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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;DUcEQX0-fyp7ImA9WhVUF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470</id><updated>2012-05-23T11:30:00.357-04:00</updated><category term="putting kids to sleep" /><category term="tools" /><category term="having a baby" /><category term="kid messes" /><category term="nadya suleman" /><category term="shopping" /><category term="boys" /><category term="sing" /><category term="twins" /><category term="where do babies come from" /><category term="pediatricians" /><category 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term="eating with kids" /><category term="travel" /><category term="housewife" /><category term="funny kids" /><category term="laundry" /><category term="funny twin blogs" /><category term="spring" /><category term="family" /><category term="Class Reunion" /><category term="Duggars" /><category term="tv" /><category term="blogs" /><category term="working moms" /><category term="exercise" /><category term="growing up in the 80's" /><category term="doctor" /><category term="supermom" /><category term="ice cream" /><category term="injuries" /><category term="advice" /><category term="sick kids" /><category term="reborners" /><category term="getting pregnant" /><category term="security" /><category term="bad mothers" /><category term="snow days" /><category term="college" /><category term="camping" /><category term="boyfriends" /><category term="Kelly Ripa" /><category term="school" /><category term="multiples" /><category term="easter bunnies" /><category term="dieting" /><category term="tradition" /><category term="respect" /><category term="baby" /><category term="valentines songs" /><category term="playground" /><category term="in vitro" /><category term="boston" /><category term="hosptial" /><category term="Father's Day" /><category term="hospital" /><category term="waitressing" /><category term="songs" /><category term="sleeping in" /><category term="weight loss" /><category term="beach" /><category term="gq" /><category term="funny blogs" /><category term="water safety" /><category term="life before kids" /><category term="embarrassment" /><category term="anderson cooper" /><category term="memories" /><category term="preemies" /><category term="celebrities" /><category term="plastic surgery" /><category term="twintastic" /><category term="thomas beatie" /><category term="toddler bedtime" /><category term="skinny girls" /><category term="friends" /><category term="blog hop" /><category term="playgrounds" /><category term="Marky Mark" /><category term="pedicures" /><category term="vacation" /><category term="80's teen idols." /><category term="Girls Getaways" /><category term="kids watching tv" /><category term="target" /><category term="twins blog" /><category term="New Year's Resolutions" /><category term="relaxing" /><category term="toys" /><category term="life" /><category term="running" /><category term="new baby smell" /><category term="getting work done." /><category term="breastfeeding" /><category term="nurses" /><category term="bag" /><category term="fibs" /><category term="celebrity sightings" /><category term="failure" /><category term="speedos" /><title>My    Twin*tastic    Life</title><subtitle type="html">I'm a stay at home mom to identical twin, 4 year old boys. It can be SO rewarding, equally frustrating and at times, hilarious!</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>129</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/MyTwintasticLife" /><feedburner:info uri="mytwintasticlife" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>MyTwintasticLife</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUAHRnk4cSp7ImA9WhVUEEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-3936592283750218330</id><published>2012-05-15T08:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-05-15T08:08:57.739-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-15T08:08:57.739-04:00</app:edited><title>And So It Begins.......One Year Later</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iZCrufUTMJY/T7JD9qHmLYI/AAAAAAAABZY/gGZ2lO30a2Q/s1600/balloons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="312" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iZCrufUTMJY/T7JD9qHmLYI/AAAAAAAABZY/gGZ2lO30a2Q/s320/balloons.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
So today is the ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY of this &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;little ol' blog of mine&lt;/a&gt;. &amp;nbsp;I know, I can't believe it either! &amp;nbsp;Oh, you were saying that you can't believe you've been reading my rants for that long, and how you can't believe you will never be able to get that time of your life back. &amp;nbsp;Oh well!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While I have another post for you today, I thought my VERY first post, might be an appropriate way to start the day. &amp;nbsp;It was titled And So It Begins.....check it out!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;*************************************************************************************************&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I like to joke with Chris about&amp;nbsp;his tendency to take FOREVER to make decisions. Buying a car, what to order at a restaurant, which peanut butter pretzels to buy ...... proposing........After knowing each other for sooooooo long, he waited almost 15 years after we started dating, to propose. But once he did, it was on! I was in full planning mode, which I completely enjoyed! My wedding theme turned out to be rain. We had a lovely bridal shower in my mom and dad's yard. It rained and rained and we were stuck under a tent the whole time. It was still beautiful and so fun. No one could escape, as I was seated to open presents at the only exit of the tent. I waited 15 years for this, no one&amp;nbsp;was going anywhere!&amp;nbsp; Which I actually announced at the shower.&amp;nbsp; Believe me, everyone at that shower had been waiting just as long as me, so no one was planning to go anywhere! Needless to say, I was 34 when I had my long-awaited walk down the aisle. It rained and rained the&amp;nbsp;day&amp;nbsp;of our wedding (there was a hurricane that day actually - it was the 10 year anniversary of THE Perfect Storm - should have known) but we had a beautifully cozy wedding and the time of our lives. Although, if ONE MORE PERSON told me that rain on your wedding day meant good luck, I would have screamed!!!&lt;br /&gt;
So as a girl in her mid thirties, now married to a man who could take weeks to decide whether to order the baked stuffed shrimp or the fried clam plate - I started thinking about kids. I am an only child (don't judge!) and never minded. I always knew I wanted kids and liked the idea of having at least 2. My thoughts weren't as much about when I wanted to have kids, but more about how to get this over-thinker husband of mine, ready to think/talk/decide about kids. I had already come to terms with the fact that I would probably only have one child. I figured that by the time I&lt;br /&gt;
a.) convinced him he's ready for children&lt;br /&gt;
b.) assured him that it's the "right time" for children - whatever that means&lt;br /&gt;
c.) had the baby and convinced him that "it wasn't so bad, we should have another"&lt;br /&gt;
I would be too old to have any other children. So I was happy with the idea of one healthy, happy, cherubic tot! And here's where the story takes a turn.&lt;br /&gt;
Five months after our honeymoon, I started to feeling kind of sick. When I told the ladies at work how I was feeling, their immediate response was, "oh, you're pregnant." I was like, no, no, I couldn't be. Took a test, and yup - they were right. We weren't trying to have kids at this point but we really weren't "not" trying either. I was almost scared to tell Chris, I thought he might be upset that I didn't give him&amp;nbsp;enough time&amp;nbsp;to make this admittedly big decision. So he saw the test at the same time I heard a knock at our back door. I had forgotten that we had made plans with his brother and his wife to go to dinner. He bounded out the bathroom door, and down the stairs asking, "Do we tell them, do we tell them?" like a little boy who can't wait to tell a secret. "NO", I yelled, knowing that the "rule" is to wait 3 months. So I grabbed my pocketbook, apparently put on shoes and went to dinner with my brother in law and his wife. 5 minutes after finding out I was pregnant. Of course I ordered a Greek salad wrap and soon after it was set in front of me, vaguely remembered something about not eating feta cheese while pregnant. Great. I called my doctor the next morning and told the woman who answered the phone that I thought I was pregnant. Her response...."OK?" Isn't that what you do? Keep it a secret from everyone for 3 months and call your doctor right away? That's all I DID know....I mean, that's what they do on TV....&lt;br /&gt;
So then I find out &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;my due date&lt;/a&gt; and what that meant for the rest of my pregnancy. I was "advanced maternal age". Loved that. I took that as I'm O -L -D. I was going to be over 35 when I delivered my baby, so I was automatically considered as&amp;nbsp;having an at-risk pregnancy. Soon after convincing the receptionist at my doctor, that I would like a medical professional to confirm that I peed on a stick properly, they sent me in for an ultrasound. I mean, I WAS an ancient 34, so I would obviously need an immediate ultrasound. Chris came with me and followed me into the room where the tech sent me into a little curtained off corner of the room to put on my gown. I listened as Chris tried to make nervous small talk with her. She wanted no part of it. I came out and lay down and the ultrasound began. Chris tells the story of how the tech&amp;nbsp;began and gave him a funny look. He was terrified and thought, "oh no, there's no baby". To hear him tell it, this look/silent conversation he had with the tech went on for 10 minutes, in reality it was about 2-3 seconds -&amp;nbsp;I missed the whole thing. She said, "are you ready?" and looked at both of us......repeatedly, like we should a) know what we're looking at or b) know what she's thinking. We said yes, as she kept looking between the 2 of us, and then she said it. "there's 2".&amp;nbsp; I couldn't even LOOK at Chris. I just started laughing. I thought, "oh my god, he's going to be so mad. I didn't give him any time to decide to have A baby, never mind to have 2!!!" Then I heard him laugh. She printed out a bunch of little pictures for us, and we walked back out to the waiting room to wait to meet with the doctor.&amp;nbsp; I was hoping&amp;nbsp;they weren't making us wait and talk to the doctor because we laughed when we heard, "there's 2".&amp;nbsp; Was that an inappropriate response?&amp;nbsp; Were&amp;nbsp;we already bad parents? &amp;nbsp;Chris and I sat in the waiting room, laughing sporadically, both of us feeling like we had this big secret that NO ONE had EVER had before. It was fun. I miss that feeling, it was definitely a special time.&lt;br /&gt;
Our parents happened to be planning to be at our house at the same time later that day. We were having new counter tops put in - oooooooooo - exciting!!! My mom is a crier, I knew she'd bawl her eyes out in happiness! I showed her the pics of my 2 beautiful babies, (obviously none of us could decipher what the heck we were looking at, but oh how adorable!) AND.........nothing! I said, "Look mom, there's 2". She said "Na-uh". She DIDN'T BELIEVE ME! She thought I was kidding, and I really had to convince her it was true. She was in shock. I barely got any response from her, never mind the tears of joy I KNEW I would get! Everyone else just kept laughing, Chris and I included. Little did we know, what we were in for.
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So? &amp;nbsp;What do you think? &amp;nbsp;Have you fallen in love with me all over again? &amp;nbsp;And don't think I am reminiscing about the good old day, before I would shamelessly beg for your votes. &amp;nbsp;You can click here, and on the pink Circle of Mom's button above (or&lt;a href="http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/Top-25-Moms-Of-Multiples-2012?trk=t25_Top-25-Moms-Of-Multiples-2012#_"&gt; this link&lt;/a&gt;) &amp;nbsp;I'm at number 69 (stop your giggling!), so once you get to the link, PLEASE scroll down to that general vicinity and click on the orange VOTE button. &amp;nbsp;You are the best! &amp;nbsp;Happy Anniversary to all of my favorite people!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/G65sae43YIQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/3936592283750218330/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=3936592283750218330&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/3936592283750218330?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/3936592283750218330?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/G65sae43YIQ/and-so-it-beginsone-year-later.html" title="And So It Begins.......One Year Later" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iZCrufUTMJY/T7JD9qHmLYI/AAAAAAAABZY/gGZ2lO30a2Q/s72-c/balloons.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/05/and-so-it-beginsone-year-later.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQMSHc_cCp7ImA9WhVVGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-4296134818824550688</id><published>2012-05-13T20:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-05-13T20:46:29.948-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-13T20:46:29.948-04:00</app:edited><title>My Mom Rocks!  Happy Mother's Day!</title><content type="html">&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NxoqUReREDE/T7A8dcOo7DI/AAAAAAAABYc/LfZ2MJfNsow/s1600/mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="238" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NxoqUReREDE/T7A8dcOo7DI/AAAAAAAABYc/LfZ2MJfNsow/s320/mom.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Here is one of my sons when he was about 2.&lt;br /&gt;I am &lt;i&gt;clearly&lt;/i&gt; his favorite. I mean...look&lt;br /&gt;at that expression.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
So Happy Mother's Day to all of you&lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt; Mummas&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;out there! &amp;nbsp;Today is a special day for Mom's, where we will be able to sleep in (I only slept til 8:30 because I had too much to do today, and oddly enough, when I woke up, the house hadn't been cleaned by the boys - any of the 3). &amp;nbsp;We will be showered with Happy Mother's Day wishes (if they remember, any of the 3) hugs (I had to ask) and presents (they did sign their names on a card, which was adorable). &amp;nbsp;Then we will enjoy celebratory breakfasts, brunches, lunches and dinners with our families who appreciate all we do (even though sometimes it seems they don't realize all we do!)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
OR&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If you are like me, you have 72.5 loads of laundry that needs to be done, dust bunnies that are screaming my name, and at the very least, all the prep that comes along with these celebratory meals - getting the kiddos dressed, cleaned up, packed up and out the door. &amp;nbsp;On time. &amp;nbsp;But whatever, it's still a nice day and I got SO many Happy Mother's Day wishes from all of my Mom friends. &amp;nbsp;They get it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pQ9_t_PVLY4/T7A9FuQ795I/AAAAAAAABYk/-WQ99Equ45g/s1600/kath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="291" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pQ9_t_PVLY4/T7A9FuQ795I/AAAAAAAABYk/-WQ99Equ45g/s320/kath.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;My Mom will be upset that this pic only has&lt;br /&gt;one son in it!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
Later in the day, we will celebrate Mother's Day with my Mom. &amp;nbsp;I will go to her house with the boys and shower her with (gently prompted) Mother's Day wishes and home made presents that she will be forced to display in her home from years of Mother Guilt. &amp;nbsp;You know the guilt. &amp;nbsp;The guilt that is making me keep every piece of paper my children have ever scribbled on, downstairs, in a messy pile, on top of the filing cabinet so that every time Chris goes down there to file or look for anything, he pulls the drawer and &amp;nbsp;mounds of "art" fall into the drawer, getting in his OCD way. &amp;nbsp;The Mom's Guilt is why my Spring time decorations include daffodils made of egg cartons hung on the wall, next to my Pottery Barn mirror, and a painting of Saturn hangs in the boys room on the wall, even though it doesn't "go" with the construction theme. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know most of it is really pride, but holding onto an old receipt because it has a red circle with lines on it, that &lt;i&gt;sort of&lt;/i&gt; resembles a person, has got to be guilt. &amp;nbsp;How could I ever throw that away? &amp;nbsp;What if when the boys are 35, they ask about that "picture" they drew for me?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anywho, since my Mom is a Mom, I'm sure she felt and still feels the same way, so up go the boys' Mother's Day gifts....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My Mom deserves the very best &lt;strike&gt;homemade childrens art&lt;/strike&gt;. &amp;nbsp;She has been a fantastic Mother to me and a fabulous Nana to my boys. &amp;nbsp;I can't really say that she has "helped" me out with them for years, because really, she has been a huge part of raising them. &amp;nbsp;We have always seen her and my Dad 4, 5, 6 days per week, and when I went back to working part time, my Mom said she would watch them for me. &amp;nbsp; So as difficult as it may have seemed to not be home every day with them, leaving them with my Mom made it that much easier. &amp;nbsp;And the boys love it. &amp;nbsp;And her. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aQy9uXn1UCc/T7A-66bohlI/AAAAAAAABYs/HQ10NaYENdI/s1600/mothers+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aQy9uXn1UCc/T7A-66bohlI/AAAAAAAABYs/HQ10NaYENdI/s1600/mothers+day.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So as I began writing this post, and thinking about my Mom, I started thinking about all of her wonderful qualities, like being patient, kind, and supportive.. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You guys have gotten to know me a bit over the past year (Yes, believe it or not, my one year blog anniversary is in a few days!) and may have found yourself wondering who the hell raised me? &amp;nbsp;Or what the hell kind of Mother do I have, to let me call little kids "jerks" and criticize everyone I see? &amp;nbsp;Well, a very &lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;patient&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt; one. &amp;nbsp;Imagine having to deal with&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt; me&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt; all of these years? &amp;nbsp;And she is always telling everyone that I have my Dad's sense of humor, which was really probably pretty annoying for her. &amp;nbsp;Poor woman. &amp;nbsp;And as horrified as she seemed at some of the bad jokes we made, I know for a fact she finds me hilarious. &amp;nbsp;I mean, doesn't everyone? &amp;nbsp;No? &amp;nbsp;Hmph.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But there's no denying she has a &lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;sense of humor&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt; herself. &amp;nbsp;I mean, I did have a bowl cut until 7th grade. She told me it was a Dorothy Hamill haircut, but I was no Dorothy Hamill. &amp;nbsp;I was a pale 7th grader, with a pretty decent moustache and a bowl cut. &amp;nbsp;Good one, Mom...Good one.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She also let me wear neon colored tube socks, pulled up to my knees with shorts. &amp;nbsp;Now that I have kids, I can see this was Mom Revenge. &amp;nbsp;I can picture her watching me walk to school like that, thinking, "yah, you walk your Dorothy Hamill ass to school with your socks like that. &amp;nbsp;We'll see if you talk back to ME again. &amp;nbsp;Ha!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But really, she is a very&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt; kind&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;person. In junior high school, she used to make me a bagel with cream cheese every morning to take to the bus stop. &amp;nbsp;I was never really hungry in the mornings, so I took her bagel, which was lovingly spread with the perfect amount of cream cheese and threw it in the bush on the corner at the bus stop. &amp;nbsp;It later became known as the Bagel Bush. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She also used to take the time to make my lunches for me every day. Not your regular PB&amp;amp;J either. &amp;nbsp;She would make me a ham and cheese sub and toast it, so the cheese was melted and then add pickles and tomatoes to it. &amp;nbsp;Mmmmmmm, it was good. &amp;nbsp;But I didn't want my delicious ham and cheese sub. &amp;nbsp;Apparently I thought a bag of Doritos, a Strawberry Shortcake ice cream and one of those little round bowl/cups of lemonade with the foil top, sounded better. &amp;nbsp;So I would sell my lunches to some kids at school, and buy my Dorito Shortcake lunch. &amp;nbsp;If I didn't sell the lunch, me and my friend Larell would sneak it into Mr. Kaiser's science class and eat it in the back of the room, at like 9:30am. Oh, what I would give for those delicious lunches every day now!&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y2Q-txEu40I/T7A_Gi0PTlI/AAAAAAAABY0/tYhNHlN3C6M/s1600/mother's+day+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y2Q-txEu40I/T7A_Gi0PTlI/AAAAAAAABY0/tYhNHlN3C6M/s1600/mother's+day+2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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When I moved into my first apartment, I lived with a lunatic. One night I woke up and saw this furry black face with whiskers, peering at me through my bedroom door. &amp;nbsp;It was Laverne. &amp;nbsp;The cat my psychotic roommate's friend dropped off at our apartment in the middle of the night. He somehow opened our door, and just left her there. &amp;nbsp;So, being the animal lover that I was, I ended up liking Laverne. &amp;nbsp;Then after living with us for a few months, she disappeared. &amp;nbsp;I asked my roommate about her, and she casually said, "Oh, I brought her to the animal shelter, I didn't want her anymore." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I obviously burst into irrational tears, calling my Mom, telling her we just &lt;i&gt;had&lt;/i&gt; to go get Laverne back. &amp;nbsp;$100 dollars later, my Mom had a new cat that she didn't want ... &amp;nbsp;who died a short while later of kidney disease. &amp;nbsp;But that's my Mom. &amp;nbsp;She takes in all sorts of stray ... animals, people....whoever. &amp;nbsp;And no, I will not give you her address, because I don't want all of you dumping your stray animals, kids, wicked old relatives and weird neighbors at her house. &amp;nbsp;She's got her hands full with us for now. &amp;nbsp;And her crazy new cat who we think might actually be a raccoon. But that's another story......&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And what would I do, if she wasn't so&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt; supportive?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &amp;nbsp;I told her I wanted to go get my Masters degree in counseling. &amp;nbsp;She was totally supportive. &amp;nbsp;I told her I wanted to be a stay at home Mom and not use my degree at all, and she was totally supportive. &amp;nbsp;I told her that now that my kids are older, I want to go back to work, but NOT help anyone, and would she please watch my kids while I go out and help no one, and she was totally supportive. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And when it comes to parenting, she's my biggest supporter. When the boys were newborns and I called her at 6am on day 2, begging her to come over to help, she was there in 30 minutes. &amp;nbsp;Now, if I'm in a power struggle to the death with one son, where I should be the "parent" rather than another 4 years old, she watches me try to win, without a word. &amp;nbsp;If she sees me caving in and buying something for the boys, that I said I wouldn't buy, she'll step right up and pay for half (who am I kidding, she pays for it all!). &amp;nbsp;She reassures me every day, that I am doing a good job, by letting me know how well behaved my boys are, and what good listeners they are.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What I don't say enough though, is that while she thinks my boys are well behaved, and good listeners, it isn't because I am such a good parent. &amp;nbsp;It's because she is. &amp;nbsp;She is a fantastic Mom, who taught &lt;i&gt;me&lt;/i&gt; how to be a good Mom. &amp;nbsp;In essence, she rocks, so I rock, so my kids rock. &amp;nbsp;We are all pretty freakin' fantastic...if I do say so myself. &amp;nbsp;I love you Mom, thank you for who you are and ALL that you do for us! &amp;nbsp;I am the &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;luckiest girl in the world&lt;/a&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zOw0-d5QmY0/T7BBeIVOTLI/AAAAAAAABY8/1EN2g0OrcRM/s1600/mother's+day+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="177" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zOw0-d5QmY0/T7BBeIVOTLI/AAAAAAAABY8/1EN2g0OrcRM/s320/mother's+day+3.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Happy Mother's Day to all of you Moms out there! &amp;nbsp;I know how much you do for your families, and I know that you aren't appreciated enough! &amp;nbsp;I hope you enjoyed your day, and didn't have to work too much! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And if you do have a spare moment, would you mind giving me a vote below (or 2, I'm at around # 76 now on&lt;a href="http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/Top-25-Moms-Of-Multiples-2012?trk=t25_Top-25-Moms-Of-Multiples-2012"&gt; Circle of Moms&lt;/a&gt;. &amp;nbsp;You can click this &lt;a href="http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/Top-25-Moms-Of-Multiples-2012?trk=t25_Top-25-Moms-Of-Multiples-2012"&gt;LINK&lt;/a&gt; and scroll down to the 70's and hit vote when you see me!) &amp;nbsp;I would really appreciate it. &amp;nbsp;And I mean&lt;i&gt; really&lt;/i&gt; appreciate it. &amp;nbsp;Not like how your kids "appreciate" all you do. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/o9uvpI_hU8w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/4296134818824550688/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=4296134818824550688&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/4296134818824550688?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/4296134818824550688?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/o9uvpI_hU8w/my-mom-rocks-happy-mothers-day.html" title="My Mom Rocks!  Happy Mother's Day!" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NxoqUReREDE/T7A8dcOo7DI/AAAAAAAABYc/LfZ2MJfNsow/s72-c/mom.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/05/my-mom-rocks-happy-mothers-day.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUcASXo7fCp7ImA9WhVVF0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-1285229932112384376</id><published>2012-05-11T10:30:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2012-05-11T10:37:28.404-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-11T10:37:28.404-04:00</app:edited><title>Wanna Bounce?</title><content type="html">After the boys'&lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/05/dont-blame-me.html" rel="nofollow"&gt;&amp;nbsp;dentist appointment&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;the other day, my Mom and I thought we would check out Monkey Joes's, which is one of those places with all of the inflatable bouncy houses. It's been raining for 2 weeks straight, my kiddos have been loud and full of energy, why go home when we could go to a warehouse infested with germs and snot and parents who don't watch their kids? I know, sounds like a blast, right?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was actually pleasantly surprised when we got there. It seemed pretty clean and it since it was noon on a Tuesday, it wasn't very busy, nor filled to the brim freaks, so we were off to a good start. The boys were nervous at first, but once we coaxed them into a new bouncy, we couldn't get them off.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aaADO-Z1_TA/T6xnddi5q5I/AAAAAAAABX4/Goeu2uB6iec/s1600/hot+dogs.jpg" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aaADO-Z1_TA/T6xnddi5q5I/AAAAAAAABX4/Goeu2uB6iec/s1600/hot+dogs.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
It was close to lunchtime, so we figured we would just get some of their nasty bouncy food since there was no way we were going to get them to leave now. &amp;nbsp;We didn't want to eat their food, because I was scared it was going to be as gross as Chuck E Cheese but we figured we would try it out. &amp;nbsp;I made my way to the counter and looked up at the menu to see what they had. &amp;nbsp;Pizza, hot dogs, pretzels and popcorn....pretty basic junk food. &amp;nbsp;Then I looked behind Bouncy Girl and saw what was&amp;nbsp;&lt;i&gt;actually&lt;/i&gt;there. &amp;nbsp;Two sad hot dogs on one of those rolling racks, 2 unsalted pretzels and an empty popcorn machine (which&amp;nbsp;is too bad for the poor woman who ordered popcorn in front of me.) &amp;nbsp;Hmph.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's lunchtime, so there has to be more food somewhere, right?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So I went up and asked Bouncy Girl for 4 slices of pizza.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Um. Ummmmm, we don't have any pizza. &amp;nbsp;But we're gonna git more."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"When is that?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Ummmmmmm, in like 30 minutes?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Are you asking me? &amp;nbsp;Because I would think that since you are wearing the black and white striped Monkey Joe's shirt, and are standing in front of the food, that you would know a little bit more about the arrival of the pizza than me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"And are those the only hot dogs you have?" I asked, pointing to the 2 wrinkly hot dogs in the rolly polly bin behind her, that had probably been there since the night before.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Oh no! We have more in the back" &amp;nbsp;She was so excited. &amp;nbsp;I told her I would take 4 hot dogs.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Oh, well, ahhhhhhhhh.....I have to go get them."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
OK, well get the f *@# back there and get them then. What is the problem?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"So you don't have any hot dogs ready?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Yah. &amp;nbsp;No."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I see.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Thanks for clearing that up, Bouncy Girl.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"How do you not have any food prepared at noon, at a kids place?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
**Insert Beavis and Butt-head laugh here from Bouncy Girl**&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I know, right?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Finally I asked her, "What&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp;do&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;you have that will be ready in the next few minutes?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Hot dogs."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Of course.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
SOLD! to the desperate Mom of hungry twins, trying to bribe them with food to sit for a few minutes!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then she started to make the popcorn for the poor woman in front of me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We ate, we drank, we rested. &amp;nbsp;Then back to bounce. &amp;nbsp;With full-of-junk stomaches. &amp;nbsp;Let's keep our fingers crossed for no vomit.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As I followed the boys from bouncy to bouncy I noticed we really weren't freak-free.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There was one girl there, who must have thought Monkey Joe's was a Club, because she came decked out. And when she climbed up into one of the houses after some child (not sure who's it was, maybe she thought it was a teeny tiny cocktail waitress) her hot pink thong stuck out of the back of her jeans. &amp;nbsp;This was bound to happen, since the ass of her low-rise jeans, went down below her ass when she bent over. &amp;nbsp;Good choice, Einstein.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Another gem, was this freakishly tall, burly woman. &amp;nbsp;She had to be over 6' 3" tall. She was wearing flip flops. &amp;nbsp;I know she was wearing flip flops for 2 reasons.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
ONE - &amp;nbsp;I could see her second toe was WAY longer than the rest of her toes and it kept waving at me. &amp;nbsp;It kept catching my eye whenever she was near me. &amp;nbsp;I know lots of people's second toe is longer than their others, but not like this. &amp;nbsp;I almost wondered if she had experienced some freak accident where she lost that toe and had a giant's middle finger re-attached in it's place.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
and&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
TWO - She kept leaving her flip flops outside of the bouncy houses, when she WENT IN THEM BAREFOOT! &amp;nbsp;Ewwwwwwwwwwww!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Don't we all know the first rule of fight club is that you don't talk about fight club?!?!?! &amp;nbsp;Ooops, sorry, wrong rule.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Don't we all know the first rule of bouncy houses, is that you always wear socks in bouncy houses? &amp;nbsp;YES. &amp;nbsp;WE DO! &amp;nbsp;And not only was so going in there barefoot, but she was going in there with that mangled finger-toe she had on those nasty feet of hers. &amp;nbsp;Ew, **shudder** I can't talk about it anymore.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JCT6KGHEsOg/T6xlub7lXmI/AAAAAAAABXo/wZNh7Xj6x5g/s1600/fight+club.jpg" rel="nofollow"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="252" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JCT6KGHEsOg/T6xlub7lXmI/AAAAAAAABXo/wZNh7Xj6x5g/s400/fight+club.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then there was one Dad with his son there. &amp;nbsp;I didn't think anything of him, until I saw him notice this Mom that was there. &amp;nbsp;This Mom looked like she was from Jersey Shore, with her black hair in a messy knot on the top of her head, and her serious tan. &amp;nbsp;She was in a cute black yoga outfit and totally pulled off the Mom-in-yoga-pants look way better than most. &amp;nbsp;Probably because she does&lt;i&gt;actual&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;yoga. &amp;nbsp;I know, who knew that's what those pants were for?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I watched Creepy Dad stare at this Mom's ass as she climbed up a bouncy slide to get her little girl.&amp;nbsp;Then I watched him as he climbed up the slide behind her, pretending to help his son up, but really because he wanted to stare directly at her ass, and follow it wherever it went, like some sort of drone missile. &amp;nbsp;I'm not sure he even remembered he was there with a child. Good God, was that even his child?!?!? &amp;nbsp;I pointed him out to my Mom who was totally grossed out. I was tempted to warn her... let her know that this creep of a Dad was following her ass around, and that he reminded me of a character out of Criminal Minds, but then my Mom suggested we go for an ice cream and I forgot about them. &amp;nbsp;I'm sure she's fine. &amp;nbsp;Although I did hear that story in the news.......nah......&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
