<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?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;A0MARHs6cCp7ImA9WhRUFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938</id><updated>2012-01-27T16:24:05.518-05:00</updated><category term="motherhood" /><category term="hormones" /><category term="cancer" /><category term="naming children" /><category term="earth day" /><category term="contests" /><category term="books" /><category term="vacations" /><category term="pools" /><category term="wedding" /><category term="shy" /><category term="Get outside" /><category 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/><category term="ice cream" /><category term="germs" /><category term="teaching children" /><category term="cravings" /><category term="soccer" /><category term="budget" /><category term="cloth bags" /><category term="aluminum water bottles" /><category term="home based businesses" /><category term="cupcakes" /><category term="scare" /><category term="parenting" /><category term="music" /><category term="sleeping children friends" /><category term="bachelorette party" /><category term="school" /><category term="Feeling stupid" /><category term="Madonna" /><category term="stay-at-home mom" /><category term="speech therapy" /><category term="traveling" /><category term="laughter" /><category term="body image" /><category term="sleeping children" /><category term="make-up" /><category term="clutter management" /><category term="quitting" /><category term="swimming" /><category term="giveaway" /><category term="holidays" /><category term="so sad" /><category term="U2" /><category term="smart kids" /><category term="vermicomposting" /><category term="babysitting co-op" /><category term="blogging" /><category term="Father's Day" /><category term="birthday parties" /><category term="cleaning" /><category term="pregnancy" /><category term="skin care" /><category term="money" /><category term="Mother's Day" /><title>Not Talking About It, Just Saying.......</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>281</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/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying" /><feedburner:info uri="nottalkingaboutitjustsaying" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUMBR3c6cCp7ImA9WhRUFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-5570727084908367866</id><published>2012-01-27T14:44:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-27T14:44:16.918-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-27T14:44:16.918-05:00</app:edited><title>Pie</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/5570727084908367866/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=5570727084908367866" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/5570727084908367866?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/5570727084908367866?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/niDEJhp16ag/pie.html" title="Pie" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">I remember seeing the actor that played Archie Bunker say once that whatever you do, get in between your kids and drugs. He had lost his son to addiction. I was a young adult then and it really hit me hard. He was crying and saying that when you are a parent, be nosy. Get into your kids business. Keep them safe. I have kept this with me trying to walk the fine line as I parent between safety and 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oyJUOy5OE2NkUjpQhMthnnlRKro/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oyJUOy5OE2NkUjpQhMthnnlRKro/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oyJUOy5OE2NkUjpQhMthnnlRKro/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oyJUOy5OE2NkUjpQhMthnnlRKro/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/niDEJhp16ag" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2012/01/pie.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQNQng5eip7ImA9WhRUEk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-5752636213596951479</id><published>2012-01-21T22:06:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-21T22:19:53.622-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-21T22:19:53.622-05:00</app:edited><title>Can't Breathe</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/5752636213596951479/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=5752636213596951479" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/5752636213596951479?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/5752636213596951479?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/8BacQR8gCiE/cant-breathe.html" title="Can't Breathe" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">In my mom's generation, they opened Women's Day and saw the perfect house or recipe that would make it all better.

Tonight, I logged onto the website that I think is supposed to do the same.

Maybe its the wine or maybe I am just tired. I could be new. I don't get Pinterest.

With Jersey Shore humming in the background and my husbands' friends playing poker in the basement, I logged into 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZUj77fq3T_G9ezw7xb9inwA-pH8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZUj77fq3T_G9ezw7xb9inwA-pH8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZUj77fq3T_G9ezw7xb9inwA-pH8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZUj77fq3T_G9ezw7xb9inwA-pH8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/8BacQR8gCiE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2012/01/cant-breathe.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUASHgzeyp7ImA9WhRVGUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-4295793833591619104</id><published>2012-01-18T14:46:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-18T14:50:49.683-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-18T14:50:49.683-05:00</app:edited><title>Team Edward</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/4295793833591619104/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=4295793833591619104" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/4295793833591619104?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/4295793833591619104?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/kblk9N-khOY/team-edward.html" title="Team Edward" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XNPvYSZq79w/TxcibVeuX6I/AAAAAAAAAsk/zTTroITxmEM/s72-c/edward.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Pearl Jam. U2. Twilight. iPhone. Uncool clothes.

"You dress like you are from a strict religious up-bringing." I will never forget the guy that said this to me once. It hurt. But, when something hurts, you know part of it is true. I was never one to follow fads. My parents never let me follow them. I was wearing penny loafers and oxfords when the whole world was wearing neon with cute flats in 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qXjqWlKEA-9Kn0-EBNX6uoLxdTk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qXjqWlKEA-9Kn0-EBNX6uoLxdTk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qXjqWlKEA-9Kn0-EBNX6uoLxdTk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qXjqWlKEA-9Kn0-EBNX6uoLxdTk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/kblk9N-khOY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2012/01/team-edward.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUQMQHg-fip7ImA9WhRWF0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-7681915959357542642</id><published>2012-01-05T15:55:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-05T16:03:01.656-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-05T16:03:01.656-05:00</app:edited><title>In the Same Boat</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/7681915959357542642/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=7681915959357542642" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/7681915959357542642?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/7681915959357542642?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/SL59c3ZPKBs/in-same-boat.html" title="In the Same Boat" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">Yesterday was a rough day for me. Here are some of the reasons why I was in such a bad mood.



