tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38996174223406195372024-03-05T09:38:08.227-06:00The Chocolate and The CheeseThoughts and adventures with my family of three.MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.comBlogger189125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-40373072287516019482010-10-15T14:07:00.000-05:002010-10-15T14:07:55.155-05:00I Did It!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyiUV8JJg7fFvwdHVraTSMoJ_WEH8AEliX2Otya1DTB2-dUECjWs7nvs_ikhdlF4OgOmMd5nHCbdYNjPQZ8iPAod1SfPY_kD-5ZJ-REVrTlHjxqgFvboitJ4u82CprgDqRsYAPJQ22RKw/s1600/goodbye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyiUV8JJg7fFvwdHVraTSMoJ_WEH8AEliX2Otya1DTB2-dUECjWs7nvs_ikhdlF4OgOmMd5nHCbdYNjPQZ8iPAod1SfPY_kD-5ZJ-REVrTlHjxqgFvboitJ4u82CprgDqRsYAPJQ22RKw/s320/goodbye.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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I finally put up a post at my new little home on the internet. Would you like to check it out? Yes! Follow me to <a href="http://www.amaryhouse.blogspot.com/">A Mary Home</a>. Don't forget to become a follower over there, then you'll always know where to find me!MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-49759028993311379382010-09-23T14:59:00.000-05:002010-09-23T14:59:53.634-05:00Now You See Me, Later You Won't<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2O0X9Qi4l2Pj9tZjxOgpbJQ84E001dDpjXRDOtOqKvXLkd5dY-XGRBZbsGf4YvRvfMQ5ngYyM3Kme-FVjMBFMEqzK8SUBwIdsrwrdH2d_M34Xo_e17O-miwo9y7Hg4mpIO-SGZ37w2Co/s1600/peekaboo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2O0X9Qi4l2Pj9tZjxOgpbJQ84E001dDpjXRDOtOqKvXLkd5dY-XGRBZbsGf4YvRvfMQ5ngYyM3Kme-FVjMBFMEqzK8SUBwIdsrwrdH2d_M34Xo_e17O-miwo9y7Hg4mpIO-SGZ37w2Co/s200/peekaboo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Although I've been away from this space for quite some time I was surprised to see that people were still reading it. Go me! So, although I am not going to be blogging in this space for much longer, I'm going to leave it up for the time being. If nothing else as a way for people to find me in my next space.<br />
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Next space you say? Yes, I'm moving. When I started this blog things were very different from what they are now. I thought we were moving abroad much sooner, I was not going to school and there were no definite plans for a second baby. That being said, the last few months I felt like I was not able to really be comfortable in this space. So I'm opting to move someplace else, under a different blog name and start again. I really hope that you will move over with me; I've so enjoyed having you along for the ride!<br />
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So, sometime soon I will post about my new digs. As soon as I find the time to put something up over there, you know, to make it a little more welcoming.MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-51760478634071184232010-08-19T16:16:00.000-05:002010-08-19T16:16:28.735-05:00A Confession<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppU8weP04OKsoPmdtAOGLQC2zJGGcaEO9chLNII8U7v3Atzz3nZtsuTB1WQGgnKITbnrBHwAgAcVQTRl7F3ntqilesvAb9qpa56XPddK_EqFTYqtGEq1R7KIRdJvzpmB3aPfG0ei5bkA/s1600/rainbow+balloons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppU8weP04OKsoPmdtAOGLQC2zJGGcaEO9chLNII8U7v3Atzz3nZtsuTB1WQGgnKITbnrBHwAgAcVQTRl7F3ntqilesvAb9qpa56XPddK_EqFTYqtGEq1R7KIRdJvzpmB3aPfG0ei5bkA/s200/rainbow+balloons.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">First let me come clean. I'm pregnant.</div><br />
Now, let the next thirty-one weeks commence where I talk of nothing else except my growing belly, appetite and need for Cheetos. Not really, but I will say this; I'm tired. So tired that normal everyday tasks that should only take me a few minutes suddenly sit around, unfinished, for days at a time. Examples? The dishwasher, the dirty dishes, groceries (the non-perishable ones, duh), folding the laundry, making the bed. I mean, there are much better things to do, like, stuff handfuls of popcorn in my mouth while watching all the episodes of Angel, in order. Don't judge me, I am returning to school in a few weeks; maybe this is just me trying desperately to channel myself as a Freshman in college? Who the heck knows. What I do know that my "golden time," or nap time as it is commonly called, was once used to clean, cook, tidy up, rest and blog. Well, you know how much blogging I've done of late; and I like to do that, can you imagine how much of the other has been done?<br />
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One thing I can say is, Thank God for having our house on the market. As much of a pain in the ass it has been to keep this place show worthy almost everyday, at least I have a reason that I can't ignore to keep it that way. Except for the groceries, or the dishes. Those get done at the last minute, as I'm spraying Oust in the air to hurriedly try and cover up the smell of the frozen pizza I made for dinner last night. Because if I'm not cleaning, I'm sure as hell not cooking either.MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-62218559419544741522010-08-09T20:33:00.000-05:002010-08-09T20:33:03.270-05:00Lady in the Sky, With Broccoli<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHEUMgsDo1XY65Gpr0QstG_saM5q1Mtxadb4jjdtVZ8gf22dpfI6C7DOwFEhiatg5RcB1B54N5RaFbIsThkg77sya_UyCbwFWSeK-CQI6-3A9LXVyDKezeIFFbygSBDwuwG-AI60ASBM/s1600/clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHEUMgsDo1XY65Gpr0QstG_saM5q1Mtxadb4jjdtVZ8gf22dpfI6C7DOwFEhiatg5RcB1B54N5RaFbIsThkg77sya_UyCbwFWSeK-CQI6-3A9LXVyDKezeIFFbygSBDwuwG-AI60ASBM/s320/clouds.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We've had a whirlwind, chaotic, hectic, exciting week. It was a week of fixes, car naps, quick meals and heat. Oh, the heat! I finally feel like today we had the chance to tone things down and take a breath. The Little Lady and I were left to our devices for the evening while the Mr. took a much deserved night off. We had a light dinner and then went outside for our favorite pre-bed activity, Bubble Chasing. (Well, she chases, I blow). The following conversation ensued.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Laying in the grass:</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">MP: Hey LL, look at all those clouds!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">LL: Yeah mom, clouds.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">MP: What do you see up there? I see bunny ears!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">LL: They just puffy mama.