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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CEEMRn8-eyp7ImA9WhRbGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120</id><updated>2012-02-10T08:51:27.153-08:00</updated><category term="what not to wear" /><category term="childhood" /><category term="lentil soup" /><category term="mammogram" /><category term="kathy lee gifford" /><category term="today show" /><category term="mash" /><category term="donald trump" /><category term="victoria strong" /><category term="cheap" /><category term="saggy awards" /><category term="gum 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term="money" /><title>Becky's Big Bytes</title><subtitle type="html">Eating chocolate in the closet. One morsel at a time.</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>90</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/BeckysBigBytes" /><feedburner:info uri="beckysbigbytes" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>BeckysBigBytes</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQBRn0_eCp7ImA9WhRbGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-4136697410401237377</id><published>2012-02-09T11:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-02-09T14:25:57.340-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-09T14:25:57.340-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ellen degeneres" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="barbie dolls" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="gay marriage" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="being gay is not a disease" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="one million moms are not moms" /><title>JC Penney, Ellen, &amp; One Million Real Muthas</title><content type="html">Every so often I get so pissed off that I need to write a blog. Today is one of those days. I am actually not feeling very well right now but I cannot rest as my heart is racing too fast. Hopefully, blogging will help!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In case you haven't heard, there is a group called "One Million Moms" who is out there promoting Christian values and trying to keep sex, violence and profanity out of your television. It all sounds OK on the surface but don't be fooled. (I will not provide a link to their site as I am sure you are well-versed in the language of Google!) OMM's recent bandwagon is to force JC Penney to fire the beloved Ellen Degeneres as its new spokesperson and I quote from their poorly written website:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;em&gt;Funny that JC Penney thinks hiring an open homosexual spokesperson will help their business when most of its customers are traditional families. As consumers, what we find tragic is a corporate office and customer service department that not only transfers customers to voicemail, but even hangs up on them rather than verses hearing their concerns. Degeneres is not a true representation of the type of families who shop at the retailer."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when I thought we'd come so far, here comes a group of "Mothers" who, under the guise of protecting their children, are now bullying and promoting intolerance and hate. How ironic! I know the Bible isn't very big on homosexuality and you can interpret it the way you want. I am not here to give anyone a lesson on religion but I know there are a large number of people who believe that being gay is a sin, a defect, and immoral. Many think that gay people are not really born that way and that they "choose to be gay." Seriously? Considering how hard it is to be gay in this country, do you honestly think someone would choose this? What would Jesus think of OMM's behavior towards the entire gay population?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's face it OMM...you must know &lt;em&gt;someone&lt;/em&gt; who is gay. You probably have a gay sister, brother, mother, father, uncle, aunt, or your BFF is gay. It's OK! We &lt;em&gt;all&lt;/em&gt; do (wink wink!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's really funny that OMM thinks that mostly "traditional families" shop at JCP. Don't they know that the traditional family is a dying breed? Personally, I'd love to see more people get married (read, be &lt;em&gt;allowed&lt;/em&gt; to marry), and have their own families. In a world where we see less people getting married and more people shacking up and having more babies out of wedlock, it would be nice for those who aren't allowed to get married to create their own traditional family, whether it's 2 mommies or 2 daddies. Equality, I think it's called? And the Pursuit of Happiness; we all deserve that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To say that Ellen Degeneres should be dethroned from her new position is so preposterous and hateful. Go find another cause, like the Febreze ads you protested because they used the words, "Oh My God" (If you don't believe me, check out their website.), or getting 7 Eleven to stop selling Playboy (Really?).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ellen, you are a class act. You deserve as much happiness as you have brought to millions of people. &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_zNKTTtAXCs&amp;amp;sns=fb"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Click here to see her response to OMM&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to the One Million Moms, I am going to play with my &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Barbie Loves Barbie&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; dolls.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-4136697410401237377?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
Everywhere I turn, my spam folder, the TV, my mirror, it's there, nagging at me. My friend Laura affectionately refers to hers as her "&lt;strong&gt;What's That&lt;/strong&gt;?" Michelle calls it her "&lt;strong&gt;Ooh Dreep&lt;/strong&gt;".&amp;nbsp; And me, well, I never had a name for mine until this week when I started touching it and realized it had a whole new feel to it. I asked the husband to validate my feelings and so he pressed on it like I was the Pillsbury Doughboy and declared, "&lt;em&gt;It feels like a water bed&lt;/em&gt;".&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; So there you have it, I now have a name for mine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dr Oz&amp;nbsp;recently did a&amp;nbsp;show on this topic where every woman in the audience&amp;nbsp;wore a spandex bra and bike shorts, exposing their bellies for the world to see.&amp;nbsp; Some of the women were sobbing, stating they were embarrassed, ashamed, and depressed about their midriffs.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;The show was supposed to help us women understand &lt;em&gt;why &lt;/em&gt;we have belly fat, what we can eat to reduce our belly fat, and more importantly, it was an opportunity for Dr. Oz to grope and feel up as many grieving women in one fell swoop. It's not that I don't love you, Doc, but clearly, you have some&amp;nbsp;issues&amp;nbsp;in &amp;nbsp;Doctor/Patient Relations Department. Just sayin'.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It&amp;nbsp;turns out if you want to&amp;nbsp;eliminate your BF you should eat&amp;nbsp;sauerkraut, miso soup and I'm sure there was something else. After 2 weeks on this diet, I&amp;nbsp;don't understand why my waterbed is still afloat. I've been eating the sauerkraut daily on my&amp;nbsp;hot&amp;nbsp;dog&amp;nbsp;but my BF is just growing. WTFBF?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-4693586754922321272?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6ItPYXDKRSL7OsUOa01ltVShza4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6ItPYXDKRSL7OsUOa01ltVShza4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/X4V4NLbn79M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/4693586754922321272/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=4693586754922321272" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/4693586754922321272?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/4693586754922321272?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/X4V4NLbn79M/i-dont-think-youre-ready-for-this-belly.html" title="I Don't Think You're Ready for this Belly" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2012/01/i-dont-think-youre-ready-for-this-belly.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUYNRng4fip7ImA9WhRXFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-2204061798322645530</id><published>2011-12-23T16:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-23T19:26:37.636-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-23T19:26:37.636-08:00</app:edited><title>Presents</title><content type="html">I have a zillion Christmas blogs in edit mode. I'm hoping this one makes the cut.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I want to write about the excessive commercialism, the lost meaning, the overabundance of food, random acts of kindness, why you shouldn't keep talking to kids about Santa so&amp;nbsp;much since it just sets every parent up for failure, what would Jesus think of it all, why parents put the Elf on the Shelf in pornographic positions, and the year my mother accidentally raised my oven temp to 500 degrees causing a chestnut to explode in my face.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But I won't.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I just want to say that we all work really hard this time of year to make the holiday extra special. We get less sleep, we work extra hours, and we get super stressed; always feeling we're not doing enough, not baking enough, not buying enough. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But, Enough&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; is&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; Enough. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Every so often during this season (when I am ready to have an anxiety attack about it all), I have to center myself and think back to last year. I vaguely remember what we bought the kids. I have no memory of what people gave me and have to think extra hard about what&amp;nbsp;we ate. So, my point is, none of what you are doing and buying matters at all. It seems so "high priority", but in reality, next year, none of it will matter and this Christmas will be another distant memory.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For me, the only thing that really matters from year to year, is who is present and who is not.&amp;nbsp; And when you experience your first Christmas without that special someone, whether it's your Mom, Dad, Grandparent, Sibling, Spouse or&amp;nbsp;your beloved pets, Christmas Day can be a devastating day. The gifts and the food mean nothing when you're grieving a loss. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The presence of your loved ones &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;are&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; the presents. This year, the big presents for me are that my entire family is together, under one roof.&amp;nbsp; There will be a LOT of noise, food, mess, laughter, and silliness, thanks to their presence. I can't think of a better gift.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Love and peace to all of you in the New Year,&lt;br /&gt;
