class at 8 AM on the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;UWM&lt;/span&gt; campus, when I live in &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Waukesha&lt;/span&gt; is a bit much.  Try as I might I'm typically a bit late to class, which sucks, but I'm trying to be better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby Girl is in gymnastics and loving it.  I may put Little Man in basketball, but it's 2 nights a week and before &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; gets home and I'd need someone to watch Baby Girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're going out tonight and tomorrow night!  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Yowsers&lt;/span&gt;, two nights without kids.  How about that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My MIL is still deciding on a single mastectomy versus a double.  Today she gets the results from the Geneticist to see if she has the cancer gene.  If she does, it will be a double for sure.  If not, she still has to decide.  She's been out of the hospital for a week now from the other issues.  I made them chicken noodle soup, chili and wild rice soup yesterday for freezing, so they will have good stuff on hand. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next up is some shepherd's pie and a turkey/squash casserole. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weather is warm today, giving a small taste of spring.  I can't wait to not have to bundle the kids up in boots/hats/mittens/&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;snowpants&lt;/span&gt;, etc.  To just be able to leave when the time comes.   Winter is exhausting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm waiting for the new Park and Rec book to come out to sign them up for swim classes.  I plan to have them in the water all summer long. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oscar is getting along better with out Fred, but he still feels he has to be EVERYWHERE we are.  And the little bastard really is &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby's&lt;/span&gt; cat.  Fucker.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-8232015730474732909?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/8232015730474732909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=8232015730474732909' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8232015730474732909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8232015730474732909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/02/bout-time-for-updates.html' title='&apos;Bout time for updates'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-8193087520385480190</id><published>2009-01-24T23:11:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T23:15:34.482-06:00</updated><title type='text'>And this is why I need to stop watching VH1...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-e654551fd70e17cf" 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://v12.nonxt2.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3De654551fd70e17cf%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330021311%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D4FBB33A27BFC8A628487542F6F990EC83D1C05FC.5C177609008F40D07BCECE35D78A8FD4C36F3CE7%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3De654551fd70e17cf%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DDj-4ZHfGTNOvtl5He0NE6dwECQE&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://v12.nonxt2.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3De654551fd70e17cf%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330021311%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D4FBB33A27BFC8A628487542F6F990EC83D1C05FC.5C177609008F40D07BCECE35D78A8FD4C36F3CE7%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3De654551fd70e17cf%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DDj-4ZHfGTNOvtl5He0NE6dwECQE&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&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/4025715738398196085-8193087520385480190?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=e654551fd70e17cf&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/8193087520385480190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=8193087520385480190' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8193087520385480190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8193087520385480190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/01/and-this-is-why-i-need-to-stop-watching.html' title='And this is why I need to stop watching VH1...'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-8783787052591204085</id><published>2009-01-18T01:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T02:04:22.960-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Shit-tacular week</title><content type='html'>Let's see, where to start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had to put our cat down. She had a tumor in her chin we didn't know about and by the time it presented itself, it was too late. We had the option to bring her home with pain medication until she couldn't eat anymore or to put her down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No offense, the idea of waiting for her to stop eating just seemed rather morbid. I'd rather she be happy in kitty heaven than here with me in pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But here's the thing. I've had her for almost 13 years. I keep thinking I see her in the house. She was a constant presence and I really do miss her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Telling Little Man was the hardest (well, no, holding her as she died was the hardest). He cried very hard and told me how he wanted her back and missed her and it just broke my fucking heart all over again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm from the school of being upfront with them, obviously there are somethings we shield them from, but a pet dying is part of life and part of owning a pet. so there you go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My MIL has breast cancer again. It's the same kind, in the same breast, so she will have a mastectomy this time. Fun, fucking times, let me tell you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I struggled with that one as I've know it was a possibility since Monday (&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;FIL&lt;/span&gt; had a moment of verbal &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;diarrhea&lt;/span&gt; and told me) and my MIL asked me not to tell &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt;. I tell him most everything, but I respected her wishes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which for anyone that knows me, knows that's near-fucking-impossible. She got the biopsy results yesterday and I obviously didn't want to tell him before his Winter Ball (a work function) and afterwards was much too late to deal with such heaviness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today was a bit brutal for the family. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; ended up &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;vomiting&lt;/span&gt; (I'm thinking the big '&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ol&lt;/span&gt; t-bone steak did not help that cause). I'm still working on an upset stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched the new episode of The Office tonight and almost died. Also watched last week's &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;SNL&lt;/span&gt; with Neil Patrick Harris (who, was on Sesame Street this past week as the Shoe Fairy and I almost peed my pants).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-8783787052591204085?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/8783787052591204085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=8783787052591204085' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8783787052591204085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8783787052591204085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/01/shit-tacular-week.html' title='Shit-tacular week'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-5426170995120999391</id><published>2009-01-13T11:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T21:46:01.250-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Opps.</title><content type='html'>So my MIL and I have a mild addiction to Rock Band. I've been trying to play at night, after the kids go to bed, because really, watching Mommy play video games is not the image I'd like to project on their very impressionable brains.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But sometimes after I pick up Baby Girl from preschool we head over to the in-laws for the afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And my MIL got Rock Band 2 for Christmas. The set. Which is it's own post, really, but I digress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the other night the beasties were in the tub, Gumby and I were folding laundry in our room (attached to the bathroom! Jeez). Suddenly you heard:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what 'cha, what 'cha, what 'cha want? I said what 'cha, what 'cha, what 'cha want?