All in all, it was a fun day. &amp;nbsp;The boys made a little friend named Kieran there, and the three of them ran from bouncy to bouncy, and went down all the slides together screaming. &amp;nbsp;It was really cute. &amp;nbsp;And his Mom was this adorable hippie chick, with dreads. &amp;nbsp;And with the exception of Creepy Dad and Finger Toe, all the parents were great about being with their kiddos. &amp;nbsp;This meant I could just enjoy time with my kids rather than be on alert for any little jerks trying to hurt them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now, I am NOT going to ask you to vote for me at Top Mommy Blogs. &amp;nbsp;I know, that's been annoying, huh? &amp;nbsp;(But if you love me and want to vote, you certainly can!) &amp;nbsp;A blogger bud of mine told me I should enter my blog in a contest on Circle of Moms' website. &amp;nbsp;It's the Top 25 Moms of Multiples. &amp;nbsp;I have been a member of Circle of Mom's for years and never really checked it out. &amp;nbsp;If you are a Mom, you should. &amp;nbsp;It's a very cool site. &amp;nbsp;But if you want to just give a vote to little ol' me, that would be great too. &amp;nbsp;You can go up to the pink circle and click on it.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Scroll down to number 93 (yes, 93, I know, that's why I need your help!)&amp;nbsp;click the vote button and you're done. &amp;nbsp;This contest only goes until May 23rd, so I won't bother you too much about it! &amp;nbsp;Love to you all!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/flhwF3yA4Nk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/1285229932112384376/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=1285229932112384376&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/1285229932112384376?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/1285229932112384376?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/flhwF3yA4Nk/wanna-bounce.html" title="Wanna Bounce?" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aaADO-Z1_TA/T6xnddi5q5I/AAAAAAAABX4/Goeu2uB6iec/s72-c/hot+dogs.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/05/wanna-bounce.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEAHR385fyp7ImA9WhVVFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-7049822120660601491</id><published>2012-05-09T11:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-05-09T11:18:56.127-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-09T11:18:56.127-04:00</app:edited><title>Don't Blame Me!</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1_mOuL-IR74/T6nHRb6pW9I/AAAAAAAABWw/awTMzsvRhfM/s1600/teeth3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="193" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1_mOuL-IR74/T6nHRb6pW9I/AAAAAAAABWw/awTMzsvRhfM/s200/teeth3.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
We went to the boys' dentist today for a cleaning, which isn't nearly as traumatic as it used to be for &lt;strike&gt;me&lt;/strike&gt; them. &amp;nbsp;One of them smashed his little mouth during a fall a few years ago and had to see the dentist for that, which I'm sure is part of the reason he still gets anxious when it's time to go. &amp;nbsp;And the other one had a cavity (gasp!) filled which, turns out, wasn't nearly as fun as I made it out to be. &amp;nbsp;I know, weird, right?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So while they are doing better, it's all still a bit anxiety provoking for them. &amp;nbsp;But there are adults that need to be knocked the hell out for a cleaning, so really, I think we're doing OK, right? &amp;nbsp; But I do try to time our arrival strategically. &amp;nbsp;We try to get there early enough so they can play with the toys and games there, but not too early that we're sitting around waiting, just letting the nerves build up. &amp;nbsp;Today was no exception.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Our appointment was at 10:30, and we got there at about 10:20. &amp;nbsp;The boys went off to play with the video games that don't work, and I checked in. &amp;nbsp;I went up to the curly haired girl with glasses that is always there when we come. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I told her their names.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She asked if we still had XYZ Insurance.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I said "Yes, we do."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She asked me to fill out 2 of the consent forms and pointed to where they were. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I did as I was told, and when I was done completing my forms, I went back up to her and asked if I give the forms back to her, or if I hold on to them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She said to hold onto them and the hygienist would take them when she came to get us.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Good enough. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I went and sat down with the boys. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
10:30 came and went. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yn-4APwhSx4/T6nHaeLBDOI/AAAAAAAABW4/JIxVxvAeVa0/s1600/teeth4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yn-4APwhSx4/T6nHaeLBDOI/AAAAAAAABW4/JIxVxvAeVa0/s1600/teeth4.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
The boys played with the puzzles. &amp;nbsp;They played with that swirly abacus looking toy that all Pediatricians and Kid's Dental Offices have. &amp;nbsp;They looked through all the beat up books. &amp;nbsp;They played with the kid's electric toothbrush that was on display. &amp;nbsp;They &lt;strike&gt;got covered in germs from&lt;/strike&gt; played with everything they had in the lobby. &amp;nbsp;Twice.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
10:45 came and went. &amp;nbsp;Now I'm starting to get &lt;strike&gt;bitchy&lt;/strike&gt; &amp;nbsp;impatient.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The boys were saying they wanted to go in "Now." &amp;nbsp;They weren't even saying they wanted to go home, just that they wanted the dentist to come get them. &amp;nbsp;The anxiety was going to start now, and that was the last thing I wanted. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Being the respectful customer/patient that I am, I had put my phone on vibrate upon entering the building. &amp;nbsp;It was in my pocket and I felt it vibrate. &amp;nbsp;I looked to see who was calling, and low and behold, it's the boys' Dentist's Office calling. &amp;nbsp;Yes, you heard me right.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hmmmm. &amp;nbsp;This should be funny. &amp;nbsp;Interesting. &amp;nbsp;Blog-worthy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Hello?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Hi, this is XYZ Pediatric Dental. &amp;nbsp;I'm calling because the boys missed their 10:30 appointments this morning." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh really. &amp;nbsp;Did &lt;i&gt;the boys&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;miss their appointment? &amp;nbsp;Or are you telling me that I didn't get them to their appointment? &amp;nbsp;I guess their alarms didn't go off this morning. &amp;nbsp;Or maybe they had flat tires on their training wheels. &amp;nbsp;I mean, it's a pretty freakin' far walk, so if their bike tires were flat, what were they to do? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Um, well, I am sitting in your waiting room, and have been since 10:20 this morning. With my boys. &amp;nbsp;So no. &amp;nbsp;No, my boys didn't miss their appointments this morning." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A surprised, "Oh! &amp;nbsp;I'll be right down to get you! &amp;nbsp;They didn't tell us you were waiting." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Why would they tell you I was waiting? &amp;nbsp;I mean, that is their job, but maybe trying to figure out who's Starbucks was who's was more important to them at that time. &amp;nbsp;I mean, what is worse than when your ice melts too quickly?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Fantastic."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Click. &amp;nbsp;Yah, that's me making the click happen. I'm pretty bad ass. &amp;nbsp;Especially when I'm hungry, and it's almost lunch time. &amp;nbsp;OK, it may be a little early for lunch, but I was definitely due for &lt;i&gt;at least&lt;/i&gt; a snack. OK, enough. &amp;nbsp;Whose side are you on, anyways?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So I glare at each hygienist that comes down the stairs (you know, because I'm so reasonable and rational) and watch as one Pretty in Pink hygienist comes down and goes to talk to the girls at the front desk &amp;nbsp;Then she comes over and calls my kids' names, looking around like she didn't know who we were. &amp;nbsp;I was shooting eye fire at her, and my kids are&lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt; identical &lt;/a&gt;and wearing the same jackets. &amp;nbsp;Where's the mystery, Pink?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We walk over and she takes us up stairs, asking who we checked in with. &amp;nbsp;I tell her and she gives me that "Oooh, yah, I figured it was that bitch" nod. &amp;nbsp;She apologized and explained that she didn't know we were there, that the front desk didn't "check us in" so it didn't show up on her computer, which alerts them to come get us. &amp;nbsp;She went on to say that she called down to them to check to see if we were there, but they didn't answer the phone. She told me she emailed them after she spoke with me on the phone, telling them we had been waiting there for a half hour, so they knew. &amp;nbsp;She was starting to get pissed at them down there, so of course I started to like her more.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then she looked on her computer and told me they had written back to her saying that I must not have checked in, that I must have just filled out the form myself without letting either of them know I was there. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Cue the scratching record.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Wait, what was that now?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So is that curly haired bitch down stairs blaming &lt;i&gt;ME&lt;/i&gt; for &lt;b&gt;her&lt;/b&gt; screw up? &amp;nbsp;&lt;b&gt;Her&lt;/b&gt; screw up that was seriously cutting into my &lt;strike&gt;early lunch&lt;/strike&gt; snack time?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bZF2F3Xsvpo/T6nMkDSSRGI/AAAAAAAABXU/gshpwujYHuc/s1600/abacus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bZF2F3Xsvpo/T6nMkDSSRGI/AAAAAAAABXU/gshpwujYHuc/s1600/abacus.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
I don't think so. &amp;nbsp;Why would I just walk into an office building and start filling out random paperwork? &amp;nbsp;Who does that? &amp;nbsp;And if I didn't check in with you, wouldn't you see me and my &lt;strike&gt;flippin' adorable&lt;/strike&gt; boys sitting there, and MAYBE ask if you can help us, or if we've checked in yet? &amp;nbsp;Did you see us and think we just come here every once in a while to play with your old, germ-infested curvy abacus toy and use your bathroom? &amp;nbsp;Idiot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So the boys finished up their appointments and picked out their prizes (they both picked a sparkly magic wand with a star at the top. &amp;nbsp;See, it's not &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/05/rain-rain-go-away.html"&gt;ALL guns ALL the time&lt;/a&gt;!) and Pretty in Pink loaded us up with toothbrushes and toothpaste for everyone in our family, still apologizing for the mix up. &amp;nbsp;She filled the bag with stickers and pencils, which was a nice way of saying "sorry the bitch downstairs completely ignored you, choosing to stuff her fat face with her extra fat caramel mocha latte instead". &amp;nbsp;I assured her that I understood it wasn't her fault and made sure she understood that I fully blamed Mocha Latte downstairs. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We went down to check out, which is at a different desk than where you check in. (I know, this place is huge.) &amp;nbsp;But I had my eye on Latte the whole time. &amp;nbsp;She saw me looking at her, and picked up the phone. &amp;nbsp;There is no way in hell, that she is going to blame me for not checking in, when I had MULTIPLE conversations with her. &amp;nbsp;My kids were preemies on oxygen who went to the doctor every other day in the beginning. &amp;nbsp;My anxiety back then was through the roof, and I got very good at managing anything having to do with getting to and through appointments like these. &amp;nbsp;I have had these type of appointments down to a science for 4 and 1/2 years now, so don't even try to pin your shitty job of doing your job, on me. &amp;nbsp;Especially when I'm hungry.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gl5xbVTUa_A/T6nHkpmPX6I/AAAAAAAABXA/CEqnaDlgJ3s/s1600/teeth1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gl5xbVTUa_A/T6nHkpmPX6I/AAAAAAAABXA/CEqnaDlgJ3s/s1600/teeth1.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
So as we were on our way out, I walked up and stood at the counter right in front of Latte. &amp;nbsp;She was on the phone and wouldn't even look up. &amp;nbsp;Which is bullshit, because even if you're on the phone, you still sense someone there, and look up. &amp;nbsp;Even if it's to give the "just a minute" finger. &amp;nbsp;But whatever. &amp;nbsp;I can wait. I'll wait ALL DAY!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The other girl said she could help me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh honey, you don't want to help me. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I'll wait." I said. "For her." &amp;nbsp;I know, I'm pretty scary, huh?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That bitch HAD to have been pretending to be on the phone because she stayed on it for way longer than any dental emergency would last. &amp;nbsp;I mean, it's teeth, come on. &amp;nbsp;So I finally gave in to my need to get my eats on (after like, 30 seconds), and went over to the other gal. &amp;nbsp;I know, I know - I'm all talk. &amp;nbsp;Why are you still surprised?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I checked in with her when I got here this morning. &amp;nbsp;She asked me about my insurance and told me to fill out those forms. &amp;nbsp;She pointed to them."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"OK" said the girl.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Then I asked her who I give the forms to and she told me to hold onto them."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"OK" said the girl.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Well, she told the hygienists upstairs that I didn't check in with either of you, and just filled out the form without checking in with you."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Oh, that's OK" said the girl. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"No. I don't want to be blamed for being 20 minutes late for my appointment when it was her&amp;nbsp;that didn't do her job. &amp;nbsp;I was sitting over there for a half hour waiting because she didn't tell them I was here."&amp;nbsp;(let the record show the&amp;nbsp;&lt;strike&gt;beautiful &amp;amp; charming&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;Mom, angrily pointing to Latte, who is pretending to be on the phone.)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Oh, don't worry about it, hon."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
First of all..... if I wasn't so hungry and SO over being at this place &lt;strike&gt;and completely full of shit when it comes to how tough I am&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;I would have jumped over the counter and &lt;strike&gt;stolen Latte's croissant&lt;/strike&gt; started a fight with &lt;strike&gt;Curly Sue&lt;/strike&gt; Latte. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Secondly.... "hon"? &amp;nbsp;You are 10 years younger than me, and&lt;i&gt; you're&lt;/i&gt; calling&lt;i&gt; me&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;"hon"?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And thirdly..... Stop telling me it's OK. &amp;nbsp;I'm not apologizing to you! &amp;nbsp;I'm &lt;strike&gt;inappropriately&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;bitching you out! &amp;nbsp;I'm telling you not to blame me for your co-workers suckiness at her job. &amp;nbsp;So while I'm being a bitch, stop telling me it's OK and look awkward already! &amp;nbsp;I am not getting any satisfaction from this! &amp;nbsp;And do you have any muffins back there that I can have, dammit?!?!????&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-76mjPtH_K8o/T6nHslvpZmI/AAAAAAAABXI/Z5TzDBPAUKQ/s1600/teeth2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-76mjPtH_K8o/T6nHslvpZmI/AAAAAAAABXI/Z5TzDBPAUKQ/s1600/teeth2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
But I take solace in the fact that I know Latte was only pretending to be on the phone, and heard everything I said to "hon". &amp;nbsp;She knows. &amp;nbsp;I hope her Latte was good too, cuz I got all her toothpaste, sucka!!!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And that was only the beginning of my day. &amp;nbsp;I have like, 4 posts worth of this day ahead! &amp;nbsp;Congrats to us for no cavities though! &lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp;How about a click for no cavities? &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;Come on, please? &amp;nbsp;Just one click and that's your vote. &amp;nbsp;You guys are always so good to me!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/hDpn5j-XgcA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/7049822120660601491/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=7049822120660601491&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/7049822120660601491?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/7049822120660601491?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/hDpn5j-XgcA/dont-blame-me.html" title="Don't Blame Me!" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1_mOuL-IR74/T6nHRb6pW9I/AAAAAAAABWw/awTMzsvRhfM/s72-c/teeth3.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/05/dont-blame-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMCRH45eyp7ImA9WhVVE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-4659909351632674565</id><published>2012-05-07T09:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-05-07T09:31:05.023-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-07T09:31:05.023-04:00</app:edited><title>Rain, Rain Go Away!  Or I'll Shoot!</title><content type="html">&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EJ8m770Sjw0/T6cxM1gsl5I/AAAAAAAABWg/w40roKmflh8/s1600/rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EJ8m770Sjw0/T6cxM1gsl5I/AAAAAAAABWg/w40roKmflh8/s1600/rain.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;I'm sorry, but rainy days are just&lt;br /&gt;not &lt;i&gt;that&lt;/i&gt; magical....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
This past week has been rainy and kind of raw. &amp;nbsp;Really, this is normal weather for April in Massachusetts, but we've been so spoiled this year, it seemed like torture. &amp;nbsp;Inside for a week. &amp;nbsp;With 2, almost-5-year old boys. &amp;nbsp;Who are loud. &amp;nbsp;And full of energy. &amp;nbsp;All the time. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What is up with that? &amp;nbsp;And when did it happen? &amp;nbsp;And why does it drive me so crazy all of a sudden?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I mean, I have had &lt;strike&gt;3&lt;/strike&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;2 little boys&lt;/a&gt; living with me for 4 and 1/2 years now, certainly this wasn't the first week they've been loud and crazy and full of pent up energy during a rainy week, right? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Finally there was a break in the rain, and out we went. &amp;nbsp;I didn't care that there was laundry that needed to be done. &amp;nbsp;I didn't care that there were dishes that needed to be washed. &amp;nbsp;And I didn't care that I was a Mom who needed to shower. &amp;nbsp;Because trying to do those things while the boys were running around like they were on crystal meth was not fun, or productive. &amp;nbsp;So out we went.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then our neighbors came home. &amp;nbsp;My boys ADORE their boys (who are 1 year older and 3 years older than mine). &amp;nbsp;If they could crawl up the older boy's ass and live there forever, they would (and oddly enough, I think they've tried). &amp;nbsp;So Neighbor Mom asked if we were up for company, which, hell yes, we were. Adult interaction, while my kids crawled up inside someone's ass and out of mine, sounded like heaven.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We both lamented about our week indoors. &amp;nbsp;We bonded over our lack of patience. &amp;nbsp;We chalked it up to the Supermoon. &amp;nbsp;Yah, yah, that's what it's been, the Supermoon. &amp;nbsp;The Supermoon has made our kids act like &amp;nbsp;6 week old puppies. &amp;nbsp;And it was the Supermoon that zapped our patience. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And as our boys ran around playing, I started talking about the change I've seen in mine, how they seem more hyper, more physical, louder and more destructive lately. &amp;nbsp;As I begin telling her this, one son runs over one of the new toys we brought home from a yard sale with his quad, crushing it. &amp;nbsp;"Oh well, throw it in the recycling. &amp;nbsp;And please be careful, you need to take care of your things."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z-mZUoPv4DE/T6cn72w0vZI/AAAAAAAABWE/7CqX7BVZb2I/s1600/quad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="210" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z-mZUoPv4DE/T6cn72w0vZI/AAAAAAAABWE/7CqX7BVZb2I/s320/quad.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She assured me that her boys went through the same thing. &amp;nbsp;Then they open and immediately break another new toy from our morning of yard saling. &amp;nbsp;"OK. &amp;nbsp;Throw that away too. &amp;nbsp;See what happens when you don't take care of your toys?" &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As I was saying.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Almost over night, they seemed louder. &amp;nbsp;Now, toys seem to &lt;strike&gt;be smashed to smithereens&lt;/strike&gt; break more easily. &amp;nbsp;They get dirtier. &amp;nbsp;Their play changed, from trucks and cars to war and alien attacker. &amp;nbsp;Everything they touch is a weapon. &amp;nbsp;Everything in their hand is now hit against the couch, their bed, a nearby bush or tree. &amp;nbsp;They are wrestling and jumping on each other, which they find absolutely HILARIOUS, until it isn't...until someone gets hurt, or "decides" they are hurt, then it's waterworks. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"WATCH OUT FOR THAT......too late. &amp;nbsp;Go put that in the trash too. &amp;nbsp;Now all of your new toys are broken and in the trash. &amp;nbsp;If you don't take care of your things, you won't have them anymore. &amp;nbsp;You got new toys today and now they are all gone."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"We'll just go get more tomorrow, Mumma." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Annnnd, they're back. &amp;nbsp;They're 4 again. &amp;nbsp;Not the old "soldiers" or "alien attackers" they pretend to be, but the 4 year olds who are still learning to take care of their things ... learning that there are&amp;nbsp;consequences&amp;nbsp;to their actions. &amp;nbsp;See, they're still in there. &amp;nbsp;My little boys. &amp;nbsp;I haven't lost them to their older selves, the big boys who will break everything I own, and want to give away all of their stuffed animals because they're too old now. &amp;nbsp;My babies are still there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But I am sure as hell not just going to "go get more tomorrow". &amp;nbsp;You broke 'em,baby. &amp;nbsp;They're gone. &amp;nbsp;Live and learn, "big boys".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And I know these changes weren't &lt;i&gt;really &lt;/i&gt;overnight. &amp;nbsp;And while I don't &lt;i&gt;LOVE &lt;/i&gt;hearing them talk about war or fighting or attacking &lt;i&gt;anything&lt;/i&gt;, part of me knows that &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;boys will be boys&lt;/a&gt;. &amp;nbsp;Right now, they are on their quads, with the half broken toy guns, that I bought at a yard sale yesterday. &amp;nbsp;One son hasn't let go of his since he first spotted it there. He slept with it last night. And I have really been struggling with them having toy guns. They love playing with the ones the neighbors have, but I haven't really &lt;i&gt;wanted&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;them to have their own yet. &amp;nbsp;I knew it was inevitable, but I was definitely holding off as long as possible.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now don't go getting all judgy. &amp;nbsp;I know I can control what toys my kids play with, but I don't want to be &lt;i&gt;that&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;mom who writes 'no weapons please' on their kids' birthday invitations (lame!), or asks other Mom's if there will be toy guns around, pre playdate (so lame!). &amp;nbsp;Do those parents really think that their kid isn't on the playground with the rest of the kids, playing guns or swords with a stick he picked up off the ground? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am of the opinion that it's parenting (and genetics) that create serial killers, not a toy gun and an imagination. (Yes, I'm talking to YOU, Mrs. Bundy and Mrs. Manson!) &amp;nbsp;Those kids, whose Mom is calling around to the other Moms worrying about toy guns, are the ones who are going to get made fun of and picked on by the other kids at school. &amp;nbsp;Those are the kids who are going to go find &lt;i&gt;real &lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;guns one day and shoot up the school because they were bullied. &amp;nbsp;So ask away Anti Gun Mom, ask away.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ut96ZlxmHpA/T6cp3FCMICI/AAAAAAAABWM/VQ73Nci6WM4/s1600/manson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ut96ZlxmHpA/T6cp3FCMICI/AAAAAAAABWM/VQ73Nci6WM4/s1600/manson.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;I'm sure Manson's Mom&lt;br /&gt;was a hot mess.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
I do try to listen and watch what they are doing with their weapons, trying to nip anything too violent in the bud. &amp;nbsp;I don't let them point their weapons at anyone or any cars going by our yard, and I don't hear them saying they are going to "kill" anything or anyone. &amp;nbsp;For now, it's pretty harmless .... it's all about chasing aliens and playing army. &amp;nbsp;There no gutting E.T. or beheading Taliban members.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DdWTn-9-Bdg/T6cryJdTxgI/AAAAAAAABWU/gOs69kLOdPE/s1600/et.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DdWTn-9-Bdg/T6cryJdTxgI/AAAAAAAABWU/gOs69kLOdPE/s1600/et.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So for now, while I get used to my big boys, and their bigger boy voices, games and weapons, we will be spending as much time outside as possible. &amp;nbsp;It all seems a little bit smaller outside. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh wait, I just heard one son say, "I don't want to play deer hunter anymore." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Phew! &amp;nbsp;Maybe it was a phase.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Crap. &amp;nbsp;"He just said, I'm going on my motorcycle to hunt a moose."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Great.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
At least the sun is finally out.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Don't forget, you can vote every day! &amp;nbsp;Just one click on the box and you're done! &amp;nbsp;Thank you!!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/n5JYtF1y89M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/4659909351632674565/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=4659909351632674565&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/4659909351632674565?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/4659909351632674565?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/n5JYtF1y89M/rain-rain-go-away.html" title="Rain, Rain Go Away!  Or I'll Shoot!" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EJ8m770Sjw0/T6cxM1gsl5I/AAAAAAAABWg/w40roKmflh8/s72-c/rain.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/05/rain-rain-go-away.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU4ASXg8eSp7ImA9WhVWGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-6887171044820032772</id><published>2012-05-01T21:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-05-01T21:59:08.671-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-01T21:59:08.671-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="eating with kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="identical twins" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="waitressing" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting" /><title>Another Fabulous Dining Experience</title><content type="html">OK, so I just told you about my &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/have-you-ever-been-waitress-or-waiter.html"&gt;breakfast experience&lt;/a&gt;. &amp;nbsp;It wasn't good. &amp;nbsp;Our waitress was clearly overwhelmed, and an obviously great parent to my children. &amp;nbsp;Well, that night, we went out to dinner for my Mother in law's birthday. &amp;nbsp;That was equally "interesting", but in a different way. &amp;nbsp;Needless to say, I was about to throw down.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We had reservations at my favorite restaurant for 5:30, for 8 adults and 5 kids under 5 years old (I know, sounds like a blast, right?). &amp;nbsp;We sat down at the table they had set up for us. &amp;nbsp;That is typically how reservations work, they prepare for your arrival by setting up a table big enough for your party, with enough chairs, in a spot of their choosing. &amp;nbsp;Right?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now let me just set the scene a little bit. &amp;nbsp;My sister in law has a brand new baby. &amp;nbsp;If I were her, I would have gladly skipped dinner because dinner out with a newborn just isn't fun. &amp;nbsp;But being the trooper she is, she said she was going to meet us all there after she fed the baby. &amp;nbsp;Her hubby and the other 2 girls met us all for our reservations.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
So, we all sit down and my brother in law sits down towards the end of the table, near his 2 daughters. &amp;nbsp;Our waitress comes up to our table, and before she even says "hello", she looks at my brother in law and says, "Ah, yah. &amp;nbsp;This is going to be awkward for me", and swirls her hand around him. &amp;nbsp;We're assuming she means that his seat being close to the next table is what's making it awkward, but it's hard to tell, because all she is doing is snarling at him and waving her old wrinkly hands, with her old, red, pointy finger nails behind his head, like she was casting a spell on him. &amp;nbsp;So he moves his chair in, closer to the table, which is super comfortable for a 6 foot man. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d_wFusc3xCA/T6CRekj7J5I/AAAAAAAABUk/uGcCfo_ASZ8/s1600/witch+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="210" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d_wFusc3xCA/T6CRekj7J5I/AAAAAAAABUk/uGcCfo_ASZ8/s400/witch+2.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
I found this mildly annoying. &amp;nbsp;YOU guys put the table there. &amp;nbsp;YOU put the chair there. So if it was going to be "awkward", then you should have told that to the 15 year old, pimply faced bus boy who set it up that way. &amp;nbsp;The beauty of me eating at a restaurant, is that I don't have to move any furniture around before I eat. &amp;nbsp;So really, if you want the table somewhere else, you can move it, Flo (she looked like a "Flo" to me). &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So we are sitting at the table, my brother in law uncomfortably stuffed under the table, and we order drinks.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well, everyone except for Chris. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Chris is aware that she missed him, so as she is chatting away down the other end of the table, he is just randomly yelling out "Heineken", "can I...", "Heineken please", "Excuse me" like someone with Tourette's. Finally, she starts to walk away, and I yell, "Can we also get a Heineken?" and she turns around and says sure. &amp;nbsp;Great.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/have-you-ever-been-waitress-or-waiter.html"&gt;The drinks come&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well, most of the drinks come.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