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">MP: <i>(Humph, this might not work...)</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">LL: Mama, I see Lady!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">MP: <i>(Getting excited)</i> That's great, what's she doing?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">LL: Lady in Sky, with Broccoli. I like Broccoli!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">MP: Well, yes, it does look like broccoli. What else do you see?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">LL: Poop in a glass. Hahaha, mama, poop in a glass!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And here ends what could have been a touching, lasting mama-daughter moment. I hesitate to call it memorable, although I'm pretty sure this one will be hard to forget.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-5670005466291574982010-07-30T13:47:00.000-05:002010-07-30T13:47:59.526-05:00Summer Time, and The Living Is Easy.The last forty eight hours have been the kind of serendipitous summer time that I dream about all through January and February. Perfect temperatures, light wind, sun and a casual, laid-back schedule. It all started with a lazy afternoon outdoors. The Little Lady chased bubbles, then we laid out our blankets and read our books. LL read hers and I read mine. At one point she looked at me and said, "Your book good mama?" Seriously, this kid just keeps getting better and better.<br />
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The next morning we had an impromptu coffee date with some friends. We sat out on the patio and chatted while the kids ran around and entertained each other. Besides that one window licking incident, the coffee was great and the pastries delicious. After, we walked a few blocks to a new, great park. Let the kids run off some of the sugar they had just ingested before walking back and heading home. Then to cap it all off the LL and I went to a BBQ with some old friends of mine and she was just great. The only kid there and not one tantrum, not one fit, disagreement nor any sass. I was relieved and my friends were impressed. The only thing that could have made this all better would have been to have the Mr. around for our fun.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Here's wishing you some serendipitous summer time this weekend! </b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>What's your idea of a perfect summer day?</b></i></div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-91814735205224693242010-07-28T16:09:00.000-05:002010-07-28T16:09:17.270-05:00Home for Sale, Cheap<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://whi.s3.prod.lg1x8.simplecdn.net/images/2971100/tumblr_l4vqf3sbT01qbhfg1o1_r2_500_large.jpg?1278928580" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://whi.s3.prod.lg1x8.simplecdn.net/images/2971100/tumblr_l4vqf3sbT01qbhfg1o1_r2_500_large.jpg?1278928580" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Nap time is usually reserved for a mash up of cleaning, organizing, eating, blogging, surfing the web and trying to relax as much as possible before the Little Lady wakes up. With our house going on the market tomorrow my house is the cleanest it has ever been. Literally. I feel like we're living in a model home. Kind of like Michael and George Michael Bluth from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0367279/">Arrested Development</a>. It's equal parts nice and annoying. Nice having a super clean home and annoying that I have to keep it show ready all.the.time.<br />
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The best part of having a show ready house? I have nothing more to do during nap time than blog, eat and watch <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0162065/">Angel</a>. Because bad TV at nap time is the best way to relax. Well, maybe just if you're living in a model home.MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-12883436310359381532010-07-27T13:00:00.002-05:002010-07-27T13:00:01.492-05:00Tales of a Two Year OldPotty training is an exercise of patience, control and humor on the part of the child, the parents and any other innocent bystander that gets caught in the way. Luckily for us the Little Lady has done quite well for a wee person of her age. We try to minimize and downplay accidents and have the mantra, "<i>Pee and poop go in the potty. Pee and poop go in the potty.</i>" (Imagine us swaying back and forth while clapping our hands. Oh, the kinds of adults our kids reduce us to.) <br />
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So the other week a friend of ours came to stay with us and accidentally got some paint on her arm as she was helping me paint our back porch. The LL was quite concerned and asked if she had an accident and if she was ok and if she needed a bandaid or a kiss to make it feel better. Our friend replied, no, she was fine and then asked if the LL ever had accidents.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Yes, I have accidents. I pee myself."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Spoken in a kind of sad, matter of fact voice. Like she was discussing the war in Afghanistan or the housing crisis. She sadly shook her head. Sometimes I swear this "Little Lady" of ours is actually a very tiny, very wise old woman.</div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-66936715535854218662010-07-26T15:20:00.000-05:002010-07-26T15:20:43.648-05:00A Minnesota Goodbye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOTxeP01g0SlO80JvfFgv4JtCuUTHSKiy5eG1EDWCGZLV6Gka7iAop7E3eTKQlMUfacvzEWjeSmH_-YjCA7N3ABYYvAcpxWanF8F2pPOcN7kfDcDGy20HyVWz2R2CnPQeUoqq1P4zEsM/s1600/screaming+graffiti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOTxeP01g0SlO80JvfFgv4JtCuUTHSKiy5eG1EDWCGZLV6Gka7iAop7E3eTKQlMUfacvzEWjeSmH_-YjCA7N3ABYYvAcpxWanF8F2pPOcN7kfDcDGy20HyVWz2R2CnPQeUoqq1P4zEsM/s1600/screaming+graffiti.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Here in Minnesota we have something known as, "The Minnesota Goodbye." Approximately an hour before you actually leave you announce that you're leaving, proceed to say goodbye to everyone in the room; individually, chat for a few minutes, gather your belongings and then, finally depart. It's annoying, expected and a hard trap not to fall into.<br />