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Err. Is the 4 year old singing Beastie Boys?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After much laughter, I think, well maybe that's a bit too much Rock Band? Nahhh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, we head over to the in-laws. G-ma had Baby Girl's new mittens and was going to make a new "string" for them and I needed to get them before this weather set in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We chatted for a while with Mary Mac, doing our thing. I laid the kids down in their rooms for a nap and Mary decided it was time to head back to the city. To which my MIL said, "Are we going to Rock Band now???"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure, we'll Rock Band.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast-forward 2 hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*blush*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Man is up from his nap and I send him in to mess with his sister (because I'm considerate when my kids wake up and make one of them the bad guy, heh).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grandma asks Baby Girl what song she had been singing in the tub.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's what you Get!." - Paramore (yes, from RB)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, that's not it, hon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Was it, 'Hey, ho! Let's go'? - The Clash (yep, RB)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Er, no, not that one babe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The fishing song?" - Bon Jovi (Dead or Alive from Deadliest Catch and yes, from RB)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Maps?" - The Yeah Yeah Yeah's (damn, also from RB)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, babe, you were singing, "So what 'cha, what 'cha, what 'cha want?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which she promptly spent the remainder of the afternoon singing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's gotta be better than her wanting to watch either the Fall Out Boy, "I Don't Care" video or The All-American Rejects, "Give you Hell."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really need to stop watching VH1 around her. &lt;s&gt;And considering cutting back on RB at Grandma &amp;amp; Grandpa's.&lt;/s&gt; Wait, Grandma isn't well and this makes her FEEL better. I'm doing a great service by playing this game with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heh. And feeding my ever-growing addiction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, on to better parenting topics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby Girl starts gymnastics on Thursday. I'm very excited for her. It's her first "big girl" class that I won't be in with her. I tried to get Little Man into the toddler class (I'd participate with him), but we are on the waiting list, unfortunately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm excited for the prospect of summer. I'm thinking I will keep Baby Girl home with me and they can take non-stop swim classes all summer. I want them swimming like da fishes by the end of summer!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I start my classes in 2 weeks, which is exciting. I'll be happy to be back in school.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-5426170995120999391?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/5426170995120999391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=5426170995120999391' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5426170995120999391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5426170995120999391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/01/opps.html' title='Opps.'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-970616699143978376</id><published>2009-01-06T11:06:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T11:32:47.249-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a blog slacker.</title><content type='html'>Er. Yeah. So I haven't posted in a few weeks. I've thought about it, I really have, but just haven't gotten around to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that seems to be a theme around here lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So to recap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas Eve was here with both families. I was a bit panicked in the morning, trying to get ready. Made an appointment for Little Man to get a hair cut. Ran around getting ready, realized I would not make the 11 AM appointment, so I called to reschedule. Got Noon. Left at 11:45 AM to get there (it's snowing like you wouldn't believe) and realize &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; had the keys to the car (when we bought it, it only came with 1 key and of course, it's a special key that's almost $300 for..we'll work with 1 for now thank you!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm pissed. I'm going to be late to another hair cut appointment. It's snowing, my children are running around like the beasts they are and I suddenly realize, who the fuck cares?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the kids wanted to do was to build a snow man. So a snow man we built.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; came home, took Little Man to his hair cut appointment, I ran to the store with Baby Girl and came home and relaxed. Got the food ready and didn't stress. Overall, Christmas Eve was very chill after building the snow man. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Heh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas Eve and Day was very nice. Very relaxed. I did get Rock Band 2 (as did my MIL, God help us both). So now I've been staying up much too late after the kids go to bed playing. It's addictive, fun and really needs to be controlled. Ha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Year's Eve was going to be here, but my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;FIL&lt;/span&gt; fell and sprained his ankle, so we went to their house. Our usual seafood fest. My BIL was able to get us some lobster and he prepped it for me, so I just had to finish cooking it (so &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' yummy). I did the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;filet&lt;/span&gt;, shrimp and mussels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Man passed out in Grandma and Grandpa's bed around 10 PM (I was meanwhile, passed out in the recliner, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;opps&lt;/span&gt;). Baby Girl was still kicking at 11:15 PM, but we left then. Got home and the kids in bed just in time to have 5 minutes to spare before the new year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Popped open our bottle of sparkling grape juice (we live hard peeps) and brought in the new year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past weekend we had a night without kids. The in-laws had the kids sleep over Saturday night. We went to dinner with my folks for our collective anniversaries and then went to a movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, don't waste your time or money on "The Day the Earth Stood Still". What a piece of crap. We wanted to see the Benjamin Button movie, but my Mom was anti-Brad that night, so we went to the other movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Ugg&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Word to the wise, don't delay in picking your college classes. I'm used to going to smaller schools that you can always get into a class. Apparently &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;UWM&lt;/span&gt; is pretty serious about those class limits, plus, there are so many more students looking to get in. Now I'm stalking the registration website every few hours trying to get into the classes I needed and wanted (I had the whole damn scheduled perfect in my head. Fuck).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, I've signed up for classes I do need, but the other classes are classes I need to take (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;prereq's&lt;/span&gt;). Apparently the college algebra course I took is not enough and now I need intermediate algebra, followed by calculus and stats. Bugger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why did I pick this major? Oh yeah, I'm a nerd/dork.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alas, on the a happier note, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; has decided to go back for his bachelors (hell yes!), so starting this summer we'll be able to take a bunch of classes together again. I know it sounds strange, but it's a good time for us to have the commute in the car together, we take the classes together (keeps us on top of what's due and usually when one doesn't get something, the other does and can explain it). Plus I love being his partner on projects...means I don't have to leave home or my pj's (ha!