Becky&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-2204061798322645530?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4NbCvApZ7PgRZQ4dUOJgwM6mmBE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4NbCvApZ7PgRZQ4dUOJgwM6mmBE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/i9oxyJYEnfM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/572190482878353466/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=572190482878353466" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/572190482878353466?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/572190482878353466?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/i9oxyJYEnfM/textmastime-is-here.html" title="TextmasTime is here" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/12/textmastime-is-here.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEMRnozfyp7ImA9WhRXEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-6679556018246778742</id><published>2011-12-12T16:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-16T20:04:47.487-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-16T20:04:47.487-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mammography" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="breast exam" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mammogram" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="flat chested girls don't like mammograms" /><title>Jugs R' Us (and why does this lady look so happy?)</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z6v-bf8c9zQ/TuwQCP6B8EI/AAAAAAAAAIA/yI0ikcutdqk/s1600/mamam.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 145px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686938060277805122" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z6v-bf8c9zQ/TuwQCP6B8EI/AAAAAAAAAIA/yI0ikcutdqk/s200/mamam.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems lately I cannot post a blog that does not include the words "boob" or "breast". In keeping with this theme....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was my yearly Mammogram. If you are under 40 and have never had a lump or worrisome history, then you have not enjoyed the pleasure of having your boobs squeezed into a vice. (This yearly test may &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;save&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; your life so &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;please&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; do not skip it! I am not here to give you medical advice so please do not sue me.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am here to tell you that after you have your first mammogram, you will feel the need to have a cigarette and a shot of brandy. You will feel the burning desire to scream, "&lt;em&gt;What is the point of wearing this Johnnie if 99% of my upper torso is already naked while you twist my breast 180 degrees, squeeze it, vice it, and direct me to simultaneously stick out my butt like &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3P2dbwrT_fQ"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;Mrs. OohWiggins&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;? How exactly does the Johnnie help my dignity?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After some intense research (Google), I confirmed that a man did, in fact, invent the mammography machine. No gal pal I know would torture another sister in this fashion, unless she was messing with her private stash of chocolate. Then, totally justified.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know this machine can be a life saver. And I feel sorry for these poor technicians who do such a phenomenal job but have to resort to Cirque De Soleil maneuvers to get the scan just right. And I think about what they see (and touch!) on a daily basis. It runs the gamut from floppy fried eggs to mammoth watermelon jugs. They definitely need an award, or a chest to pin it on, as my mom likes to lovingly point out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out, I passed this year's exam with flying colors, thank God. And I will go back again, exactly one year from now. What can I say, I am a glutton for punishment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-6679556018246778742?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LzDTWkLH4ZTjtyN6Fbgz_8CzGRc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/LzDTWkLH4ZTjtyN6Fbgz_8CzGRc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/zxE1MWZTAPE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/6679556018246778742/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=6679556018246778742" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/6679556018246778742?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/6679556018246778742?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/zxE1MWZTAPE/jugs-r-us-and-why-does-this-lady-look.html" title="Jugs R' Us (and why does this lady look so happy?)" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z6v-bf8c9zQ/TuwQCP6B8EI/AAAAAAAAAIA/yI0ikcutdqk/s72-c/mamam.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/12/jugs-r-us-and-why-does-this-lady-look.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcARH4_eCp7ImA9WhRRGEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-2265544395330898628</id><published>2011-12-02T16:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-02T17:00:45.040-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-02T17:00:45.040-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenthood" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="i hate being a parent" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="sahm" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="i love being a parent" /><title>Parenthood: Blessing or Burden?</title><content type="html">When I became a mother, I had some clue as to how life would be....or so I thought. You never really know until you are in the trenches, up for nights on end; feeding, changing, nursing, crying (yours), repeat. And you think the hard work is just when they are babies but there is always a new stage to contend with and as good as your little angels are, it's still a lot of freaking work and it never goes away. Sure, you can grab a date night, an hour nap, or a one way run down the street screaming your head off for only so long. The job of motherhood is always there; 365 day/year job which pays you squat. Your leash is a short one, no matter how you slice it. The job violates every labor law out there. Why hasn't the Department of Labor intervened by now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One recent article sparked some controversy. &lt;a href="http://nymag.com/news/features/67024/"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Take a look here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt; It's about parents who love their kids but hate their lives. If you are childless by choice, this article will make you feel validated. If you have kids, well, I can't tell you how you feel. If you wish you had kids, then please don't read the article. Personally, I love being a mother and feel that it is &lt;em&gt;one&lt;/em&gt; of my "vocations" in life that I was meant to do, and if that sounds too corny for you then, too bad. I do have other hopes and dreams aside from all the glory and goo that is motherhood. But it's not easy, none of it. No matter who you are, whether you are a SAHM (Stay At Home Mom) or a WOHM (Work Outside Home Mom), we are all working our fannies off, right? Aren't we all doing what is best for our families and ourselves? Isn't that enough? I think it is. No one gets a prize when it's all over that says, "She made her own dough" or "She sewed all the kids' clothes". The prize is that everyone got out alive and mostly unscathed at the end of each day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know plenty of parents (many are very close friends) who have severely disabled or chronically ill children. Their kids' medical needs are never ending and their futures are unpredictable, at best. And do you know what is interesting about them? I &lt;em&gt;NEVER&lt;/em&gt; hear them complain about their kids. And do you know why? Because they are just plain grateful to have those children, problems and all. Then, there are the parents who are given the most precious, perfect and healthy children and for whatever reason, do not see it. They complain about every little thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all have our days. But to say that a person "&lt;em&gt;hates their life&lt;/em&gt;" as a result of having children makes me cringe. Do you view having a child as a blessing or a burden? Every day and every night, and many times in between, I am counting my blessings, big and little.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-2265544395330898628?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/R2W66S25DxN6rUZPWxrZ0L5K9OE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/R2W66S25DxN6rUZPWxrZ0L5K9OE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/pJo9-S6WuAo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/2265544395330898628/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=2265544395330898628" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/2265544395330898628?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/2265544395330898628?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/pJo9-S6WuAo/parenthood-blessing-or-burden.html" title="Parenthood: Blessing or Burden?" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/12/parenthood-blessing-or-burden.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0EFSX46eSp7ImA9WhRRF0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-1792695312860255273</id><published>2011-11-30T17:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-30T19:53:38.011-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-30T19:53:38.011-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lactation consultants" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="women and infants hospital" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="free formula" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="breastfeeding" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="pampers" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kardashian girls who don't breastfeed" /><title>Got Formula? Not anymore!</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tyjXwfK96IQ/Ttb3WAu11UI/AAAAAAAAAH0/mE-r3sB-670/s1600/220px-Breastfeeding-icon-med_svg.png"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680999937500108098" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tyjXwfK96IQ/Ttb3WAu11UI/AAAAAAAAAH0/mE-r3sB-670/s200/220px-Breastfeeding-icon-med_svg.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our local baby factory hospital, Women &amp;amp; Infants, has recently announced that they will no longer provide formula samples to new moms who are being discharged. Their claim is that the formula sends the wrong message to mothers and discourages breast feeding, while also endorsing products, another bad message. (They also give you as many free Pampers as can fit in a body bag, but I guess that does not count).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think this new practice is stupid, stupid, stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little background, in case you think I am biased (but aren't we all?). I was the mother who was beyond determined to make breastfeeding work &lt;em&gt;no matter what happened&lt;/em&gt;. At no point was my baby ever going to have formula, unless it was a dire emergency. I took all the classes, I coached my nipples, preparing them for what was to "come", and I had all the right equipment; the pump, the peek-a-boo bras, the plastic breast shields (don't ask), the leakage pads, and the extra strength Advil for the pain that would ensue.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you picturing Wonder Woman without the tiny waist? Good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then my first born arrived. An average sized baby who had a hard time "latching on". What? How could this happen? Isn't breastfeeding the most natural thing in the world? Doesn't the baby have an instinct? And who are these hairy women coming into my room, analyzing my breasts and prying open my baby's mouth by his chin while squirting water in his face to wake him up, all in the name of a feeding? And did I mention that I can't even rest the baby on my tummy for a feeding as I've just had a C-section. Home team disadvantage, you must hold the baby like a football under your arm. Do these people know how much I hated flag football in junior high? I sucked! And now my baby doesn't even know how to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Day 2&lt;/strong&gt;: The baby starts getting jaundicy and it later turns out it's not the normal kind. It's the kind called "Breastfeeding Jaundice", which they tell me can only be cured by drinking more breast milk. Super! I have a yellow baby who wants to sleep all the time, has a receding chin (not cool in the Land of Lactation), and was just circumcised (adding to more trauma).