No, no, she didn't forget the kids' drinks. &amp;nbsp;Those came right away, although she did insist that my kids had the&amp;nbsp;chocolate&amp;nbsp;milk, when they didn't, but at least there was liquid in front of them this time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She didn't bring mine. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So again, as she walked away, I yelled, "Can I just get a Diet Coke when you have a second, please?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Oh. &amp;nbsp;Yah."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Great, aren't you a bundle of joy? &amp;nbsp;Apparently I am putting her out by hoping that I might be able to get her to bring me a beverage.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The appetizers come and she takes our dinner orders. &amp;nbsp;Most of our dinners come with a salad. Pretty standard, right? &amp;nbsp;I asked if I could have a Caesar salad. The second I order it, her head shoots up to look at me. &amp;nbsp;I know what's coming. &amp;nbsp;The Caesar is an extra dollar and she just can't WAIT to tell me. I see the anticipation in her eyes, the build up. &amp;nbsp;But I am not going to let her have her moment, especially after she cast a spell on my brother in law. &amp;nbsp;As she starts to say, "The Caesar....", I cut in and finish her sentence with "....is an extra dollar, that's fine."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;Hmph. &amp;nbsp;I stole her moment. &amp;nbsp;She walks off to spit in my salad.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She brings back the kids' food and as I am in Mom-in-a-restaurant mode, I hear this whizzing by me and this "flop" noise. &amp;nbsp;I mean, it was a matter of 2 seconds, but it was enough to catch my attention. &amp;nbsp;It was our waitress throwing napkins at us. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And no, she didn't just "put" them on the table. &amp;nbsp;Nor did she "lay" them, "place" them or "set" them on the table. &amp;nbsp;She "threw them at us". &amp;nbsp;Yah, she did. &amp;nbsp;I mean, I could tell I wasn't just being a bitch at this point (seriously) because Chris had that look in his eye, when he knows something has happened that is about to set me off. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Did she just throw those napkins at us?!?!?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Seriously, is she kidding me?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4qTKck5Q3ZY/T6CSv42-FLI/AAAAAAAABU0/HKRTFt2uOtM/s1600/flo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4qTKck5Q3ZY/T6CSv42-FLI/AAAAAAAABU0/HKRTFt2uOtM/s1600/flo.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;No smiles on our Flo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
So then my sister in law shows up with my newest niece in tow. &amp;nbsp;Her other 2 girls are ecstatic to see her and are literally crawling up her leg to see her, so she and her hubby play a bit of musical chairs to make everyone happy about where they are sitting and who they are sitting next to. &amp;nbsp;I think my brother in law was happy to get out from under the table too. &amp;nbsp;If you recall, he was in a Table Time Out, because his long man legs made life "awkward" for Flo.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well, apparently Flo isn't down with that. &amp;nbsp;Because when our meals arrive I watch her reaction to giddy little girls, another adult and a newborn added to her mix. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well, she didn't disappoint.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There was a blatant sigh. &amp;nbsp;And then, "Well, great. &amp;nbsp;You all switched seats, so now I don't know WHERE the food goes."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And she wasn't joking, or trying to be funny. &amp;nbsp;She was pissed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Really?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not to toot my own horn, but I have my Master's Degree. &amp;nbsp;My sister in law has her Master's Degree. &amp;nbsp;Both Chris and my brother in law have college degrees. &amp;nbsp;All 4 of us have worked in the restaurant business. &amp;nbsp;All the other adults there are competent contributing members of society. &amp;nbsp;I am going to go out on a limb here and say that we may, I mean, just&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt; may&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; be able to figure out who ordered what. &amp;nbsp;I bet we could even figure out who had which side dishes. &amp;nbsp;Maybe not, maybe I'm reaching.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In the horrifying event that we &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;can't &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;figure it out, we are all family, so there is a slight possibility that we would share nicely with each other. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't think there is any reason to huff and puff and set all the food on fire and throw it angrily in the dumpster. &amp;nbsp;My guess is that even if we were in our original assigned-by-Flo seats, Flo would forget who got what, kind of like when she forced my kids to admit that they ordered chocolate milk, when they don't like chocolate milk. &amp;nbsp;But whatever. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ogl5PS5gwVE/T6CR7qecoDI/AAAAAAAABUs/GvV_-t29fTM/s1600/rolling+eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ogl5PS5gwVE/T6CR7qecoDI/AAAAAAAABUs/GvV_-t29fTM/s1600/rolling+eyes.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Then my sister in law had the audacity to order a drink. &amp;nbsp;Well, Flo walked closer to her, only to see that the baby carrier that my 53 day old niece arrived in, was next to the table.....eerily close to the "awkward spot" where my poor brother in law had a spell cast on him. &amp;nbsp;She brought my sister in law her &lt;strike&gt;treat&lt;/strike&gt; glass of red wine and placed it in the obvious spot ... directly in front of my son who is 4. &amp;nbsp;Why &lt;i&gt;wouldn't&lt;/i&gt; you put a glass of red wine in front of a 4 year old? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Again, we got her back though. &amp;nbsp;Each child had a bowl of ice cream and one fell on the floor upside down. &amp;nbsp;Take that Flo!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But really, I'm all talk, so as everyone got up to leave, I went around and picked up french fries and napkins that the kiddos dropped on the floor. &amp;nbsp;And really, we all know it was going to be 15 year old pimply faced busboy that was going to have to clean up after us, not her, so why leave him the mess? &amp;nbsp;That was always the worst part about waiting on families with kids. &amp;nbsp;Some parents would let their kids eat like animals, throwing shit all over the place. &amp;nbsp;I try not to ever do that, I mean, I'm nothing if not &lt;strike&gt;vindictive, petty, vengeful,&lt;/strike&gt; &amp;nbsp;considerate.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And the thing is, I am usually so wrapped up in &lt;strike&gt;nagging&lt;/strike&gt; &amp;nbsp;the kiddos, that I don't notice anything going on around me. &amp;nbsp;So for me to realize the shit Flo was serving up, it had to be pretty bad. &amp;nbsp;Don't get me wrong, I still enjoyed myself and &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/have-you-ever-been-waitress-or-waiter.html"&gt;ate very well on this day&lt;/a&gt;, but Flo's delivery could use some work. &amp;nbsp;Just sayin'&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How about a click? Please? &amp;nbsp;All you have to do is click on this brown box. &amp;nbsp;It will direct you to the Top Mommy Blogs website, but once you get there, you have voted. &amp;nbsp;You don't have to look me up or anything, just click the box and you're done. &amp;nbsp;Although there are some great blogs on there, if you have a few minutes!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/FoTfrslJSRE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/6887171044820032772/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=6887171044820032772&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/6887171044820032772?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/6887171044820032772?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/FoTfrslJSRE/another-fabulous-dining-experience.html" title="Another Fabulous Dining Experience" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d_wFusc3xCA/T6CRekj7J5I/AAAAAAAABUk/uGcCfo_ASZ8/s72-c/witch+2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/05/another-fabulous-dining-experience.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8ASXw4fCp7ImA9WhVWF0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-5063906908522714711</id><published>2012-04-29T22:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-04-29T22:27:28.234-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-29T22:27:28.234-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="identical twins" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="bad waitresses" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="eating out with kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twintastic" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twins" /><title>Have You Ever Been A Waitress or a Waiter?</title><content type="html">So I have said before how much I &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/01/ive-got-to-be-someones-superhero-right.html"&gt;miss going out to dinner&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;every week, and how going to restaurants just isn't the same with the kiddos. &amp;nbsp;Either we inhale our food, so we can finish before the kids get ancy, or we take care of them, cutting up their food, splitting up orders, all while our own delicious dish gets cold. &amp;nbsp;Either way, we don't get to enjoy our meal as much as we do when they are home with Nana.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then you have to add in all the nagging to sit up straight, sit in your seat, sit with your feet facing forward, stop drinking out of the glass like a dog, get your sleeve out of your sauce, that's enough butter on your roll, stop eating pads of butter, stop licking the ice cream bowl, get out from under the table, get off the floor, don't eat that, it was on the floor, stop staring at the people behind us, stop staring at your brother, stop kicking your brother, those aren't your fries, where did you get that, let me wipe your face, let Daddy eat, blow your nose, how did you get sauce on your ears, get your Tiger off the table, stop using Tiger as your napkin, please use a napkin, stop wiping your hands on me/Daddy/your brother/your shirt/your pants/your seat/the tablecloth/your socks. &amp;nbsp;You with me?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QcuAMp4X108/T53ngxId2gI/AAAAAAAABS4/Vuf4H0e83MI/s1600/restaurant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QcuAMp4X108/T53ngxId2gI/AAAAAAAABS4/Vuf4H0e83MI/s1600/restaurant.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Awww, isn't she cute? &lt;br /&gt;Hell no. &amp;nbsp;What she is, is in the freakin' way.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
Now that the boys are almost 5 (gasp!), it's definitely easier and more enjoyable to be in restaurants though. &amp;nbsp;And we ate out a lot this weekend, which was a treat...for the most part.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I want to preface this &lt;strike&gt;rant, bitch-fest, complain-a-thon&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;by saying that I have been a waitress before.&amp;nbsp;I completely understand how much work waitressing is, and I understand how jack-off-y customers can be. &amp;nbsp;(Yes, Webster, that is a word. &amp;nbsp;Look in your dictionary. &amp;nbsp;Well,&amp;nbsp;OK, how about you just take my word for it...)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am also very much aware of what a &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;bad&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; waitress I was. I couldn't manage my time, I couldn't multi-task (although I bet I'd be a kick-ass waitress now!) and I was up everyone's ass all them time, overcompensating for how bad I was, by constantly asking if everything was OK, and if I could do or get them anything. &amp;nbsp;Ugh, I was awful. &amp;nbsp;And I knew it. &amp;nbsp;So I stopped.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We all went to breakfast Saturday morning. &amp;nbsp;I love breakfast. &amp;nbsp;It's usually the most enjoyable with the kiddos too, because it's usually quick. &amp;nbsp;Usually. &amp;nbsp;One of the waitresses seated us at a table, and handed us all menus. &amp;nbsp;I'm pretty sure the boys didn't need them, as they can't read. &amp;nbsp;And I'm pretty sure she didn't need to wait for us to each be seated, to hand us the menu as if we were eating at a fine dining establishment at 8pm. &amp;nbsp;It's 8:30am. I wasn't wearing a ball gown. I didn't even shower. &amp;nbsp;Two menus on the table would have been just fine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now, we've been to this place a dozen times. &amp;nbsp;They usually bring over a page from a coloring book and a cup of crayons. &amp;nbsp;My kiddos aren't huge into coloring, so this only really occupies them for a few minutes, which is fine though, because it's only breakfast, and is always quick.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We sit. &amp;nbsp;We sit some more. &amp;nbsp;We watch waitresses seat people around us. &amp;nbsp;We watch those people order their food. &amp;nbsp;We just sit. &amp;nbsp;Waiting. &amp;nbsp;All the while, I keep looking around making sure the staff knows we haven't been waited on yet. &amp;nbsp;(Because yes, passive-aggressive is more my style.)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L00hYAI3nz8/T53n6EEkL-I/AAAAAAAABTA/P_buGhEbJN8/s1600/bad+service.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L00hYAI3nz8/T53n6EEkL-I/AAAAAAAABTA/P_buGhEbJN8/s1600/bad+service.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;HA HA! &lt;br /&gt;How awesome is that!&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had done that with the Smuckers!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
Finally a frazzled waitress comes over, mumbling about how all her tables got seated at once, which yes, is awful. &amp;nbsp;Anyone who has ever waited tables, knows how awful it is to be in "the weeds", all of your tables seated at once, everyone waiting to be served at the same time. I get it. &amp;nbsp;But this bitch was the one who seated us! &amp;nbsp;Put us somewhere else if you can't handle it. &amp;nbsp;There were plenty of empty tables.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She asked if she could get us drinks. &amp;nbsp;We said we were ready to order everything.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Cue the big sigh. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Are bacon and eggs all around, really that difficult to order up? &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;She clearly wasn't ready for this, but at this point, I didn't give a&amp;nbsp;&lt;strike&gt;hot shit&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;crap, just get my kids their OJ. &amp;nbsp;Please.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You're not like me? &amp;nbsp;When we get there, we try to order right away.....the whole eating-of-the-food is a pretty good occupier for the kids. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So she brings me my drink. &amp;nbsp;She gives Chris his coffee. &amp;nbsp;And his OJ. &amp;nbsp;No drinks for the kids. &amp;nbsp;She must be going back for them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After another LONG period of time, I find myself looking around for our waitress again because at this point, I needed to give the kids &lt;i&gt;something&lt;/i&gt;. If it wasn't their food, can we at least get their drinks? &amp;nbsp;I mean, she brought Chris his OJ, she couldn't just fill up the teeny tiny kids cups at the same time? &amp;nbsp;I mean, was she squeezing the oranges out in the back, trying to pick the perfect oranges for my 2 sweet boys? &amp;nbsp;Unlikely. &amp;nbsp;But if she didn't bring them something, all of the Smuckers jelly packets were going to be smeared all over the table, and all over my jacket. It was really only my jacket I was worried about.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then she appears. &amp;nbsp;With our food. &amp;nbsp;Fine. &amp;nbsp;At least it's something. &amp;nbsp;As she's putting our food in front of us, she says, "Oh, I'll go get the kids' drinks. &amp;nbsp;I wait to bring the kids' drinks, because otherwise they drink it all before the food comes."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh good. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Thank you Dr. Spock,&amp;nbsp;pediatrician&amp;nbsp;extraordinaire.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am glad you are monitoring my kids OJ intake. &amp;nbsp;Because while my kids are tall, healthy 4 year olds, I guess there is a&amp;nbsp;possibility&amp;nbsp;that you would know better how to feed and hydrate them. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And I wasn't aware of your one-cup-of-OJ-for-kids policy either. &amp;nbsp;I was under the impression that if my children finished drinking their juice, we might be able to order another cup of the orangey beverage, which would in turn, up the bill, potentially increasing your tip &lt;strike&gt;which is getting smaller by the second&lt;/strike&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But please, parent away.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KyOmQBkvSEQ/T530w4xC5HI/AAAAAAAABTw/0dIZEIj826Y/s1600/doc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KyOmQBkvSEQ/T530w4xC5HI/AAAAAAAABTw/0dIZEIj826Y/s320/doc.jpg" width="194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Have you seen the latest edition?&lt;br /&gt;Check out the author?&lt;br /&gt;Who knew?&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
She came back one minute later, as I was in Mom-at-a-restaurant-mode, breaking up the eggs, jelly-ing the toast, rolling up sleeves, pulling in the chair. &amp;nbsp;"How is everything, guys?" &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Umm, first of all, where the Christ is the flippin' orange juice?!?!? &amp;nbsp;Are you kidding me right now? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Secondly, "everything" is kind of shitty right now, ma'am. &amp;nbsp;Do you know what would make it better? &amp;nbsp;Orange juice. &amp;nbsp;Also, we have no clue how "everything" is yet because you JUST put the food down in front of us ONE MINUTE ago and since we had to resuscitate our dehydrated kids we haven't been able to try it yet. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It didn't matter, because she didn't wait for our answer, she just hurried off to be a bad waitress somewhere else. &amp;nbsp;She did eventually bring the boys their orange juice, which they sucked down immediately. &amp;nbsp;(See, she was right, they &lt;i&gt;would&lt;/i&gt; have finished it before their food came. &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp;I'm&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt; the bitch.)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We paid our bill and left. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But don't worry. &amp;nbsp;We got her back. &amp;nbsp;Completely unintentionally too. &amp;nbsp;Because believe it or not, most of what I say is all talk. &amp;nbsp;I know, shocking, right? &amp;nbsp;I'm not nearly as tough as I sound, and despite rambling on about how awful she was, I would have still given her a decent tip. &amp;nbsp;And with Chris paying, we'd over-tip. &amp;nbsp;He's one of &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;those&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well Chris was paying, as he always does, but as we drove home, he realized he messed up her tip, thinking he gave her somewhere around 20% (which would have been his way of telling her she was lousy, a &lt;i&gt;mere&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;20%), but he really only gave her around 10%.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
HA! &amp;nbsp;We got you, bad waitress! &amp;nbsp;Next time, try assuming that at least the mother, probably knows how to control the food and drink intake of her children, and bring all the drinks at once.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;EPILOGUE:&lt;/b&gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This afternoon, while cleaning out pockets for laundry, I (VERY LUCKILY) found jean pockets FILLED with SMUCKERS jelly packets.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MiruuyU5iiA/T53uu36aOqI/AAAAAAAABTU/k1pKZTrgyOA/s1600/smuckers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MiruuyU5iiA/T53uu36aOqI/AAAAAAAABTU/k1pKZTrgyOA/s1600/smuckers.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
So suck on THAT! &amp;nbsp;Shitty tip AND we have your jelly! &amp;nbsp;HA! Suckas!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And like I said, I was a waitress at one time. &amp;nbsp;And no one waiting tables gets excited to see a family with multiple children come in. I get it. &amp;nbsp;It just means, special cups, special orders, lots of noise, even more mess, lots of tripping/leaning/and all around inconvenience. &amp;nbsp;But long before I had kids, I learned to take care of them first. &amp;nbsp;Keep them busy, keep them happy, keep them quiet. &amp;nbsp;And believe me, this wasn't because I was concerned about them, it was COMPLETELY for my own benefit. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And as bad of a waitress as I was, I never really got a bad tip, nor did anyone ever steal pockets full of Smuckers. &amp;nbsp;It may have had something to do with my telling people it was my first night. &amp;nbsp;How can you fault the new girl, right? &amp;nbsp;Don't we all have sympathy for the new person, who's floundering a little bit? &amp;nbsp;They didn't need to know I had been working there for over a year! &amp;nbsp;Shhhhhhh.......&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So if you've ever waitressed or been waited on, will you give me a vote? &amp;nbsp;You can do it once per day! &amp;nbsp;All you have to do is click on this brown box right here. &amp;nbsp;Yes, with the annoying blinking "Vote For Me", yep, that's the box! &amp;nbsp;And if you do, tomorrow I will tell you about my equally enjoyable dinner out later that night! &amp;nbsp;That story is even better!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/tcezItxRPu4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/5063906908522714711/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=5063906908522714711&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/5063906908522714711?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/5063906908522714711?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/tcezItxRPu4/have-you-ever-been-waitress-or-waiter.html" title="Have You Ever Been A Waitress or a Waiter?" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QcuAMp4X108/T53ngxId2gI/AAAAAAAABS4/Vuf4H0e83MI/s72-c/restaurant.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/have-you-ever-been-waitress-or-waiter.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU8CSXs_eyp7ImA9WhVWFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-36991688932645265</id><published>2012-04-25T21:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-04-25T21:31:08.543-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-25T21:31:08.543-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="nadya suleman" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="multiples" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Octomom" /><title>Octomom is Back, Huh?</title><content type="html">&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EDIidXZMWxQ/T5igd93c60I/AAAAAAAABR8/hvK9junFRoI/s1600/nadya.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EDIidXZMWxQ/T5igd93c60I/AAAAAAAABR8/hvK9junFRoI/s1600/nadya.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;That's hot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
So Octomom is in the news again, huh? &amp;nbsp;Surprise, surprise.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I almost forgot about her. &amp;nbsp;I know, how could you forget about Octomom?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She has had the local police department "visiting" her, looking into a complaint of "neglect", which sounds like was filed by her hairdresser of all people. &amp;nbsp;Reports claim that she is now on Food Stamps, which she vowed to never use, yet spends $600+ at a time on her hair (which by the way, is pretty sad, because her hair ain't all that). &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While I was looking into what Ms. Nadya has been up to, I came across this clip. &amp;nbsp;In the beginning of April, she spent some time with Matt Lauer on the Today show. &amp;nbsp;Take a gander.....oh, and let me know what you think about these Frida eyebrows she's got going on.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3KwVQw4tpeQ" width="560"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So this clip is from April 5th. &amp;nbsp;She says she will be off of assistance within 2 months because she'll be making money again to support her family. &amp;nbsp;So by June 5th, she should be off Food Stamps. &amp;nbsp;I will have to remember to check back. &amp;nbsp;And what was all that onion talk?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So how will she be making money? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nadya is going to be off of assistance in 2 months because she is going to make money for her "appearances", Octomom TV (whatever the hell that is), advertisements (hopefully not for birth control), a "little&amp;nbsp;movie" she made, and Dial a Star.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What the hell kind of "appearances" is she doing that she gets paid (in money) to do? &amp;nbsp;Who the hell wants her coming anywhere near them? &amp;nbsp;~shudder~ &amp;nbsp;I don't even think I would want her to know where I lived. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She will be doing Dial a Star. &amp;nbsp;I had heard a little bit about this a while back and I checked out the site tonight, it's a hoot! &amp;nbsp;She, Lindsay Lohan's parents Dina &amp;amp; Michael Lohan and Danielle Staub from Real Housewives of New Jersey have signed on for this. You can talk to Nadya for $14 a minute. &amp;nbsp;I can barely stand thinking about her for this post,&amp;nbsp;never mind&amp;nbsp;actually having to speak to her for a minute! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YFsVQ5JKmFg/T5iBuIqhaQI/AAAAAAAABRk/KSPgjzQKpOs/s1600/danielle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YFsVQ5JKmFg/T5iBuIqhaQI/AAAAAAAABRk/KSPgjzQKpOs/s1600/danielle.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Danielle Staub, what a lovely girl.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
And I might actually pay money to see this "movie" she made. &amp;nbsp;She called it a "little movie". &amp;nbsp;And it is clearly not porn, because she said that she would never do porn, not even for "a hundred million dollars". Seriously? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
First of all, no one is offering you one hundred million dollars to do porn. &amp;nbsp;I'm pretty sure no guy will go anywhere near your 14 kid ass, nor do they want to see it. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Secondly, you know you had these 14 kids because you wanted to ride on Jon and Kate Plus 8 coat tails and cash in. &amp;nbsp;But &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;now&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt; you are worried about morals and values and would rule out porn for ONE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS? &amp;nbsp;Just do the porn. &amp;nbsp;I think we would all rather you do that than suck off the government for another 16+ years.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She said she could never do porn because she would "not loosen the grip of my deeply indoctrinated morals and values". &amp;nbsp;Plus you have to be a role model for your kids because they will "introject our values as parents". &amp;nbsp;I just looked up "introject" because I was pretty sure she made that word up (spell check didn't even recognize it!), but it is indeed a psychological term (if you recall, Nadya was going to continue on in her psychology program, I'm sure that happened, right?). &amp;nbsp;So good job Nadya, you got me on this one, but you aren't fooling anyone with your big &lt;strike&gt;eyebrows&lt;/strike&gt; words. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So these recent complaints are that she spends hundreds and hundreds$600+ at a time on her hair, but none on her children. &amp;nbsp;Neighbors say her house has&amp;nbsp;graffiti&amp;nbsp;all over it, which at first I just figured was from neighborhood punks who knew she lived there, but when you see it, it's only 3 or 4 feet off the ground, so it's got to be her own kids writing all over her house. &amp;nbsp;Who let's their kids do that? &amp;nbsp;I have to control myself when the crayons go off the paper by accident on the table. &amp;nbsp;Neighbors also say that she makes the children go to the bathroom outside in training potties. &amp;nbsp;Her hairdresser took photos, (check out &lt;a href="http://www.tmz.com/2012/04/25/octomom-nadya-suleman-house-kids-police-investigation-toilets/"&gt;TMZ's website&lt;/a&gt;) showing the house was a disaster, spray painted graffiti inside, kids half dressed, potties outside and a chair up against the bedroom door, which had the kids inside. &amp;nbsp;Can someone say Mommy of the Year?!?!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
OK, now we have all had our kids pee outside before. &amp;nbsp;Free Pee is especially handy with boys. But it's certainly not the immediate solution to "Mumma, I have to go pee" (no matter how much the boys beg, they think it's better than Disney!). &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And I am sure all of our houses have been disasters. &amp;nbsp;I know there are some days when I can't even figure out how my house got to look the way it did. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But I clean it. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
With the boys' help.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Isn't that part of our job? &amp;nbsp;To teach our kids how to respect their things, their home, other people's things and other people's homes? &amp;nbsp;And would you EVER let your kids spray paint on the walls INSIDE or OUTSIDE of your house? &amp;nbsp;But again, if no one is teaching them that it's not OK to do that, than why wouldn't they do it?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And really, now that I'm really thinking about it, how can she NOT neglect her kids?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In Massachusetts, I think the child:caregiver ratio for daycare providers is 10:1.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So each adult can only be responsible for 10 children 3 years or older at one time. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nadya has 4 more than this! &amp;nbsp;And from all accounts she refuses help. &amp;nbsp;Well, that's your own fault then. &amp;nbsp;Even if you could handle 10 of your kids, the other 4 are spray painting graffiti on the walls above the potties next to the picnic table. &amp;nbsp;So good luck with your illegal daycare center.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What an idiot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She really wanted to be Kate Gosselin (before the country and Jon turned on her). You know she did. &amp;nbsp; She thought she would have these additional 8 children and the country would fall in love with her just like they did Kate. &amp;nbsp;We would all shower her with money, cribs, diapers, hugs, tummy tucks, 20 passenger vans, Oprah visits and baby clothes. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f1ZzL0rUIu4/T5ikBeQ0HkI/AAAAAAAABSI/QvwPy6wt29Y/s1600/oprah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f1ZzL0rUIu4/T5ikBeQ0HkI/AAAAAAAABSI/QvwPy6wt29Y/s1600/oprah.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Photo from Oprah.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
Well, the joke's on you Nadya. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You're no Kate Gosselin (which is good and bad).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And the country hated you immediately.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nice try though.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You should take some of that money you keep spending on your hair, and invest in some Mr. Clean Magic Erasers to get that spray paint off your walls. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then ask your hairdresser to wax some of that shit off your eyes. &amp;nbsp;You are no Frida, so let's ditch the 'brows.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bIuWjTuNbUI/T5iMB0S9DgI/AAAAAAAABRw/vEdbh2jM3i0/s1600/frida.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bIuWjTuNbUI/T5iMB0S9DgI/AAAAAAAABRw/vEdbh2jM3i0/s1600/frida.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If you thank GOD every day, that you aren't Nadya Suleman, give me a click, will 'ya? &amp;nbsp;You can click every day!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/i3j-QTEnLGs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/36991688932645265/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=36991688932645265&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/36991688932645265?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/36991688932645265?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/i3j-QTEnLGs/octomom-is-back-huh.html" title="Octomom is Back, Huh?" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EDIidXZMWxQ/T5igd93c60I/AAAAAAAABR8/hvK9junFRoI/s72-c/nadya.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/octomom-is-back-huh.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEHSXk5fSp7ImA9WhVWEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-4606701118511872643</id><published>2012-04-22T22:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-04-23T11:23:58.725-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-23T11:23:58.725-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="thomas beatie" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twintastic" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twins" /><title>The Week In Review</title><content type="html">There has been a lot going on this week. &amp;nbsp;I was going back and forth, trying to decide what to write about today and figured I would give you a recap of this week's headlines. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ERJ99VrmxHk/T5SzWEK-rrI/AAAAAAAABMw/fa2JU7XojPU/s1600/dick+clark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ERJ99VrmxHk/T5SzWEK-rrI/AAAAAAAABMw/fa2JU7XojPU/s1600/dick+clark.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
The first big story this week was a sad one. &amp;nbsp;Dick Clark died of a massive heart attack at the age of 82. &amp;nbsp;This was sad. &amp;nbsp;I remember spending New Year's Eve at Sarah's house when we were kids. &amp;nbsp;Every year I would sleep at her house, while our parents rang in the New Year downstairs. &amp;nbsp;We would sneak peeks downstairs every now and then, trying to see what the grown ups were doing. &amp;nbsp;I actually don't recall anything scandalous, but I remember hearing Dick Clark's voice counting down to the New Year, and all of the grown ups yelling Happy New Year with him. We grew up with him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That being said....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Why were they wheeling that poor man out every New Years Eve after he had that stroke? &amp;nbsp;I think it was painful for all of us to watch. &amp;nbsp;Whether you liked him or not, he was an icon. &amp;nbsp;I wish he would have passed the reins on while he was still on top. &amp;nbsp;No one wanted to see Dick, with his wicked big forehead, that seemed to get bigger and more tan every year, hosting the way he was. &amp;nbsp;And it was painful to watch that&amp;nbsp;metro-sexual, Ryan Seacrest, co-host with him over these last few years because you knew that Ryan was chomping at the bit to snag that job and Dick was thinking that Ryan would have to pry that job out of his cold dead hands. &amp;nbsp;Well, my guess is, that Ryan will be helping us all ring in the next New Year. &amp;nbsp;I just don't think it will be as Rockin'. &amp;nbsp;But whatever. &amp;nbsp;I'm asleep by 10 on New Year's Even now anyways.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iH-OZGk674k/T5Szo1d9gjI/AAAAAAAABM4/DVDkQzsUxKo/s1600/jack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iH-OZGk674k/T5Szo1d9gjI/AAAAAAAABM4/DVDkQzsUxKo/s1600/jack.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Enjoy Jack.&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