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm super-duper excited about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turn the big 3-3 in 2 days. Actually it's not all that big. Birthdays don't typically bother me (weird ones do, I had issue with 23...hmmmm...wonder if that means I'll have issue with 33???).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish me luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a final note, I'd love to hear suggestions on how to get a 3 year old boy to stop picking his nose. Seems to be a boy specific thing, as we were able to break Baby Girl of it rather quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Blech&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ETA:  UPDATE!!!  I got into the algebra class I wanted!  Guess who gets to take algebra at 8 AM on Monday, Wednesday and Fridays?!?  And who's actually excited about it?  I'm such a dork.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-970616699143978376?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/970616699143978376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=970616699143978376' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/970616699143978376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/970616699143978376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2009/01/im-blog-slacker.html' title='I&apos;m a blog slacker.'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-5836568950711600294</id><published>2008-12-16T22:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-20T16:15:20.379-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Girl's Christmas Concert and a lesson in child protection</title><content type='html'>Baby Girl's preschool class performed Christmas concerts Monday and Tuesday. I brought the video camera Monday, only to find out there was no tape in it. Damn it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tuesday morning, we searched high and low, but could not find any tapes. Fuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Gumby quickly downloaded an app to his iPhone that allowed him to video take it with it (crafty, that one!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby Girl is 2nd from the end in the gray sweater and pig-tails. Sweet Jebus, that kid is cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And today she got "big girl boots". Up until now, she has always gotten boots that Little Man can wear the next year, because I'm &lt;s&gt;cheap&lt;/s&gt; thrifty. So we currently have several pairs of navy Land's End boots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While we were visiting Santa Monday night, we realized Little Man's boots were too small. Normally he would get Baby Girl's boots and she'd get new boots. Except when we went to Land's End today and tried on the next size up, they were way too freakin' big for her. She couldn't walk and they would not stay on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I had to buy the same size she had, but figured I might as well let her get a girly colored pair, since Little Man would just wear the navy ones next year. So she got a pair of light blue ones that match her snowpants/coat lining. Yes, I'm a nerd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-dc311274bfc98c36" 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://v7.nonxt2.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Ddc311274bfc98c36%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330021311%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D309450F9ACF428907D49613D39A8E77D7268E72E.FBCBAC04E483BB090BD8A61AD81F156E50AE5BE%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Ddc311274bfc98c36%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3Dpr45vfGIKyChzDck5nuahdjg7dY&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://v7.nonxt2.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Ddc311274bfc98c36%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330021311%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D309450F9ACF428907D49613D39A8E77D7268E72E.FBCBAC04E483BB090BD8A61AD81F156E50AE5BE%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Ddc311274bfc98c36%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3Dpr45vfGIKyChzDck5nuahdjg7dY&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday we had a minor blizzard here, 12+ inches of snow.  The city was pretty much shut down until noon, so Baby Girl's preschool was closed.  We headed over to the In-laws for some sledding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I, of course, have a terrible cold.  I stayed in when we got there and ate my Taco Smell.  Gumby ate his as well and we watched the kids from the picture window and the dog was out there with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now.  A bit about the dog.  He's fiercely protective of the kids.  And rightfully so.  So normally when the kids are out, he's always within 15 feet of them, especially if we are not out there with them (which doesn't happen often or for very long, with the exception of winter, when I will happily watch from the picture window the entire time they become "one" with nature.  heh)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of the sudden the dog took off.  Baby Girl was calling him in her best Boston accent, "Hunt-a!".  I opened the window and gave a shout out and he didn't come back, so I figured the little shit was chasing some prey. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alas, I did hear some ruckus by the neighbor dogs, but typically that means our dog is chasing prey and the neighbor dogs want to hunt with him, but they have an electric fence, so it's the worst tease EVER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gumby heads out to sled with the kids and the dog come back and they all happily play for at least 30 minutes, maybe 45?  The damn dog was so cute, bounding in the snow, playing catch with Gumby.  He'd charge up to one of the kids, lick 'em and bound off again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They all finally start to file in the house and the dog has the biggest grin on his face.  But then I notice some blood by his ear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Come here booger-butt, what'd you do to yourself?"  (don't you love my pet name for him?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except it was some blood, it was a lot of blood.  On both ears.  And his back hind-quarter.  And his jowl.  Holy hell, what just happened to our dog?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My MIL comes over and we clean him up and I'm pretty anxious and she tells me he's fine, he tangled with something, blah, blah, blah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We wait a while and are still talking about it.  Then my MIL says, "Well, we do have both a coyote and a cougar that come through our yard."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ultimately decide she should at least call the vet (at 4:55 PM, on a Friday, of a blizzard...righhhht)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Normal vet is closed and referred us to the Emergency vet (hello second mortgage sized bill!).  She calls what she thinks is the previous vet they used (she got confused and it was actually the vet they used 20 years ago *smacks head on keyboard*.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They freak out mildly and say we need to bring him immediately and they'll wait for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gumby and I drag booger-butt off to the vet.  He gets a very clean bill, but they give us pain pills and an antibiotic for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Essentially, what we think happened is that he was out with the kids, got the scent of something he didn't want near the kids (more than likely the coyote) and took off to let him/her know in no uncertain terms our yard was off limits.  And when Gumby went out, he had either finished the fight or knew it was OK for the kids to be out because Gumby was there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure I could love that dog anymore than I do at this moment.  I'm a bit freaked out now about the kids outside and my FIL is insisting the dog be leashed at all times (not sure how that's going to go down...normally Gumby and the dog play a lot of catch, which isn't happening if he's on leash).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that dog made out like a bandit last night.  Not only did he get several bones from my MIL while she made her beef stock, he got some cinna-twists from Taco Smell and that dog loves nothing more than sugar. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are times when I look at our goofy collection of rescue animals and my heart swells.  