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Parents of toddlers have a similar dance that they play, every time they are about to leave some place; especially if the location is particularly fun. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>"Five more minutes Sally, five more minutes and then we're leaving."</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">The amount of time is really quite arbitrary. Sally doesn't know what five minutes is and thus it is really up to the parent to decide how much longer they're going to stay. But without that initial warning all hell can go loose in an instant.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"Two more minutes Sally. Yes, I know you don't want to leave, but everyone is leaving too."</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">The parent talks a bit more, gathers the pile of things necessary for a successful outing with a toddler; diaper bag, sippy cup, shoes, and begins their own Minnesota goodbye. Usually after the inital five minute warning the actual time that has elapsed is closer to twenty minutes. At least it is if you're me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>"Alright Sally, it's time to go. Yes, it's hard to leave, but we'll come back again soon."</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Cue tantrum. If you're name is Little Lady this is your favorite course of action. No amount of prepping, Minnesota goodbye-ing or bribing can stave off this beast. It kind of makes me wonder: </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Is the sign of a successful outing/play date a tantrum? If so, are they really worth it?</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The answer if yes, of course, a tantrum among friends is much better than a tantrum at home.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-52589696647182708092010-07-23T15:27:00.000-05:002010-07-23T15:27:32.565-05:00Five Things Friday- Summer Drinks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxzjYR-vPhWsG3H6es0iBbJDKFPNZcyA_lzaSUxPAMaR1urKzUF17FCcGVURaHHb8NejlXYf96IpbYrjwhJRwC7h6v4HKVOLFAQ4WQ_CaWFvXrrXs5LMQaun5qrR3Y2JmnU50wEQr9OI/s1600/3+drinks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxzjYR-vPhWsG3H6es0iBbJDKFPNZcyA_lzaSUxPAMaR1urKzUF17FCcGVURaHHb8NejlXYf96IpbYrjwhJRwC7h6v4HKVOLFAQ4WQ_CaWFvXrrXs5LMQaun5qrR3Y2JmnU50wEQr9OI/s320/3+drinks.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Hello good peeps! It's currently 79 degrees in sunny Minneapolis and I think it's high time I shared my favorite summer drinks with you. Whether you are chilling on a patio, sipping around a campfire or simply sitting in front of your A/C, here are five tasty, cool, refreshing drinks for your pleasure. What about you? What do you imbibe in the summer?<br />
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<ol><li><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moscow_mule">Moscow Mule</a>: I had this for the first time at the beginning of summer and it is just about perfect. Ginger beer (not ginger ale), vodka and lime come together to form the most refreshing drink you can have on a patio. Sweet, spicy, with a nice little kick.</li>
<li><a href="http://www.surlybrewing.com/beer/year-round-beers.html">Surly's Cynic Ale</a>: A light colored ale with a nice kick at the end. I could drink pints and pints of this brew. It's the ideal beer for a back yard BBQ.</li>
<li><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arnold_Palmer_(drink)">Arnold Palmer</a>: Part tart lemonade, part sweet iced tea. Love this combination in the summer time, especially in the afternoons! Nothing like a little caffeine kick to get you through the rest of a muggy day.</li>
<li><a href="http://www.starbucks.com/menu/drinks/brewed-coffee/iced-coffee?foodZone=9999">Starbucks Iced Coffee with Milk</a>: Not Caribou, not Dunn Bros or the coffee house down the block. For my every other coffee needs I'll go there, but iced coffee? This is my favorite, my drink of choice in the summer mornings. These remind me of sitting on the patio in China; grading papers and watching the world go by. </li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/San-Pellegrino-Limonata-Sparking-Beverage/dp/B001TZJ3N0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=grocery&qid=1279916541&sr=8-1">San Pellegrino Limonata</a>: Hands down my favorite soda (well, except for Diet Coke...) Effervescent, tart, bubbly and to me, it tastes just like summer. The Mr.'s work carries it in their communal fridge and I often ask him to swipe me one on the way home from work. Delicious. </li>
</ol><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Happy weekend everyone!</div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-79571880543389774742010-07-21T23:14:00.000-05:002010-07-21T23:14:39.448-05:00Question<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5l61KDTU5JFn84CVEZMf77_dHfRHnm5n1egu4-aPhgAy3et-SjZCW81oLnmguQIBZCh0PTm0wik2UWXj2sCPH0wkTrEH7QMX3b_O7D8b0j8PJGnEApO2WcNzFiJvN4k9EAyzjAdHa1Jc/s1600/super+mario+cupcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5l61KDTU5JFn84CVEZMf77_dHfRHnm5n1egu4-aPhgAy3et-SjZCW81oLnmguQIBZCh0PTm0wik2UWXj2sCPH0wkTrEH7QMX3b_O7D8b0j8PJGnEApO2WcNzFiJvN4k9EAyzjAdHa1Jc/s200/super+mario+cupcakes.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I took the Little Lady to her first ballgame today. It was a blast and she outdid her two year old self and sat/walked around/was tantrum free all the way through the middle of the eighth inning. Seriously, I know adults that can't do that. One of the reasons (I think) that she was so well behaved is that I fed her for almost three hours straight. I pulled out all of those "special treats" that I usually reserve for bribes, long car rides or special occasions. You know, like fruit snacks, cookies, cotton candy, ice cream cones. All in one sitting.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">So it got me thinking.</div><br />
When I go out, whether it's a fun night out with my girls, a date with the Mr. or simply treating myself to something nice I tend to feel justified in "splurging" a little bit. Mostly calorically. I'll have that piece of dessert. I'll order the deep fried asparagus (because it's still vegetables!). Or a latte <i>and</i> a cookie. Completely unnecessary, but it's a treat, so it's ok, right?<br />