Today is Jack Nicholson's 75th birthday. &amp;nbsp;Hasn't he been 75 for like, the past 15 years? &amp;nbsp;Even at 75, he's still pretty bad-ass. &amp;nbsp;Happy Birthday Jack. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* * * * * * * * * * &amp;nbsp;* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Today is also Earth Day. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Isn't every day Earth Day? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I feel like I am forever being scolded, yelled at, lectured to and judged for whether I recycle, how I recycle, whether I bring in my own bags to the Supermarket, how much gas my car guzzles, whether I used cloth or disposable diapers and what kind of dim-ass light bulbs I am using (how annoying is it that the energy efficient ones take a bit of time before they reach maximum brightness? &amp;nbsp;I want light, and I want it when I flip the switch).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;&amp;nbsp;STOP YELLING AT ME!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Happy Earth Day, Earth. &amp;nbsp;My gift to you is that I just went in and peed in the dark. &amp;nbsp;Don't say I never gave you anything. &amp;nbsp;Every time I turn on the bathroom light, I get irrationally angry at how long it takes to become bright in there because of our special energy efficient bulbs. &amp;nbsp;So today, I just didn't even use the light. &amp;nbsp;You win, environmentalists. &amp;nbsp;You win. I will be&amp;nbsp;environmentally&amp;nbsp;conscious, but I won't like it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Jaleel White can't believe he survived DWTS's Twist. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Really? &amp;nbsp;I think the real wonder is how Jaleel White ended up back on television at all. &amp;nbsp;Even on Dancing With The Stars. &amp;nbsp;I mean, we're talking about Urkel.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But yes, Jaleel, a close second is ... how are you&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt; still&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt; on?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gNOWP9VWjkM/T5S1klPoNEI/AAAAAAAABNA/XpW37aNXpAs/s1600/jaleel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gNOWP9VWjkM/T5S1klPoNEI/AAAAAAAABNA/XpW37aNXpAs/s1600/jaleel.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Jaleel White may look&lt;br /&gt;like this now.....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eNa6OHUed_c/T5S1nOjbOkI/AAAAAAAABNI/cf3DYAnFVBU/s1600/urkel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eNa6OHUed_c/T5S1nOjbOkI/AAAAAAAABNI/cf3DYAnFVBU/s1600/urkel.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;But he'll always beUrkel to me.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kim Kardashian and Kanye West. &amp;nbsp;Are they? &amp;nbsp;Aren't they? &amp;nbsp;Are they just old family friends like Mom, Kris Jenner claims? &amp;nbsp;Or are they more than that? &amp;nbsp;Are they already married? &amp;nbsp;Is Kris Humphries really their love child? &amp;nbsp;Is Kim carrying his baby in her ass?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Really? &amp;nbsp;I thought we all still hated Kim for marrying Kris Humphries and divorcing him 72 days later. &amp;nbsp;I thought that there was a huge Kardashian boycott going on.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
C'mon, we all still watch all 17 of the Kardashian shows, and people are still buying Quik Trim thinking they'll look like a Kardashian sister. &amp;nbsp;We all still read the articles about who Kim is dating now and whether Khloe is preggers yet.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
No need to worry. &amp;nbsp;I am sure there is some public arena where Kanye will interrupt someone, steal their thunder, and explain his relationship with Kim. &amp;nbsp;Until we know for sure, just take comfort in knowing that soon enough, we will all get to watch Kourtney pull her own baby out of her body on national television. &amp;nbsp;And for those of you who are gasping in horror, wondering WTF I am talking about.....actually, never mind, you don't want to know.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sHITv__DM7E/T5S3S-DqHjI/AAAAAAAABNQ/tVYaivvpjPI/s1600/kim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sHITv__DM7E/T5S3S-DqHjI/AAAAAAAABNQ/tVYaivvpjPI/s320/kim.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Here is Kim standing next to an x-ray of her own ass.&lt;br /&gt;That's not even me talking crazy, I saw the&lt;br /&gt;episode where she did this to prove it was her real ass.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Neil Diamond got married for the third time on Saturday. &amp;nbsp;C'mon, this is big news. &amp;nbsp;Who doesn't love Mr. Sweet Caroline? &amp;nbsp;I know he's &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;my Mom's fave&lt;/a&gt;. &amp;nbsp;Neil is 71, his new bride is 42. &amp;nbsp;And his manager.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now, believe it or not, I was going to try and make some &lt;strike&gt;bitchy remarks&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;jokes about her being young and his manager, but then I realized she isn't all that different from me. &amp;nbsp;No, not because our husbands both wear flowing sparkly shirts. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fe0uUlOgNCk/T5S4GKwuwJI/AAAAAAAABNY/0ZV9kMVy1WY/s1600/neil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fe0uUlOgNCk/T5S4GKwuwJI/AAAAAAAABNY/0ZV9kMVy1WY/s1600/neil.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;This is Neil and his sparkly shirt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qtk1pV4__lY/T5S4JoPiwPI/AAAAAAAABNg/NPxRpvMud_w/s1600/neil2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qtk1pV4__lY/T5S4JoPiwPI/AAAAAAAABNg/NPxRpvMud_w/s1600/neil2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;And this is Chris on Friday night.&lt;br /&gt;The resemblance is uncanny, right?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
Really though, his new wife/manager, isn't all that different from us.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Aren't we all "managers" for our men? &amp;nbsp;Where would they be without us? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She schedules tours and&amp;nbsp;road trips for work, we schedule&amp;nbsp;road trips&amp;nbsp;and tours for vacation. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She sets up press interviews (that yes, you have to go to, Neil), we set up pre-school parent-teacher conferences (that yes, you have to go to, Chris). &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She makes sure the Metamucil is in his dressing room on tour, we make sure the flax seeds are on hubby's salad in his lunchbox. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tomato - Potahto. &amp;nbsp;More power to them. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although 71 and 42 is kind of gross. &amp;nbsp;Even for Neil Diamond. &amp;nbsp;Sorry Mom.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1tgbSZ0EfOQ/T5S5_SRC6dI/AAAAAAAABNo/9naMRDWHx8o/s1600/man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1tgbSZ0EfOQ/T5S5_SRC6dI/AAAAAAAABNo/9naMRDWHx8o/s1600/man.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Who poses like that?!?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
Remember the "man" who got pregnant a few years ago, Thomas Beatie? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You remember. &amp;nbsp;The media made this HUGE freakin' deal about &lt;b&gt;A MAN HAVING A BABY&lt;/b&gt; (gasp!), when really it was a woman who hadn't completed her gender re-assignment surgeries yet. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--_vB47BcxwY/T5S6OULbC0I/AAAAAAAABNw/9iubYeZ9ttU/s1600/hairy+lady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--_vB47BcxwY/T5S6OULbC0I/AAAAAAAABNw/9iubYeZ9ttU/s1600/hairy+lady.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;I mean, this is a legit lady, and look at&lt;br /&gt;the 'stache going on there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
It was a woman, with a&amp;nbsp;mustache&amp;nbsp;and beard, having a baby. &amp;nbsp;Which pretty much happens every day, let's be honest. &amp;nbsp;What? &amp;nbsp;There are some hairy-ass women out there! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
Anywho....him and his wife are splitting up after 9 years and 3 children. &amp;nbsp;No way!?!?! &amp;nbsp;And how great for the 3 kids they had. &amp;nbsp;Like all the media attention of their she-Dad giving birth to them didn't garner enough attention, but now they are going through a public separation with bitches like me talking about their family. &amp;nbsp;Poor things.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But let's leave things on a&amp;nbsp;positive&amp;nbsp;note.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes I can do that, geesh.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are&amp;nbsp;officially&amp;nbsp;engaged! &amp;nbsp;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Yay Brangelina!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They were originally refusing to wed until it was legal for all Americans to do the same, which really... how admirable? &amp;nbsp;I mean, way to stand up for what is right, guys! &amp;nbsp;What moral character they have.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well they caved, I guess. &amp;nbsp;Couldn't wait that long. &amp;nbsp;Like my 4 year olds say, "It's haaaaaaaard to wait." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Kinda like having to wait to divorce your wife before having some sort of freak-fest affair with your co-star. &amp;nbsp;That's hard.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Also like denying an affair, but then showing up on the cover of a magazine with the home-wrecker, along with a bunch of children, looking like the All American family you say you want. &amp;nbsp;Yah, it's hard to wait.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm Team Aniston. &amp;nbsp;Remember?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So really, should we be surprised that the home-wrecker and the cheater are getting married despite the fact that not all Americans can do so legally? &amp;nbsp;Not at all. &amp;nbsp;It's hard to wait.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ma4b1sySkn8/T5S7n3Gh06I/AAAAAAAABN4/CJcDFHOmnXM/s1600/team+aniston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ma4b1sySkn8/T5S7n3Gh06I/AAAAAAAABN4/CJcDFHOmnXM/s1600/team+aniston.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But seriously, on a happy note... I found a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs from Easter that I had hidden from the boys, in the cabinet tonight. &amp;nbsp;What is better than that? &amp;nbsp;Have a great week!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And if you're feeling like it, feel free to click on the box right here and give me a vote! &amp;nbsp;It'll make my day! &amp;nbsp;Seriously, it will.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/cghdKViYkTU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/4606701118511872643/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=4606701118511872643&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/4606701118511872643?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/4606701118511872643?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/cghdKViYkTU/week-in-review.html" title="The Week In Review" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ERJ99VrmxHk/T5SzWEK-rrI/AAAAAAAABMw/fa2JU7XojPU/s72-c/dick+clark.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/week-in-review.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU8CRnYzfCp7ImA9WhVXF0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-2976279272034392480</id><published>2012-04-18T21:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-04-18T21:11:07.884-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-18T21:11:07.884-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="reborners" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="dolls" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="anderson cooper" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twins" /><title>Have You Seen These Reborners?</title><content type="html">﻿﻿﻿﻿﻿OK.&amp;nbsp; Where to start.&amp;nbsp; I have to admit, my mind is sort of spinning right now.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
My friend Stephanie &lt;strike&gt;dared challenged&lt;/strike&gt; asked me to write about "reborns". She told me to research it, that I would enjoy it.&amp;nbsp; Ah, she knows me so well.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So I did some research today.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Whoa.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It is a whole other kind of &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;freak fest&lt;/a&gt; that I didn't really know existed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Basically, women (I &lt;strike&gt;think&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;hope it's mostly women) make and/or collect these super life-like baby dolls.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Lots of people collect dolls, you might say.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yes, this is true, but I'm pretty sure most "normal" doll collectors keep them at home.&amp;nbsp; I mean, Candy Spelling had a huge doll collection but she had them in cases and on display.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
These women walk around with them in strollers and bring them to the supermarket in infant carriers.&amp;nbsp; Here, watch this clip from Anderson Cooper's show (I didn't even realize he had a Springer-esque show) called simply...... "Anderson".&amp;nbsp; (I also didn't realize the level of his creativity)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/XlWLAcbdfIc" width="560"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You see why my mind is spinning?&amp;nbsp; Well, yes, part of it is looking at that handsome Anderson and his perfect sterling hair.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But beyond that, did you hear Marilyn talking?&amp;nbsp; Did you hear her say she doesn't take these "babies" out for the shock value?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Really?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I feel like she would be LESS crazy if she &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;was&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; taking them out for the shock value!&amp;nbsp; Please shock me!&amp;nbsp; Please don't take them out for a walk for any other reason BUT to shock me!!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh but wait.&amp;nbsp; Handsome Anderson has one more clip to &lt;strike&gt;horrify&lt;/strike&gt; show us.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Meet&amp;nbsp;Lynn.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She has&amp;nbsp;(surprise! surprise!) been featured on TLC's My Crazy Obsession.&amp;nbsp; Watch this....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/2URQ9iST6Po" width="560"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I just LOVE LOVE LOVE, how this clip ends.&amp;nbsp; With her sincere wonderment of why they don't allow her creepy ass near the maternity ward anymore.&amp;nbsp; I'm pretty sure I recall hearing something about "Lynn" when we asked about all the security in the &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;NICU&lt;/a&gt; when the boys were born.&amp;nbsp; Just kidding, but am I ever thankful the security is in place!&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And did you get a look at that room FILLED with babies on top of babies?&amp;nbsp; Imagine being a guest in her house, and walking into that room, thinking it was the bathroom?&amp;nbsp; Good god!&amp;nbsp; And of course the Anderson show just &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;had to &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;make the video freeze on the part with the dismembered baby on a cookie sheet.&amp;nbsp; The camera crew filming this lady were just DYING when she pulled a baby out of the oven!&amp;nbsp; Talk about jackpot footage!&amp;nbsp; I was laughing so loud, &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;the boys&lt;/a&gt; came up to see what I was laughing at.&amp;nbsp; I shut the laptop though.&amp;nbsp; I just felt it was my duty as a mother to shield them from a freak baking a baby.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And you said I was a bad Mom.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now, don't get me wrong.&amp;nbsp; I get that there are people who like to collect things.&amp;nbsp; I used to collect stickers.&amp;nbsp; I was in elementary school, but whatever.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u5Aiz12ybVI/T49jPlFShGI/AAAAAAAABLw/h4jWA8fTEkQ/s1600/lisafrank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200px" qda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u5Aiz12ybVI/T49jPlFShGI/AAAAAAAABLw/h4jWA8fTEkQ/s200/lisafrank.jpg" width="130px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I have a best friend who used to collect Beanie Babies,&amp;nbsp;convinced they going to be worth as much as Hummels.&amp;nbsp; I think she still has them.&amp;nbsp; She's waiting for that big pay day I think.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Chris even got one of those maps that you use when you collect the new state quarters.&amp;nbsp; It's in the basement all warped, with the same 6 quarters he got with the map one Christmas.&amp;nbsp; (Which is good to remember, when I'm scrambling for coffee money.&amp;nbsp; Shhhh, don't tell!)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There are even those people who like to collect real babies, like the Duggar family, Octomom and Jon and Kate Gosselin.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
﻿ &lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6GVJjJjz3x4/T49iFEYoP1I/AAAAAAAABLo/MEt48VlAhuQ/s1600/duggars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320px" qda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6GVJjJjz3x4/T49iFEYoP1I/AAAAAAAABLo/MEt48VlAhuQ/s320/duggars.jpg" width="275px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;That's quite a collection.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ But life-like dolls?&amp;nbsp; That's just creepy.&amp;nbsp; And I don't even think the "collecting" is the creepy part (well, it's part of it I guess).&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;What's creepy is that they are&amp;nbsp;taking them out like they are real babies, letting strangers come up to ooooh and aaaah over them, knowing full well that they are dolls.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And really, at what point does Marilyn up there, tell people they're dolls?&amp;nbsp; Isn't it embarrassing enough when someone mistakes your infant daughter for a boy?&amp;nbsp; It's so awkward for you &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;and&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; for the poor person who made the mistake?&amp;nbsp; Imagine this scenario???&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"OH MY GOD, just look at how precious your&amp;nbsp;baby girl is!"&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Ehhh, yah, it's a boy.&amp;nbsp; Awkward."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry, how embarrassing!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Wow, you think &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;that's &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;embarrassing!&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;He's actually a doll.&amp;nbsp; Yah, I like to take my boy-that-looks-like-a-girl doll out for walks in a human baby stroller.&amp;nbsp; But NOT for the shock factor!&amp;nbsp; No, no, no.&amp;nbsp; It's because I just really like pushing around a life-like doll in public, which is totally normal"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yah, this isn't normal people.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not even a little bit.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And here is the cherry-on-top.&amp;nbsp; Marilyn talks about the attempted abduction of her "baby".&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; But first, check out this guy's face, as they pass the baby around the audience.&amp;nbsp; Priceless!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-zArK255weQ" width="560"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Marilyn honey, it's not an abduction.&amp;nbsp; Actual humans are "abducted".&amp;nbsp; Yours is&amp;nbsp;a theft.&amp;nbsp; Your baby isn't real.&amp;nbsp; I didn't have the heart or stomach to watch how they make these babies, but I'm pretty sure your "baby" is made of some sort of plastic, rubber, or silicone.&amp;nbsp; Good god, let's hope it's not made of some sort of human skin or some weird shit like that.&amp;nbsp; Anywho, your "baby" wasn't "abducted".&amp;nbsp; Your DOLL was STOLEN.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So what do you think of these "Reborners"?&amp;nbsp; I mean, just the name "reborners" makes me think of some sort of horror film, right?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
﻿ &lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AjuKRWtp5tE/T49eC5pT4zI/AAAAAAAABLg/BiL_0kPtVII/s1600/reborn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AjuKRWtp5tE/T49eC5pT4zI/AAAAAAAABLg/BiL_0kPtVII/s1600/reborn.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Actual movie. I knew it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ &lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/kKQDG1P0Dn4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/2976279272034392480/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=2976279272034392480&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/2976279272034392480?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/2976279272034392480?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/kKQDG1P0Dn4/have-you-seen-these-reborners.html" title="Have You Seen These Reborners?" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/XlWLAcbdfIc/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/have-you-seen-these-reborners.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcNQ3k8cSp7ImA9WhVXF0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-2298832067347276009</id><published>2012-04-17T20:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-04-17T20:48:12.779-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-17T20:48:12.779-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Boston Marathon" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twins" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="running" /><title>I Have to Admit....</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n-NcQ-Kp6Ag/T4370mjAvyI/AAAAAAAABKk/r8fXf5kDLO0/s1600/marathon.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="224px" qda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n-NcQ-Kp6Ag/T4370mjAvyI/AAAAAAAABKk/r8fXf5kDLO0/s320/marathon.png" width="320px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;This past Monday was Patriot's Day in Massachusetts.&amp;nbsp; It is also Marathon Monday.&amp;nbsp; The Boston Marathon....one of the most well known marathons in the world.&amp;nbsp; I don't really know if that's true, but I think it is, which is what is most important, so I'm going to "report" it that way. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know you are probably wondering if I ran it this year, since I am a &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/06/whole-new-kim.html"&gt;runner&lt;/a&gt;.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I did not.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;If you recall, I have had a few "injuries" I've been nursing this year.&amp;nbsp;Athletic in nature, yes.&amp;nbsp; It's been about one year now, since I started my quest to become a "Runner".&amp;nbsp; I ran three times and then hurt my hip and never &lt;strike&gt;exercised&lt;/strike&gt; ran again.&amp;nbsp; I'm going to go ahead and admit something to you right now.&amp;nbsp; In the spirit of The Boston Marathon.&amp;nbsp; It may be hard to believe, especially for those of you who know me well, so brace yourselves.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am not a runner.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know, hard to believe, right?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And if we're being completely honest here (which is rare, I know), I am going to have to say that I am probably not really&amp;nbsp;much of&amp;nbsp;an athlete at all.&amp;nbsp;I know, I know.&amp;nbsp; It's shocking news.&amp;nbsp;Although now that I'm back to work, I find myself walking around my building A LOT, so I count that as exercise.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So everyone at work was talking about the Marathon yesterday. Some were saying they'd like to run a marathon before they die, some, a half marathon.&amp;nbsp; Me?&amp;nbsp; I don't even&amp;nbsp;need to &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;watch&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; another&amp;nbsp;Marathon in my life time.&amp;nbsp; I am all set.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But now that we are clear about my athletic status and ability, let me fill you in on what &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;would&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; get me running.&amp;nbsp; I mean, we are being honest now, right?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I will only run if...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
... I'm being chased&amp;nbsp;by a serial killer, a vicious animal&amp;nbsp;or&amp;nbsp;a gaggle of small children wanting me to play with them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-erx5D8ulnlo/T437_Xhg5eI/AAAAAAAABKs/K8qHDT5aDoc/s1600/hunger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-erx5D8ulnlo/T437_Xhg5eI/AAAAAAAABKs/K8qHDT5aDoc/s1600/hunger.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
... there is an out of control fire in the room I am in.&amp;nbsp; If it's anywhere near under control, there is no need for running.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
... Mark Wahlberg is within a one mile radius.&amp;nbsp; Any further than that, and &lt;strike&gt;he'll&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;I'll have to wait til I walk my ass over to him.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PX9k0nWDCUA/T43971Ulj8I/AAAAAAAABK0/Gp9OYai2eWU/s1600/marky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PX9k0nWDCUA/T43971Ulj8I/AAAAAAAABK0/Gp9OYai2eWU/s1600/marky.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;I might even run 1and a &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;half &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;miles for him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Probably not though.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;... someone wants me to help them move.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
... my child is running into the path of an oncoming car, bus, serial killer,&amp;nbsp;vicious animal, gaggle of small children wating me to play with them&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YkZsk-hWa-M/T44AAZAN4KI/AAAAAAAABK8/mHOIjFvh59I/s1600/creepy+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YkZsk-hWa-M/T44AAZAN4KI/AAAAAAAABK8/mHOIjFvh59I/s1600/creepy+kids.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
... there's free food, especially candy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
... a Dingo is trying to eat my baby.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
... you promise to give me a vote below.&amp;nbsp; Seriously.&amp;nbsp; I'll run.&amp;nbsp; I'll run like crazy.&amp;nbsp; I'll run like that episode of Friends where Phoebe shows Rachel how much fun running can be if you run like a little kid the way she does.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/M6fm5m1mVvg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/2298832067347276009/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=2298832067347276009&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/2298832067347276009?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/2298832067347276009?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/M6fm5m1mVvg/i-have-to-admit.html" title="I Have to Admit...." /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n-NcQ-Kp6Ag/T4370mjAvyI/AAAAAAAABKk/r8fXf5kDLO0/s72-c/marathon.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/i-have-to-admit.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYCQHs-fCp7ImA9WhVXEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-4533776605344466624</id><published>2012-04-10T21:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-04-10T21:02:41.554-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-10T21:02:41.554-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny twin blogs" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="facebook" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="friends" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twins" /><title>I Love Facebook.  No, I Do, Really.</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Are you on Facebook?&amp;nbsp; Stop laughing, there are some people who aren't.&amp;nbsp; It's hard to believe, but there are some people out there, who don't want their "friends" knowing what they are doing every single minute of the day.&amp;nbsp; I know.&amp;nbsp; Crazy, right?&amp;nbsp; Well, this weekend was a busy weekend on Facebook, I saw a lot of crazy on there, and it got me thinking about this crazy social-media-filled world we live in.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Of course &lt;em&gt;I'm&lt;/em&gt; on Facebook.&amp;nbsp; Have you met me?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have my own page and I have my page for this blog, which, by the way, you should go "LIKE" right this second.&amp;nbsp; Just click &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/pages/My-TwinTastic-Life/255927377771695"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&amp;nbsp; Go ahead, we'll wait.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I like Facebook.&amp;nbsp; I love knowing what people are up to.&amp;nbsp; For the most part.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I love seeing people's pictures.&amp;nbsp; For the most part.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I love seeing everyone's kids.&amp;nbsp; I always like to see kids.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm a nosey person &lt;strike&gt;just like you&lt;/strike&gt; so of course I love Facebook.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;I didn't join Facebook for a while though.&amp;nbsp; And when I did join, it was actually&amp;nbsp;by accident.&amp;nbsp; My friend&amp;nbsp;had sent me an email telling me to "CLICK HERE" to view her pictures and since I always do as I'm told, I did.&amp;nbsp; Then I had to provide my name and sign in and before I knew it, I had created a Facebook account.&amp;nbsp; Or had let someone steal my identity, I'm not sure which.&amp;nbsp; Nonetheless, I had a new Facebook account.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fN_v2bsvQp8/T4TIT0ru6fI/AAAAAAAABHQ/EIwDm2PFMNI/s1600/hackers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="133px" nda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fN_v2bsvQp8/T4TIT0ru6fI/AAAAAAAABHQ/EIwDm2PFMNI/s200/hackers.jpg" width="200px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I remember looking and looking for a decent picture of myself to use as my Profile Picture, before knowing full well, that if you have kids, you are supposed to use a picture of them doing something fun that shows how cute/well behaved/well dressed/full of love for you they are.&amp;nbsp; Silly me.&amp;nbsp; Here were some of the ones I was originally thinking of using....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bq184_rGAdo/T4TOoAAZuCI/AAAAAAAABHc/xeaiGJK-HoA/s1600/bloods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" nda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Bq184_rGAdo/T4TOoAAZuCI/AAAAAAAABHc/xeaiGJK-HoA/s1600/bloods.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Too red.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f-4AiQ1uWNw/T4TUiG6jVUI/AAAAAAAABH0/CyITquwPq4o/s1600/avatar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="149px" nda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f-4AiQ1uWNw/T4TUiG6jVUI/AAAAAAAABH0/CyITquwPq4o/s200/avatar.jpg" width="200px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Too blue.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-llz-gJsGqEM/T4TQQVlhaSI/AAAAAAAABHk/G7_OZIiy2rI/s1600/a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="160px" nda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-llz-gJsGqEM/T4TQQVlhaSI/AAAAAAAABHk/G7_OZIiy2rI/s200/a.jpg" width="200px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Too &lt;strike&gt;old&lt;/strike&gt;, &lt;strike&gt;creepy&lt;/strike&gt;, &lt;strike&gt;big lipped,&lt;/strike&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;cat-like.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MwFZA0t0Jqs/T4TUUqZH9zI/AAAAAAAABHs/agXpyZUJDAg/s1600/hiding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" nda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MwFZA0t0Jqs/T4TUUqZH9zI/AAAAAAAABHs/agXpyZUJDAg/s1600/hiding.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Too boxy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kCV-xba96R4/T4TU8y8FXMI/AAAAAAAABIE/hKSQt6mNDm4/s1600/tan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" nda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kCV-xba96R4/T4TU8y8FXMI/AAAAAAAABIE/hKSQt6mNDm4/s1600/tan.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Just right.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;Then I started adding "friends".&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;It was so fun&amp;nbsp;reconnecting with old friends from High School and College that I hadn't heard from in a long time.&amp;nbsp; We would&amp;nbsp;become "friends" again, and say that we just HAD to get together some time.&amp;nbsp; We'd "like" each other's status updates and that would be the end of those grand plans.&amp;nbsp; It's a shame, but we are all busy.&amp;nbsp; I mean, I can't just jump in my car with my kiddos and drive the hour to Rhode Island for Albie's Cheese Fries, can I?&amp;nbsp; The answer to that question, by the way, is YES.&amp;nbsp; They are &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; good. Right Rhody friends?&amp;nbsp; Does next weekend work for any of you?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yInpoe9GlL8/T4TWYvtNeTI/AAAAAAAABIc/Fu9-LECcORg/s1600/albies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="132px" nda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yInpoe9GlL8/T4TWYvtNeTI/AAAAAAAABIc/Fu9-LECcORg/s200/albies.jpg" width="200px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Then I updated my profile and started experimenting with Status Updates.&amp;nbsp; I mean, I wanted to sound witty and funny, right?&amp;nbsp; Friends didn't want to read boring stuff, did they?&amp;nbsp; But it seemed that not everyone was as worried about what they posted on their status updates as I was.&amp;nbsp; I started seeing lots of updates like,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"At work".&amp;nbsp; Really?&amp;nbsp; Aren't we all?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Doing laundry."&amp;nbsp; NO WAY?!?!?!?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Monday again."&amp;nbsp; Yup.&amp;nbsp; Every 7 days.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