They are really the coolest, motley crew ever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-5836568950711600294?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=dc311274bfc98c36&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/5836568950711600294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=5836568950711600294' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5836568950711600294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/5836568950711600294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/12/baby-girls-christmas-concert-and-lesson.html' title='Baby Girl&apos;s Christmas Concert and a lesson in child protection'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-2605750885745266671</id><published>2008-12-07T23:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-07T23:24:23.917-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Damn truck</title><content type='html'>Today I worked at 10:30 AM.  As I arrived at work (early!), I turned off the truck and tried to pull out the key, but it didn't move.  I slightly twisted the key, thinking I had gone past the "removal" point and had gone into &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;axillary&lt;/span&gt; power.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except it still didn't come out.  I bent over to look and saw ice (!) at the top of the metal key part.  I flick if off, hoping that was the end of it.  Alas, I was again, wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whole &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;frickin&lt;/span&gt;' key was frozen in the ignition.  In my 17 years of driving, I've never had this happen.  I blame Dodge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I had to sit in the truck and wait for it to warm up completely (because the 4 minute drive from our driveway to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Walgreens&lt;/span&gt; parking lot was not not enough to warm it).  Which meant, I was a few minutes late to work. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least they had a good laugh about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The children had a good time playing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Wii&lt;/span&gt; tonight.  They were playing baseball when I got home and did some &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Wii&lt;/span&gt; fit before bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than that, not a whole lot in the day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-2605750885745266671?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/2605750885745266671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=2605750885745266671' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/2605750885745266671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/2605750885745266671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/12/damn-truck.html' title='Damn truck'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-8916989606085173337</id><published>2008-12-04T21:13:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-04T21:38:59.102-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking the good with the bad.</title><content type='html'>Today was Little Man's first appointment with the dentist.  He did well, no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cavities&lt;/span&gt; and he was patient with the whole thing.  First he saw me have my exam and cleaning, then it was his turn.  Of course they decided to fit in an emergency between my exam and Little Man's, so poor kid had to wait quite a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were going to meet &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; for lunch, but were delayed too much before picking up Baby Girl from preschool.  So off we went to get Baby Girl and then went to have lunch with Daddy, aka, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went for wings, 'cause it's 60 cent boneless wing day.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Mmmmm&lt;/span&gt;...wings....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we arrived, the kids dashed off to the lower part of the restaurant where you can watch the traffic by the mall.  There was a table of maybe 7 gentleman from the Army, in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;camo&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing I hear as my beasts claim their table is, "Watch your mouth now." from the head dude at the Army table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look up surprised, mumbled a, "Sorry guys." to them, but was appreciative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had lunch and at some point the kids asked about the American flag on the uniforms, so we ended up having a conversation about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Mumma&lt;/span&gt;, why do they have American flags?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, it's their job to protect it.  To protect us from bad guys."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How come?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, that's their job, they decided that's what they want to do."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really didn't want to get into anything more.  But they asked more questions, much too wise for 3 and 4.  And we had a good chat about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't think the guys were paying attention, but as they left, one thanked &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; was quite confused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why are you confused?  There's a huge anti-war sentiment going on right now.  We may not agree with the war, but we'll ALWAYS support our troops.  They heard us speaking positively to the kids about them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I was oddly moved by all of it.  I will say, it is moving to see soldiers in uniform, knowing they are protecting me and my freedoms that I completely take for granted (hey, I admit it).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were leaving there was a woman, she was huge.  I'm a big woman, but was small compared to her.  And I knew something was up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had Little Man and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; was delayed behind me with Baby Girl.  I was trying to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;maneuver&lt;/span&gt; Little Man out of the building and this woman was blocking us.  Totally stalling and kept moving in front of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we got out into the freezing cold, she turned around and said, "Excuse me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I, dumbly, thought she was apologizing for being so fucking slow, but oh no, she was not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Excuse me, I'm homeless with no money.  I slept outside last night with only this bag."  As she shows me her bag.  "I have no food."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which I respond by shoving my leftovers at her.  And I SHIT. YOU.  NOT.  She turned her nose up and said, "What's this?!?"  As if I'd just handed her rat poison.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Chicken wings!" I respond with more cheer than a freshly blown elf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure she promptly threw them away, which is annoying.  But fuck, if you're really that hungry, eat that shit.  Clearly you were hanging out at Buffalo Wild Wings, so you're not opposed to the food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Have a nice day!"  I cheerily sang as I walked away, pretending I didn't notice her trying to see what was in my purse (mental note, close the damn clasp on purse).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's interesting to me.  When "homeless" people approach me for food.  I often give them whatever leftovers I have (because either we eat out a lot, or I typically get hit up after eating out).  Most times, I've been met with complete &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;disdain&lt;/span&gt;.  Because you know, I'm not giving them money and the option to get the food THEY want.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Umm&lt;/span&gt;, hello?  If you're that damn hungry, you'll eat it.  I think twice, I was met with true appreciation and that was great. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the rest of them are a bunch of lazy, fucking &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;douche bags&lt;/span&gt; that can just go fuck themselves.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-8916989606085173337?