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I started thinking that maybe I was approaching this treat business all wrong and I was just setting the LL up for a lifetime of special treats and eating out of boredom. I know I'm quite good at it, so it's no surprise to me that I'm showing LL the way too. I get why I do it, it's far easier to let me kid eat that extra pouch of snacks than to try to distract, entertain or simply interact with her in the way she needs at the time. But, from here on out, I'm going to try to feed less and interact more. Perhaps I can save her future hips a few pounds and give her another way to address boredom.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">So my question to you is: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Am I teaching bad habits by filling the LL up with treats?</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Or am I simply teaching her that it is ok to treat yourself once in a while?</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Discuss.</div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-37757610315436812902010-07-20T14:14:00.002-05:002010-07-20T15:10:36.234-05:00Tales of a Two Year Old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-vcGYXCDnze1ffOPbNPy4ciAVlwYQxvFZ9-6DD6FaOKQEQiIYq1Kqcrw9sJJ_bcXq0UlbyrZUCJGskuxJbGvvlp6zN_t9TvkmbLd6-KcJxwcHpjUQQh4wed1pqbaOCCyLwpda4huPdU/s1600/oops2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-vcGYXCDnze1ffOPbNPy4ciAVlwYQxvFZ9-6DD6FaOKQEQiIYq1Kqcrw9sJJ_bcXq0UlbyrZUCJGskuxJbGvvlp6zN_t9TvkmbLd6-KcJxwcHpjUQQh4wed1pqbaOCCyLwpda4huPdU/s320/oops2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Apparently getting your house ready to put on the market it time consuming and stressful. Who knew? The last two weeks of afternoons have been spent tidying, cleaning, organizing and then reorganizing. The house was looking in tip-top shape; and then we had house guests. I'm hoping to return it to it's former glory in the next twenty-four hours. Wish me luck.<br />
<br />
I thought I would start a new little series I'm calling, "Tales of a Two Year Old" in which I highlight the hilarious, ridiculous and often adorable/infuriating aspects of the Little Lady. We'll start off with this amusing little story.<br />
<br />
Up until this week we could not, for the life of us, get the LL to count past the number three. It was always <i>one, two, three, two</i>... Then all of a sudden it was <i>one, two, three, four, five, six, seven</i>! Huzzah! What I say does sink into that cute little head of hers! So the Mr. still hadn't heard this new found skill, so I was prepping her one morning. And this is what she said. <i>One, two, three, four, five, fuck.</i> <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Oh, fuck.</b></i></div><br />
I wonder where she learned that from? Needless to say I was completely unaware how much was sinking in that little head of hers. It's time to break out the Swear Jar, or the bar of soap or whatever ineffective strategies my parents tried. Apparently, neither worked very well.MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-74073545173462761262010-07-09T19:37:00.001-05:002010-07-10T21:53:06.744-05:00Five Things Friday- Post Vacay Edition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg947-j927q0TRxo72ZOADhxVv5L-wb394tS6AbiAc6Ip9kFjXJ6nTDPh6BrW4U2yWpahe-eX2Hzx0Z4cqbp5_U3qnq12uDQ4RGd0lwA9SIjhd-fWMpsCTzABN99hZ7PpRsdwsr_9_VjNI/s1600/lake.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg947-j927q0TRxo72ZOADhxVv5L-wb394tS6AbiAc6Ip9kFjXJ6nTDPh6BrW4U2yWpahe-eX2Hzx0Z4cqbp5_U3qnq12uDQ4RGd0lwA9SIjhd-fWMpsCTzABN99hZ7PpRsdwsr_9_VjNI/s320/lake.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I just spent the last six days at a cabin in the northern part of Minnesota, on a lake, with my in-laws. I'm not really sure what end is up, what food I have in my fridge or where dinner is coming from. Also, on a side note, why does my house always smell a little funky after being gone a few days? Does it always smell that way? But I digress. Here is my Five Things Friday list for this week, a look at five things that are perfectly acceptable to do on vacation; but are not advisable for the other weeks in your year. Happy Friday everyone!<br />
<br />
<ol><li><b>Opening a beer anytime before noon.</b> Generally not advisable if you work outside the home, or if you are the primary caregiver to a small child. After noon; 12:00 and one second, however, are all acceptable times to crack one open, if you want my opinion.</li>
<li><b>Wearing your swimsuit from sunrise to sunset.</b> I would say that most days I would find it a little bit ranky to be wearing your suit all day, but there is something deliciously <i>vacationingy</i> about eating breakfast and dinner in a swim suit.</li>
<li><b>Your only thoughts are, "When do we eat again?"</b> Really, for me, there is nothing better than vacation eating. Splurging, just a little bit, on the foods that you don't normally eat or take the time to make. Like this <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/portal/site/mslo/menuitem.fc77a0dbc44dd1611e3bf410b5900aa0/?vgnextoid=5ef1934be4b0f010VgnVCM1000003d370a0aRCRD&vgnextfmt=default&backto=true&backtourl=/photogallery/red-white-and-blue-desserts#slide_9">trifle</a>, or these <a href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Anytime-Almonds/Detail.aspx">almonds</a>, or eating all of your meals grilled. Yum.</li>
<li><b>Forgetting what day it is.</b> No really, I had to think about it for about five minutes until I realized I could do a Five Things Friday post today. I had no idea where I was in my week. Ah, isn't that the best feeling? Forget about asking me what the date is!</li>
<li><b>Magazines!</b> I hardly have the time most days/weeks to read magazines and thus have stopped all my subscriptions. However, whenever I fly or am vacationing I indulge and buy a few 'zines. Man, I love vacation!</li>
</ol><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What kinds of things do you do on vacation?</i></div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-19209838331587638222010-06-30T15:14:00.001-05:002010-06-30T16:35:47.535-05:00A Comedy of Errors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAZQ2LWD-7VorNnTbFFGRqNK0Jm4uIBFsEdfQjfcG_GwqIjPnH1oh5f39E9YX43yzDIiO_E3X5HHuyuY6MLppoAVptIn2nkg2DUHECyokJW03qpV00m3ntK8SdBBpdaFnxJm-mcUyodU/s1600/shot+glass+eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAZQ2LWD-7VorNnTbFFGRqNK0Jm4uIBFsEdfQjfcG_GwqIjPnH1oh5f39E9YX43yzDIiO_E3X5HHuyuY6MLppoAVptIn2nkg2DUHECyokJW03qpV00m3ntK8SdBBpdaFnxJm-mcUyodU/s320/shot+glass+eyes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Is it truly Wednesday already? Something about this week, heck this month, is flying by. We've been busy around these parts with getting the house ready for market and being gone for various family reasons. Summer is truly a seriously busy time. So busy that most days I feel like I'm running around like a chicken that has just had it's head lopped off. Whew! However, today I decided to change that and have a nice, easy day running errands. Whoo-boy. Was I wrong! Here's how the day has shaped up this far:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>Little Lady woke at 5:15AM</li>