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, I may have turned to formula. I did not. As I said, I was determined! I used the hospital pump and tried to increase the supply of milk so the baby could look less like a lemon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They even let me take him home where I continued pumping and nursing constantly. However, this baby was not recovering from Breast milk Jaundice and was losing weight. My pediatrician (also a nursing mother to 3 kids), knew how much I wanted this to work. She finally advised formula to supplement, just to get his weight up. I was devastated at the time, but I did what she said. I was in no way going to mess with his development. He ended up gaining weight and was fine, however, my breast milk supply never "took off", so he was a half and half baby. Kind of like what you put in your coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I had my 2ND baby 4 years later. I gave the breastfeeding a try and miraculously, it worked extremely well for 15 months. He had formula once in a blue moon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all know that breastfeeding is the most natural and nutritious food choice for a baby. However, sometimes, it just doesn't work out for whatever reason. And after having experienced my own reasons, I can understand why some women "give up" on breastfeeding, or don't even try it. They probably hear horror stories or perhaps they are too self conscious to even try it. You cannot judge another woman for choosing formula. You are not in her bra, are you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, getting back to my opening sentence way up top. No matter what your choice is, having a sample of formula handed to you upon discharge will not be the nail in the coffin. You have already had the baby and by the time you have left the hospital, you have fed the baby via breast or bottle and have made some type of decision, correct? And what happens if you get home and you don't have a back up plan in case you cannot nurse? Won't that dinky little sample from the Similac company come in handy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved my experience at Women &amp;amp; Infants and I am so grateful that both my babies were delivered safely and I was treated with the best possible care by all of the nurses and staff. However, I believe this new policy is just silly and they are using the wrong platform to send their message. The free Pampers do not cost the hospital any money, nor do the formula samples. You get all kinds of freebies as a new mom. Considering what the formula companies charge, I think it's the least they can do. The hospital already has their army of lactation consultants swarming the castle like Breastfeeding Ninjas, sniffing out every woman who springs a leak, so we know that they give breastfeeding more P.R. than the Kardashian girls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps the hospital's new strategy can include sending all new moms home with a 60 year old Russian wet nurse. Now&lt;em&gt; that&lt;/em&gt; would be useful!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-1792695312860255273?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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Not anymore!" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tyjXwfK96IQ/Ttb3WAu11UI/AAAAAAAAAH0/mE-r3sB-670/s72-c/220px-Breastfeeding-icon-med_svg.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/11/got-formula-not-anymore.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUERnYzeSp7ImA9WhRRFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-3132698352204467485</id><published>2011-11-28T16:48:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-30T16:10:07.881-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-30T16:10:07.881-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="high school class reunion" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="manx" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="michael jackson" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="spanx" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="pyt" /><title>Why you should go to that Class Reunion</title><content type="html">It's hard to believe that 25 years have passed since my high school graduation. I have attended most of our reunions and I must say, this milestone reunion was the best ever. I can only speak for myself but I have a feeling that my classmates share the same sentiments. This one was extra special!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're all getting older; that is a no brainer. But I think as you hit your 40s, the reality of mortality and time slipping through your fingers really starts to hit you. Many of us have lost parents, have dealt with tragedies, personal or family illness, daily stress and struggles, loneliness, or hardship. On the flip side, many have gotten married (twice!), had kids, enjoyed thriving careers, or traveled the world. We've all been down many roads with paths leading us on unexpected turns and twists. However, the one thing we all have in common is our time together in school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's something about this shared experience that makes you all warm and fuzzy inside. Even if you weren't the most popular, the smartest, or good looking (in whose eyes?) kid in school, we all had our fun. If you were a self-proclaimed Motorhead, Preppy, Dexter, Nerd, Beauty Queen, Jock, or Plain Jane, I know you had at least &lt;em&gt;one &lt;/em&gt;friend to share your miserable experience with! I am so thankful to have had one of those friends who "got" me right away and made my 3 years the best ever. I still cherish that girl to pieces and I am so thankful she was brave enough to organize our 25th reunion!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heading to a reunion after so many years can be scary. Let's face it, things are not &lt;em&gt;exactly &lt;/em&gt;where they used to be. On our "Pre-Reunion" Facebook group, the boys were strategizing bald spot and pot belly coverage while the girls worried about love handles, saggy boobs, and laugh lines. Our conversation thread cried out with desperation to Sally Hanson, Spanx, and Manx (my own homage to men's Spanx), even minutes before the reunion began. The hysteria we all felt was contagious and made going to the reunion that much more fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it turned out that we all look pretty damn good! Yes, we are aging but we are doing it &lt;em&gt;together &lt;/em&gt;so we're all on the same playing field. There's really no point in trying to look like something you aren't. (Botox and toupees went undetected by this writer.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What really mattered that night was that we had a rare opportunity to get reacquainted and stroll down memory lane. The night was filled with "our" music, laughter, hugging, crying, more hugging,some odd dance moves, more than a few, "&lt;em&gt;Oh, I remember &lt;strong&gt;you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;!" (even when we didn't with the help of name tags, but that's ok), and wanting this night to last just a little longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is short and time flies. Both total cliches, and completely true. If you have a chance to go to a class reunion, &lt;strong&gt;just go&lt;/strong&gt;. Don't think about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No matter what your experience was in High School, a night with your old classmates will leave you re-energized, giddy, wistful, overwhelmed, grateful, and just plain happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And leave the Spanx behind. Dancing to Michael Jackson's P.Y.T while feeling like a sausage stuffed in its casing does not a Pretty Young Thing make.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-3132698352204467485?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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By using an &lt;a href="http://www.target.com/p/Oster-Inspire-Hand-Blender-with-Blending-Cup/-/A-522628"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;immersion blender&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;, I managed to disguise beans and carrots, 2 things that would normally be picked out of the bowl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am calling it &lt;strong&gt;Tricky Picky Nicky Soup&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the ingredients:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 (32 oz each)boxes of chicken or vegetable stock (or your own homemade version)&lt;br /&gt;3-4 carrots chopped&lt;br /&gt;3-4 stalks of celery chopped&lt;br /&gt;1 small onion chopped&lt;br /&gt;1 tsp dried thyme&lt;br /&gt;Combine all of the above ingredients in a large pot and bring to a boil. Cover and let simmer for approx 20 minutes on med/low heat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Add 1 can of white cannellini beans which have been drained and rinsed and let it simmer another 15 minutes or so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next, take the immersion blender and puree the mixture right in the pot. This saves you from having to transfer the hot liquid to a food processor (total bummer and messy).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blend the soup mixture until you can no longer see chunks of beans or carrots as Picky Nicky will find them, trust me!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Add to this 1 cup of small dried pasta (star shaped work wonders for the little ones) and cook until the pasta is cooked. (You can always cook the pasta separately and add to the soup.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are really adventurous, add some frozen chopped spinach at the end. Simmer another 2 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Serve this delectable soup with grated Parmesan cheese, freshly chopped parsley, crushed red pepper flakes, a drizzle of olive oil and/or some crusty bread on top.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a delightful comforty peasant dish that 3 boys under the age of 9 all LOVED and each had a second bowl. The boy who never eats cooked carrots did not detect a thing. &lt;strong&gt;Thank you immersion blender.&lt;/strong&gt; I will be using you more and more, now that I know about your magic powers!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-3711479162918468733?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mZyz1Y2mY9k0ESReFBj0_GJs2eg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mZyz1Y2mY9k0ESReFBj0_GJs2eg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/TTWExPN2bKI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/3711479162918468733/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=3711479162918468733" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/3711479162918468733?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/3711479162918468733?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/TTWExPN2bKI/tricky-picky-nicky-soup.html" title="Tricky Picky Nicky Soup" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kqaZYv-XmP4/To5VesCaZTI/AAAAAAAAAHo/RKIv1zeipf4/s72-c/DSCN2318.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/10/tricky-picky-nicky-soup.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIGQXY4eSp7ImA9WhdVEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-6974861757737328431</id><published>2011-09-14T18:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-16T19:45:20.831-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-16T19:45:20.831-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="overscheduling kids activities" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="children" /><title>Over Scheduled Kids, Stressed Out Parents. Who is Winning?</title><content type="html">"So, today Joshie has soccer and piano, Amelia has dance and chorus, and Winston has Karate and T-Ball". Then she sighs. BIG.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This familiar rant is heard all around the car lines, the bus stops, and the play dates. The tone of voice and the exasperated looks are always the same as the day's schedule is announced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Parents today spend so much time shuffling their kids from place to place they lose sight of their own needs and in the process, lose themselves, their sanity and their family structure. They complain, they whine, and they are just plain tired. (&lt;strong&gt;I will say this. There is a special heaven for Hockey Moms.