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/8916989606085173337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=8916989606085173337' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8916989606085173337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8916989606085173337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/12/taking-good-with-bad.html' title='Taking the good with the bad.'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-3626379352509849555</id><published>2008-11-28T21:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T21:35:35.232-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Black Friday</title><content type='html'>I have to say, we did the whole Black Friday thing today and it was mildly disappointing.  There was not as much stuff on sale this year, IMO.  Or at least "small ticket" items.  Sure, there were a shit ton of HD tv's, but we're not in the market for that currently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got a few gifts today, but I got called into work and am now tired as hell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blah.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-3626379352509849555?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/3626379352509849555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=3626379352509849555' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3626379352509849555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3626379352509849555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/11/black-friday.html' title='Black Friday'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-2823346502781934802</id><published>2008-11-26T09:12:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T11:38:23.905-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A day to give thanks and to reflect</title><content type='html'>I'm a huge fan of 2 blogs in particular. The woman who write them are so talented and creative and make me laugh my ass off. And I'll admit, they've turned me to on a few other blogs, which is cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first blog I really started following was &lt;a href="http://gwendomama.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Gwendomama&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. I can't even remember how I learned of her blog, but I was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;immediately&lt;/span&gt; hooked with her talk of a &lt;a href="http://gwendomama.blogspot.com/2008/03/has-life-given-you-meyer-lemons-lucky.html"&gt;lavender sugar&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://gwendomama.blogspot.com/2007/12/triple-chocolate-cupcakes.html"&gt;cupcakes&lt;/a&gt;. I'm always a sucker for fancy recipes that make me a genius to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;. (and we wonder why he went for a 32" waist when we started dating to his current 40").&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I learned of &lt;a href="http://gwendomama.blogspot.com/2008/03/very-last-goodbye.html"&gt;Elijah&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Gwendomama&lt;/span&gt; is very open about Elijah and losing him. And I have literally sobbed through her posts. Then one day, she made reference to &lt;a href="http://theredneckmommy.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Tanis&lt;/span&gt;, The Redneck Mommy&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Tanis&lt;/span&gt;, loves to speak of her breasts, evil tricks she plays on her children and her life as a redneck. I think she's my long lost sister. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Tanis&lt;/span&gt; also has experienced horrific loss, of &lt;a href="http://missingmybug.blogspot.com/"&gt;Bug&lt;/a&gt;, her son. And sweet fuck, did I sob reading her story. I was hysterical one night (which probably is not a natural reaction and probably another reason I'm in therapy, but that's another post for another day).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So one might ask, "What the fuck is your obsession with reading depressing (albeit funny) blogs about people's kids dying?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't actually answer that specifically, 'cause I'm not really sure myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I do know is that nine years ago today, I learned &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; and I were going to be parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember it clear as day. I have inexplicably quit my job of almost 5 years a few weeks earlier. So no benefits, that's always smart, right?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember being in the powder room at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Gumby's&lt;/span&gt; folks, washing my hands and looking in the mirror. I was wearing these awesome mustard colored pants and a similar colored sweater. And I as I washed my hands, I was looking at myself, lamenting that I must have gained some weight, because DAMN, that sweater was tight around my boobs and hadn't been when I bought it a few weeks earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;lightbulb&lt;/span&gt; starts to flicker above my head*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the fuck? Why the hell would my boobs be bigger?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Er. Um.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When WAS my last period.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;lightbulb&lt;/span&gt; is now burning bright*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, I was off and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; had to work. As he was in the shower, I ran across the street to the drug store and bought a pregnancy test. He left for work and I anxiously peed on a stick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I might as well not have, I think I could have just waved it at me, I was so fucking pregnant. The damn thing glowed happily at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; got home that night and I said we needed to talk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So....have you noticed my boobs are bigger?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'cause it was kinda hard to miss, since I'm normally a DD and had to have been pushing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;DDDD&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're pregnant?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yep."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which there was much discussion over what would happen next. Because I was working for a temp agency (fucking hormones) and we were still living in the world's smallest one bedroom apartment on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Eastside&lt;/span&gt; (our rent was a whopping $395 at the time).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Abortion was brought up. And I knew it was not something I wanted to do. But I also saw the fear in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Gumby's&lt;/span&gt; eyes and wasn't sure I was strong enough to do the kid thing on my own if he decided to run (which, was a very valid fear...sorry babe).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;Gumby's&lt;/span&gt; folks left the next day for a month long trip to Hawaii and to sail on the brother-in-laws Naval ship back from Hawaii (trust me, it was the trip of a lifetime, but they would have had to have flown me off the damn ship. I could barely handle the 3 day trip we did 2 years later).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days later I told my Mom. To which she asked what our plan was and I still really didn't know. A few days later, I knew I couldn't have an abortion. I knew I wanted to be a Mommy too much and I would make it work if &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; and I didn't work out. It was a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;Divine&lt;/span&gt; plan of some sort in my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So again, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; came home and I told he we needed to talk. I would not be having an abortion. I will fight for a person's right to have that ability, but it wasn't the right choice for me, I was keeping the baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So we need to get married then." That was his response.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because he's romantic and thoughtful that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm not marrying you just because I'm pregnant. If you didn't want to marry me BEFORE I was pregnant, why the fuck would I marry you now?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Because if I don't marry you, my Dad is going to kill me when they get back. Or they're going to make us get married. And then I'll just say, 'Told ya so.'"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which is why, 9 years later, we laugh when he says, "Told ya so."