<li>I thought I had written out my grocery list, but hadn't.</li>
<li>Ditto on the weekly coupon clipping. Seriously, where have I been?</li>
<li>Finally made it to the gym at 10AM. (FIVE hours after I was woken up...)</li>
<li>After a great run and shower, realize that I forgot to pack my bra.</li>
<li>Clean shirt = thinnest T-Shirt I own.</li>
</ul><div>Let's just digress for a moment here, shall we? Now, as I've <a href="http://thechocolateandthecheese.blogspot.com/2010/06/couch-to-5k-part-two.html">mentioned before</a>, I am kind of a busty lady. Like, if I'm not wearing a bra then the people standing to my left and right better watch out or else a wrecking ball may come crashing towards their heads. (Ok, ok. Their waists. Maybe their knees. I'm not that tall after all.) So when faced with the prospect of walking through the gym braless in my thiny, thin, thin T-shit, do you know what I do? Well, I would love to say that I walked out strong and proud, but in reality I held those babies together as best as I could all the while trying to pretend that I was closing my water bottle. Yeah. I'm sure I was convincing. Luckily for me there was a short cardi waiting for me in the car since I also had multiple errands to run after the gym. Humph.</div><div><ul><li>Get LL to the first store only to realize that I no snacks packed. Fabulous.</li>
<li>Get to the grocery store and realize I am hungry. Never, ever a good combination.</li>
<li>Upon arriving home the LL pees all over the floor. No accidents while we're out, she even went on her own at the gym!</li>
<li>Two seconds later poops all over the freshly shampooed carpet.</li>
<li>Is it 5:30 yet? No? Oh, ok.</li>
<li>Oh, that's right. After cleaning up the floor, the LL and her clothes do I realize that there's a largish brown spot in her hair. Yep. Great.</li>
</ul><div>I'm not even stressed, upset or down. How could I? It's like the day was out to get me before I even started it. Thank goodness we had coffee. Some bright spots in all of this? I bought myself some <a href="http://www.edys.com/brand/fruitbars/flavor.asp?b=135&f=2154">delicious treats</a>. I am going to a private shopping party at a <a href="http://www.shopmama.com/">hip little shop</a>. And I'm seeing <a href="http://www.twilightthemovie.com/">Eclipse</a> with my lovely lady friends. In the VIP section. Where they serve drinks.</div></div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Which is good, because I think I'm going to need one.</i></div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-5848730979545779012010-06-25T21:09:00.000-05:002010-06-25T21:09:06.538-05:00Five Things Friday- Severe Weather Edition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1-Rxmv4rcInG7qVsQAvg0Czrm97FgOaevfpOuafGvvIe8dQo8r6brYVxB-7Yfpw_mSCUYDOeg_M57d0mgC9pDwdS3tIBRqAXrk862DPjgu-5JfVYOJqS7JaxxHSx41j7xaZUYFd5XtI/s1600/tornado.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1-Rxmv4rcInG7qVsQAvg0Czrm97FgOaevfpOuafGvvIe8dQo8r6brYVxB-7Yfpw_mSCUYDOeg_M57d0mgC9pDwdS3tIBRqAXrk862DPjgu-5JfVYOJqS7JaxxHSx41j7xaZUYFd5XtI/s320/tornado.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Five things that I hate worse than tornadoes? Or the "T" word, as I like to refer to them as when my anxiety gets particularly bad? Let us see what that list would look like.<br />
<br />
<ol><li>Nothing</li>
<li>Nada</li>
<li>Not a Thing</li>
<li>Nope</li>
<li>Not unless you count werewolves, but I'm pretty sure those don't exist.</li>
</ol><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Happy Friday! </i></div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-58541398189870087892010-06-23T14:39:00.000-05:002010-06-23T14:39:25.208-05:00It Doesn't Really Matter...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhReThoFn-NV2_Vv7J6ICK1GecZRIEqRcaqE5ycs9NmU-MFRlOQgMcdZCrd6pPkyNClPhZK7RFAreEBnbrE749s3gOI4BUSwEM9VXcaCvNjWUcKb7ts89mqgoWoj6P5AbQAzHUtv-7qOW0/s1600/Doesn't+Matter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhReThoFn-NV2_Vv7J6ICK1GecZRIEqRcaqE5ycs9NmU-MFRlOQgMcdZCrd6pPkyNClPhZK7RFAreEBnbrE749s3gOI4BUSwEM9VXcaCvNjWUcKb7ts89mqgoWoj6P5AbQAzHUtv-7qOW0/s320/Doesn't+Matter.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
...if your floors were clean.<br />
... it you didn't do it the way they wanted you to.<br />
...if you made the most money.<br />
...if the paint colors matched.<br />
...if you ate that last slice.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>But, it </b><i><b>does</b></i><b> matter...</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">...if you told your kid you loved them.</div><div style="text-align: center;">...if you helped that person.</div><div style="text-align: center;">...if you were honest to yourself.</div><div style="text-align: center;">...if they made you smile.</div><div style="text-align: center;">...if, at the end of the day, you were happy just being you.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-80716263693867309602010-06-22T16:55:00.000-05:002010-06-22T16:55:07.972-05:00Couch to 5K- Part Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVDZX9gBPB4e8TLd859MTUOKv2sLajhEZIGjiQxlYmN6G8LTbCKMy-3Uf8HnfUIdEuliOie_5gIkAabw5drmMfCuuV-uF7TM8zlWeto5lxQSVSen1dVbT4lLiSBCiuFYlsJXeNGqf1Ko/s1600/IMG_0493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVDZX9gBPB4e8TLd859MTUOKv2sLajhEZIGjiQxlYmN6G8LTbCKMy-3Uf8HnfUIdEuliOie_5gIkAabw5drmMfCuuV-uF7TM8zlWeto5lxQSVSen1dVbT4lLiSBCiuFYlsJXeNGqf1Ko/s320/IMG_0493.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>So a few months ago I decided I was going to become a runner. I didn't buy any special gear, I didn't read anything about running; I simply jumped on the treadmill and ran. Well, I proceeded to attempt to run. I made it through the first two weeks. At that point I repeated the phrase I've used since I learnt how to run, "I only run if I'm being chased...my body isn't made to run."<br />
<div style="text-align: auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Then <a href="http://thechocolateandthecheese.blogspot.com/2010/03/emilys-guest-post.html">Emily</a> had to go and start the program.</div><br />