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;It starts off innocently enough. After you have your first baby and get into somewhat of a groove, you start to venture out to "activities" for your little cherub. First, it's story hour at the library, then it's "Gymboree", and before he's one, you fear he's lagging behind so you enroll him in Mandarin Chinese language lessons. Then there are swim lessons, soccer, T-ball and karate, all before he's learned how to wipe. And for the girls, there is ballet, pageants (another blog), and Princess lessons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're so concerned that our child(ren) will not be able to "keep up" with the other children, we fall into the trap, thinking this insane rat race is normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a little secret. It's not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From my own Mom experience, I have learned that kids need to play; freely, by themselves, and with others. They love to explore, imagine, and create, all within their own space. How do I know this? Because I have 2 boys who fight over toilet paper holders and tape because they are too busy creating antennas, binoculars, robots, and microphones. They really don't need a lot to make them happy. Yesterday, they fought over a string and I had to set the timer to give each equal time playing with the string. I am not lying, people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Parents complain about not having enough time but &lt;em&gt;they do have a choice&lt;/em&gt;. In our house we have a 1 activity rule. Only one sport/activity allowed at a time. After it's over, you can move on to something different. Often times the parents are competing with each other to see who can do more. And in the end, does little Suzy end up in the New York Ballet? Does little Joshie get a full hockey scholarship? Chances are, no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are a parent who is stressed from over scheduling, just ask yourself the following questions:&lt;br /&gt;1. Does my child enjoy this activity? Ask the kid, s/he might surprise you.&lt;br /&gt;2. Does taking my child to this activity place too many demands on the parent and family structure?&lt;br /&gt;3. Is it too expensive? Are you sacrificing in other ways just to keep this activity going?&lt;br /&gt;4. Are there alternatives to this activity?&lt;br /&gt;5. How else would/could you spend your time if you weren't "sacrificing" for the child? (When do mommy &amp;amp; daddy get some play time is what I mean!!)&lt;br /&gt;6. Is the child's school work suffering?&lt;br /&gt;7. Is the child getting enough sleep and time to "be a kid"?&lt;br /&gt;8. Do you think you missed out on something as a kid and are now trying to overcompensate?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just some things to think about when finding the right balance in your family life. Personally, I was involved in softball, bowling, volleyball, Pep Squad, archery and school government. (I was the most uncoordinated participant out there, but I had fun). Most of my activities were "Intramural", free, and right after school. They did not seem to create any undue stress on my parents but at the same time, enriched my life, introduced me to new friends, and kept me out of trouble.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope this blog does not sound "preachy". My hope is that parents might take a step back and consider all factors. Childhood is already too short coupled with the fact that the life of a grownup is a constant treadmill. It sounds like a recipe for slowing down, doesn't it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Just because everyone else is stressed and over scheduled doesn't mean you have to be too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;Would love to hear your feedback here on this blog. Please feel free to post your opinions here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-6974861757737328431?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GsQphYxB_6rEPVTp8p1ztfnoUao/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GsQphYxB_6rEPVTp8p1ztfnoUao/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/P3XTRfnMxg4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/6974861757737328431/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=6974861757737328431" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/6974861757737328431?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/6974861757737328431?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/P3XTRfnMxg4/over-scheduled-kids-stressed-out.html" title="Over Scheduled Kids, Stressed Out Parents. Who is Winning?" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/09/over-scheduled-kids-stressed-out.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU8GRX4zfip7ImA9WhdWFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-8900415772800089687</id><published>2011-09-09T16:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-09T17:17:04.086-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-09T17:17:04.086-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="a.m radio" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="irene" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="how to survive a hurricane without power" /><title>Lessons from Irene</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IVll_0INl38/Tmqqh3ep_iI/AAAAAAAAAG4/zss2AgU6_vo/s1600/castaway.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650516181294644770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 124px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IVll_0INl38/Tmqqh3ep_iI/AAAAAAAAAG4/zss2AgU6_vo/s200/castaway.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. There are people who drink and eat during the storm while there are people who will blow their leaves and mow, during the storm.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. There are people who embrace the darkness, the lack of technology, and the dinners by candlelight with friends. And there are people who call a.m radio b*tching about not having electricity while their generators are humming.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. If you know a hurricane is coming, just eat all the ice cream and get it over with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. You will continue to walk into a room even after seven days with no power, and still try to turn on the lights.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. Your children will not even notice that there is no operating television&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. You will hear a.m radio caller say something like this: "&lt;em&gt;I'm not calling to gripe like everyone else is about the electricity. I got my generator. I got my pool. What I'm worried about is, what exactly do they plan on doing about the hornet problem in my yard&lt;/em&gt;?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. You and your peeps will be huddled around a.m radio by candlelight. This will be your sole source of entertainment and you all make a pact to make it a weekly ritual, even long after the power returns.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-8900415772800089687?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-wPDyN6y-1X-w6zydZLHqV4TYjw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-wPDyN6y-1X-w6zydZLHqV4TYjw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/R19x_SYr3Ck" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/8900415772800089687/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=8900415772800089687" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/8900415772800089687?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/8900415772800089687?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/R19x_SYr3Ck/lessons-from-irene.html" title="Lessons from Irene" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IVll_0INl38/Tmqqh3ep_iI/AAAAAAAAAG4/zss2AgU6_vo/s72-c/castaway.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/09/lessons-from-irene.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUAEQXk9eyp7ImA9WhdWFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-2399146614544342954</id><published>2011-09-07T17:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-07T18:01:40.763-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-07T18:01:40.763-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="texting while storming" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="irene" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="fml" /><title>Texting Up a Storm</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GKCv6CosMG0/TmgRmL7KP8I/AAAAAAAAAGw/0iZnLdSzsDo/s1600/headlights2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649785080269914050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 180px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GKCv6CosMG0/TmgRmL7KP8I/AAAAAAAAAGw/0iZnLdSzsDo/s200/headlights2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The recent tropical storm, Irene, caused us all to think really hard about what is important. Like, how do we text during the storm so that our friends will understand what kind of crisis we are in? Well, Becky is here to save the day with some new texting abbreviations, should another catastrophe of this kind strike. &lt;strong&gt;Please share this with your friends so that we will all be on the same page next time!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. &lt;strong&gt;SNP&lt;/strong&gt;: Still No Power&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. &lt;strong&gt;FFKICBIM&lt;/strong&gt;: Force Feeding Kids Ice Cream Before It Melts&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. &lt;strong&gt;TOLA&lt;/strong&gt;: Tripped Over Legos Again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. &lt;strong&gt;DDCF:&lt;/strong&gt; Dropped Deuce Can't Flush&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. &lt;strong&gt;BTW&lt;/strong&gt;: Buying the Wood&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. &lt;strong&gt;LAMRL&lt;/strong&gt;: Listening to A.M. Radio Losers&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. &lt;strong&gt;ITMB&lt;/strong&gt;?: Is This Milk Bad?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;8. &lt;strong&gt;CSDTOT&lt;/strong&gt;: Can't Shower, Doing The One Two&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;9. &lt;strong&gt;NDBAJL&lt;/strong&gt;: No D Batteries At Job Lot&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And my personal favorite, donated by the Mr:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;10.&lt;strong&gt; FML&lt;/strong&gt;: Fix My Lights!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;(Or, &lt;strong&gt;Find My Lantern&lt;/strong&gt;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-2399146614544342954?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mMiHJhsng9ITrEsB-ieHdq_qLPk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mMiHJhsng9ITrEsB-ieHdq_qLPk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/d6lH2lFT_EI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/2399146614544342954/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=2399146614544342954" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/2399146614544342954?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/2399146614544342954?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/d6lH2lFT_EI/texting-up-storm.html" title="Texting Up a Storm" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GKCv6CosMG0/TmgRmL7KP8I/AAAAAAAAAGw/0iZnLdSzsDo/s72-c/headlights2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/09/texting-up-storm.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUQEQHk9fSp7ImA9WhdWEUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-7457199808860761566</id><published>2011-09-02T17:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-04T09:21:41.765-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-04T09:21:41.765-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="irene" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="rite aid" /><title>Parents with Power</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-92pOLh0gTng/TmOkQTiBdKI/AAAAAAAAAGg/Ui2F8M7uWPk/s1600/breaking+dawn.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648538957680571554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-92pOLh0gTng/TmOkQTiBdKI/AAAAAAAAAGg/Ui2F8M7uWPk/s200/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; So, Hurricane Irene didn't do much damage in my hood but it did knock out our electricity for 6 days now (and counting). On Day One, we awoke to no power, a little earlier than we anticipated. I was hoping I'd squeeze in at least one &lt;em&gt;last&lt;/em&gt; load of laundry, but oh well....