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stubborn mule I am, I refused. The next day I start to find out about getting medical insurance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Huh. Apparently if you're ALREADY pregnant, you can't buy insurance. And I couldn't afford the almost $400 a month COBRA would cost from my previous job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I started calling about daycare costs. And I certainly could not afford daycare earning $12.50 an hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night I felt a little weird, so I called Labor &amp;amp; Delivery. I knew the resident on call and she said she'd do a quick scan. I went in and she couldn't find much (since we didn't know how far along I was).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the next day, I called my OB. She sent me for another ultrasound. It was there we saw the baby and heartbeat. And I was over the moon. But I was only a little over 5 weeks along by that ultrasound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should have known something was up, but I chalked it up to the fact that every fetus develops differently and ultrasound is not accurate, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;especially&lt;/span&gt; at that point in pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days later, I knew I had to marry &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; if we were going to have this child. So I agreed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents and Grandparents had the same anniversary, December 22&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt;. I thought it would be nice if we got married on the same day, so we set it in motion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"&gt;Gumby's&lt;/span&gt; folks were still gone and not reachable, so we went to visit the next best thing, Mary, who is my mother-in-law's best friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We explained what was going on and our plan to marry on 12/22. The in-laws would not be back until 12/23. Mary knew my in-laws would be heartbroken if they missed it. So after much struggle (selfishly on my part, I admit) I agreed to change the date to 12/29.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On December 17&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; and I were babysitting for some friends. Their little girl was so sweet and I was so happy to be there. And I felt, &lt;em&gt;weird&lt;/em&gt;. I couldn't place my finger on it, but I just wasn't feeling right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the child went to bed, I went to the bathroom. And I was spotting. Not heavily, but it was still there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It put me in a funk and I just blurted it to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt;, rather rudely, when I got out of the bathroom. For whatever reason, the baby woke up, so I held her tightly for a long time, rocking her and singing to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, Saturday, I started cramping. I called my OB. She prescribed progesterone and immediate &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"&gt;bedrest&lt;/span&gt; for one day. If the pregnancy was going to stick, it would get better that day and not be an issue the next and I should resume regular activity the next day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The progesterone did stop the cramping on Saturday, but it was there again on Sunday. We had tickets to the Admirals in the box, so hell yeah, I wanted to go and I knew there was no stopping what was going to happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of we went to the game. An hour into it I went to the bathroom and was now bleeding heavily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Time to go." I said to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; when I got out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He flew into action and had us out of the Bradley Center in short order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do we go to the hospital?" He asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, just go home."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the bathroom again at home and when I wiped, I felt &lt;em&gt;something&lt;/em&gt;. And I knew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My shoulders slumped and I slowly looked at my "prize" from wiping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And on the toilet paper was my baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, how I cried and sobbed. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"&gt;Gumby&lt;/span&gt; flew into the bathroom to check on me and saw the icky glob I was crying over. Poor guy isn't good with blood and it was all he could do not to vomit. He quickly closed the door and asked (from the other side, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;) if he could do anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We did get married on December 29&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;. And I have struggled for a very long time to deal with that miscarriage (and the 2 that happened years later when we were actually trying to have a baby).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So maybe that's why I read those blogs. Maybe its because I know how hard my losses were, but these woman have survived the deaths of their children that they already had. Mine were still just the hopes of what were to come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today is the anniversary of how we ended up married. Long fucking story to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"&gt;get&lt;/span&gt; to that, eh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now I have 2 beautiful babies.  And they are healthy and full of laughter.  And nothing else makes me happier in this world (again, sorry babe...I love you, but you are not nearly as endearing when you pass gas...they make it look goooood. ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-2823346502781934802?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/2823346502781934802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=2823346502781934802' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/2823346502781934802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/2823346502781934802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/11/day-to-give-thanks-and-to-reflect.html' title='A day to give thanks and to reflect'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-884129162854979208</id><published>2008-11-25T22:52:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T23:04:58.234-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A sense of accomplishment.</title><content type='html'>So we moved into this place almost 6 months ago.  It was the fucking move from hell as our old landlord offered us extra $$$ to leave early, but our new landlord would not budge on letting us in early.  So we ultimately lived at the in-laws for a week and all our shit was in storage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I shit you not, Little Man turned 3 the day after we moved in and I traveled the next day for a week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never again people. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All our shit has been thrown into the basement with little concern for where it landed as long as there was a path to the laundry area, the computer and the litter box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause we have priorities, if nothing else in this house.  Heh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's been pissing me the fuck off.  Because more and more shit gets thrown down there and then the in-laws had the gall to ask us to take some of our shit back.  I mean come on, they couldn't store all our china and our bicycles for a few years?!?  (I jest...sort of)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it's become a battle.  The bicycles came home about a month and a half ago.  And I made Gumby buy bike hooks that night, so the bikes could be hung from the rafters, because damn it, we don't need more shit on the floor down there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I've been asking weekly since for him to put up the damn hooks.  And it finally came to a battle last night about it.  'Cause like I said, I was cranky as fuck yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But alas, the bikes are finally hung tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we threw out a shit ton of boxes from the basement (the landlord is probably thinking, "Oh shit...they've decided to stay.")  And the front of our house looks like our basement threw up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is progress in the basement.  I've managed to get all the Christmas stuff on the same side of the basement (cue angels singing).  The china has been stored where it is least likely to get damaged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking I'll have it done this weekend.  