I'm not competitive. It wasn't that I wanted to try and "beat" her. But watching her go through the program and talk how much she hated it, but how it ultimately made her feel good made me think I should try it again. Perhaps this time with some forethought. I realized there was a podcast you could download that tells you when to run and walk, thus making watching the clock tick away unnecessary. I bought a pair of running shoes. Cheap, Target running shoes; just in case I couldn't stick with it. I bought some new earphones for my iPod that would stay in my ears while I was running.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Then, I bought a sports bra. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I still can't really believe that I did. I mean, I don't do sports. I have no need for a bra specifically used while you are moving in an active way. And I'm no A cup either. I'm a busty gal and, let me tell you, wearing a sports bra made all the difference in the world. Duh. Like; duh, duh, <i>duh</i>. Of course it did. So even though the podcast got lost on my iPod, I forgot my deodorant at home and my gym bag broke on my way to the locker room- I ran. Not far, not fast, but I did it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And it felt <i>good</i>.</div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-64510195893979482082010-06-21T14:35:00.000-05:002010-06-21T14:35:32.221-05:00A Change in PerspectiveWhen I became a mom a lot of things changed. And no, I'm not just talking about my shoes size, my waist and my unending need for Diet Coke. The way I looked at the world changed. I became a master of ten nanosecond risk management. "Is this floor clean enough for you to crawl on?" "Is a fall down these steps going to be a lesson about climbing or a trip to the ER?" "How many doors does this room have and how many are viable exit routes for you?"<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">And people wonder why I am so scattered brained.</div><br />
I also learned to look at the world through the eyes of my Little Lady. Puddles have become the most entertaining half hour after a rain storm. An empty coffee can and a chopstick have become, at once, the most terrific marching tools and migraine producers. An empty hallway in the middle of a mall can become the best playground when you are with you buddies.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiig7IrSZYWbMr6TyjNvjFIRl_IMxUoBkKn2Xr48_saqgXwxUqy4VSnkxPFaoceVHidc41t8q932dcQGbdDln5VrEY-ko7LNfIzZEAhvg4bPSXfojHRQ2pRmbsG8mezD3yl9VlXvUcHiTM/s1600/IMG_0611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiig7IrSZYWbMr6TyjNvjFIRl_IMxUoBkKn2Xr48_saqgXwxUqy4VSnkxPFaoceVHidc41t8q932dcQGbdDln5VrEY-ko7LNfIzZEAhvg4bPSXfojHRQ2pRmbsG8mezD3yl9VlXvUcHiTM/s320/IMG_0611.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A long hallway? Nah, it's a race track, something new to explore.</span></i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoX_AujLaE6hyphenhyphen1grop1cF1bZQgdCWz0QdOYD_5SnNCBb7x_-AWsbREijp_6lsuAqz_zM-xW0axxauZVyFVLRyWfC4SJgjbjtSbdqzs1vjGePSvGiYoxt3E60HHhw1w3CNEXTYczCVVCQ/s1600/IMG_0621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoX_AujLaE6hyphenhyphen1grop1cF1bZQgdCWz0QdOYD_5SnNCBb7x_-AWsbREijp_6lsuAqz_zM-xW0axxauZVyFVLRyWfC4SJgjbjtSbdqzs1vjGePSvGiYoxt3E60HHhw1w3CNEXTYczCVVCQ/s320/IMG_0621.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Giggles and tickles make any place fun.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEaf6xQAcPNS-_WT8JOJpajfcDupk4WMV0Trw60mu7ulgPo1wseVYsiMKbx9j71Dpjsi5-U4fYrgA26hja1stCgScaaf-65C9PFga6Ggoy9SInpnkshmdo9KLsKJASuADMsZxphG0p1NA/s1600/IMG_0633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEaf6xQAcPNS-_WT8JOJpajfcDupk4WMV0Trw60mu7ulgPo1wseVYsiMKbx9j71Dpjsi5-U4fYrgA26hja1stCgScaaf-65C9PFga6Ggoy9SInpnkshmdo9KLsKJASuADMsZxphG0p1NA/s320/IMG_0633.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Hanging out on the "subway".</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Or just chillin' on a step.</span></i></div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-73626605183913337942010-06-17T15:20:00.001-05:002010-06-17T15:20:57.338-05:00The End of the World as I Know It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFaeYQv5rcj7t9DHiDBTXYXL1TZ2vEGgNzKHzptb-ImMh53mx5-u8RXZv4ThMNeCmm8XW5kTO2ZsQUJ-5ieF8iTDtiFZpv8h1Ol3JVq0nn0wamTKm4obGGmhTD9xn0pT0dyRMigBKHAM/s1600/doorknob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFaeYQv5rcj7t9DHiDBTXYXL1TZ2vEGgNzKHzptb-ImMh53mx5-u8RXZv4ThMNeCmm8XW5kTO2ZsQUJ-5ieF8iTDtiFZpv8h1Ol3JVq0nn0wamTKm4obGGmhTD9xn0pT0dyRMigBKHAM/s320/doorknob.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It's true. I have a little escape artist on my hands. After months of deluding myself that the Little Lady was too short to open doors, she went and did it this afternoon during nap time. The sound of that door opening was the single most frightening sound I've ever heard in my entire life. I can't even begin to explain to you the mental upheaval I have right now. No longer can I place her anywhere without her getting out by her own volition. <br />
<br />
No place is safe.<br />
<br />
I know I can get one of those door knob thingys so she can't get out of her room. But now, the possibility of escape there. So long "quiet" time. However, the ramifications of this go far beyond my precious two hours of peace in the afternoon. No, now I can't leave her on the porch to play without ensuring, beyond a shadow of a doubt that the door is locked. Showers will be shared and I will probably find myself with a midnight wanderer once again. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">And I thought poop in her pants was bad.</div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-88476486292903165172010-06-16T18:51:00.000-05:002010-06-16T18:51:05.769-05:00PTO for Mommies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvAmbB98QcmGgbqADybXR_u9r8vaSVIiWPefzjrTZgVGcGhDyeF8h5ghWSGAcNKaAPl1e7Y9YULteMM5f74mVyWDVX4DKRdLvUrzQE9TbgN6K2U85kn5n7Wwbqdq-f1FaW0fmmOPL-rw/s1600/piss+glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvAmbB98QcmGgbqADybXR_u9r8vaSVIiWPefzjrTZgVGcGhDyeF8h5ghWSGAcNKaAPl1e7Y9YULteMM5f74mVyWDVX4DKRdLvUrzQE9TbgN6K2U85kn5n7Wwbqdq-f1FaW0fmmOPL-rw/s320/piss+glass.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The Mr. has been sick, I've been potty training the Little Lady; so let's just say that my house is currently covered in bodily fluids.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So I'm ready for put in for some PTO. Anyone know where I can send in the slip?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Anyone?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Hello? </div><div style="text-align: center;">(<i>tap, tap, tap</i>) </div><div style="text-align: center;">Is anybody out there?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sigh, why didn't I negotiate that into my contract?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh right, I don't have one.</div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-41798143596583074332010-06-11T14:50:00.000-05:002010-06-11T14:50:39.467-05:00Five Things Friday- My Morning Rituals<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjKZU9ztP7AMWbnGmP0x0TgaowIr6Q4njOBh5MGHXo48B0NhVARidzmmdYWQYbyz4n4XtrKrHUFHZBfG4B0fxXiTmmlIoOJP96wi0zkMNARyLPBL6vJSj-92uvbhVjjE_n0eXpRDLcPQM/s1600/coffee+kills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjKZU9ztP7AMWbnGmP0x0TgaowIr6Q4njOBh5MGHXo48B0NhVARidzmmdYWQYbyz4n4XtrKrHUFHZBfG4B0fxXiTmmlIoOJP96wi0zkMNARyLPBL6vJSj-92uvbhVjjE_n0eXpRDLcPQM/s320/coffee+kills.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Happy Friday everyone! It's been a rainy, wet week around these parts, and although that is good for making us stay home to potty train, it does nothing to improve our cabin fever. The weekend is supposed to be a bit nicer, but cloudy. As long as it's not raining I'll be happy.<br />