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Who thought it would last this long? We hunkered down for the 1st 2 days of darkness with neighbors; cooking, drinking, eating, more cooking, laughing, and (finally) sleeping to the hum of nearby generators. Then we learned it would be days before getting the lights back so we packed the kids up and headed to my parents' house. (I honestly don't mind "roughing" it but I have my limits. If I can't do my laundry at least every other day, I start twitching. &lt;a href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2010/07/learning-to-love-your-laundry.html"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330099;"&gt;For more history on this click here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. ) Plus, I am a big fan of fresh, cold food, something that is hard to keep when your fridge has been emptied and ice is nowhere to be found.
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;So, it was off to Manny &amp;amp; Ginger's house. ("Manny" is really "Kenny" but I nicknamed him Manny cuz he loves to read manuals to EVERYTHING, and "Ginger" is "Ginny", more on that in another blog.)
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Thank goodness for parents, especially ones who don't mind a family of four invading their space. These 2 would really move the Sun and Earth for you....generous, kind, and beyond crazy.
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Just a few tidbits of my last week with Manny &amp;amp; Ginger:
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;No matter what time of day, my father is eating. Standing at the kitchen counter. Eating. One night at 11pm, he was eating chopped onions and tomatoes with fresh basil. Still standing. Never sitting. Jars of pickled mussels, jalapeno peppers, Cheerios, topped with blueberries, milk and wait for it....crumbled blue cheese on top. I gently advised him that he shouldn't eat so late at night and his response was, "&lt;em&gt;How is it eating late if I don't go to sleep until 2 a.m&lt;/em&gt;?" &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Ginger: " &lt;em&gt;Who the hell eats tomatoes and onions at night&lt;/em&gt;? &lt;em&gt;Beck, what time does Dr. Drew come on? Is it &lt;strong&gt;after&lt;/strong&gt; Nancy Grace and &lt;strong&gt;before&lt;/strong&gt; Joy Behar&lt;/em&gt;?" Yes, mom. We'll watch in your bed and then Billy will come in to talk about Chaz Bono. &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Cut to a commercial with the K girls. &lt;strong&gt;Ginger&lt;/strong&gt;: "&lt;em&gt;Ooh, I'm so sick of those Kardashian girls. They look like whoas."&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;My mother's obsession for sweet corn is worse than I thought. She cooks it at every meal and when she eats it, a lone kernel rests on her chin, waiting to be snacked on later. &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;My father writes down his doctor's appointment times on the sides of Kleenex boxes and then can't remember when he has to go. Until he sneezes.&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Every conversation with my mother includes the words "RiteAid" and "Lottery Number"&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;My parents never use a door to exit the house.&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Rubber bands are used on everything; from bagged salad and pasta boxes to bottles of pills.&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;And lastly, now I understand why Becky is the way she is.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Thank you to my wonderful parents! You guys are the best.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-7457199808860761566?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XT5XjaC9nuFPMd0dn3Y88S2709Q/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/XT5XjaC9nuFPMd0dn3Y88S2709Q/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/FgVzMmWUvFU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/7457199808860761566/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=7457199808860761566" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/7457199808860761566?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/7457199808860761566?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/FgVzMmWUvFU/parents-with-power.html" title="Parents with Power" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-92pOLh0gTng/TmOkQTiBdKI/AAAAAAAAAGg/Ui2F8M7uWPk/s72-c/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/09/parents-with-power.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkADR3c6cSp7ImA9WhdXF0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-218897043978172664</id><published>2011-08-30T18:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-30T18:39:36.919-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-30T18:39:36.919-07:00</app:edited><title>Come on Irene!</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3mv7UIWzxFg/Tl2QxN9fd1I/AAAAAAAAAGY/C6vId8_H07M/s1600/headlights2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646828683028035410" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 180px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3mv7UIWzxFg/Tl2QxN9fd1I/AAAAAAAAAGY/C6vId8_H07M/s200/headlights2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ode to Irene....sung to the tune of "&lt;strong&gt;Addicted to Love&lt;/strong&gt;":
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The lights aren't on
&lt;br /&gt;And I'm not home
&lt;br /&gt;This gal named Rita, is on my phone
&lt;br /&gt;My pits are sweatin'
&lt;br /&gt;My food is spoiled
&lt;br /&gt;The kids are wired
&lt;br /&gt;The gridman's boiled
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Ohh, you might be thinking that it's fun in the dark
&lt;br /&gt;But just wait until you're wiping and your underwear sparks
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;And you might be thinking that your ice will be fine
&lt;br /&gt;But just open up that cooler and your hands will be mine
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;(There is no end to this song, just as there seems to be no end to our power outage. Feel free to add your own ending to this song in the comments below!) &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-218897043978172664?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Qg7UFPl-_bssrBprm2DRmh6aJYM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Qg7UFPl-_bssrBprm2DRmh6aJYM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/TD7J2CPo4uo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/218897043978172664/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=218897043978172664" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/218897043978172664?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/218897043978172664?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/TD7J2CPo4uo/come-on-irene.html" title="Come on Irene!" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3mv7UIWzxFg/Tl2QxN9fd1I/AAAAAAAAAGY/C6vId8_H07M/s72-c/headlights2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/08/come-on-irene.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEACQHs-fCp7ImA9WhZaFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-3786175542833125800</id><published>2011-07-01T14:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-01T17:32:41.554-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-01T17:32:41.554-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="bribing your kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="bathing suit season" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="dressing room lighting" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="bikini" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="tj maxx" /><title>Why all Moms should take their little boys bathing suit shopping</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V9VIB-Y1TbQ/Tg5fpquBcFI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/UzL4VuiL7Ro/s1600/uglybathingsuits.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624538154078924882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 132px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V9VIB-Y1TbQ/Tg5fpquBcFI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/UzL4VuiL7Ro/s200/uglybathingsuits.jpeg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I normally don't enjoy taking my kids clothes shopping,especially if those needed items are for moi. However, sometimes it's unavoidable and usually a little bribery (in this case, Trident gum) was enough to keep them happy. Considering what these 2 boys had to witness today in the dressing room, a better choice would have been &lt;strong&gt;Dove Chocolates&lt;/strong&gt; or a trip to the Magic Kingdom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I needed a bathing suit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, they did sit there watching; the 3 year old enamored with his gum wrapper, and the just turned 8 year old perched like an Olympic judge while I squeegied my way into the Land of Lycra.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it inappropriate for a mother to subject her sons to this? Maybe. But in my defense, I kept my bloomers on (like the sign says), and my eldest has already seen what's on the top shelf since his baby brother took up residence there for 15 months. They're just extra skin and stuff and someday all women will be allowed to mow their lawns shirtless like men do. I demand it! Wait, I don't mow the lawn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, back to Lycra. The dressing room in any department store is a cruel, cruel place. For some reason, they still haven't realized that the lower the lighting, the better the sales. Why must the lights rival those of an operating room? Are they performing appendectomies on the off hours? Do we really need to see our facial hair, our spider veins and our cellulite all at 5000 mega pixels?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No. Which is why it's good to take your children on these adventures. You see, they don't judge. They don't critique that mass of veins on your legs, or the extra baggage you are carrying around on the lower shelf, or the less than perky top shelf. All they see is the pretty coral bathing suit and their Mom. Bingo. You are the most beautiful girl in the world to them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried on 6 bathing suits and with each one, "&lt;em&gt;Mom, that looks nice&lt;/em&gt;!" Not, "&lt;em&gt;Mom, you have a short waist and should really try to e-longate it&lt;/em&gt;." or, "&lt;em&gt;Your legs are so jiggly. You are so not buying THAT!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even though I couldn't find just the right suit for me, I still left the store with my head held high. The bribe gum remained intact and I was already looking forward to my next shopping trip with my kids.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-3786175542833125800?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/E3cEWJ9OyWmGelN0Ty9fxe3s1yE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/E3cEWJ9OyWmGelN0Ty9fxe3s1yE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/UQ8kHOTTuWk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/3786175542833125800/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=3786175542833125800" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/3786175542833125800?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/3786175542833125800?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/UQ8kHOTTuWk/why-all-moms-should-take-their-little.html" title="Why all Moms should take their little boys bathing suit shopping" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V9VIB-Y1TbQ/Tg5fpquBcFI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/UzL4VuiL7Ro/s72-c/uglybathingsuits.jpeg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/07/why-all-moms-should-take-their-little.