'Cause the tree is going up this weekend.  My sister asked if we could put it up and I agreed, much to Gumby's irritation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm roasting a turkey tomorrow for Thanksgiving and making a cherry pie.  Then for our dinner, I have a pork shoulder roast marinating in the fridge for a beauitful pulled bbq pork tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm looking forward to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And with that, I'm off to veg out in front of the tv.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-884129162854979208?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/884129162854979208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=884129162854979208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/884129162854979208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/884129162854979208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/11/sense-of-accomplishment.html' title='A sense of accomplishment.'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-6417437098124512308</id><published>2008-11-25T00:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T00:31:19.027-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Weird Ass Monday</title><content type='html'>So I totally went to bed late.  Much later than I should have.  But Baby Girl has an ear infection and was still running a fever, so I knew she'd be home and Little Man would obviously be home.  So, you know...gives me mild permission to stay up late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward to 6:30 AM, a few short hours later and Gumby's alarm was blaring.  I managed to ignore it by elbowing him in the ribs to turn it off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around 8 AM my phone goes off and I look at it bleary-eyed and see it's my folks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hello?"  (drool running down chin)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's my Mom.  My Aunt (her sister) died this morning.  She was diagnosed 7 days ago with the same cancer my Grandma died from 5 years ago (Grandma was 70, my Aunt was pushing 50, but not there yet).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you fucking kidding me?" (more drool down chin)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, so very bizarre.  Very concerning for the rest of us females in the family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel awful for her son, my cousin.  He is only 18 and very ill-prepared for this.  I hope he finds the strength he needs in the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been cranky most of the day.  Did not help that there was snow on the ground when I got up.  But the kids went out to play for a while (I cheated and sat on my kitchen chair, watching them through the patio doors, occasionally opening it to shout out the obligatory, "Don't eat the snow from the grass!" or "Don't kick your sister!") &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I'm a good Mom like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's been a very weird day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-6417437098124512308?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/6417437098124512308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=6417437098124512308' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/6417437098124512308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/6417437098124512308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/11/weird-ass-monday.html' title='Weird Ass Monday'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-3319916463900506595</id><published>2008-11-21T19:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T19:48:41.298-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Man is Going Commando</title><content type='html'>Little Man had to "go to the bathroom" during dinner. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which is code for, "I don't want to eat this shit you pulled together that manages to involve all of the food groups, but is not at all what a 3 year wants to eat."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ungrateful little fucker. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I listen to Little Man goof off in the bathroom (including falling off the toilet for a second time).  Finally I go in and he's standing there, picking his nose.  Fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dude, get out of the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"NOOOOO...I have to go &lt;em&gt;potty&lt;/em&gt; Mumma!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uggg.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A bit later he wanders out, pants in hand and insists I help put his pants on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Put your pants on son.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He finally gets his pants on and asks me to button them (understandable in those pants, they are snug in the waist).  I start to button and don't feel those Wall-E underpants he had on earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dude, where are your underwear?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dunno.  Maybe the kitchen floor?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Go get your underpants kid."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He comes back with his underpants, pulls off his jeans and promptly gets distracted by a book.  So now he's sitting sans any pants, reading a book on my living room carpet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's just hope he wiped well when he was done, shall we?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-3319916463900506595?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/3319916463900506595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=3319916463900506595' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3319916463900506595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3319916463900506595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/11/little-man-is-going-commando.html' title='Little Man is Going Commando'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-8518247027747023405</id><published>2008-11-17T14:07:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T14:26:36.006-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I like</title><content type='html'>&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Snuggling on the couch&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.topgear.com/us/"&gt;Top Gear&lt;/a&gt;.  Seriously.  I almost pissed myself laughing while watching last night.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Honey Roasted peanut butter.  This is a new thing, I bought it on a whim and can't keep my finger out of the damn jar now.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hope-Floats-Sandra-Bullock/dp/B00006ZXSQ/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=dvd&amp;amp;qid=1226952553&amp;amp;sr=8-1"&gt;Hope Floats&lt;/a&gt;.  Damn movie makes me cry every time.  And Harry Connick Jr could not be hotter.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Dave Matthews.  I love most everything Dave.  But &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20aWZzz-i2E"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; is an absolute favorite (again, I sob like a baby) with &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9BgfGrRtgg"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; being a very close second.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Tricky Fingers.  If you don't know what it is, you should.  That's some fun shit.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Rock Band and Rock Band 2.  Good times.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Kate Spade bags.  I wish I could afford more.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;KitchenAid.  It's an addiction.  A good addiction.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Our camper.  it's freakin' awesome.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-8518247027747023405?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/8518247027747023405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=8518247027747023405' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8518247027747023405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/8518247027747023405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/11/things-i-like.html' title='Things I like'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-3044501329989202844</id><published>2008-11-14T00:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T08:33:59.046-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Was it wrong...