<br />
I have never been a person to have rituals or routines or even a set way of doing something. Or so I thought. After my morning "non-routine" got went all kiddywampus this morning that I not only have a routine, if that routine heads south I am one crabby customer. I won't go into the details of the derailment this morning, but I will say that by 7AM, the Little Lady was in the bathtub. So in an effort to recognize my own routine during the day I decided to write down what I thought was my first, necessary five steps that I do every morning.<br />
<br />
<ol><li>Put on my glasses and a pair of yoga pants. Seriously, if I don't have any clean and have to get dressed, the morning is off to a rough start.</li>
<li>Pour a glass of milk and make the LL breakfast. If I even think of making myself something first <i>her</i> routine and day get off to a bad start. Oh, the things you do when you're a mother.</li>
<li>Finally, make coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.</li>
<li>Turn on the laptop. Run interference so the Mr. doesn't steal said laptop to read the NYT. Settle in with the laptop and catch up on the world.</li>
<li>Pour enough <a href="http://www.coffee-mate.com/products/FatFreeHazelnutLiquid.aspx?t=liquid">creamer</a> in my mug to make my coffee carmel colored. Proceed to inhale the sweet, sweet perfume of caffeine. Nothing better than that first sip. </li>
<li>Open my eyes. </li>
</ol><div style="text-align: center;">Happy Friday everyone! Hope you all have fantastic, fun filled weekends. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Say, how do you like the new layout?</div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-42281797430940752432010-06-09T13:41:00.002-05:002010-06-09T15:16:42.211-05:00Mid-Week Mind Warp<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUlOzYjadGQu1dfFcY4emKVVYJX9Gvx72z0xz5Elfdm5VtWxpATGAqGCsubf8WV_JS6RjUkYN_dJhdo4zs9ASf3DEKi79E2Um9IIRG1V7aFQcQ1VewwnR4f1ZEViqPt_Bd0dk6NcqwMo/s1600/sky+balloons.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUlOzYjadGQu1dfFcY4emKVVYJX9Gvx72z0xz5Elfdm5VtWxpATGAqGCsubf8WV_JS6RjUkYN_dJhdo4zs9ASf3DEKi79E2Um9IIRG1V7aFQcQ1VewwnR4f1ZEViqPt_Bd0dk6NcqwMo/s320/sky+balloons.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480870237296137970" /></a><br />By the time Wednesday rolls around most weeks I'm tired, and this week is no exception. We're hitting the potty training hard and we've come far enough that we're not turning back. The Mr. has been super busy at work, which leaves me flying solo most nights until (or past) bedtime. But instead of dwelling on all of the things that have made this week seem long or that have gone wrong or that have left me feeling worn out, I have decided to write a quick list of all the good things this week. Accomplishments and happenings that have made me feel better than (or simply) fine. I encourage you to do the same. Leave a few in the comments, I'd love to hear about your week thus far!<div><ul><li>Pee hitting the potty. There's nothing that sounds better than that first success.</li><li>Friends that come over at night to gab and gossip.</li><li>BBQs with <a href="http://thechocolateandthecheese.blogspot.com/2010/06/trifecta.html">friends</a>.</li><li>Finishing sewing projects that seemed difficult at the time. Finishing them and <i>loving</i> the results.</li><li>Chilling with the Mr. when he gets home.</li><li>An hour of quiet when the Little Lady and the Mr. are on a bike ride.</li></ul><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Here's hoping for an equally satisfying rest of the week!</i></div></div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-14337454279652024542010-06-08T15:06:00.004-05:002010-06-08T15:41:59.859-05:0011 Reasons Why You Should Be Careful What You Say On Facebook<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqVt0lU8055-8IiZL3Ft0P3V1fe5CZ_RBls3g5eAZwbHanNZ4V6LzDsdy_lUc1mgLI7qFeJqs7SeozPpDdhYxvzS4KoM4h1udlxMYCkxZP9ysIPxbfHw2rv9ylCGK9PETZGqW5JGWbJ_M/s1600/shock!.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqVt0lU8055-8IiZL3Ft0P3V1fe5CZ_RBls3g5eAZwbHanNZ4V6LzDsdy_lUc1mgLI7qFeJqs7SeozPpDdhYxvzS4KoM4h1udlxMYCkxZP9ysIPxbfHw2rv9ylCGK9PETZGqW5JGWbJ_M/s320/shock!.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480505469910799874" /></a><br />I needed a good laugh today, so I quickly Googled "bad Facebook statuses." Oh, boy. I got a good chuckle out of quite a few of these. Check out the list. Number One, in particular made me laugh. <a href="http://facebooknightmare.blogspot.com/">Facebook Nightmare.</a><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Enjoy!</i></div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-23754075184296960632010-06-01T14:23:00.002-05:002010-06-01T15:19:05.620-05:00The Trifecta<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-825hN822AQdIxWuMBSpMwUXNFOa85_5i8EXEp4HOoUGxyhROIaEfidLaBYIKoN7IDf1rERwOWc0fUurXt6a2WW-3REFktfKyQMBgHirBS0a0OkvZg_3HQF9ObvEeft7RrX55dM8eV8/s1600/three+hearts.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-825hN822AQdIxWuMBSpMwUXNFOa85_5i8EXEp4HOoUGxyhROIaEfidLaBYIKoN7IDf1rERwOWc0fUurXt6a2WW-3REFktfKyQMBgHirBS0a0OkvZg_3HQF9ObvEeft7RrX55dM8eV8/s320/three+hearts.