None of this is witty or funny.&amp;nbsp; It's actually quite boring.&amp;nbsp; And I'm pretty sure no one cares that you're at work or doing laundry.&amp;nbsp; Mine were&amp;nbsp; no better.&amp;nbsp; I would always be wondering how cheerios got in my kids' diapers and why couldn't I get the smell of spit up out of my nose.&amp;nbsp; No one cared about what grossness I was smelling.&amp;nbsp; (And so began this little&amp;nbsp;blog called &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;My Twin*tastic Life&lt;/a&gt;.&amp;nbsp; The place where I wrote about all of my Mommy gripes, where people could care or not, come visit or stay away.&amp;nbsp; Although now my Status Updates are links to my fun blog posts, but again, click or don't.&amp;nbsp; It's up to you).&amp;nbsp; The point is, I stopped with all the stupid Status Updates.&amp;nbsp; Well... I at least stopped posting so many.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Then I started to go a little crazy with the kid pictures.&amp;nbsp; Yup.&amp;nbsp; I was one of &lt;em&gt;them.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;﻿We all have those Facebook "friends".&amp;nbsp; The ones who post 862 pictures of their kiddos every day.&amp;nbsp; Now I just post pics here and there, and the obligatory holiday shots.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;I see a lot of people posting pictures of their drinks and meals.&amp;nbsp; Now, I'm not a big drinker, but I'm pretty sure if I was, I still wouldn't swoon over a picture of a pink drink in a fancy glass.&amp;nbsp; Maybe I'm wrong.&amp;nbsp; The pink drink photo takers probably don't give a shit about my pics of my kids eating Popsicles either, so I guess it's all relative.&amp;nbsp; Drink up friends!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;There are the people who LOVE daring us to post something as our Status Update and leave it there for ONE HOUR.&amp;nbsp; They already &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;know&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; who will do it and who won't, but they want to see if they're right.&amp;nbsp; If&amp;nbsp; you know someone with autism, heartburn, cancer, PTSD, cat scratch fever, chronic back pain, hemorrhoids, hatred of Rosie O'Donnell you are supposed to "share this post".&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now don't get me wrong, I am a full supporter of all of these things (I actually went to see the Rosie O'Donnell show when she was on, and she was a bitch!).&amp;nbsp; BUT.&amp;nbsp; Who am I helping by sharing this post?&amp;nbsp; Anyone who has any of those afflictions couldn't care less what MY status update on Facebook says.&amp;nbsp; And you triple dog daring me to post it, just makes me want to post it even less.&amp;nbsp; Which is really impossible, because the second I read, "I know most of you won't do it, but....." I read on to the next post, which is usually something about the Red Sox sucking ass.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;This being said, I do re-post stuff, especially when there are cute kids&amp;nbsp;or animals involved.&amp;nbsp; Or Military causes.&amp;nbsp; I know, I know.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Then there are the people who have huge blowout fights on Facebook.&amp;nbsp; These I am instantly addicted to, so please keep those coming.&amp;nbsp; Especially the ones with F bombs scattered throughout.&amp;nbsp; I feel like this shows just how NOT friends we are with most of our Facebook friends.&amp;nbsp; Right?&amp;nbsp; I mean, if I am going to have a fight with a true friend, we are going to do it in person.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Or maybe on the phone, we really don't live that close.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well, maybe email because we're probably both really busy.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And really, texting is just so much easier.&amp;nbsp; And quicker too.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But never on Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If you are having a blowout with someone on Facebook (or repeated blowouts, &lt;strike&gt;which is even better&lt;/strike&gt;!), why the hell are you "friends" on Facebook anyways?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anyone?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anyone?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Don't get me wrong, I am a full out Facebook&amp;nbsp;fan.&amp;nbsp; I am also guilty of pretty much everything I just talked about, which is why it's OK for me to throw stones.&amp;nbsp; My house is most definitely made of glass ...&amp;nbsp;transparent, fragile, streaky,&amp;nbsp;little fingerprinted&amp;nbsp;glass.&amp;nbsp; And don't be mad if you realize you are one of those folks I'm talking about, I still look through all of your pictures&amp;nbsp;(liking most of them), read your status updates (and comment on them), and nod in agreement with most of what you write.&amp;nbsp; That's what Facebook is all about, the connections, the shared experiences, the life lines.....&amp;nbsp;It's fantastic!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What about you guys, why are you loving Facebook?&amp;nbsp; What drives you crazy?&amp;nbsp; Is it the bloggers, endlessly and shamelessly posting links to their blogs, begging you to visit, vote, comment?&amp;nbsp; They are so annoying, aren't they?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Will you please click on that pretty blinking box below? Just one vote, I'm up to number 24 out of 4500!&amp;nbsp; You guys rock!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/oZTqrDrQMnY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/4533776605344466624/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=4533776605344466624&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/4533776605344466624?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/4533776605344466624?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/oZTqrDrQMnY/i-love-facebook-no-i-do-really.html" title="I Love Facebook.  No, I Do, Really." /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fN_v2bsvQp8/T4TIT0ru6fI/AAAAAAAABHQ/EIwDm2PFMNI/s72-c/hackers.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/i-love-facebook-no-i-do-really.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcBQXs-eyp7ImA9WhVXEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-9194115787353183414</id><published>2012-04-10T09:42:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2012-04-10T18:47:30.553-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-10T18:47:30.553-04:00</app:edited><title>Pink or Blue?</title><content type="html">Boy or girl? Everyone wants to know what you’re having and what you want to have. I had always wanted a girl. I wanted to decorate the nursery with the cute bedding you see in the Potterybarn Kids catalog. I wanted to go shopping with my daughter, get pedicures, play with Barbie and help her plan her wedding. I already told you about the day we found out we were having twins. What a surprise! And back then, I completely put the ultrasound tech on the spot and asked her what she thought the sex was. She thought 2 boys, but it was still way too early to be sure. Of course it was, because I was having &lt;i&gt;at least &lt;/i&gt;one girl, if not two. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;I was doing what all expecting moms do, planning and preparing for the arrival of my little ones. I was always flipping through magazines, looking at cute nurseries, trying to narrow down the color palette we would use for ours. I LOVED the “Sophie” collection of bedding and décor in the Potterybarn catalog - White with pink, green and blue polka dots, matching rugs, blankets, hamper and crates. Adorable. There was also a cute navy and white scheme – nautical, with cute boats and anchors – very kid-preppy. Not sure the name of the collection. But I &lt;i&gt;loved &lt;/i&gt;the Sophie collection – so cute.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;I have mentioned before that I was lucky enough to get ultrasounds, and see my babies growing every month. It finally came time to find out whether we were having boys or girls, or one of each. We both took the whole day off from work. It was going to be a beautiful day, and we thought we would go into Boston afterwards, have lunch, do the Swan Boats, walk around a little bit – I know, aren’t we just the perfect couple, taking the perfect Spring day, strolling though the city…..yah, yah, yah. So we went in and I don’t really remember much of the appointment…yadda, yadda, yadda….we were having 2 boys. What? I was surprised; I had really thought I would at least have one girl, no? I mean, I was having twins, my chances were even better to have at least one girl. But the babies were growing and healthy and I saw their little spines and hands and everything was fantastic! After the appointment we called our friends and family to tell them the good news and went to Cheers for lunch. We went on the Swan Boats, vowing that we would make this a yearly tradition (no, of course we haven’t gone since….c’mon). We walked around Boston Common a little bit and then headed home. I’m sure I was swollen and tired and hungry (again). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;As the week went on, good friends would ask if I was upset about not having at least one girl, and would say, “Oh how perfect it would be to have one of each”. Let’s be honest, many of us have had that “wish” (for lack of a better word) - that vision of your son or daughter. The picture you’ve always had in your head. OF COURSE, we just want our children to be born healthy, no doubt. But I think for many people, they have that little wish to do x, y or z with their little one. They have had those visions of playing baseball with their son, or rocking their baby girl, in the pink Sophie nursery. I did. I will admit to one bad night, where I talked with Chris about my boys not remembering to call me on my birthday or Mother’s day. I wasn’t going to be able to plan a wedding, or shop for a wedding dress. I wouldn’t be able to buy all those adorable baby girl dresses or braid a little girl’s hair. There was going to be pee all over my bathroom and smelly socks all over my house. But then I had them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;How fun are boy&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nsQbYVb5J20/Tdgly2Ij7PI/AAAAAAAAAE4/-qsXArwEchw/s1600/IMG_0415.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;s?!?! One of my favorite things about this time of year is knowing just how much fun my boys had that day, by how dirty they are at bath time, before bed. They love getting dirty, playing with bugs and worms and salamanders. They love hitting the baseball, playing with the neighbor’s hockey sticks and Chris’ &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NYPsC49YrzY/Tdgn7fEmnSI/AAAAAAAAAFI/wcF0gmSYIlA/s1600/IMG_0414.JPG"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609277238796524834" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NYPsC49YrzY/Tdgn7fEmnSI/AAAAAAAAAFI/wcF0gmSYIlA/s200/IMG_0414.JPG" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;old lacrosse stick. They are little mini-Chris’ (which – how fun for him??) and love tools and trucks and loaders and figuring out how things work. I find myself looking to point out all of the bulldozers, loaders and excavators in town, even when the boys aren’t in the car with me. They play landscaper and pretend to be John and Timmy. They play doctor and pretend to be Dr. Odenheimer. Sometimes they pretend to be the Avatar, fighting the Fire Nation. It’s all very cute to watch. They snuggle with me - give me hugs, and the best fish-lip kisses a mom could ask for. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;As different as they are, they have very similar interests and enjoy doing many of the same things – with each other, which is adorable and helps to keep me sane. They are little buddies and tell people, that Michael/Brennan is their “best brother”. I know that is the luck of the draw to some extent, that their relationship could have been very different, despite them both being boys. If I had had a boy and a girl, I’m sure they would have had an equally adorable relationship. Maybe she would have loved Barbie, he would have loved trucks. Maybe they would have both loved trucks or maybe they would have both loved Barbies. Who knows? And 2 girls? How fun that would have been too. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;But I am SO glad I have 2 boys – 2 little buddies, MY 2 little buddies. They are so fun, and they can share clothes and toys and a love of dirt, what more could I ask for??? I am also lucky enough to have 2 beautiful nieces, who I’m sure will let me paint their nails, and take them shopping. I bet they’ll let me tag along when they go wedding dress shopping too. My sister in law has promised me, that she will be sure to remind the boys to call me on my birthday and get me a Mother's Day card too. I am excited to raise my boys to be good men, I can’t wait to see how they turn out – what they decide to be, who they decide to be with. This morning, Michael wanted to be a “rocket-ship pilot”, Brennan, a “hockey player like Zander” across the street – he’s 8. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;I’m sure there will be times they forget to call me on my birthday, but I know the men in my life will always take good care of me. I love seeing little girls running around in their cute pink outfits, but I love seeing my boys covered in dirt, waving sticks in the air, picking every last dandelion in the yard and giving it to me. I wouldn’t have it any other way!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1072597116916914470-9194115787353183414?l=www.mytwintasticlife.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/ki9eLN-fap0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/9194115787353183414/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=9194115787353183414&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/9194115787353183414?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/9194115787353183414?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/ki9eLN-fap0/boy-or-girl-everyone-wants-to-know-what_21.html" title="Pink or Blue?" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NYPsC49YrzY/Tdgn7fEmnSI/AAAAAAAAAFI/wcF0gmSYIlA/s72-c/IMG_0414.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/05/boy-or-girl-everyone-wants-to-know-what_21.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIFQnwzeSp7ImA9WhVQF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-3922421792478865389</id><published>2012-04-05T19:16:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2012-04-06T14:38:33.281-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-06T14:38:33.281-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="easter" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="easter bunnies" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting" /><title>Happy Easter....A Little Bit Early.</title><content type="html">&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bLCITI5zd6A/T34nZWvLIwI/AAAAAAAABGQ/_ml3qYZmchE/s1600/easter.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200px" nda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bLCITI5zd6A/T34nZWvLIwI/AAAAAAAABGQ/_ml3qYZmchE/s200/easter.JPG" width="150px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Poor Bunny, had ME&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;on his lap!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;I know it's not Easter yet, but let's face it, if I don't get my &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;Easter Post&lt;/a&gt; in now, it just ain't gonna happen.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was thinking about trying to teach the boys about the real meaning of Easter.&amp;nbsp; But I decided after the debacle of trying to explain the &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/12/re-runper-your-request_15.html"&gt;religious meaning of Christmas&lt;/a&gt; this year,&amp;nbsp;I would wait one more year.&amp;nbsp; We have time.&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
At Christmas, all the boys took away from my explanation was that a &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/12/re-runper-your-request_15.html"&gt;Baby Cheese&lt;/a&gt; was killed by bad guys like the Fire Nation in The Last Airbender.&amp;nbsp; Yah, it was quite a miss.&amp;nbsp; Jeez, can you&amp;nbsp;imagine what they would take away from any sort of Easter explanation?&amp;nbsp; Yah, I'm going to wait.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So I started thinking about the Easter Bunny, and all the &lt;strike&gt;crap&lt;/strike&gt; treats he is going to bring to our house this year.&amp;nbsp; I thought about how difficult it probably is for The Bunny to carry all of those Easter Baskets all around the world.&amp;nbsp; I bet all sorts of stuff falls out.&amp;nbsp; Especially since he's jumping all over the place like a fool.&amp;nbsp; Poor guy.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then I started thinking about all of the other famous bunnies there are.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
﻿ &lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vPMpjdHp5PA/T34Yt0R3kJI/AAAAAAAABFY/FbxUMiOEwco/s1600/easter+bunny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" nda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vPMpjdHp5PA/T34Yt0R3kJI/AAAAAAAABFY/FbxUMiOEwco/s1600/easter+bunny.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;What?&amp;nbsp; This isn't who your kids&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;sit with at the mall for their&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;pictures?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Shit!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ I mean, there's the obvious &lt;strong&gt;Easter Bunny&lt;/strong&gt;.&amp;nbsp; He brings all the &lt;strike&gt;crap&lt;/strike&gt; goodies and hides all the eggs.&amp;nbsp; When I was a kid, he hid eggs filled with coins and jelly beans.&amp;nbsp; He does that at our house too, but I usually don't remember to get enough shiny quarters so the boys get whatever change I can dig out from the bottom of my pocketbook.&amp;nbsp; And/or more jelly beans.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am always surprised by how much my kids love the mall Easter Bunny too.&amp;nbsp; They will get their picture taken with him every year, although I have to go with them.&amp;nbsp; I think it helps that the Easter Bunny we go visit doesn't look like the one over there on the side.&amp;nbsp; When I googled "Easter Bunny", some pretty creepy pictures came up.&amp;nbsp; But I'm going to save that for my special Easter Sunday post.&amp;nbsp; Think of this guy, as a special sneak peek.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xYgvNGVbSu4/T34bXwPelXI/AAAAAAAABFg/RtU1l34_olE/s1600/bugs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200px" nda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xYgvNGVbSu4/T34bXwPelXI/AAAAAAAABFg/RtU1l34_olE/s200/bugs.jpg" width="141px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Then we have &lt;strong&gt;Bugs Bunny&lt;/strong&gt;.&amp;nbsp; Wise talking, somewhat violent bunny, always fighting with his friends, shooting them in the face and ass.&amp;nbsp; Pretty amusing, but kind of an asshole.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eY54YX_FzQc/T34cLwgTzTI/AAAAAAAABFo/3xHH--Ri550/s1600/peter+rabbit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200px" nda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eY54YX_FzQc/T34cLwgTzTI/AAAAAAAABFo/3xHH--Ri550/s200/peter+rabbit.jpg" width="151px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;There's&lt;strong&gt; Peter Rabbit&lt;/strong&gt;.&amp;nbsp; He's the famous Beatrix Potter bunny, who is always f*cking with Mr. MacGregor, stealing his carrots and cabbage.&amp;nbsp; He's generally a good bunny, old school mischievious, always getting himself into "predicaments".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pQZ6XLj4M6s/T34eRRtLIOI/AAAAAAAABFw/llz0mASYjII/s1600/jenny+mccarthy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="149px" nda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pQZ6XLj4M6s/T34eRRtLIOI/AAAAAAAABFw/llz0mASYjII/s200/jenny+mccarthy.jpg" width="200px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;We also have the various &lt;strong&gt;Playboy Bunnies&lt;/strong&gt;.&amp;nbsp; I have Jenny McCarthy's picture over there and while I think her views on Autism are a bit off, I actually really like her.&amp;nbsp; Her books about being pregnant and having babies are HILARIOUS, and if you haven't read them, you NEED TO!&amp;nbsp; She has a few, Belly Laughs, Baby Laughs and Life Laughs - all quick and funny reads.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zjxoxVmM2pI/T34gDmlZhzI/AAAAAAAABF4/4zAqSwkyj4Y/s1600/cadbury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" nda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zjxoxVmM2pI/T34gDmlZhzI/AAAAAAAABF4/4zAqSwkyj4Y/s1600/cadbury.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;The&lt;strong&gt; Cadbury Bunny&lt;/strong&gt; is one of my favorites, because of my unhealthy obsession with Cadbury Mini Eggs.&amp;nbsp; I think if you told me that Cadbury Mini Eggs actually came out of the Cadbury bunny's ass, I would still eat them.&amp;nbsp; Don't judge, I bet you would join me.&amp;nbsp; You know they are delicious.&amp;nbsp; And laced with something that makes you eat an entire one pound bag in one sitting.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--BAsuINpKZY/T34glPrVAAI/AAAAAAAABGA/-ktxCn7aiko/s1600/energizer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200px" nda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--BAsuINpKZY/T34glPrVAAI/AAAAAAAABGA/-ktxCn7aiko/s200/energizer.jpg" width="147px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;This idiot.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-li1yOgg54OY/T34hhqHZc0I/AAAAAAAABGI/XMDTkyDC6SU/s1600/max.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="166px" nda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-li1yOgg54OY/T34hhqHZc0I/AAAAAAAABGI/XMDTkyDC6SU/s200/max.jpg" width="200px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;And I'm going to end with &lt;strong&gt;Max from Max and Ruby&lt;/strong&gt;.&amp;nbsp; You may not know him, but he's&amp;nbsp;a little wiseguy bunny from Nickelodeon, who apparently has no parents and is being raised by his sister and their grandmother who lives in another house.&amp;nbsp; I like him because he is always quietly giving his sister shit.&amp;nbsp; I like his style.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So there you have it.&amp;nbsp; My Ode to Easter.&amp;nbsp; I hope you all have a fantastic Easter and are successful in picking up every single piece of that god damn Easter Grass that your kids are going to throw all over your house.&amp;nbsp; I use one of the boys toy rakes to get it all up. There's my Easter tip for you.&amp;nbsp; Don't say I never gave you anything!&amp;nbsp; Since I did, would you mind giving me a vote?&amp;nbsp; Come on, that is a great tip!&amp;nbsp; It really works!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/c8btSWvtR9c" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/3922421792478865389/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=3922421792478865389&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/3922421792478865389?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/3922421792478865389?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/c8btSWvtR9c/happy-eastera-little-bit-early.html" title="Happy Easter....A Little Bit Early." /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bLCITI5zd6A/T34nZWvLIwI/AAAAAAAABGQ/_ml3qYZmchE/s72-c/easter.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/happy-eastera-little-bit-early.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEAGQ388fSp7ImA9WhVQFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-7235730359355649818</id><published>2012-04-04T19:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-04-04T19:38:42.175-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-04T19:38:42.175-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twintastic" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="target" /><title>Brittney Marie and Miss Target 2011</title><content type="html">So it seems that lately, I have been talking a lot about my Target escapades, and I've referenced Target Mom and Brittney Marie a few times.&amp;nbsp; I have gotten a bunch of emails and messages asking me who Brittney Marie is and is my Target Mom the same Target Mom they know.&amp;nbsp; While I'm sure we all have our own "Target Moms", I decided to re-post my original post so we can all get to know little Brittney Marie and her Mom.&amp;nbsp; You tell me if we know the same "Target Mom".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RhdWMeZJTOs/T3zbRqz1PVI/AAAAAAAABFE/gm9_-mv4LAs/s1600/melissa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320px" nda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RhdWMeZJTOs/T3zbRqz1PVI/AAAAAAAABFE/gm9_-mv4LAs/s320/melissa.jpg" width="133px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;To Target?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Really?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;I was at Target yesterday.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I could start every entry like that.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I know a lot of people like Target.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I LOVE Target.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;It’s 4 minutes from my house (yes I timed it when we were thinking about buying this house) and I go there A LOT.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I go when I need stuff, I go when I don’t.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;And of course, I always leave with bags of stuff.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;My mother had taken the boys for the afternoon, so I was by myself, and where did I go?&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Target. &lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Kinda sad, I know.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;But I did need some stuff, and going without the boys is always easier, so I grabbed my cart and started my leisurely stroll through the store.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;So I come up behind this girl and a littler girl. The littler girl is maybe just 3 years old (if that) and is rifling through the shelves in the makeup section.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I couldn’t tell if the older girl was a 20-something babysitter or the mom.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I decided she was the mom, and that she looked like one of the moms from Real Housewives of New Jersey. (Disclaimer:&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;NOTHING wrong with RHONJ, one of my favorite shows!) She had long, wavy dark hair, spike heel boots, jeggings (which, I’m sorry, I don’t think many people can pull those off, this girl included) tons of make up and perfume.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Now, I have a cold right now, and I could still smell that perfume from the front door of the store.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;She was decked out - at Target, on a cold, dreary, rainy day at 3:15 on a Tuesday.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I was lucky I brushed my teeth. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;I decided she was the mom, because you could tell she was very used to using her cute daughter as another accessory – talking loudly to her, as to attract attention to her and her daughter – “Look at how cute, my daughter and I are”.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I can’t stand those moms.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;We see you, how can we not&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vvzmcq2n-vI/TdPoGluG2BI/AAAAAAAAADA/yq7EmEj5qmQ/s1600/cell.jpg"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608081160908757010" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vvzmcq2n-vI/TdPoGluG2BI/AAAAAAAAADA/yq7EmEj5qmQ/s200/cell.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 150px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;?&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;And yes, your daughter is adorable and we love your low lights, your boots and your bedazzled iPhone.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Now get out of my way, I need light bulbs.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; (I will admit, I kinda want a sparkly iPhone case now though) &lt;span style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;** Update:&amp;nbsp; I have indeed bought myself a pink and silver, bedazzled iPhone case.&amp;nbsp; My&amp;nbsp;Mom&amp;nbsp;is embarrassed every time I whip it out.**&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;She was not paying any attention to the trail of mess her daughter was leaving in their wake, which is also very annoying to me.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Maybe it’s my past retail experience, but I’m super aware of any mess my kids make, and make sure to put everything back in the right place (years of “fronting” lotion at Bath and Body Works, I guess).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Then I watched the mom turn down an aisle.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;“C’mon Brittney”, she said, without even turning around to see where her kid was or what she was doing.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Of course, Brittney wanted to stay right there and play with the makeup bag and tweezer display – those bags could go SO far, when thrown! So then the mom comes back and starts yelling, “Brittney Marie, you come over here RIGHT NOW”.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;No response from Brittney Marie.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;“I am going to give you to the count of 3, or we’re going home!”&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bh91qmZIoZs/T3zZY0vMCBI/AAAAAAAABE8/919JcjDDtAY/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200px" nda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bh91qmZIoZs/T3zZY0vMCBI/AAAAAAAABE8/919JcjDDtAY/s200/cover.jpg" width="190px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;See, I'm no better than her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;It's cute though, huh?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;I stopped in my tracks and pretended to look at the greeting cards in front of me.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I LOVE watching parents make this empty threat.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I am guilty of it myself, although I have also been the mom to leave my cart FILLED with groceries at customer service and walk my kids right to the car!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;That’s why I can &lt;s&gt;judge,&lt;/s&gt;&amp;nbsp;watch.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;She counted to 3 and the daughter took off!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It’s on!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The mom proceeded to chase her daughter through the makeup section of the store!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Jackpot!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;This was even better than I thought it would be!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;The daughter was screaming and crying and laughing (who wouldn’t) while her mother chased her in 4 inch heels, aisle after aisle.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I chuckled to myself as mom caught up with her and said, “Let’s go look at the toys”.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;And there it is.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;I continued my shopping, and continued to bump into Miss Target 2011 and her cute accessory.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Each time, mom was yelling for her to keep up and keep walking or they were going to leave – to stop the whining/crying/nose picking/throwing or they were going to leave.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I was not surprised when I would bump into her in another part of the store a few minutes later.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I knew they weren’t leaving, plus I could hear the girl screaming and crying 12 aisles away.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;SO weird, she never left - she kept promising to. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"&gt;We all have those trips.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;We have been &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;that&lt;/i&gt; mom, the one who everyone is looking at, wondering why she even brings those devil children out in public.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Sometimes you just need to get shit done, so you deal with it.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Don’t you want to just yell, “I am NOT &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;that&lt;/i&gt; mom, I &lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"&gt;do&lt;/b&gt; discipline my kids, but I really need milk, so I HAVE to stay in line!”? I am very lucky, and for the most part, my kids are pretty well behaved.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;But we do have our moments like Miss Target 2011.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;So while I &lt;s style="text-line-through: double;"&gt;judge &lt;/s&gt;, watch her here, I usually give that poor mom in the store a compassionate glance.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Or I give the mom, dragging her devilish kids out to the car a secret thumbs up for removing them from the scene.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;We’ve all been there.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;If you haven’t (lucky duck) and you see me or some other mom crying in line at some store, while her kids are screaming and throwing light bulbs out of the cart….please just be patient, we’ll be out of your lives in a few minutes.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;But this poor mom has to go home with these kids, and sit in the dark because she can’t find the light bulbs. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/0fxrbtsdC8o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/7235730359355649818/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=7235730359355649818&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/7235730359355649818?