</title><content type='html'>When I was either a freshman or sophomore in high school, I was asked to work in the "special needs" classroom, specifically the technology room. Which, back in the early '90's meant a typing class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was assigned to a male student, I don't remember exactly what his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;disability&lt;/span&gt; was, but I want to say it was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cerebral&lt;/span&gt; palsy. We got along &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;well;&lt;/span&gt; he couldn't speak well, but I noticed he stared at my breasts a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then one day, he got very excited and he flung his hand at them. He didn't have much control, so his hand just hit my breast, but didn't linger. I didn't make a deal about it because, well, let's be honest, I was 15 or 16 and really inexperienced and didn't know if it was on purpose or an accident.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except it continued to happen for the rest of the semester.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never made an issue of it and I never really discussed it. I think in my feeble teenage mind, I was letting him do something he otherwise wouldn't be able to do and I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;justified&lt;/span&gt; it as I wasn't doing anything MORE with him. Ahem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that raises the question, was that the right thing to do? Now as a parent, I would be upset if someone did that to Baby Girl (or even Little Man).  Not sure why this suddenly came back to my memory, but, hell, I don't know why half the stuff in my brain is there.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-3044501329989202844?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/3044501329989202844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=3044501329989202844' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3044501329989202844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/3044501329989202844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/11/was-it-wrong.html' title='Was it wrong...'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4025715738398196085.post-2638939073198065603</id><published>2008-10-25T12:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T00:34:28.728-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome</title><content type='html'>So here I go...I'm jumping on this phenom called "blogging". heh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About me. I say "so" a lot. And I mean A LOT. Prepare yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been married for 8 or 9 years, depending on who you ask. We have 2 kids. And 2 cats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our 2 kids are my universe.  Baby Girl is 4 going on 16 and Little Man is 3.  They make me laugh daily, if not hourly, even at their worst.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently lost my job, which isn't as bad as it sounds; the loss of money sucks, but there are other benefits.  Now I'm working several part time jobs in the evening and on weekends to keep a small influx of money coming in, but it's all good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love to write and love to tell stories, so a "real" blog (other than Myspace) seems appropriate, especially since I've not written in my journal in Gawd knows how long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My best friend lives in Portland, OR (and subsequently, is the coolest hair dresser EVER. You need dreads or extensions? Let me know...) Her living there sucks for me as I miss her, but is awesome for her as she met her true love there and was recently married to him, so you know, there's benefits to breaking my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sniff:sniff&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kidding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We like to camp. We bought a 1975 camper with my Father-in-laws blessing. Turned out to be a piece of shit, but kind man that my FIL is, he rebuilt that sucker into the rad camper it is now. I love that damn thing. Plus it stood up to an almost tornado the summer before this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An "almost tornado" you wonder?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were all camping up at my folks trailer. Gumby's folks were in their camper and my folks have a double wide mobile home. Gumby, my sisters and I had gone into Wisconsin Dells to go to Mt. Olympus (a must if you love go-karts and some really cool wooden roller coasters).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The four of us stopped for ice cream before we headed back, enjoying the muggy summer night. Then we saw the lightening off towards where Mom &amp;amp; Dad's place is. Hmmm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sooooo, off we head as they were all watching our kids and I knew the kids would freak a bit in the storm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a 30-40 minute drive back to my folks and we get there and it's pouring rain. The kids are trying to sleep in the camper and I sit with them. All of the sudden the wind kicks up and the camper is literally rocking back and forth and I can see that roof my FIL so kindly replaced getting extremely shaky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't like storms. I should mention that now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gumby walks his Mom back to her camper and comes back right away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look at Gumby and ask, "Um, so at what point to we go to the house?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He mutters at me ('cause apparently I'm a wuss and not up to his "roughing it" standards); at which point, I shit you not, the camper literally started to lift up a little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which I grab a sleeping child can and start to head for the house. Gumby grabs our daughter (she'd older, thus heavier) and we make a run for the house and a lawn chair flies at me. I do a super cool action movie kick to block the chair so it doesn't hit the confused, half-asleep boy in my arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are soaked by the time we get to the house. Gumby heads back out for his folks (his Dad has broken his ankle at the start of this trip).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there we all sit in the house, waiting the storm out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm rambling now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yeah. That's me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love cooking and baking, which comes form my maternal Grandmother. She was a cook in an executive dining room for one of the largest banks around. And she was born and raised in Germany, so the woman could cook German food like no ones business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love to do cross stitch, which comes from both my Mom and my Grandma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a toddler, I was a pinball genius. My paternal Grandparents owned a tavern and we were there quite a bit and I played pinball non-stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love to play kickball, volleyball and softball. I just hate running. heh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have terrible allergies to dust mites. I've had this my entire life, but they were only recently able to diagnosis it with advanced testing (normal testing showed me to have no allergies).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love Food Network. Seriously, I could watch it 24/7, though I have a newfound crush/love for Anthony Bourdain, which requires me to watch the Travel Channel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My ideal roadtrip partners (other than DH and my BFF) would be Anthony Bourdain, Mario Batali and Dave Matthews. And Jason Mraz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm massively in love in Dave Matthews. I think he's genius and his music speaks to my soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that's enough of an intro tonight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4025715738398196085-2638939073198065603?l=mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/feeds/2638939073198065603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4025715738398196085&amp;postID=2638939073198065603' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/2638939073198065603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4025715738398196085/posts/default/2638939073198065603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mommybehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2008/10/welcome.html' title='Welcome'/><author><name>fairymama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09313553382032525988</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i7kcyw-pVls/SP5JKYmlTRI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Fq1inVAx9FA/S220/rockstarmichael2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