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D04MQn04fCp7ImA9WhZbEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-7787172204477710902</id><published>2011-06-15T13:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-15T15:13:03.334-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-15T15:13:03.334-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mishnock barn" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="childhood" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="memories" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="AA" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lake mishnock" /><title>Fuzzy Memories</title><content type="html">Parents of this generation are big on creating memories for their kids. They overspend and overstress on making the kids' childhood rosy, glowy and supercharged with fun. And for some strange reason, they believe that the kids will remember all of the back breaking work they did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm here to tell you, as a 43 year old mother who was a child once too, they really won't remember all of the minutiae that you are orchestrating. Every time I question or angst over a parenting dilemma, I think to myself, "He won't even remember this. Why am I bothering?" This gave me pause today as I tried to remember some things from my childhood, like before the age of 14. I remember nothing prior to age 4 or 5.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is what I came up with:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. My siblings teaching me that if I stirred my Coke long enough it would turn to root beer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Spaghettio Saturdays&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. A tick in my head in kindergarten&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Wearing my underpants under my bathing suit at a summer day camp because I was too embarassed to undress in front of the other girls&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. The way my mother sprinkled paprika on my tuna fish sandwiches and how special I thought that was&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Getting hit in the boob (12 year old ones) with a line drive shot while I was pitching a softball game&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Playing Manhunt into the dark of night with the neighborhood kids&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Making chocolate chip cookies every Friday night with my sister while we watched &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dallas&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; and &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Dukes of Hazard&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; while our Mom went to Bingo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Playing a barbaric game called "Step on Stomachs" with my brother and sister&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Winning a spelling bee in the 5th grade&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Lite Bright and Spirograph&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. Kissing the TV whenever David Cassidy and the Partridge Family show started&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. My mother experiencing one of the worst foot cramps in history making my dad take her to the hospital, only to end up at Burger King since the cramp disappeared en route&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Cutting my bangs in the 3rd grade so I could look like Olivia Newton-John in Grease but ended up looking more like the other girl with the buck teeth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. The beach every Sunday from morning til night&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. My sister throwing up on the Block Island Ferry and my mother grabbing a lady's newspaper right out of her hands to catch it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. My dad hiding all of us and our cousins in the back of his van (like illegal immigrants) so he wouldn't have to pay by the kid at Lake Mishnock&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. My grandpa Rico, giving all of us kids shots of beer and peanuts in his basement so we could all raise our glasses and shout, "Salute and Drink!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. My first AA meeting at age 10&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's pretty much all I remember. Do you need to &lt;em&gt;create&lt;/em&gt; memories for your kids? Nope. Life has a way of doing that for them!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-7787172204477710902?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WSpR6aSyT4NS68yc-3FhRbt1P5M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WSpR6aSyT4NS68yc-3FhRbt1P5M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/On3Gj2D83xE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/7787172204477710902/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=7787172204477710902" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/7787172204477710902?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/7787172204477710902?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/On3Gj2D83xE/fuzzy-memories.html" title="Fuzzy Memories" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/06/fuzzy-memories.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04EQ3w7eCp7ImA9WhZbEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-9064936309014123351</id><published>2011-06-14T16:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-14T18:05:02.200-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-14T18:05:02.200-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="pizza delivery" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="dominoes" /><title>Not Yo Mama's Maytag Repair Man</title><content type="html">This story happened almost a year ago. But it doesn't matter. My rage is still there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pizza crust was still an albino color after being in the oven for 20 minutes. Something was definitely not right with the oven. It was a hot day but I didn't care. We have a.c. and nothing stops me from making pizza when I get the hankering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What to do? Who to call? Times like these I wish I married an appliance repair man (other times I wish I married a plumber, electrician, or auto mechanic!) After a few calls, I found a reliable repair man who has done work for other family members. He came the very next day. A bit on the grouchy side (complained about having to walk up my front steps, quite the hardship) but then got right to work. While diagnosing our problem and only $125 later, he joked that I probably called &lt;strong&gt;Dominoes&lt;/strong&gt; during my prior pizza emergency. I twitched only slightly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he started talking about his wife and grown kids. His crusty attitude resurfaced again as he referred to his daughter as a "&lt;strong&gt;Big Fat D".&lt;/strong&gt; At this point, my husband and I looked at each other, totally confused. So hubby turned to him and said, "&lt;em&gt;She's a Diva&lt;/em&gt;?", to which Mr. Oven Saver replied, "&lt;em&gt;No, she's a Dy**&lt;/em&gt;." I can't even bring myself to type what he said. I am hoping you are intelligent enough to unlock the mystery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of unleashing on him, I said something like "As long as our kids are happy, then that's all that really matters", knowing full well that I could not change the spots on this leopard and just let it go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But on that hot summer day, I was dually offended. I am not sure what upset me more, that he thought I, a direct descendant of the &lt;a href="http://pizzatherapy.com/"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pizza Therapy guru of all time&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;, would call Dominoes Pizza or that he referred to his own flesh and blood as the "D Word". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you keep this repair man for future use? I won't. And if you know of anyone reliable and who doesn't use either "D" word, would you please post it here?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-9064936309014123351?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Pf53GHCXxwJOo2ZKKP6RxU0AJYA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Pf53GHCXxwJOo2ZKKP6RxU0AJYA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/3-sr8HW8UYw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/9064936309014123351/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=9064936309014123351" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/9064936309014123351?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/9064936309014123351?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/3-sr8HW8UYw/not-yo-mamas-maytag-repair-man.html" title="Not Yo Mama's Maytag Repair Man" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/06/not-yo-mamas-maytag-repair-man.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUNQHsyeSp7ImA9WhZaFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-4739303760479220362</id><published>2011-06-03T18:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-01T17:41:31.591-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-01T17:41:31.591-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="pms" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kotex" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="have a happy period" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="the rag" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="always" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ghirardelli chocolate" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="forrest gump" /><title>Forrest Gump was Right</title><content type="html">&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618975135112068402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 165px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-81EchAcazYs/TfqcHWIbfTI/AAAAAAAAAF4/URjX9ppCxyg/s320/chocolate_square.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Every time I reach into the box, my heart skips a beat. As my hands lightly caress the silky smooth, perfectly shaped square, my mouth begins to water. I pull it out of the box, giddy with excitement. I carefully open it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh crap. They've done it again. They've somehow replaced the Ghirardelli chocolate square with a Kotex pantyshield. How could this have happened, &lt;em&gt;again?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my recurring living nightmare each month. First it was the &lt;a href="http://www.always.com/happy/"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Always&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/a&gt;camp telling us girls to "&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Have a Happy Period&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;". After discovering that their products do not have a built in tickling device, I boycotted, and switched over to &lt;em&gt;Team Kotex &lt;/em&gt;which now markets their products like Forrest Gump.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If they really want us all to have a happy period, they &lt;em&gt;should &lt;/em&gt;include a chocolate interspersed between all the pads instead of making each individual pad wrapped in jazzy, multi-colored plastic, only to disappoint yet another crazed woman. Why has this not happened yet? Why are they not getting it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are a boy and cannot stand &lt;strong&gt;Ladies’ Days&lt;/strong&gt; talk, then go scratch yourselves in the other room. But for my gal pals, read on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The monthly &lt;strong&gt;Curse,&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;Ant Flo&lt;/strong&gt;, or your “&lt;strong&gt;Time&lt;/strong&gt;” is up there with Death, Taxes and Laundry, so I know you all can relate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My poor Portuguese friend got hers on her wedding day. My husband refers to her unfortunate event as her “Portuguese Wedding Present”(&lt;strong&gt;PWP&lt;/strong&gt;). My friends and I like to speak in PWP code. But now the secret is out. You can use it too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;strong&gt;PWP&lt;/strong&gt; has been a major part of my life since I was 12. When she arrived, I was in complete denial and thought that brown color was a result of eating too much chocolate. And I refused to tell anyone until a few days had passed, even though my mother had prepared my sister and me by showing us a book about “Creation”. From what I gathered, chickens laid eggs and the man physically took his sperm (which I envisioned to be like holding a toothpick) in his hand and handed it to the woman. They both looked so happy in the picture and I never understood why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After my brother read the book he said to my mother, “&lt;em&gt;So your mother&lt;/em&gt; (our grandmother), &lt;em&gt;had sex &lt;strong&gt;12 times&lt;/strong&gt; with your father&lt;/em&gt;?” She did have 12 kids so it all made perfect sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over the years, Ladies' Days products have made some great strides since the “belt” era. And let's not forget what the cave women and my mother endured during &lt;strong&gt;GenRag. &lt;/strong&gt;Envisioning her house of 12 kids (6 of them girls!) with a makeshift RagLine just makes me oh, so grateful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pads have taken off with wings, walls and channels. They can fly to the moon, win the Tour De France, and scale the Great Wall of China. The Tampons come in fluorescent colors and fold in half so you can fit them inside a Tic Tac case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But no matter how jazzy you make Pretty Paddy or Talulah Tampon, they both end up in the same crime scene. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-4739303760479220362?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2hyhexgOb_ssSvs3iksDCcKHvIE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2hyhexgOb_ssSvs3iksDCcKHvIE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/ECwb64S28_0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/4739303760479220362/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=4739303760479220362" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/4739303760479220362?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/4739303760479220362?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/ECwb64S28_0/forrest-gump-was-right.html" title="Forrest Gump was Right" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-81EchAcazYs/TfqcHWIbfTI/AAAAAAAAAF4/URjX9ppCxyg/s72-c/chocolate_square.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/06/forrest-gump-was-right.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUMDRHg6cCp7ImA9WhZWF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-7610180361543794150</id><published>2011-05-17T13:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-18T08:44:35.618-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-18T08:44:35.618-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="the sound of music" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="cheating" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="arnold and maria" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="monogomy" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="dna" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="laura bush" /><title>How do you solve a problem like Ahnold?</title><content type="html">Arnold is now the next one to come forward, not only revealing an adulterous affair but one that produced a love child. I put him in the same category as Tiger Woods, John Edwards, Elliot Spitzer, Mark Sanford, and Jesse James. All of these men appeared to have it all and threw it all away. They could have all easily divorced if they were unhappy but instead, they cheated cheated cheated and now their spouses and children must endure constant painful scrutiny. As if the cheating part isn't painful enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel such fury when I hear these stories. Above named "men" should all be banished to an island together where they are forced to watch 24 hour reruns of male Brazilian waxing. And Carrot Top.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do spouses cheat? Laura Bush once said about her marriage to George and the rocky time of his struggles with alcohol, "Divorce is not in our DNA". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is cheating in some people's DNA? If so, why do they disrespect their spouse to such an extreme level? Is it a cry for help? Are they "sex addicts"? Are they afraid of something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or are they just plain stupid? Here we have an educated actor/governor/bodybuilder promoting good health and exercise. And what does he do? He has unprotected sex with his household staff (who was already a mother). Has he heard of AIDS, Chlamydia, Herpes, HPV, Gonorrhea, and oh, the other side effect of sex? PREGNANCY?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stupid stupid stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To Maria and her kids, I pray for you all. You are the victims. You will prevail, heal and love again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arnold and the others, enjoy your time on the island together.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-7610180361543794150?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wwHdxgmkks2VTydHciAy80N8zTY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wwHdxgmkks2VTydHciAy80N8zTY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/zmrL6MM-2ys" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/7610180361543794150/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=7610180361543794150" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/7610180361543794150?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/7610180361543794150?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/zmrL6MM-2ys/how-do-you-solve-problem-like-ahnold.html" title="How do you solve a problem like Ahnold?" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/05/how-do-you-solve-problem-like-ahnold.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4CQnsycCp7ImA9WhZWE08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-6893087345580892688</id><published>2011-05-13T13:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-13T15:16:03.598-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-13T15:16:03.598-07:00</app:edited><title>Free Fun</title><content type="html">I'm one of those moms who doesn't believe you need to sign your baby up for pricey activities to ensure a healthy and enriching upbringing. Let's face it, there are a lot of programs available that were not around when we were little. &lt;strong&gt;Gymboree&lt;/strong&gt;, Karate lessons for 2 year olds, Mandarin Chinese as a 2nd language for tots, and the list goes on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I once read that the single most important thing you can do with your baby/child is READ TO THEM.&lt;/strong&gt; That's it. And it doesn't matter what. You can read them the side effects brochure from your Xanax scrip if you want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I always read to my kids. They will sit for hours on end with books (they take after Daddy). It's a beautiful thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are other &lt;strong&gt;FREE&lt;/strong&gt; things you can do with kids which will help them to use all their senses, exercise their bodies and brains and give you a needed outing as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.&lt;strong&gt; Hit the local library&lt;/strong&gt;. Here you will find story times for your tots, special art, music and science programs, all for nothing. Take advantage of free DVD rentals for you too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;strong&gt;Public playgrounds/Parks/Bike paths:&lt;/strong&gt; Hopefully you live in a place where there is one of these. Fresh air, free exercise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;strong&gt;The supermarket&lt;/strong&gt;. I know, I know, the &lt;strong&gt;Pea Pod&lt;/strong&gt; delivery guy and you are FB friends. But taking babies and bigger kids to the market can be great fun (as long as it's not 10pm at night.) The produce section alone is an educational goldmine. Kids love to explore, touch and learn about new foods. It's pure eye candy for them! And it might inspire them to try something new, for once. It also teaches them to be patient while you shop. (Hey kid, this is life, deal with it!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;**However, if you really need a timeout, then go alone***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(If you are worried about what to do with a roaming baby/toddler once you get home with all the groceries, simply put them in a pack n' play or highchair, strapped in, while you tote all the goodies inside.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;strong&gt;Picnic in your backyard&lt;/strong&gt;. Get the blankie out, lay out the lunch and punch. Just sit and listen to the birds, watch the butterflies, the clouds, play tag, turn on the &lt;strong&gt;Slip n' Slide&lt;/strong&gt;. All free, all fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Check out &lt;a href="http://national.macaronikid.com/"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;MacaroniKid&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt; for local listings of many free events for kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. &lt;strong&gt;Lastly,&lt;/strong&gt; leave the guilt at the door if you wish you could afford to sign your kids up for xyz. They will not remember when they are 43. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;But they will remember the time you spent with them gazing up at the clouds, watching worms and baking cookies.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;What kind of fun free stuff do you do with your kids? I know my list can use some company.....&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-6893087345580892688?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/L-SHdW_dg_ZFMfBL1gv1cjsU2pI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/L-SHdW_dg_ZFMfBL1gv1cjsU2pI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/L-SHdW_dg_ZFMfBL1gv1cjsU2pI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/L-SHdW_dg_ZFMfBL1gv1cjsU2pI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/PT_I39bdTi0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/6893087345580892688/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=6893087345580892688" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/6893087345580892688?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/6893087345580892688?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/PT_I39bdTi0/free-fun.html" title="Free Fun" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/05/free-fun.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0UBRnw8eip7ImA9WhZWE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-2434486453081953077</id><published>2011-05-11T18:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-13T13:40:57.272-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-13T13:40:57.272-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="facebook" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="blogging" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="facebook addiction" /><title>How I lost my friend to Facebook</title><content type="html">I met her at the library. She was prego with her 2nd. Our boys hit it off immediately, as did we. We've been friends for 6 years now. Sometimes we go a few weeks without talking (and that always worries me, because usually something major is happening to her in that timeframe). She'll tell me after the fact in the most non-chalant way. Like the time she called me on a Monday and said, "Please don't get mad at me. I had a brain tumor removed on Friday".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I have never met anyone like her. The most calm, collected, patient, angelic, unique person I know. I am convinced she is otherwordly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took her a long time to get on the Facebook bandwagon. She dappled a bit and threatened to leave (like so many who have come before her). And now she is a Full Fledged FB Junkie. And because I am such an inspiration to her, she has now started her own blog. (Or is this a case of &lt;strong&gt;Single White Female: The Sequel&lt;/strong&gt;?). Nah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl blogs about 5 times a day. Yes, that's right. She used to be media shy and now she is a media......(wait, I just can't use a trampy word to describe her.) Between her FB updates and her blogs, is there really a need to talk to her? It's been a month since we talked on the phone. So, I called her today. And she responded to me via Facebook saying she was far too drained to talk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn you Facebook, you stole her. The one who said she didn't have time for you. The one who felt you were getting in the way of "other energies" coming through. Was she really just using me before for my soup recipes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and here's &lt;a href="http://inacountryofmyownmaking.