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/7235730359355649818?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/0fxrbtsdC8o/brittney-marie-and-miss-target-2011.html" title="Brittney Marie and Miss Target 2011" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RhdWMeZJTOs/T3zbRqz1PVI/AAAAAAAABFE/gm9_-mv4LAs/s72-c/melissa.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/brittney-marie-and-miss-target-2011.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUBQno4eSp7ImA9WhVQFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-332851751586167468</id><published>2012-04-03T19:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-04-03T19:37:33.431-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-03T19:37:33.431-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny blogs" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="creepers" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twins" /><title>Every Day is April Fool's Day For Me!</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;So I missed April Fool’s Day. Well, I mean, I didn’t miss it, but I missed my chance at writing a hilarious post about all of the fools out there. Luckily for you, I’ve been to Target A LOT in the last 24 hours, which in turn means I still have plenty of good material about fools.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal" id="yui_3_2_0_1_13334857209281623"&gt;&lt;span id="yui_3_2_0_1_13334857209281622" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;I was lucky enough to be there 3 times yesterday alone. Twice with a migraine. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Don’t be jealous. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;My first trip was to get my prescription for my migraine as well as Easter Basket goodies. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;My second trip was to get my prescription for my migraine because&amp;nbsp;I forgot it the first time.&amp;nbsp; I am a genius.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;My third trip was to return Easter basket&amp;nbsp;goodies because I got all the same stuff my Mother had gotten.&amp;nbsp; Great minds think alike? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jIz0qmxw3Aw/T3t-QZQWIiI/AAAAAAAABEU/nGjJaeqj3-g/s1600/matching.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" dea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jIz0qmxw3Aw/T3t-QZQWIiI/AAAAAAAABEU/nGjJaeqj3-g/s1600/matching.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;But lets get&amp;nbsp;back to the fools. While I was perusing the toy section, I kept bumping into this Mom with her&amp;nbsp;18 month old daughter. The first time I saw them they were walking down the aisle, hand in hand, wearing matching rain coats and matching rain boots. It was &lt;s&gt;ridonkulous&lt;/s&gt; adorable.&amp;nbsp; (And the fact that I dress my kids alike is different, so don't go there.&amp;nbsp; Plus I know I have a problem, which is half the battle.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;The Mom&amp;nbsp;seemed bizarre to me too.&amp;nbsp; Not in my usual judgy, bitchy way, but legitimately bizarre.&amp;nbsp; She &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;was one of those ones that talks really loud to her&amp;nbsp;child for &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;your &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;benefit. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;“Come on sweetie, we can’t bring dolly home with us today, she needs to stay here with her little dolly friends.&amp;nbsp; Bye-bye dolly.&amp;nbsp; No, Hil, she can't come home with us today.&amp;nbsp; Come on please, this way.&amp;nbsp; This way, Hil.&amp;nbsp; Come on.&amp;nbsp; This way Hil.&amp;nbsp; H&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;il?”&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Translation, "I am a fantastic Mom that &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;really&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; interacts with her child, and enjoys watching her &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;experience&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; everything in this world, despite the number of things that I need to get done.&amp;nbsp; Her learning is more important, so watch me as I model perfect parenting.&amp;nbsp; It seems like she's the one in control, based on her not listening to me at all, but it's all part of my parenting style."&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;You don't need to talk loudly for me lady.&amp;nbsp; I see you honey.&amp;nbsp; How can I not?&amp;nbsp; You are dressed like a 2 year old, and your daughter is standing directly in front of my cart so I can’t get by, which you think is just adorable.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Now can you please move your Mini Me out of my way so I can buy my kids Easter swords?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;And of course, like &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/05/i-was-at-target-yesterday.html"&gt;Brittney Marie&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;and her Mom, they were around every corner.&amp;nbsp; Acting weird.&amp;nbsp; Freaking me out.&amp;nbsp; I mean, have you seen those parents, the ones that act like NO OTHER PARENT YOU'VE EVER SEEN?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I actually convinced myself that Little&amp;nbsp;Miss Rainy Day had been kidnapped by this bizarre woman, Jayee Dugard style.&amp;nbsp; In each aisle, this lady would have this little girl doing something different.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;In one aisle, she was carrying her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;In the next aisle, she was giving her a piggy back (No&amp;nbsp;lie.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Have you EVER done that while you were shopping?&amp;nbsp; Don't we just want to get in and out without forgetting anything?) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;In the next aisle she was in the cart filled with stuff (which was no where to be found in the last 3 aisles I had seen them in.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;And of course in line in front of me.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Littly Miss Rainy Day was still in the main part of the carriage while her "Mother" (because yes, by this time, I&amp;nbsp;had decided that this child was not hers and I&amp;nbsp;was witnessing some sort of future&amp;nbsp;Dateline episode unfolding) helped her to put each and everyone of her&amp;nbsp;150 items on the belt, one at a time.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Really?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Really?&amp;nbsp; I get letting your kid help, but start putting your shit on the cart already.&amp;nbsp; I can already tell the &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/06/creepers-and-typhoid-tommys.html"&gt;Creeper&lt;/a&gt; behind me is getting ancy, and that I am going to have to huff and puff, while he and his fat pre-teen&amp;nbsp;daughter unload their shit on the belt prematurely.&amp;nbsp; So can we get a move on?&amp;nbsp; Can you take your kidnapped child and get the hell out of my way please?&amp;nbsp; And for the record, it's not raining.&amp;nbsp; So you can ditch your matching outfits too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Then the&amp;nbsp;woman ringing her up, asked the question I was dreading.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;"Would you like a sticker?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Great.&amp;nbsp; You just know this isn't going to be a quick "sure, thank you", like it is when&amp;nbsp;they ask us.&amp;nbsp; Take the sticker and stick it on the carriage just like every other kids does, and be on your way.&amp;nbsp; Please.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;The Kidnapper looked at her abductee with a ridiculously big smile and gasped "Oh my goodness, a sticker?!?!?!?&amp;nbsp; Would you like a sticker, Sweetie?&amp;nbsp; Hil?&amp;nbsp; Do you want a sticker?&amp;nbsp; Say 'yes please' if you want a sticker. Honey?&amp;nbsp; Do you want a sticker?&amp;nbsp; Hil, if you want a sticker, you need to say yes, please."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;I am pretty certain that between my migraine and the insanity&amp;nbsp;that was unfolding in front of me, actual laser beams were shooting out of my eyes and steam was blowing out of my ears.&amp;nbsp; Take the f*cking sticker Hil!&amp;nbsp; It has the Target dog on it.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Take the sticker.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;She took the sticker.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;I know you are relieved to hear how that part turned out.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Then as she held Hil, by the back of her hood, while she stood in the main part of cart, I thought to myself, "You shouldn't let your kidnapped kid stand up there, she's going to fall the second you move that carriage."&amp;nbsp; And sure enough, she totally clotheslined her own kidnapped child.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Poor little Hill&amp;nbsp;fell forward while her "mom" was holding onto her hood.&amp;nbsp; Cue the wailing.&amp;nbsp; Can it get any better?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Sure it can.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;I know&amp;nbsp;you would really love for this to be the end of my post, but we haven't even talked about my latest &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/06/creepers-and-typhoid-tommys.html"&gt;Creeper&lt;/a&gt;, the Father-Daughter Duo.&amp;nbsp; They were equally aggravated with this lunatic woman, although I doubt they knew she was a kidnapper, like I did.&amp;nbsp; The father was a really tall, hairy man.&amp;nbsp; His daughter was a tall, overweight-but-wearing-a-tight-short-shirt-that-shows-off-her-muffin-top-beautifully type of girl.&amp;nbsp; She was chomping on the Doritos that she apparently couldn't wait to pay for and talking about wanting new Uggs.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;The cashier rang&amp;nbsp;up my stuff, and I watched as the&amp;nbsp;girl furiously tried to put that little bar separator thing up so our stuff didn't get mixed up.&amp;nbsp; The father had to tell her twice to relax, that my stuff was already rung up and that the cashier knew that stuff was theirs.&amp;nbsp; Then the cashier had to tell her that once her stuff hit the edge,&amp;nbsp;the belt&amp;nbsp;would stop moving.&amp;nbsp; This girl was in a sheer panic that their box of Ziploc bags was going to get too close to my Captain America shields.&amp;nbsp; What she &lt;em&gt;should&lt;/em&gt; be worrying about, is that she is a 12 year old girl, who is the size of an overweight 30 year old.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jKdBR-OyKEU/T3uEHiO1SqI/AAAAAAAABEc/XPtDrnJ6jEU/s1600/dirty+looks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" dea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jKdBR-OyKEU/T3uEHiO1SqI/AAAAAAAABEc/XPtDrnJ6jEU/s1600/dirty+looks.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;So I&amp;nbsp;put my bags in my cart and went to pay.&amp;nbsp; But as we all know about Creepers, she was already standing in the way of the card swiper.&amp;nbsp; I said excuse me, but she didn't move.&amp;nbsp; She just looked at me.&amp;nbsp; Wishing death upon me for allowing my Captain America Shield anywhere near her Ziploc bags.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;I will have to say that since she was twice my size, I was a little bit intimidated.&amp;nbsp; But then I remembered I had 2 shields and&amp;nbsp;a foam sword, so I was all set.&amp;nbsp; I moved in front of her, you know, to shield my pin number from the pre-teen, and paid for my Easter weapons.&amp;nbsp; I heard her mumble something to her father and I walked away.&amp;nbsp; But not before looking back at her with my yah-keep-eating-those-Doritos look.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;I know, I am&amp;nbsp;quite mature.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;But there is more......the cherry on top.....the &lt;span class="st"&gt;Pièce de résistance....don't worry, this will be quick.&amp;nbsp; And really, what else do you have to be doing anyways?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;I walked out to my car and just guess who was parked right next to me and&amp;nbsp;still there.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Singing.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;It was the freaky Kidnapper and her freaky Mini Me.&amp;nbsp; Just sitting in&amp;nbsp;their car, singing together.&amp;nbsp; I felt like I was on that TV show, What Would You Do?&amp;nbsp; There just had to be cameras around, right?&amp;nbsp; John?&amp;nbsp; Mr. Quinones?&amp;nbsp; Are you here?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UIyuK7Q-Rtw/T3uEk-EXRII/AAAAAAAABEk/NcegcNt6xj0/s1600/quinones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" dea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UIyuK7Q-Rtw/T3uEk-EXRII/AAAAAAAABEk/NcegcNt6xj0/s1600/quinones.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="yiv43683017MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;So when you see the next What Would You Do show, and see a woman with squinty migraine eyes, being quetioned by John Quinones in the parking lot about why&amp;nbsp;she didn't save the poor little girl who had been kidnapped, cut me some slack and know that I didn't feel well.&amp;nbsp; And I was being smothered by a Creeper at the register.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
And don't forget....you can vote for me every day!&amp;nbsp; It really does make my day you know!&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/BPnyXDqw2fs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/332851751586167468/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=332851751586167468&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/332851751586167468?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/332851751586167468?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/BPnyXDqw2fs/every-day-is-april-fools-day-for-me.html" title="Every Day is April Fool's Day For Me!" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jIz0qmxw3Aw/T3t-QZQWIiI/AAAAAAAABEU/nGjJaeqj3-g/s72-c/matching.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/04/every-day-is-april-fools-day-for-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0AHR30_fip7ImA9WhVRGU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-4274262658031998973</id><published>2012-03-28T07:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-03-28T07:55:36.346-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-28T07:55:36.346-04:00</app:edited><title>Can't We All Just Get Along?</title><content type="html">&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xRW94hVKtyQ/T3JfDJ_2rWI/AAAAAAAABDg/eO9Hszn1i5o/s1600/watch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" dea="true" height="200px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xRW94hVKtyQ/T3JfDJ_2rWI/AAAAAAAABDg/eO9Hszn1i5o/s200/watch.jpg" width="200px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;It says right in the sign they &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;report &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;suspicious activity.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Not follow it around.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;By now, we have all heard about the horribly tragic case in Florida involving Trayvon Martin, the 17 year old boy who was shot dead by George Zimmerman, neighborhood watch member.&amp;nbsp; Neighborhood Watch Member?&amp;nbsp; Do I capitalize that?&amp;nbsp; Is that a real position or title that needs capitalization?&amp;nbsp; Maybe if you're a gun wielding Neighborhood Watch Member, it gets capitalized....I'm not sure of the etiquette. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Regardless of my capitalization, a 17 year old is dead and George Zimmerman is one of the most hated men in America right now.&amp;nbsp; I heard on talk radio today that 73% of Americans think he should be &lt;strike&gt;shot&lt;/strike&gt; arrested.&amp;nbsp; Imagine being &lt;em&gt;that &lt;/em&gt;guy?&amp;nbsp; Sitting on your couch, just &lt;em&gt;knowing&lt;/em&gt; that much of the country hates you?&amp;nbsp; I can't stand it if I think my Mom is pissed at me for an hour.&amp;nbsp; Geesh.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anywho, I'm not going to get into who's right, who's wrong, and whether Geraldo Rivera should apologize for saying Trayvon was killed because he was wearing a hoodie.&amp;nbsp; Does &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;anyone &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;out there even care what Geraldo Rivera&amp;nbsp;says anymore?&amp;nbsp; Isn't he very 80's at this point?&amp;nbsp; That moustache?&amp;nbsp; Who listens to a&amp;nbsp;guy with that moustache?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S7_ysujMQ08/T3JTHHfMe0I/AAAAAAAABC4/FYebcu19p9o/s1600/burt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" dea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S7_ysujMQ08/T3JTHHfMe0I/AAAAAAAABC4/FYebcu19p9o/s1600/burt.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Oops, that's not Geraldo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jk5cvxBQ53s/T3JTUyQUmmI/AAAAAAAABDA/VbIIx9lUXOY/s1600/moustache.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" dea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jk5cvxBQ53s/T3JTUyQUmmI/AAAAAAAABDA/VbIIx9lUXOY/s1600/moustache.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Woops, that's not him &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;either.&amp;nbsp; Sorry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qs6nnaW6NWY/T3JYabj2xiI/AAAAAAAABDQ/1YcfSG2zH8E/s1600/walrus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" dea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qs6nnaW6NWY/T3JYabj2xiI/AAAAAAAABDQ/1YcfSG2zH8E/s1600/walrus.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Damn it, what is wrong with &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;my computer....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7nrsYeArDEg/T3JTi0p2_xI/AAAAAAAABDI/1LQ4kY0QNLo/s1600/geraldo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" dea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7nrsYeArDEg/T3JTi0p2_xI/AAAAAAAABDI/1LQ4kY0QNLo/s1600/geraldo.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;There he is.&amp;nbsp; Much better.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;What was I talking about?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Right, a 17 year old kid shot to death.&amp;nbsp; And yes, I am going to call him a &lt;strong&gt;kid&lt;/strong&gt; because he IS a &lt;strong&gt;kid&lt;/strong&gt;.&amp;nbsp; I think there are many 21, 25, 27 year olds out there who are still "kids".&amp;nbsp; But this one is gone.&amp;nbsp; And&amp;nbsp;there are friends and family&amp;nbsp;suffering and it sucks for everyone involved.&amp;nbsp; I don't know what this kid did to Mr. Zimmerman.&amp;nbsp; Now it's sounding like there was some sort of fight, but Trayvon may have been wondering why this stranger was following him.&amp;nbsp; We just don't know.&amp;nbsp; But I just keep wondering what the outcome would have been if Mr. Zimmerman had just stayed in his house and let the police check things out.&amp;nbsp; Do you think he is wondering that?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-78If0bJaMgs/T3JeTmLoyXI/AAAAAAAABDY/1haDPwuLUyA/s1600/nosey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" dea="true" height="155px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-78If0bJaMgs/T3JeTmLoyXI/AAAAAAAABDY/1haDPwuLUyA/s200/nosey.jpg" width="200px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I will be the first to admit that I am one nosey bitch.&amp;nbsp; I know.&amp;nbsp; It's shocking, right?&amp;nbsp; I am always looking to see whose car door that was, or what the noisy-ass dog next door is barking at or who that "kid" is, walking in &lt;em&gt;my &lt;/em&gt;neighborhood with his pit bull.&amp;nbsp; And yes, there was one night that I called the police, because a car full of "kids" parked in front of my house at 11:30 at night and started wandering around my yard while I was home alone with my kids.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;But you would do that too, right?&amp;nbsp; No?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
BUT...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I didn't go outside and start following them around.&amp;nbsp; (although in the stories I tell my friends, I may have embellished a little bit to sound like a bad-ass).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I didn't grab my gun and follow them after the 911 dispatcher told me he didn't need me to do that (although I did grab a knife from the kitchen,&amp;nbsp;peer through the curtains to watch every move these creeps made,&amp;nbsp;and imagine what my&amp;nbsp;game plan would be if&amp;nbsp;I heard them trying to get in through the back door.&amp;nbsp; But don't we all do that?&amp;nbsp; No?&amp;nbsp; Again?&amp;nbsp; Really???).&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Because I assumed 911 didn't &lt;em&gt;need&lt;/em&gt; me to do that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I assumed it &lt;em&gt;wasn't my job&lt;/em&gt; to do that.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nor did I &lt;em&gt;want&lt;/em&gt; to do that, because I didn't want to get myself into a dangerous situation.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And I'm pretty sure the Po Po doesn't need a big mouthed Mom, talking like a bad-ass but then running for her life when things got heated.&amp;nbsp; (Although the whole situation would make for a fantastic blog post, don't you think?&amp;nbsp; Especially because&amp;nbsp;I am sure &lt;em&gt;my &lt;/em&gt;perps were just&amp;nbsp;a bunch of "kids" trying to party in the woods or something, and I would undoubtedly look like a giant fool.&amp;nbsp; Sure, now you agree with me.)&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But you never know, and I tend to get a little creeped out if I'm home by myself.&amp;nbsp; I can't deny a call here or there to Chris asking him to come home because I thought there was&amp;nbsp;a murderer/possessed tree/dingo and/or alien in the house.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As more and more information comes out, it sounds like there was a lot of poor decision making going on that night.&amp;nbsp; And as always, we don't know the whole story.&amp;nbsp; Every day, there are new details emerging, new witnesses, new loud-mouths in the media, firing everyone up with their moustaches and crazy talk.&amp;nbsp; And we all &lt;em&gt;react.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;How could we not?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How about this?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How about we all mind our own business?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How about we leave the policing to the police?&amp;nbsp; I mean, it's right &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;in &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;the word.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How about we all treat each other with respect?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How about we look for the good in people before assuming that everyone is out to get us?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How about we do what the police tell us to do, and not walk directly into a&amp;nbsp;sticky situation?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
How about we &lt;em&gt;not &lt;/em&gt;include the crazy guy&amp;nbsp;with the gun&amp;nbsp;who lives down the street into our Neighborhood Watch?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I mean, let's use our heads people.&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
OK, stop laughing. Yes, I did just hear myself.&amp;nbsp; I will be the first to admit that this is&amp;nbsp;would not be&amp;nbsp;easy.&amp;nbsp; Especially for me.&amp;nbsp; What the hell would I write about?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;strike&gt;My whole day,&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;strike&gt;half my day&lt;/strike&gt;,&amp;nbsp; part of my day would be&amp;nbsp;shot.&amp;nbsp; I'd have to start reading books, writing poetry or volunteering or something.&amp;nbsp; The horror......&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And quite frankly, there is no way in H E L L that I am taking my eye off the lunatic that lives&amp;nbsp;a few&amp;nbsp;doors down from us.&amp;nbsp; I am convinced that he is up to no good, and while I am not going follow him&amp;nbsp;around at&amp;nbsp;night, I will catch him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Doing something.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
OK, I am quite sure that in reality, his only crime&amp;nbsp;will be letting&amp;nbsp;his his annoying little dog crap on our neighbor/friends lawn, while claiming it isn't him, but I have my eye on him none the less.&amp;nbsp; We live in a neighborhood where many of us know each other, and I'd like to think we all look out for each other. I don't know what extremes my neighbors would go to, in order to protect me.&amp;nbsp; But I don't know what extremes I would &lt;em&gt;want&lt;/em&gt; them to go to either. If there's a weirdo trying to talk to my kids, do I want them to come over and check it out?&amp;nbsp; Sure.&amp;nbsp; Do I want them to start following people around the neighborhood, while packing heat?&amp;nbsp; I don't know that I do. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Regardless of how you feel about this case, or who you think was wrong, or what you would have done differently (because don't we all think we would do just the right thing, if that were us?), the fact remains that someone is dead and that is a shame.&amp;nbsp; Plain and simple.&amp;nbsp; Maybe we can all just step back, take a deep breath and get back to playing Draw Something and never mind what Floosie Susie is doing down the street.&amp;nbsp; Although, did you hear that she....... ahem....never mind.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just sayin'......&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
On a lighter note, will you vote&amp;nbsp;for me please?&amp;nbsp; It only takes one quick click.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;That's all.&amp;nbsp; I was #7&amp;nbsp;today, in the Humor section, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, thank you, thank you, thank you!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/HE3HkG-j4Og" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/4274262658031998973/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=4274262658031998973&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/4274262658031998973?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/4274262658031998973?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/HE3HkG-j4Og/cant-we-all-just-get-along.html" title="Can't We All Just Get Along?" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xRW94hVKtyQ/T3JfDJ_2rWI/AAAAAAAABDg/eO9Hszn1i5o/s72-c/watch.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/03/cant-we-all-just-get-along.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QGRHgyfSp7ImA9WhVRGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-8896727254975438975</id><published>2012-03-27T07:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-03-27T07:55:25.695-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-27T07:55:25.695-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="winning the lottery" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twins" /><title>What Are My Chances?</title><content type="html">So I am going to be a lottery winner.&amp;nbsp; I'm just letting you know, in case I am gone for a while.&amp;nbsp; I wouldn't want you to worry about me.&amp;nbsp; But if I win,&amp;nbsp;I will be taking a small break from my blog to make media appearances and shop like crazy.&amp;nbsp; I don't mean Bentley and Masserati shopping, but you can bet your ass, I will shop the SHIT out of Target.&amp;nbsp; I'll have them close the store for me, so I can shop without Target Mom and little &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/05/i-was-at-target-yesterday.html"&gt;Brittney Marie&lt;/a&gt; getting in my way, polluting my ears with their crazy.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XBBi4BNbF_g/T3EI5tD5gbI/AAAAAAAABCI/XOFbBdbsSuc/s1600/target.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XBBi4BNbF_g/T3EI5tD5gbI/AAAAAAAABCI/XOFbBdbsSuc/s1600/target.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
At work, we've been putting money in to buy up a bunch of tickets.&amp;nbsp; This will be the 4th drawing ... the other three had no winners.&amp;nbsp; And I have convinced myself that we are going to win this time.&amp;nbsp; For real.&amp;nbsp; Now of course, I really, truly &lt;em&gt;believed &lt;/em&gt;that we were going to win those other 3 times too, but whatever.....this time is different.&amp;nbsp; Stop mocking me.&amp;nbsp; Seriously, shut it.&amp;nbsp; I'm going to be a millionaire soon, so you had better be nice to me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We've all done that before, even if it's not with the lottery, right?&amp;nbsp; REALLY and truly believed that something was going to happen ... something crazy, that probably &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;wasn't &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;going to happen, but you somehow convinced yourself that it was..... like winning 10 million dollars?&amp;nbsp; Or &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;having a baby girl&lt;/a&gt; even though an trained ultrasound technician told you she saw 2 penises on the screen in front of her?&amp;nbsp; What the hell does she know,anyways?&amp;nbsp; Whore.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EJTogtuaF2Q/T3ENAEPjKcI/AAAAAAAABCQ/WZRjJbTaSPs/s1600/addison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EJTogtuaF2Q/T3ENAEPjKcI/AAAAAAAABCQ/WZRjJbTaSPs/s1600/addison.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;She said she was a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;real doctor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;Ahem.....anywho....I know it seems silly, but you never know......&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Well, I know..... &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know the odds aren't much&amp;nbsp;better that.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
.... I will ever get to take a shower/pee/brush my teeth/change my clothes without one &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;OR&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; two children busting through the door on me.&amp;nbsp; When did they learn how to pick locks anyways?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
.... I will ever fit into that cute skirt that has been hanging in my closet for years, waiting for me to lose the last of that "baby weight".&amp;nbsp; Yes, I am well aware that my "babies" are 4,&amp;nbsp;wise guy.&amp;nbsp; And now, no money for you when I win.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
.... my sons will always remember to call me on my birthday and Mother's Day.&amp;nbsp; I'm not even going to set the bar for presents, we'll just see how the whole calling thing goes first.&amp;nbsp; Although my bestie sister in law has vowed to always call them and remind them to be good to me.&amp;nbsp; Thanks Bets!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MH7Imn10nS8/T3EPrwAW6eI/AAAAAAAABCg/N6IjldqTGrs/s1600/mothers+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MH7Imn10nS8/T3EPrwAW6eI/AAAAAAAABCg/N6IjldqTGrs/s1600/mothers+day.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;I couldn't decide which one&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;to use&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mTR5GTt6yzA/T3EP0RFKaUI/AAAAAAAABCo/PmKX1Esa8YI/s1600/mothers+day+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mTR5GTt6yzA/T3EP0RFKaUI/AAAAAAAABCo/PmKX1Esa8YI/s1600/mothers+day+2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
.... college will be affordable when it comes time for my kiddos to go.&amp;nbsp; Education is over rated anyways, right?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
.... I will make the top 10 on the Top Mommy Blogs website.&amp;nbsp; That's a dare people.&amp;nbsp; Like the annoying Facebook posts that "dare" you share&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; this&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; post about dolphin's rights/baby dandruff/Khony and/or JCPenny hiring Ellen as their spokesperson by saying they just&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; "KNOW"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; you won't re-post it.&amp;nbsp; Don't you dare &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;me &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;bitches, I will post it all over the place!&amp;nbsp; What do you think of THAT!&amp;nbsp; (just click the brown button at the bottom of this post, or at the top of my blog.&amp;nbsp; I "know" you won't)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
... my boys will decide that I am the only woman for them and stay with me forever.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DXFvTx_Z3ho/T3EN03dIwhI/AAAAAAAABCY/vJbjRWFmsT8/s1600/mama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DXFvTx_Z3ho/T3EN03dIwhI/AAAAAAAABCY/vJbjRWFmsT8/s1600/mama.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;.... my boys will indeed marry, but will still do whatever I ask, whenever I ask, including never moving more than one hour away from me, or each other.&amp;nbsp; Cuz I will follow them.&amp;nbsp; And figure out a way to split myself in half so I am always near them both.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Creepy, I know.&amp;nbsp; Yes, I am crazy.&amp;nbsp; And yes, Chris knows this.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
.... one of&lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt; my twins&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;will be&amp;nbsp;a girl.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
.... I will win the lottery.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;BUT......&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