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477902359176677618" /></a><br />When I first became a mom I was very concerned about the amount of socialization that my kid would (or would not) receive if I became a Stay At Home Mom. Luckily, and I didn't know this at the time, my kid is a pretty social kid. However, at the beginning I made it a point to hang out with my nephews and mother-in-law as much as possible. The only problem was that they lived almost thirty minutes away, and the amount of money I was spending on gas was starting to get out of hand. So, I needed to find another outlet. I started searching online for Mom's Groups and was lucky enough to find a great one. My kid has been making friends and learning from her peers for almost two years now. <div><br /></div><div>That's the first part of the Family Friend Trifecta. Your kid makes friends. They learn and grow and have a good time. The second portion of the trifecta deals with the moms. When I started attending get togethers I really wasn't looking for friends for myself. I thought I had enough friends and that I was doomed to a life without socialization. Boy, was I wrong! I feel like I've hit the jackpot. The ladies that I've met through the group are strong, intelligent, hilarious, fun, supportive and an invaluable resource of information and insight. I don't know what I would do without them! I love being able to call someone up to meet for coffee, go on a Target run, make last minute plans to go to the park or meet for a beer after a long day. It really does take a village and I don't know what I would do without these ladies in my corner.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, the first two parts of the trifecta are somewhat easy to obtain. Kids make friends with anybody, women love to chat and friendships are forged. The final piece of the trifecta is almost myth. You hear about your friend's cousin's second daughter's sister completing it. Once families achieve Trifecta Status they keep it under wraps for fear that one small slip will unravel the months of searching and longing for that perfect combination. What in Heaven's name am I talking about? I'm talking about when the husbands/significant others become friends too.</div><div><br /></div><div>I used to think that it was too much to ask. It seemed daunting to try and find another family that the three of us could all jive with, independently and as a group. The Mr. could go out for beers with the other significant other, the ladies could hang out and the kids all played well together. We had it once; but then they had to go and <a href="http://theyaresocutewhentheyaresleeping.blogspot.com/">move</a> <a href="http://capturingcomo.blogspot.com/">away</a>. But then, after giving up hope, we were lucky enough to complete the Trifecta again. This past weekend we were lucky enough to share it with not one, but <i>two</i> other families at a <a href="http://www.woodlandbeachresort.com/">resort</a> up near Brainerd, MN. There were five kids four and under. Three couples. Four bedrooms. What should have been chaos was controlled and the bare minimum of fights, tantrums and problems arose. There was plenty of laughter, much beer drank and many memories created. We went swimming, had bonfires, played and had a fantastic time.</div><div><br /></div><div>You know it's a success when you get home from a long weekend and start to think, "I wonder if so and so wants to come over for a BBQ...oh wait, we just got home." Or you get a text inviting you to come over and play at their house the next day and you're bummed that you might not be able to make it. I can't even begin to explain how awesome it is to find other families to spend time with. Not only does it lighten the parenting load, but it makes gatherings less stressful and more relaxing for everyone involved. Parent <i>and</i> child. I can only hope that as the summer and years progress we can have more awesome weekends like the one we just finished.</div>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-47667680635385205332010-05-27T14:26:00.001-05:002010-05-27T14:28:02.769-05:00Words for My Daughter<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5QsrOqCMiNaAzOUk5HDqKYK2vhMJ6kQfmxhbv1WsPpuOujMVyyIaMYCfZPj7TB4hNF0MQPoclCD_T0QLoT4v6KIQ7VWX4qk0LbEgehCVzK1H1Z2_9ZR07e5uvYaIYYBLlZuiyM5oudwg/s1600/apples.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5QsrOqCMiNaAzOUk5HDqKYK2vhMJ6kQfmxhbv1WsPpuOujMVyyIaMYCfZPj7TB4hNF0MQPoclCD_T0QLoT4v6KIQ7VWX4qk0LbEgehCVzK1H1Z2_9ZR07e5uvYaIYYBLlZuiyM5oudwg/s320/apples.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476033778245460114" /></a>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3899617422340619537.post-81498619452348507102010-05-25T22:03:00.003-05:002010-05-25T22:21:20.168-05:00Things I Learned Today<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7FgdBGkSgcygGF0RqRM92-wvWFN5FBx50w6EyAIlq4ME6cLeVGL8aQzMKFG7BwQDJNtjMqQsIwYDAzUXmCf4FaRjN_i6qPwvHno7PtAwBzTEFQJ6WIdkjm_e-u9vcfNh7sVMeNHd9ZQ/s1600/sprinkler.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7FgdBGkSgcygGF0RqRM92-wvWFN5FBx50w6EyAIlq4ME6cLeVGL8aQzMKFG7BwQDJNtjMqQsIwYDAzUXmCf4FaRjN_i6qPwvHno7PtAwBzTEFQJ6WIdkjm_e-u9vcfNh7sVMeNHd9ZQ/s320/sprinkler.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475413595105048690" /></a><br /><ol><li>When you peruse target.com before you make a Target run, make sure the the product you picked out and have decided on is actually available in store. Not just online.</li><li>Finding a bathing suit with a two year old in the dressing room should either be the government's newest torture technique, or the newest event in the X Games.</li><li>When your little lady turns two your entire house will be turned pink. Everything from her clothing, to her toys to her new beach towel. If you have the audacity to offer her another color, you <i>will</i> get the stink eye. </li><li>When you finally pick out a pool for you little lady to play in and ask the pubescent guy working in the aisle if you need a pump to blow it up. Don't listen to him. Even if he says it only takes "fifteen minutes" to blow up, with a bike pump; it will take you over two hours to get it half inflated.</li><li>Next time, double the kid's Target wage and make him blow up the d*mn pool.</li><li>An inch of water to a two year old is just as fun as a whole pool. Luckily, because that's all you could keep in the pool as you were pumping air into it.</li><li>Inflating a pool in a flat yard would be infinitesimally easier than pumping it up in mine.</li><li>Using a bike pump for two hours is like giving the world's longest...well, let's just say that this pool is no "Two Pump Chump."</li><li>No matter where you sit while you pump, the sun will find you. And it will fry you a crispy, crispy red.</li><li>Two hours of arm exercise earns you a beer and a large bowl of ice cream.</li><li>Spending all day outside makes for one tired little lady, and one tired mama.</li></ol>MPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10639350301208468789noreply@blogger.com0