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;her blog&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/a&gt;. I hope you like it. I hear her daughter likes to dress her son in Hello Kitty underwear.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-2434486453081953077?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mtsCHZLcKhXGbH322y7_ZYRAVMQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mtsCHZLcKhXGbH322y7_ZYRAVMQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mtsCHZLcKhXGbH322y7_ZYRAVMQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mtsCHZLcKhXGbH322y7_ZYRAVMQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/6AONgIDpXU0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/2434486453081953077/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=2434486453081953077" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/2434486453081953077?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/2434486453081953077?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/6AONgIDpXU0/how-i-lost-my-friend-to-facebook.html" title="How I lost my friend to Facebook" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/05/how-i-lost-my-friend-to-facebook.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEAARncyeip7ImA9WhZXEE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-3267921205590633673</id><published>2011-04-27T14:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-28T09:05:47.992-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-28T09:05:47.992-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="klinger" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="rude behavior" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="manners" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="texting while driving" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mash" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="hawkeye" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="cell phones" /><title>Rant of the Day</title><content type="html">I ventured to the Dollar Store last night. While there, the cashier was checking out a customer who was on her cell phone the entire time, just chit chatting loudly to her friend about nothing special. She paid for her goods, continued to talk, the receipt handed to her, continued to talk, then walked out the door. Still talking, and walking. Oblivious to everyone around her. Completely unaware of her rudeness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next stop; 2 doors down, the market. Different customer and cashier. Same scenario.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose this is normal for some people. They talk and drive, text and drive, talk and shop. They can never be &lt;em&gt;in the moment,&lt;/em&gt; or say, focusing on the ROAD and not killing someone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not a cell phone lover.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unless you are Hawkeye from M*A*S*H talking Corporal Klinger through a makeshift tracheotomy using a Bic pen, then do you really need to be on the phone? Why is everyone so self-important? Why don't they care about my life, your life, and your kids' lives?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-3267921205590633673?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gv2sTRiA7kK8MhPlzTO6wLBDtHg/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gv2sTRiA7kK8MhPlzTO6wLBDtHg/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gv2sTRiA7kK8MhPlzTO6wLBDtHg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gv2sTRiA7kK8MhPlzTO6wLBDtHg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/6I3nonl_xEg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/3267921205590633673/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=3267921205590633673" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/3267921205590633673?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/3267921205590633673?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/6I3nonl_xEg/rant-of-day.html" title="Rant of the Day" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/04/rant-of-day.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcNRHg_eip7ImA9WhZQFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-8297523131504590270</id><published>2011-04-19T10:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-22T16:14:55.642-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-22T16:14:55.642-07:00</app:edited><title>What I don't post on Facebook. But want to.</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;1. I checked out an elderly lady in the locker room today. She had a really cute bathing suit on.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;2. Weiner farts are the worst.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;3. I have a crush on Christopher Plummer and Clint Eastwood, even though they could be my grampa. Is that icky?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;4. The automatically flushing toilets at work scare the crap out of me.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;5. I am done with my uterus&lt;/p&gt;That's it. I'm sure you've been waiting a long time for a posting. But this is all I got.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-8297523131504590270?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rjaT-vWz8UZ9JmU5ocom-JAE-oY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rjaT-vWz8UZ9JmU5ocom-JAE-oY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/69vL62e5DJY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/8297523131504590270/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=8297523131504590270" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/8297523131504590270?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/8297523131504590270?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/69vL62e5DJY/what-i-dont-post-on-facebook-but-want.html" title="What I don't post on Facebook. But want to." /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/04/what-i-dont-post-on-facebook-but-want.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4ESHs_fCp7ImA9WhZTEE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653774121428975120.post-9046769705671210857</id><published>2011-03-11T14:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-13T10:55:09.544-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-13T10:55:09.544-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="jc penney optical" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="frugal fatigue" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="1800contacts" /><title>Frugal Fatigue Part 2. The Possibilities are Endless!</title><content type="html">Saving money is serious business. Below is Part 2 of &lt;strong&gt;Combating Frugal Fatigue&lt;/strong&gt;. (I have a feeling this is going to be an ongoing series).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Remember, small changes here and there can add up to big savings in the long run. Think big picture.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. If you wear contact lenses, try &lt;a href="http://www.1800contacts.com/index.htm?ac=2.06.01.026.ctm.2.0232&amp;amp;s_kwcid=TC62921800ContactsS6578914691&amp;amp;gclid=CPG8gb3dx6cCFVFx5QodFRxjCw"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;1800Contacts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. I have saved approx $30-$40 (compared to Dr. office prices, same name brand) for a year's supply. And to take it a step further: &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Stop wearing your contacts so much and wear your glasses more.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; If you are on the computer a lot (especially since you read my blog daily) you are prone to dry eyes. The glasses are a great way to give your eyes a rest and they make you look wicked smart. If you cut down on lens wear, you also save money on the ridiculously overpriced cleaning solutions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The frames of today are so cute and trendy and I've been told that some people wear glasses even if they don't need to! What are you waiting for? I bought mine at &lt;a href="http://www.jcpenneyoptical.com/"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;JcPenney Optical&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. Check them out for some great coupon deals. I received excellent service there and love my new specs! (Note: This money saving method only works if you don't have eyes that are constantly changing. I happen to have the same Mrs. Magoo eyes since I was 13).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;strong&gt;Thrift stores &lt;/strong&gt;Save a suffering non-profit while shopping for treasures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;strong&gt;Lighten up on the gas pedal.&lt;/strong&gt; Yes, we know you are in a hurry to schlep little Johnnie and Suzie to their baseball games and tutu fittings, but do you have to drive so fast and furious? Think about how much gas you are wasting every time you slam on that pedal. Let's go for a kinder, gentler foot, eh? Lighter foot= less road kill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;strong&gt;Use less....&lt;em&gt;of everything&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. Do you really need 18 squares of toilet paper to wipe each time? Take a tip from my 3 year old. He uses 1 square each time (and if he doesn't rip the exact shape of a square, he has a conniption). Can you spare a square?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Use the lights less&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Use your bath towels 3 times before you wash them. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Wash clothes in cold water&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Take shorter showers&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Stop wasting plastic zip bags for kids' snacks and instead use small plastic containers. The landfill will thank you too. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;5.&lt;strong&gt; Forgo the "Snack Pack" mentality and make your own&lt;/strong&gt;. Overpriced, more packaging, more waste, more "unnatural" food. Don't fall into their trap!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Wash your own car&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Clean your own house&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Cook your own food&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Swap babysitting with friends so you won't have to pay a sitter. A win/win!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Check out this blog for more great suggestions on &lt;a href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2010/08/share-it-forward.html"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sharing It Forward&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Please&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; share your frugal tips. The best of the bizarre are welcome!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/653774121428975120-9046769705671210857?l=beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IsS3YDK1ZZkHVtEgYT41eX6go1E/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IsS3YDK1ZZkHVtEgYT41eX6go1E/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~4/JjmJLjmCmQQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/feeds/9046769705671210857/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=653774121428975120&amp;postID=9046769705671210857" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/9046769705671210857?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/653774121428975120/posts/default/9046769705671210857?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/BeckysBigBytes/~3/JjmJLjmCmQQ/frugal-fatigue-part-2-possibilities-are.html" title="Frugal Fatigue Part 2. The Possibilities are Endless!" /><author><name>Becky's Big Bytes</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03160647325073470441</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bATbznblFFA/TnFbdMyd4ZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/amNFoI_g4Cg/s220/breaking%2Bdawn.jpg" /></author><thr:total>9</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://beckysbigbytes.blogspot.com/2011/03/frugal-fatigue-part-2-possibilities-are.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