....you never know.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/H3HbfxU1WpQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/8896727254975438975/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=8896727254975438975&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/8896727254975438975?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/8896727254975438975?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/H3HbfxU1WpQ/what-are-my-chances.html" title="What Are My Chances?" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XBBi4BNbF_g/T3EI5tD5gbI/AAAAAAAABCI/XOFbBdbsSuc/s72-c/target.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/03/what-are-my-chances.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEDQ3s_fCp7ImA9WhVRE0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-5885951237612436530</id><published>2012-03-21T22:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-03-21T22:34:32.544-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-21T22:34:32.544-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="warm weather" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Marky Mark" /><title>Nabbed By the Po Po</title><content type="html">So I was telling you about this crazy weather we've been having around here.&amp;nbsp; I can't get enough of it, and I find myself not wanting to go inside, as if there is a snowstorm right around the corner that will snow me and my &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/03/spring-has-sprung.html"&gt;pedicured toes&lt;/a&gt; right back in the house.&amp;nbsp; It was 82 degrees out today.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
﻿ &lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1CWho5KovKY/T2qIiKHqBhI/AAAAAAAABBA/Irl62GQtiTM/s1600/wahlmurgers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="200px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1CWho5KovKY/T2qIiKHqBhI/AAAAAAAABBA/Irl62GQtiTM/s200/wahlmurgers.JPG" width="150px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ Today after work, my Mother and I took the boys to Hingham, a sleepy little coastal town nearby.&amp;nbsp; While I love this beachy area, it wasn't&amp;nbsp;just seagulls and ocean calling our names.&amp;nbsp; It was burgers.&amp;nbsp; By the water.&amp;nbsp; Made by a Wahlberg (or a pimply faced adolescent who works at a restaurant owned by a lesser-known Wahlberg brother).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
﻿ &lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;﻿ I know.&amp;nbsp; Who wouldn't want a juicy delicious Marky Mark burger?&amp;nbsp; I have a slightly unhealthy obsession with Mark Wahlberg, and it doesn't hurt that his brother's burgers are delish.&amp;nbsp; Or that the place is right by the water which is where I would love to be 24/7.&amp;nbsp; All in all, it's the Perfect Storm for me, which by the way, is a great movie starring&amp;nbsp;Mark Wahlberg.&amp;nbsp; It's all very meant-to-be.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2DxwVNBPepY/T2qJ00n6D5I/AAAAAAAABBQ/UAqolUSu8MI/s1600/marky+mark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2DxwVNBPepY/T2qJ00n6D5I/AAAAAAAABBQ/UAqolUSu8MI/s1600/marky+mark.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Wouldn't you eat his burger?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Sickos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;So.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My Mother keeps telling me she knows how to get there.&amp;nbsp; Both times we've gone, we've gotten lost.&amp;nbsp; And yes, wise guy, we do have a GPS.&amp;nbsp; And my trusty love, the iPhone.&amp;nbsp; But whatever.&amp;nbsp; Today was extra special though.&amp;nbsp; Today we got lost in our little sleepy coastal town, and as we were driving down this lovely road, lined with sprawling Cape Cod homes, I see&amp;nbsp;this oceany blue glow in my rear view mirror...of Police lights.&amp;nbsp; Friggin' great.&amp;nbsp; Even their blue lights are pretty.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3_sys-BFRFA/T2qFhHF-m-I/AAAAAAAABAw/Mjt_V40ZS2k/s1600/southland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3_sys-BFRFA/T2qFhHF-m-I/AAAAAAAABAw/Mjt_V40ZS2k/s1600/southland.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Really?&amp;nbsp; I have a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Got Twins? decal on the back &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;of my car.&amp;nbsp; Do I seem like&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;a threat?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;I pull over, my Mom asking what the hell is he pulling me over for?&amp;nbsp; I wasn't driving any faster than the rest of the cars (good defense Mom, but I think I saw an episode of Law &amp;amp; Order where&amp;nbsp;that didn't work).&amp;nbsp; I put my hands on the steering wheel (you know, Southland style so the cop can see my hands and know that I'm not gonna reach for my piece and bust a cap in his ass) but then quickly roll the boys windows down in the back.&amp;nbsp; See, see where this is going?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Meanwhile, the poor boys have been in the car for so long because we've been lost, they just keep asking why we're stopped.&amp;nbsp; Then I make the mistake of telling them there's a police car behind us.&amp;nbsp; "I want to see the police car!"&amp;nbsp; "Why is the Police car behind us?&amp;nbsp; Are you going to jail, Mumma?"&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Ask him when he comes up to the window," I say.﻿&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;﻿ He came up to my window, standing back a few feet like they do, just in case this Mom driving an SUV with a Got Twins? decal on the back window starts shooting at him.&amp;nbsp; He asked, "Do you know why I pulled you over, Ma'am?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VEoY4TU_BVg/T2qOSBxl66I/AAAAAAAABBY/FVssqzne5eI/s1600/alex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VEoY4TU_BVg/T2qOSBxl66I/AAAAAAAABBY/FVssqzne5eI/s1600/alex.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;What I wanted to say was, "Really?&amp;nbsp; Ma'am?&amp;nbsp; I should write you a ticket for calling me Ma'am.&amp;nbsp; And what's with the quiz?&amp;nbsp; Isn't it YOUR job to tell me why you pulled me over?&amp;nbsp; Won't it be written on the outrageous ticket that you are about to write me?&amp;nbsp; We clearly have NO idea why you pulled me over, as evidenced by my Mother's complete outrage that even though ALL the other cars were speeding, you pulled ME over.&amp;nbsp; So, no, why don't you quit it with the silly questions Alex Trebek and just tell me what I did."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What I actually said, was "No, sorry I don't."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"You were going 50 in a 30, Ma'am. Can I have your license and registration please?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
OK, enough with the Ma'am already.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize, we're kind of lost."&amp;nbsp; Poor us, right?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Where are you headed?"&amp;nbsp; I told him, thinking he'd give us a few "this ways" and "that ways"&amp;nbsp;but nope.&amp;nbsp; Nothin.&amp;nbsp; Great.&amp;nbsp; It's ticket time.&amp;nbsp; My Mom said he looked in the window at the boys and smiled, but when he saw her looking he looked back at us and lost the smile. Good job boys, I knew you'd come in handy one day. Cutie pies.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After a ridiculous amount of time, I finally gave him my license.&amp;nbsp; It was so stuck in my wallet, I couldn't get it out.&amp;nbsp; He was clearly already over this big bust of his because he walked away with my license&amp;nbsp;and when I called after him to see if he wanted my registration, he just yelled back, "NO".&amp;nbsp; Hmph.&amp;nbsp; Is that legal?&amp;nbsp; Is this guy even a cop?&amp;nbsp; Or some criminal dressed as a cop whom&amp;nbsp;I&amp;nbsp;have&amp;nbsp;bored and aggravated&amp;nbsp;so badly, he didn't even want to abduct/kill/carjack us?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I68D4Tk_Z1o/T2qFDo9W_JI/AAAAAAAABAo/mvpH-ch3NUk/s1600/cops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I68D4Tk_Z1o/T2qFDo9W_JI/AAAAAAAABAo/mvpH-ch3NUk/s1600/cops.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;See, he's &lt;em&gt;just &lt;/em&gt;far back enough to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;make it inconvenient.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;He came back and handed me a written warning.&amp;nbsp; I had a hard time grabbing it from him, because he was still standing a ways back from the window, obviously still worried about my gang status, especially since he didn't have back up.&amp;nbsp; I thanked him and assured him I would watch my speed.&amp;nbsp; I drove off.&amp;nbsp; Slowly.&amp;nbsp; All the while we were telling each other that there was NO way people drove this slow on this road.&amp;nbsp; NO WAY.&amp;nbsp; But the more we drove, the more we realized people really do drive this slow around here.&amp;nbsp;Sleepy coastal town I guess.&amp;nbsp; It's official.&amp;nbsp; We're the assholes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh and did I mention that our friendly sleepy town Police Officer drove 30 miles per hour behind us, pretty much TO our destination?&amp;nbsp; Yup.&amp;nbsp; Have you ever tried to drive 30 miles per hour?&amp;nbsp; It's way harder than you think.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Especially with the Fuzz on your tail.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We couldn't decide why he was still following us.&amp;nbsp; Was he trying to see if we were lying about being lost?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Well, joke's on him because we were lost as&amp;nbsp;SHIT!&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;At one&amp;nbsp;stop sign, I&amp;nbsp;changed my directional so many times, he finally lit up the police horn, stuck his arm out the window and pointed right.&amp;nbsp; I&amp;nbsp;gave him the thumbs up (like any cool person would do) and drove right.&amp;nbsp; He still followed.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Was he just making sure this car full of lost Marky Mark &lt;strike&gt;stalkers&lt;/strike&gt; &amp;nbsp;fans got to their burgers?&amp;nbsp; Was he trying to help out?&amp;nbsp; Probably not, because wouldn't it make more sense&amp;nbsp;for him to be in front of us?&amp;nbsp; I mean, call me crazy.&amp;nbsp; (Don't you freakin' dare.)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Did he fall in love with me at first sight?&amp;nbsp; Possibly, I am nothing if not charming (I know,&amp;nbsp;I couldn't even write it with a straight face).&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Was he tailing us because this sleepy coastal town is&amp;nbsp;SO boring that the Mom out with her &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;twins&lt;/a&gt; and their Nana was THE most exciting and dangerous thing going on in town?&amp;nbsp; That is probably the most accurate&amp;nbsp;explanation of what was happening today.&amp;nbsp; I wasn't even wearing my Bloods bandana.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7dKyrTTVCD4/T2qHC0V4kRI/AAAAAAAABA4/PVbVx8JgJ8c/s1600/bloods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7dKyrTTVCD4/T2qHC0V4kRI/AAAAAAAABA4/PVbVx8JgJ8c/s1600/bloods.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;﻿&lt;br /&gt;
Well, you'll all be relieved to know, we made it to Wahlburgers.&amp;nbsp; We got it to-go, ate it by the water and watched the ferries come in.&amp;nbsp; The boys were in heaven.&amp;nbsp; As was I.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;I got us each a chocolate cupcake for the ride home (not my best idea)&amp;nbsp;and&amp;nbsp;called it a day.&amp;nbsp; Pretty great day&amp;nbsp;summer day for March 21st.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
﻿&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/KbSbrxs0Ze0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/5885951237612436530/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=5885951237612436530&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/5885951237612436530?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/5885951237612436530?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/KbSbrxs0Ze0/nabbed-by-po-po.html" title="Nabbed By the Po Po" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1CWho5KovKY/T2qIiKHqBhI/AAAAAAAABBA/Irl62GQtiTM/s72-c/wahlmurgers.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/03/nabbed-by-po-po.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEFSXg5fSp7ImA9WhVRE04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-3390653309485578617</id><published>2012-03-21T09:46:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2012-03-21T09:46:58.625-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-21T09:46:58.625-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twin blogs" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="spring" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="shorts" /><title>Spring Has Sprung!</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j2QY3VuLdL0/T2k2Fcc3PWI/AAAAAAAABAU/P4KvJKm_G1g/s1600/tulips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j2QY3VuLdL0/T2k2Fcc3PWI/AAAAAAAABAU/P4KvJKm_G1g/s1600/tulips.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Yesterday was the first day of Spring!&amp;nbsp; Normally, here in Massachusetts, we are still walking around all bundled up, freezing our asses off,&amp;nbsp;praying we don't get another April Fool's Day Blizzard.&amp;nbsp; Not this year.&amp;nbsp; This year, we had a snow storm a few days before Halloween, which made us all think we were in for a&amp;nbsp;crap winter.&amp;nbsp; But no.&amp;nbsp; We never really had any other snow storms,&amp;nbsp;it was fantastic!&amp;nbsp; Although the weather people may not agree, I'm sure they were in withdrawals from not being able to over-hype the weather and get everyone all riled up!&amp;nbsp; I have been wearing shorts for 3 days now.&amp;nbsp; In Boston.&amp;nbsp; In March.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;I mean, it would have been nice for the boys, to at least have one good snow storm for sledding and snowmen, but this mild of a winter I will take ANY day.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;﻿Now, don't get me wrong, I am LOVING this weather.&amp;nbsp; LOVING it!&amp;nbsp; But it's not right.&amp;nbsp; It's freaking me out a little bit actually.&amp;nbsp; I am definitely used to the drearies of February and March, where all you see is gray skies and brown slushy mess everywhere.&amp;nbsp; Instead, I am outside in shorts (yes, white legs and all), applying sunscreen to my kiddos (hoping it's not too expired), watching my tulips pop up (and be immediately trampled on by the kids).&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I just don't think Mother Nature is &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; nice.&amp;nbsp; I mean, we've all seen what a bitch she can be, why the sudden change, Ma'am?&amp;nbsp; Just what are you&amp;nbsp;up to?&amp;nbsp; Were those Mayan's onto something and you feel badly about it, so you're giving me beach days in March?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Whatever the case may be, I will gladly take it.&amp;nbsp; However, I'm not &lt;em&gt;quite&lt;/em&gt; ready.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;~ I'm &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/06/10-things-i-love-about-summer.html"&gt;way to pale&lt;/a&gt; to be in shorts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;~ I haven't had enough Mondays to re-start my diet and lose the weight I wanted to lose before summer.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;~ I don't have our summer clothes out yet, and of course none of the boys' clothes still fit.&amp;nbsp; I'm not that lucky.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;~ I haven't prepared my eyes or my brain&amp;nbsp;for the sight&amp;nbsp;of:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;shirtless men.&amp;nbsp; Young guys with their pants around their knees like idiots, old guys with beer bellies thinking all the ladies are checking them out, fat guys raking their yards....you name 'em, they're shirtless.&amp;nbsp; No lie, it's been nice out for 3 days and I saw 3 different men, walking down the street with no shirt on today. And that was JUST on my way home from work. And really? Are we walking down the street shirtless now? Who does that?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;women in tank tops and shorts&amp;nbsp;that are too tight, too short and leaking muffin top all over my brain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;young girls wearing pretty much nothing, making me SO glad I have boys.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;seriously disgusting winter feet that are now in flip flops everywhere I look. There's no law against winter pedi's people!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;﻿ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4orM142RYqk/T2kzSbjgUMI/AAAAAAAABAE/yYesjieefpk/s1600/muffin+top.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4orM142RYqk/T2kzSbjgUMI/AAAAAAAABAE/yYesjieefpk/s1600/muffin+top.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Seriously, WTF is this?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;How is that comfortable?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Anywho Mother Nature.....I'm keeping my eye on you.&amp;nbsp; I appreciate the sun on my skin girlfriend, but not if I'm going to have to deal with inland tsunamis and tornadoes in the city in the fall.&amp;nbsp; Especially after I had to be blinded by hairy man skin today on my way home from work.&amp;nbsp; That's just plain mean.&amp;nbsp; I'm off to self-tan, you know &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/06/10-things-i-love-about-summer.html"&gt;the science&lt;/a&gt; people.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Come on, give me a Spring time vote please!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/afh-fXqgICw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/3390653309485578617/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=3390653309485578617&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/3390653309485578617?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/3390653309485578617?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/afh-fXqgICw/spring-has-sprung.html" title="Spring Has Sprung!" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j2QY3VuLdL0/T2k2Fcc3PWI/AAAAAAAABAU/P4KvJKm_G1g/s72-c/tulips.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/03/spring-has-sprung.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0MAQn84fSp7ImA9WhVSGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-2858207758632603183</id><published>2012-03-16T08:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-03-16T08:04:03.135-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-16T08:04:03.135-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="pre-schoolers" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twintastic" /><title>What's Better Than A Sticky, Muddy 4 Year Old?</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="left"&gt;This week, my kids look older to me.&amp;nbsp; It looks like one son in particular has turned 6.&amp;nbsp; I don't know why.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;His face looks more mature, his legs look longer, even his teeth look bigger.&amp;nbsp; How can that be?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Is it that now that I'm not with them every minute of every day, I notice these things more?&amp;nbsp; I knew I shouldn't have gone back to work.&amp;nbsp; See, now I'm missing watching their teeth grow.&amp;nbsp; Again, I don't know how you working parents do it.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I do find myself taking more time to &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;be &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;with them though.&amp;nbsp; I appreciate it more.&amp;nbsp; My house is messier, and Chris is using our dryer as his dresser right now, but whatever. Tomorrow, my babies are going to be snuggling with some&lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/06/10-things-i-dislike-my-mom-always-said.html"&gt; skinny bitch&lt;/a&gt; instead of me, his laundry can wait!&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; **deep breaths**&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Yesterday, you heard me get all warm and fuzzy over my new niece. I'm still warm and fuzzy over her, I'm pretty into all 3 of my nieces right now, I miss them like crazy lately for some reason! But as I was writing my last post, I started thinking about how thankful I am though, to have my two 4 year olds. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/"&gt;How great are 4 year olds?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;.... they are hilarious (like&amp;nbsp;nonsensical knock knock joke hilarious, not asking if I have a baby in my belly hilarious) ...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;﻿ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9300XDcP350/T2KfICcFP7I/AAAAAAAAA-w/1wzqePQuh3U/s1600/hilarious2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="400px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9300XDcP350/T2KfICcFP7I/AAAAAAAAA-w/1wzqePQuh3U/s400/hilarious2.jpg" width="207px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;I ask them to smile nicely,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;this is what I get.&amp;nbsp; See.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Hilarious.&amp;nbsp; And why yes, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;that is a picture of their Dad&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;above them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iV4tAxDCfnQ/T2KgDQc3NpI/AAAAAAAAA-4/bR4GsjeI7No/s1600/hilarious3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="320px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iV4tAxDCfnQ/T2KgDQc3NpI/AAAAAAAAA-4/bR4GsjeI7No/s320/hilarious3.jpg" width="239px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;.... they are cuddly (watching Octonauts cuddly, not middle of the night, all 4 of us in one bed because we're scared cuddly) ....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;.... they wipe their own asses (after they go to the bathroom, not while at Target with a stuffed animal&amp;nbsp;or a book trying to be that hilarious 4 year old I was talking about above.) ....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;..... they can reach their own stuff (like puzzles on shelves, drinks on the counter, soap at the sink&amp;nbsp;kind of stuff, not their "stuff" you sickos!&amp;nbsp; Although I guess they can reach that too.&amp;nbsp; Nevertheless, I don't have to be involved.) ...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;.... they sit up on their own (like on the floor while they play sitting, not in bed while they're asleep totally freaking their mother out sitting)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;... they use cups (as in no more making up baby bottles, not athletic cups...yet) .... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;.... I am done potty training (them...we'll have to see how the whole&amp;nbsp;old age thing goes with Chris) ...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;.... they say the sweetest things (the perfectly timed, "I love you Mumma", not the perfectly timed while out in public "Mumma your silver hair looks so shiny and fancy")&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;.... they are getting smarter (like all of a sudden recognizing their letters smarter, not drinking out of a water bubbler like some sort of ferall child who has never seen running water before smarter.&amp;nbsp; True story, I'm saving that for a whole post of it's own!) ....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;﻿ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KWkxJYeMzHU/T2KkhASetrI/AAAAAAAAA_A/QuIm5-R2aOo/s1600/bubbler.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KWkxJYeMzHU/T2KkhASetrI/AAAAAAAAA_A/QuIm5-R2aOo/s1600/bubbler.PNG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Yes, that's my son trying to drink &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;through his cheek.&amp;nbsp; And yes, I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;have 2500 pictures on my &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;phone.&amp;nbsp; So what?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ I laugh all the time at my kids.&amp;nbsp; They really do say and do the darndest things.&amp;nbsp; They should make a show about that (ha ha ha ha....snort.....see, now you can see where my kiddos get their hilarity from.&amp;nbsp; Moi.)&amp;nbsp; I LOVE babies, and I miss my babies being babies, but how great are 4 year olds???&amp;nbsp; I think I'm all set now, though.&amp;nbsp; They can stop getting older now.&amp;nbsp; Right here is good, thank you very much.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If you love your 4 year old, click the brown box!&amp;nbsp; If you love anything that is 4 years old,&amp;nbsp;a shirt, a dog, a car, whatever, click on the brown box!&amp;nbsp; All the cool kids are doin' it!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/cLGj6ZOOG4k" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/2858207758632603183/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=2858207758632603183&amp;isPopup=true" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/2858207758632603183?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/2858207758632603183?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/cLGj6ZOOG4k/whats-better-than-sticky-muddy-4-year.html" title="What's Better Than A Sticky, Muddy 4 Year Old?" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9300XDcP350/T2KfICcFP7I/AAAAAAAAA-w/1wzqePQuh3U/s72-c/hilarious2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/03/whats-better-than-sticky-muddy-4-year.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkQEQnoyfCp7ImA9WhVSGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-6379847605565055129</id><published>2012-03-15T08:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-03-15T08:25:03.494-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-15T08:25:03.494-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="newborns" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="warm cuddly babies" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="new baby smell" /><title>What's Better Than  A Warm, Cuddly Baby?</title><content type="html">"What is better than a warm cuddly baby?!"&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This was a text I got from my sister in law yesterday morning.&amp;nbsp; What a great text to get first thing in the morning!&amp;nbsp; Better than our usual texts about how shitty our morning routines are going and commiserating about temper tantrums and food shopping and gas prices and people we hate.&amp;nbsp; **Sigh**&amp;nbsp; We really are soul sisters, thank God our husbands have fantastic taste and are brothers.&amp;nbsp; Anywho.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v2n-jfNbxkk/T2FRs2P0sgI/AAAAAAAAA-g/Znl7DoUNFwE/s1600/mary2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="200px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v2n-jfNbxkk/T2FRs2P0sgI/AAAAAAAAA-g/Znl7DoUNFwE/s200/mary2.jpg" width="183px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Here are Miss Mary and I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;when we first met!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;You see, I have another beautiful niece now.&amp;nbsp; That makes 3 for me, I'm so lucky!&amp;nbsp; Miss Mary was born 6 days ago, and both Mom and family are doing great!&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; And when I heard the ding of a text, I was expecting a tired BFF wondering why her hubby was still sleeping upstairs even though she had a 6 day old hanging off one boob and 2 little ones wanting breakfast NOW!&amp;nbsp; But nope.&amp;nbsp; It was a warm and fuzzy text, from my happy Bestie New-ish Mom, remembering why not being able to bend over for&amp;nbsp;the last few months was worth it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And then I got it.&amp;nbsp; That pang of jealousy.&amp;nbsp; I couldn't believe how quickly I forgot the baby days.&amp;nbsp; I mean, it only took seeing her for the first time, to bring it all back.&amp;nbsp; The teeny tiny nose, the little puckered mouth, the balding old man hair, those hospital blankets the WE ALL HAD, with the pink and blue stripes (that you know you still have stashed away somewhere, like I do).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DTnJWyg2ojk/T2FKS3vtKgI/AAAAAAAAA9o/VIjijdy-tro/s1600/IMG_1318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="240px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DTnJWyg2ojk/T2FKS3vtKgI/AAAAAAAAA9o/VIjijdy-tro/s320/IMG_1318.JPG" width="320px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Awww, these are my boys at about 3 months old.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
OK, OK, chill out people, it came and went pretty quickly. I am finally getting the boys to wipe their own asses, so I am all set with starting the whole diaper thing again. But really, "what is better than a warm and cuddly baby?!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
.... when they purse their little lips while they're sleeping (awwww) .....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
.... those little hats they get while they're in the hospital (that you know little old lady volunteers made and hopefully didn't let their cats sleep on) ....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1xAkP9mwkl8/T2FQlLSgYrI/AAAAAAAAA-Q/x94F6KWd5OE/s1600/IMG_1950.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="240px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1xAkP9mwkl8/T2FQlLSgYrI/AAAAAAAAA-Q/x94F6KWd5OE/s320/IMG_1950.JPG" width="320px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
.... laying on the couch while they snuggle up on your chest (as long as they aren't spitting up all over your last clean shirt).....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pf8OCC3KDg4/T2FLDAdsVFI/AAAAAAAAA9w/LBb5IeNxGOo/s1600/spit+up.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="224px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pf8OCC3KDg4/T2FLDAdsVFI/AAAAAAAAA9w/LBb5IeNxGOo/s320/spit+up.png" width="320px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
.... that smell (the yummy, clean&amp;nbsp;baby smell, not the "something just died in my newborn's&amp;nbsp;diaper"&amp;nbsp;smell) ....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
....when they start to really "see" you and react to you (in the adoring and filled with love kind of way, not in that "I'm already judging you" kind of way) ...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8E3pgrY-EYQ/T2FOZrpCyLI/AAAAAAAAA94/F3RCIvjHa84/s1600/finger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8E3pgrY-EYQ/T2FOZrpCyLI/AAAAAAAAA94/F3RCIvjHa84/s1600/finger.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
.... watching them sleep (because you want to, not because you are terrified that they are going to stop breathing, be eaten by a dingo, roll out of the bassinet, or&amp;nbsp;stolen by the Poltergeist trees outside the window)...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eaK_bB0CgLE/T2FPM0zzGsI/AAAAAAAAA-A/hPasWciXNUE/s1600/baby+din.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eaK_bB0CgLE/T2FPM0zzGsI/AAAAAAAAA-A/hPasWciXNUE/s1600/baby+din.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
... the little tiny baby clothes (that you go through&amp;nbsp;tons of through out the day because your adorable newborn shits and throws up all over themselves every 5 seconds)...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
...watching them discover their hands and feet (and every little tiny thing near them that they immediately put in their mouths, like the tiny Lite Brite pegs that their aunt bought for their big sister, that are now all over the floor) ...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yY2xtjzN-Bk/T2FPdatt2wI/AAAAAAAAA-I/2LoFP-Hybqs/s1600/pegs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yY2xtjzN-Bk/T2FPdatt2wI/AAAAAAAAA-I/2LoFP-Hybqs/s1600/pegs.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;What genius would give Lite Bright&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;to a family with a 4 year old, a 2 year old&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;and a newborn on the way?&amp;nbsp; Tool.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;.... hearing them gurgle and "talk" and laugh when you make ridiculous faces at them... (the ones you make on purpose, not the ones that say "why the hell are you awake and gurgling already, it's 4am!")...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What is better than a warm cuddly baby?!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Careful what you ask for though, I may just tell you...wink...wink.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If you're all warm and fuzzy inside, will you give me a click please?&amp;nbsp; You're the best!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/lVKSCZkkiC0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/6379847605565055129/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=6379847605565055129&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/6379847605565055129?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/6379847605565055129?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/lVKSCZkkiC0/whats-better-than-warm-cuddly-baby.html" title="What's Better Than  A Warm, Cuddly Baby?" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v2n-jfNbxkk/T2FRs2P0sgI/AAAAAAAAA-g/Znl7DoUNFwE/s72-c/mary2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/03/whats-better-than-warm-cuddly-baby.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D04EQXY8cSp7ImA9WhVSFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-114485904084517423</id><published>2012-03-13T23:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2012-03-13T23:31:40.879-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-13T23:31:40.879-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parents of twins" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="identical twins" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny twin blogs" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="dumb questions" /><title>Out of the Mouths of Strangers</title><content type="html">﻿ &lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LOR7lfkJcCY/T2AB1kLXjvI/AAAAAAAAA8w/vrm_N7rEUEE/s1600/babies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="240px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LOR7lfkJcCY/T2AB1kLXjvI/AAAAAAAAA8w/vrm_N7rEUEE/s320/babies.jpg" width="320px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;People love looking at twins. I might be a bit&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;partial to these cuties, but who wouldn't want&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;to look at them?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ I've written a &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/05/are-they-twins.html"&gt;post&lt;/a&gt; a little bit like this one before, but I felt it was time to update it.&amp;nbsp; We all get silly comments and questions from people about our kids, for all sorts of reasons.&amp;nbsp; I have twins.&amp;nbsp; Who are identical.&amp;nbsp; And pretty cute if I do say so myself.&amp;nbsp; So we still get some attention when we're out.&amp;nbsp; I'm sure some of that is because we are still doing the whole, dressing-the-same-but-different thing....same shirt, different colors.&amp;nbsp; Give me a break, I'm trying.&amp;nbsp; I feel like it's harder to quit than smoking, and they don't make a patch or a lozenge for it yet, so settle down, OK?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We don't get the same type of attention that we did when they were babies though.&amp;nbsp; People love twin babies.&amp;nbsp; They used to look at them, then at me, then back to them.&amp;nbsp; I couldn't tell if they were thinking, "Oh, poor thing, she looks like she hasn't slept/eaten/showered/brushed her hair/changed her clothes/brushed her teeth or even gargled in 3 weeks." or "Wow, 2 babies, how does she do it?&amp;nbsp; Good job, new Mommy".&amp;nbsp; Here's my guess:&amp;nbsp; they always &lt;em&gt;said&lt;/em&gt; "Good job, Mommy" but walked away &lt;em&gt;thinking &lt;/em&gt;"What the Christ are you doing out in public looking like that?&amp;nbsp; Do you even &lt;em&gt;realize&lt;/em&gt; what you look like?"&amp;nbsp; But those days are behind me now.&amp;nbsp; For the most part.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ULKGBmhZ0Ec/T2ADZXhksiI/AAAAAAAAA84/R_KKwaON2QM/s1600/freaky+twins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="213px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ULKGBmhZ0Ec/T2ADZXhksiI/AAAAAAAAA84/R_KKwaON2QM/s320/freaky+twins.jpg" width="320px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Then there are the freaky kind of twins who get&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;stared at because they're so freaky.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;I still get a lot of the same questions and comments though. Twins are definitely more common these days, but people are still intrigued by them.&amp;nbsp; It's sweet.&amp;nbsp; My kiddos are becoming more aware of the attention now too.&amp;nbsp; One of my sons recently asked if the people in the little Target restaurant were looking at him because he was so handsome.&amp;nbsp; Awww, how cute?!?&amp;nbsp; I should probably stop telling him that before he ends up acting like Bradley Cooper, who I love, but who I think seems just a &lt;em&gt;little bit&lt;/em&gt; too cocky, like he thinks he's all that.&amp;nbsp; Which he is. But he acts like he knows it which I don't like.&amp;nbsp; Anywho ....sorry about that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Some of the questions are dumb.&amp;nbsp; Some of them are intrusive and rude.&amp;nbsp; Some are cute.&amp;nbsp; We get all kinds.&amp;nbsp; Here's a&amp;nbsp;little taste of what I get.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~ &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Are they identical or maternal?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Just this week, a &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;nurse &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;asked me if this.&amp;nbsp; I guess one seems more like a caretaker, sure?&amp;nbsp; WTF?&amp;nbsp; Ah, yah....they're identical.&amp;nbsp; Thank god, because I didn't want to totally embarrass you when I answered&lt;em&gt; fra-ternal.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;And she was a medical professional.&amp;nbsp; *note to self*&amp;nbsp; find a new doctor's office.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xnFJAbg3ghU/T2AGxVBH2NI/AAAAAAAAA9A/Q_4vLIwKkRo/s1600/old+lady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="200px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xnFJAbg3ghU/T2AGxVBH2NI/AAAAAAAAA9A/Q_4vLIwKkRo/s200/old+lady.jpg" width="187px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Did you do that there, fancy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;in-vitro fertilization?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;em&gt;~ &lt;strong&gt;Did you do in-vitro?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;Did &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;?!?!?&amp;nbsp; No lie, I used to get this question ALL THE TIME.&amp;nbsp; From complete strangers!&amp;nbsp; At the mall!&amp;nbsp; &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Especially&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; from old ladies.&amp;nbsp; At least with them, they're old and just don't give a shit what they say anymore, but really?&amp;nbsp; Isn't that a little bit personal?&amp;nbsp; I'm not asking you about your latest colonoscopy or pap smear, mind your business about my lady parts, will ya?&amp;nbsp; And thank god, I didn't have trouble getting pregnant but if I did, I am pretty sure it would be a touchy subject that I don't feel like discussing with Norma, the cotton head outside of Lady Grace who just jumped out in front of me, super ninja style.&amp;nbsp; Where the hell did she come from anyways?&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~ &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Are they different?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No, we've trained them to walk in step with each other and mimic the other ones' moves.&amp;nbsp; Of course they are different.&amp;nbsp; Are your two freak show kids different?&amp;nbsp; My guess is yes, since your 13 year old daughter is hitting on the 32 year old guy working at Sunglass Hut and your 8 year old son is under the bench over there, sucking his thumb and rocking back and forth.&amp;nbsp; Yes, they are different.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OSUZilXsbVc/T2AJpNOUInI/AAAAAAAAA9I/qtg9iKm1kEo/s1600/marching.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="320px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OSUZilXsbVc/T2AJpNOUInI/AAAAAAAAA9I/qtg9iKm1kEo/s320/marching.jpg" width="203px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;See, this is an example of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;how we dress them alike AND&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;make them walk in step.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;~ &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do they ever fight?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Never.&amp;nbsp; They're boys and are together all the time and have to share.&amp;nbsp; Oh and they're 4.&amp;nbsp; No,&amp;nbsp;they never fight.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-22aW6CV_-LQ/T2AMjCFc6iI/AAAAAAAAA9Q/h1fM8rOQFA0/s1600/po.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" height="200px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-22aW6CV_-LQ/T2AMjCFc6iI/AAAAAAAAA9Q/h1fM8rOQFA0/s200/po.jpg" width="180px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Ease up, Po.&amp;nbsp; They are&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;wearing the same outfit, it's &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;not rocket science.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;~ &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Are they identical?&amp;nbsp; I just knew it, because they look SO MUCH alike.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Congrats Einstein.&amp;nbsp; This crazy mother dresses them the same too, was it all that hard to figure it out?&amp;nbsp; BUT....in Einstein's defense, there are definitely identicals who don't look much alike and there are &lt;strike&gt;maternals&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp; fraternals who look exactly alike.&amp;nbsp; So I'll cut you some slack, Marcia, from Macy's.&amp;nbsp; But people get so excited when they've &lt;em&gt;figured&lt;/em&gt; it out... like I was trying to trick them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~ &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Are they twins?&amp;nbsp; Yah?&amp;nbsp; I'm a twin (all said very blase, and non-chalant). &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Not exactly sure what to do with that.&amp;nbsp; Should we hug it out now or something?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; These people are almost mad that they are talking to me about it.&amp;nbsp; You stopped me weirdo.&amp;nbsp; At least with the people who get excited about twins, their enthusiasm leads somewhere, you know?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; And it is fun to talk to older twins, especially since it wasn't as common&amp;nbsp;years ago.&amp;nbsp; I like listening to them talk about &lt;em&gt;their &lt;/em&gt;parents' reactions when they found out, because back, say, 50 years ago, they didn't have all the fancy equipment and tests they have now.&amp;nbsp; Imagine just going to the hospital to have your baby and OOPS, there's another one!&amp;nbsp; I would die!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~ &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do you wish you had a boy and a girl instead?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Now, this one didn't bother me as much when the boys were babies, because they&amp;nbsp;couldn't understand what was being said. &amp;nbsp;BUT now?&amp;nbsp; When you see my 2 boys who are 4, are&amp;nbsp;standing right next to me, assume they are not deaf and assume that they can&amp;nbsp;understand you.&amp;nbsp; And know that asking me if I wished I had different children...in front of my children....&amp;nbsp;is bitchy, bitch.&amp;nbsp; Should I ask you if you wish your kid didn't have that wiry, orange-red hair?&amp;nbsp; Maybe, but I won't do it in front of him.&amp;nbsp; Or her, or whatever the hell it&amp;nbsp;is.&amp;nbsp; It's called tact.&amp;nbsp; And I am nothing if not tactful.&amp;nbsp; Stop laughing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~ &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do you ever dress them the same?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;They're wearing the exact same outfit.&amp;nbsp; Right now.&amp;nbsp; While&amp;nbsp;you are asking me this.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TLOsE-WCkTQ/T2ANJAm0m6I/AAAAAAAAA9Y/Zs-m9YDgNiQ/s1600/creepy+twins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TLOsE-WCkTQ/T2ANJAm0m6I/AAAAAAAAA9Y/Zs-m9YDgNiQ/s1600/creepy+twins.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;I don't know their "secret language", but it's &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;not looking so good for you right now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;~&amp;nbsp; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do they have their own language?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Yes.&amp;nbsp; You should hear the shit they are saying about you&amp;nbsp; RIGHT NOW!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~ &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Wow, you have your hands full, don't you?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Well, yes, right this minute I do, because you saw me walk in behind you holding a kid in each hand, yet you still didn't hold the door open and it just slammed in my face.&amp;nbsp; So yes, my hands are full, as is my face, with the door.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;That happened yesterday.&amp;nbsp; **BREAKING NEWS** Chivalry is dead.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
﻿ &lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-toTg2Hhigxo/T2AOLykQ_7I/AAAAAAAAA9g/cKDf5OboaVI/s1600/randy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img aea="true" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-toTg2Hhigxo/T2AOLykQ_7I/AAAAAAAAA9g/cKDf5OboaVI/s1600/randy.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Isn't it always &lt;em&gt;this &lt;/em&gt;guy saying&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;"Double trouble, huh? " while he &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;laughs and snorts?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ ~&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; DOUBLE TROUBLE, HUH?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Ah,&amp;nbsp;yep. Double trouble alright....&amp;nbsp;with the fake smile and fake chuckle.&amp;nbsp; Never heard that one before, guy.&amp;nbsp; Good&amp;nbsp;one.&amp;nbsp; I&amp;nbsp;find men love saying that to us for some reason.&amp;nbsp; They always remind me of some Randy Quaid character when they say it, I feel like they should give me&amp;nbsp;a little punch in the arm when they say it.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~ &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Are they identical?&amp;nbsp; Are they both boys?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No, they're identical.&amp;nbsp; That means one is&amp;nbsp;a boy and the other is an orangutan.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I &lt;strong&gt;KNOW &lt;/strong&gt;there are more of them.&amp;nbsp; Some of my twin mom friends, help me out.....Tell me what some of yours are!&amp;nbsp; Or tell me what some of your dumb questions have been!&amp;nbsp; Even better!&amp;nbsp; I&amp;nbsp;promise I won't make fun of you!!!&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;I will admit to asking a mom of boy girl twins if they were identical.&amp;nbsp; We all do it!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And look, I made an ever &lt;strong&gt;BIGGER&lt;/strong&gt; brown box for you to click on.&amp;nbsp; And it blinks!&amp;nbsp; Try it out!&amp;nbsp; Please?&amp;nbsp; I&amp;nbsp;have a secret mission I am trying to accomplish on here, but I can't tell you what it is.&amp;nbsp; (It will make me look crazy!&amp;nbsp; OK, crazIER)&amp;nbsp; Love ya!!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/9lUd4_wwh_U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/114485904084517423/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=114485904084517423&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/114485904084517423?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/114485904084517423?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/9lUd4_wwh_U/out-of-mouths-of-strangers.html" title="Out of the Mouths of Strangers" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LOR7lfkJcCY/T2AB1kLXjvI/AAAAAAAAA8w/vrm_N7rEUEE/s72-c/babies.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/03/out-of-mouths-of-strangers.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUcHSHk9fCp7ImA9WhVSEU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-5181836485006521185</id><published>2012-03-07T07:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-03-07T07:23:59.764-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-07T07:23:59.764-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny twin blog" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny kids" /><title>Blame My Kids For This One</title><content type="html">I was sitting here trying to figure out what to write about today, and I&amp;nbsp;asked the boys what they&amp;nbsp;thought I should write about.&amp;nbsp; I've done this before, but their responses tend to be less than helpful.&amp;nbsp; But tonight I told myself that I was going to write down what they say and write about it, no matter what.&amp;nbsp; Let's call it a writing challenge.&amp;nbsp; So while we were taking tubs tonight, I asked, "What do you think Mommy should write about tonight?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They both got super excited, and one yelled "ZOMBIES!" and the other yelled "NAKED BUTT!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hmph.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I played with the idea a little bit and thought I would try to re-phrase my question.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"If Mommy was going to tell you a story, what would you want it to be about?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Apparently the clock struck silly time, because I got "POOP!" and "POOPY HEAD" followed by hysterical laughter and fart noises.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
**SIGH....&lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/07/this-is-life-i-chose.html"&gt;remember this is the life I chose&lt;/a&gt;**&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But then I thought about it and reminded myself that I was going to write about &lt;em&gt;whatever &lt;/em&gt;they said.&amp;nbsp; So you lucky 4 readers are going to get a post about ZOMBIES, NAKED BUTTS AND POOP.&amp;nbsp; I mean, what&amp;nbsp;could be&amp;nbsp;better?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So zombies, huh?&amp;nbsp; Do I go with the tired mommy zombie?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Nah, we've all read about that before.&amp;nbsp;How about the crazy drug addicted celebrities that I &lt;strike&gt;stalk&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp; see in the &lt;strike&gt;thousands of&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp; celebrity magazines I &lt;strike&gt;waste my money on&lt;/strike&gt; read?&amp;nbsp; Best zombie movies of all time?&amp;nbsp; Oh, I got it. &amp;nbsp;I just googled "ZOMBIE" to see what came up and some of the results are so hilarious, I'm just going to post some of the results.&amp;nbsp; Here we go.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyewa4X0ug/T1akFSDRKGI/AAAAAAAAA7g/PSSc8Ec0k8c/s1600/zombie1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyewa4X0ug/T1akFSDRKGI/AAAAAAAAA7g/PSSc8Ec0k8c/s1600/zombie1.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Keith Richards.&amp;nbsp; OK.&amp;nbsp; I can see that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mM1lcetFfvA/T1akMkMV0_I/AAAAAAAAA7o/prZu2uJjpJk/s1600/zombie2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mM1lcetFfvA/T1akMkMV0_I/AAAAAAAAA7o/prZu2uJjpJk/s1600/zombie2.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;This guy&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NCO-bGB4afw/T1akVFpNKlI/AAAAAAAAA7w/wg6R6Q1NrSg/s1600/zombie3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NCO-bGB4afw/T1akVFpNKlI/AAAAAAAAA7w/wg6R6Q1NrSg/s200/zombie3.jpg" uda="true" width="200px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;This guy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;﻿ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QFCH_eMCuFg/T1akfw4FNcI/AAAAAAAAA74/RSlWX8Ei65g/s1600/zombie4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QFCH_eMCuFg/T1akfw4FNcI/AAAAAAAAA74/RSlWX8Ei65g/s1600/zombie4.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;This cute couple?&amp;nbsp; Type in "zombie" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;and this is what you get???&amp;nbsp; I wonder &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;what you have to type in to get a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;picture of me and Chis!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kCIMsSPI-ks/T1alA3Lu3vI/AAAAAAAAA8A/Ogt04QQysP0/s1600/zombie6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kCIMsSPI-ks/T1alA3Lu3vI/AAAAAAAAA8A/Ogt04QQysP0/s1600/zombie6.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;AND zombie Hooters chicks&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;And next on the list is "naked butts".&amp;nbsp; I thought that toddlers/pre-schoolers are supposed to outgrow the whole, strip-down-naked-in-less-than-30-seconds phase.&amp;nbsp; Yah, not my guys.&amp;nbsp; They are just getting better at it.&amp;nbsp; Faster.&amp;nbsp; More efficient.&amp;nbsp; My personal theory.... they are boys.&amp;nbsp; They will grow up to be men who can get undressed in a flash, like Jim Carey in Bruce Almighty.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZfjBcI6JO0A/T1aqbqSIu8I/AAAAAAAAA8I/92WTGRPU3yw/s1600/jim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="178px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZfjBcI6JO0A/T1aqbqSIu8I/AAAAAAAAA8I/92WTGRPU3yw/s320/jim.jpg" uda="true" width="320px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
This weekend, I actually said, "Why are there 2 pair of underwear on the living room table?"&amp;nbsp; And just yesterday I had to tell one of my son's to go down and pick his underwear up off of Daddy's boots by the front door before Nana got here.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
Really?&amp;nbsp; I'm &lt;em&gt;pretty&lt;/em&gt; sure this &lt;em&gt;isn't &lt;/em&gt;the life I chose.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So at what point will I stop seeing NAKED BUTTS?&amp;nbsp; Anyone?&amp;nbsp; Based on my having grown up&amp;nbsp;with a close knit group of friends, some of whom are male and whose naked butts I've seen waaaay &amp;nbsp;too much of, I am thinking there will be a 5-7 year period where my boys will&amp;nbsp;be self-conscious and awkward, hiding all parts of their bodies.&amp;nbsp; But then, they will&amp;nbsp;turn into teenagers who think&amp;nbsp;mooning people and giving them pressed hams is hilarious.&amp;nbsp; And I pray that my sons won't be those grown idiots you see on ESPN at baseball games, running&amp;nbsp;naked across the field.&amp;nbsp; But at this point, it's not looking too good.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O8K4_EhvGWM/T1bGNeI0yBI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/8LoYDE5p-A4/s1600/ham.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O8K4_EhvGWM/T1bGNeI0yBI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/8LoYDE5p-A4/s320/ham.jpg" uda="true" width="320px" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;OK, this is NOT a pressed ham, but those pictures&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;were nasty.&amp;nbsp; As is this one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;And then there's poop.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was just talking with one of my co-workers about having dogs.&amp;nbsp; I would love a dog.&amp;nbsp; But &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
a. &amp;nbsp;I want a dog that will outlive me, because it's way too hard to deal with losing them **sad face**&lt;br /&gt;
b. &amp;nbsp;As I have stated before, I already have &lt;strike&gt;2&lt;/strike&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/06/remember-pedicures.html"&gt;3 puppies to take care of&lt;/a&gt;, and do I really need a 4th?&lt;br /&gt;
c.&amp;nbsp; I want proper credit for a puppy.&amp;nbsp; I want to be the hero.&amp;nbsp; I want my kids to beg and beg and beg for a puppy and then be blown away when Mommy and Daddy bring home an adorable puppy, who is jumping around and licking faces.&amp;nbsp; Selfish? Absolutely.&amp;nbsp; But I will ultimately be the one taking care of this &lt;strike&gt;3rd&lt;/strike&gt; 4th animal, who jumps all over the place, knocks shit down&amp;nbsp;and licks my face after he licks his own ass, so I get to be.&amp;nbsp; Plus, we got the boys fish for their birthday and guess who's sucking out the dirty fish&amp;nbsp;water every month?&amp;nbsp; I'll give you a hint:&amp;nbsp; It's not the other 3 puppies in the house.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Anywho....back to poop....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The other thing about getting a dog, that I just can't get past or picture myself doing, is scooping up it's POOP and carrying it in a little blue bag while the dog and I finish our walk.&amp;nbsp; I didn't even like carrying my own kids' crap in those scented little blue bags for diapers.&amp;nbsp; Don't get me wrong, I don't miss &lt;strike&gt;stepping in &lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;seeing dog crap all over the neighborhood like we did when we were kids, but really?&amp;nbsp; I have to carry it around with me?&amp;nbsp; Like some sort of shit purse? &amp;nbsp;I can't think of anything I would want to do less (well maybe I can).&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oIC0rqBBLfg/T1bHvsAYyMI/AAAAAAAAA8g/Sr02vN43IFo/s1600/olivia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oIC0rqBBLfg/T1bHvsAYyMI/AAAAAAAAA8g/Sr02vN43IFo/s1600/olivia.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Olivia Wilde...so pretty.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
﻿ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W14qiD4F5VE/T1bJ_IBxpiI/AAAAAAAAA8o/2IuGkkca-UA/s1600/poop2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W14qiD4F5VE/T1bJ_IBxpiI/AAAAAAAAA8o/2IuGkkca-UA/s1600/poop2.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Olivia Wilde holding a bag of crap...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;not so pretty.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;I said this to my co-worker, and she said that it was no big deal, she had her dog carry it.&amp;nbsp; Whaaaa?&amp;nbsp; Yah, she attaches it to&amp;nbsp;her&amp;nbsp;dog's&amp;nbsp;collar.&amp;nbsp; Brilliant!&amp;nbsp; You crapped, you carry it!&amp;nbsp; I should have done that with my boys, instead of stinking up my stuff!&amp;nbsp; Although I am not sure I could actually do that, I feel like it's gross even for a dog.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Plus&amp;nbsp;the dog (who will undoubtedly sleep in my bed) will always smell like crap.&amp;nbsp; (for the record, I'm going to consider the whole tying-a-bag-of-crap-around-a-dog's-neck discussion, writing about "poopy head" so we can go ahead and wrap this post up, OK?)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
OK, so I did it.&amp;nbsp; Mission accomplished, right?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;The boys told me what&amp;nbsp;to write about and I did.&amp;nbsp; I know, it was kind of&amp;nbsp; a stretch and no, you can't get these 5 minutes of your life back and I apologize for that.&amp;nbsp; But that picture up there of Keith Richards is pretty funny though, right?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Can I at least get a pity vote for this one?&amp;nbsp; Please?&amp;nbsp; Show me the love, I'm at #37 of 4500+ blogs and would love to break through to the 20's!&amp;nbsp; And you can vote every day!&amp;nbsp; You can't say you didn't laugh at the Hooters Zombies!&amp;nbsp; C'mon!&amp;nbsp; Click the box!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/7fjn2rFLCqM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/5181836485006521185/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=5181836485006521185&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/5181836485006521185?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/5181836485006521185?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/7fjn2rFLCqM/blame-my-kids-for-this-one.html" title="Blame My Kids For This One" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vxyewa4X0ug/T1akFSDRKGI/AAAAAAAAA7g/PSSc8Ec0k8c/s72-c/zombie1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/03/blame-my-kids-for-this-one.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMBRHk_eSp7ImA9WhVSEE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1072597116916914470.post-7759458173773012038</id><published>2012-03-06T07:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-03-06T07:37:35.741-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-06T07:37:35.741-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="fibs" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="twin blogs" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="white lies" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny kids" /><title>The Tangled Web We Weave</title><content type="html">Do you guys lie to your kids?&amp;nbsp; I don't mean about big, life changing stuff.&amp;nbsp; I mean the little stuff.... that you probably don't even need to lie about.&amp;nbsp; But you do, because the thought of getting "into it" with your kid right then, at that moment, is just too much to bear.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Here are some of my&amp;nbsp;recent ones:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~ I pop some candy/cookie/chips/all around not-good-for-you-but-satisfies-my-craving food into my mouth.&amp;nbsp; I think I did it on the down low, but those&amp;nbsp;sneaky kids of mine,&amp;nbsp;appear out of no-where like some sort of Special Ops&amp;nbsp;team leader&amp;nbsp;saying, "Mumma, what was that?&amp;nbsp; I want that".&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My immediate reaction? &amp;nbsp;"It's a tomato.&amp;nbsp; Want one?"&amp;nbsp; Most of the time they say no, but sometimes they say yes.&amp;nbsp; Do they really want a tomato right then, or are those little&amp;nbsp;wise asses&amp;nbsp;calling my bluff?&amp;nbsp; Hard to say, but my vote is they are calling my bluff.&amp;nbsp; And&amp;nbsp;on those days, I&amp;nbsp;walk to the fridge, praying to the Tomato Gods, that there are tomatoes in my fridge.&amp;nbsp; Edible ones is asking too much, I'll be happy with a past due, wrinkly one.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Why a tomato, you ask?&amp;nbsp; No clue.&amp;nbsp; It always comes to mind first for some reason.&amp;nbsp; Any psychoanalysts out there have any input?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bpTZhXeFayI/T1PimKDGglI/AAAAAAAAA6w/EaKzQKZJevs/s1600/tomato.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bpTZhXeFayI/T1PimKDGglI/AAAAAAAAA6w/EaKzQKZJevs/s1600/tomato.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
~ My kids LOVE having the car window down, even in the winter.&amp;nbsp; I ask them to put it up, they ask "Why?&amp;nbsp; Why Mumma?&amp;nbsp; I want to keep it dooooooooooowwwwwwwn!"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"OK", I say, "but you might get frostbite"&amp;nbsp; I know. &amp;nbsp;I'm awful aren't I?&amp;nbsp; Wait, it gets worse.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"What's frostbite, Mumma?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"It's when your fingers get really cold, turn black and fall off."&amp;nbsp; But even as I'm saying it, I realize how awful I am and that I am probably scarring them for life so I back track and say, "I'm sure you won't get it from having the car window down, but if you ever got lost on a mountain during a snow storm, you might".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Yah, Mumma?&amp;nbsp; If we go on a mountain, our fingers will fall off?"&amp;nbsp; A + B = C, right?&amp;nbsp; I'm an&amp;nbsp;awful mother.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;My kids will never go hiking with me. &amp;nbsp;Who am I kidding, when am &lt;em&gt;I &lt;/em&gt;going to hike?&amp;nbsp; But in my defense, while talking to a friend of mine, I learned that she too threatened her kids with black frost bitten fingers that might fall off too.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Oh, and the windows stayed down that night.&amp;nbsp; My kids are obviously onto my bullshit.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oDjDIK8tmko/T1Pklxr4ijI/AAAAAAAAA64/Xls3-DWhtIs/s1600/everest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oDjDIK8tmko/T1Pklxr4ijI/AAAAAAAAA64/Xls3-DWhtIs/s1600/everest.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~ My mother (yah, don't think you'd get away scott free with this topic,&amp;nbsp;Mom!) tells the kids her "treats" are dog food.&amp;nbsp; If they spot her candy, or Chex Mix and asks what it is, she tells them it's dog food.&amp;nbsp; "Nana, what's that up there?&lt;br /&gt;
"Oh, that's nothing good, honey, that's just dog food."&lt;br /&gt;
"Ewwww, dog food!?!?!"&amp;nbsp; and they're off.&lt;br /&gt;
Oh, and yah.&amp;nbsp; She doesn't have a dog.&amp;nbsp; I think at least now, she has started telling them it's cat food.&amp;nbsp;Wonder where I learned it from? Hmmmm.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Qx0aB6xzNqY/T1PlfSRfNwI/AAAAAAAAA7A/EfJHM8MAygQ/s1600/dogfood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Qx0aB6xzNqY/T1PlfSRfNwI/AAAAAAAAA7A/EfJHM8MAygQ/s1600/dogfood.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;DISCLAIMER:&amp;nbsp; Not my kid!&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;~ "Mumma,&amp;nbsp;can we skip brushing our teeth tonight?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"No, honey, we have to brush our teeth."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now, I know you think I would tell them that their teeth would fall out (which isn't a lie, by the way) but, no smarty pants, I don't.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Because we have to get all the&amp;nbsp;sugar babies out, so you don't get cavities."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Sugar babies live in my teeth, Mumma?&amp;nbsp; I don't want babies in my teeth."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Well, then we had better brush your teeth to get them out."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In my defense on this one, the dental hygienist told&amp;nbsp;both boys that sugar&amp;nbsp;babies in between their teeth cause cavities, so I'm just running with what that&amp;nbsp;lying biatch already said.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AYmOPyZc8W0/T1PmsmoeQ0I/AAAAAAAAA7I/SS7ssWJgCIo/s1600/teeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AYmOPyZc8W0/T1PmsmoeQ0I/AAAAAAAAA7I/SS7ssWJgCIo/s1600/teeth.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~&amp;nbsp;"Mumma, can I play with your phone?"&lt;br /&gt;
And because &lt;strike&gt;I am so psychotic about, obsessive over&amp;nbsp; and&amp;nbsp;addicted to&amp;nbsp;my phone, the thought of someone else using it makes me&amp;nbsp;a little bit anxious&lt;/strike&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;the boys got a little bit addicted to playing games on my phone, I am trying to detox them from it.&amp;nbsp; So I say, "Oh, the battery is dead, honey." &lt;br /&gt;
"No it's not Mumma, you were just&amp;nbsp;playing your word game on it."&amp;nbsp; Damn it.&amp;nbsp; They are too smart.&amp;nbsp; That's it, I'm pulling them from pre-school and spending the money on getting the Jennifer Aniston tan.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z9sYt0610Mc/T1Pnq9A5JkI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/UuuqDNF4wkk/s1600/wwf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z9sYt0610Mc/T1Pnq9A5JkI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/UuuqDNF4wkk/s1600/wwf.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
~ "Can I have another cookie/cup of juice/cracker/jelly bean/piece of candy?"&lt;br /&gt;
"Aw, sorry honey, it's all gone."&amp;nbsp; Fast forward 3 hours later and I'm eating the rest of whatever they wanted, after they are asleep.&amp;nbsp; I told you &lt;a href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2011/05/sharing-is-caring.html"&gt;*HERE*,&lt;/a&gt; I need that after-bedtime reward.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WC3c_5B7cQA/T1PoEtvY48I/AAAAAAAAA7Y/dhMZQBReuAU/s1600/plate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WC3c_5B7cQA/T1PoEtvY48I/AAAAAAAAA7Y/dhMZQBReuAU/s1600/plate.jpg" uda="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm sure there are so many more little lies we tell that I don't even remember.&amp;nbsp; I'm not SO bad, am I?&amp;nbsp; Please tell me you guys are guilty of it too.&amp;nbsp; Please?&amp;nbsp; Really.&amp;nbsp; Tell me in the comment section below.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~4/Vw4re7cNAqI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/feeds/7759458173773012038/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1072597116916914470&amp;postID=7759458173773012038&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/7759458173773012038?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1072597116916914470/posts/default/7759458173773012038?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/MyTwintasticLife/~3/Vw4re7cNAqI/tangled-web-we-weave.html" title="The Tangled Web We Weave" /><author><name>Kim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04755824648888016914</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-98-hO-JFz1E/TfqyJSr52WI/AAAAAAAAAL0/KVeMmZO14Ig/s220/2.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bpTZhXeFayI/T1PimKDGglI/AAAAAAAAA6w/EaKzQKZJevs/s72-c/tomato.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://www.mytwintasticlife.com/2012/03/tangled-web-we-weave.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