Other than the usual fighting between Kyle and Ryan before the bus came and Elle wanting me to hold her while I was making the kids' lunches, I turned Good Morning America on. Bethany Frankel was on there bragging about how easy it is to run her "brand" from her home. She said she does it all as a 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8xKFhg9gf2Mueq9xP97TaD08WUA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8xKFhg9gf2Mueq9xP97TaD08WUA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8xKFhg9gf2Mueq9xP97TaD08WUA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8xKFhg9gf2Mueq9xP97TaD08WUA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/SL59c3ZPKBs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2012/01/in-same-boat.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0UEQHk_eip7ImA9WhRWEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-7110840177385244857</id><published>2011-12-30T00:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-30T00:00:01.742-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-30T00:00:01.742-05:00</app:edited><title>Stop Fighting!</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/7110840177385244857/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=7110840177385244857" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/7110840177385244857?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/7110840177385244857?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/y_5P-b0c9QI/stop-fighting.html" title="Stop Fighting!" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">I have sent them to their rooms. I have taken away electronics. I have sat down with them and talked with them. I have screamed. I have made them "rest." I have had them work it out on their own. Nothing is working. Fighting is a sport for my boys and they love to fight about everything. We're talking real punches and arguing. Not just bear cubbing which they do sandwiched between the real 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JAzs8iiBlPuOObCzkBzL9qnmXDg/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JAzs8iiBlPuOObCzkBzL9qnmXDg/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JAzs8iiBlPuOObCzkBzL9qnmXDg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JAzs8iiBlPuOObCzkBzL9qnmXDg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/y_5P-b0c9QI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/12/stop-fighting.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IFSX8yeSp7ImA9WhRWEUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-3524328329530474117</id><published>2011-12-28T19:05:00.017-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-28T19:45:18.191-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-28T19:45:18.191-05:00</app:edited><title>Where U Been?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/3524328329530474117/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=3524328329530474117" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/3524328329530474117?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/3524328329530474117?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/g42IHfSxYb8/where-u-been.html" title="Where U Been?" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Top 10 Reasons I have been away from my blog.10. I might be losing my mind. Or at least it feels that way. Three kids are making me a bit nuts. A toddler might be the main reason. Either way. I just can't focus and write anything without her pulling on my leg. I can't get anything done. My house is in shambles. Honest.9. Some private stuff happened to some friends in the fall. It was constantly 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cvhexbNqVcPm2_fWdtJtyWoyc4s/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cvhexbNqVcPm2_fWdtJtyWoyc4s/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cvhexbNqVcPm2_fWdtJtyWoyc4s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cvhexbNqVcPm2_fWdtJtyWoyc4s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/g42IHfSxYb8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/12/where-u-been.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4CQX44eyp7ImA9WhdVEE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-4076873179967564190</id><published>2011-09-14T16:28:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-14T16:42:40.033-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-14T16:42:40.033-04:00</app:edited><title>Never Too Late</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/4076873179967564190/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=4076873179967564190" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/4076873179967564190?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/4076873179967564190?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/2a9dVH_KQpQ/never-too-late.html" title="Never Too Late" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iEFux0PZOH0/TnERVa2siMI/AAAAAAAAAr0/sJ7ePLFaFzs/s72-c/rose.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><content type="html">I never got around to sending an acquaintance a sympathy card when her sister passed away. We don't really know each other well. We're more Facebook friends. But every time she posts on FB, I feel bad. At the time, I knew she'd get a million cards. I didn't think it mattered. But, I have been on the other side of this. It matters. It all matters.At my mom's funeral, a friend came. She also came 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wL_2AxSC-1f-guogA31cCAyGhnM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wL_2AxSC-1f-guogA31cCAyGhnM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/2a9dVH_KQpQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/09/never-too-late.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQDR3k7cCp7ImA9WhdWFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-8383733279068093943</id><published>2011-09-08T15:43:00.015-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T16:06:16.708-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-08T16:06:16.708-04:00</app:edited><title>Disney Warm-up</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/8383733279068093943/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=8383733279068093943" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/8383733279068093943?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/8383733279068093943?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/fb-Gr4edIhU/disney-warm-up.html" title="Disney Warm-up" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cc10K27lXb8/TmkeswZyPYI/AAAAAAAAArs/Ub9bjUAx-7Q/s72-c/117.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Road trips do not come easy to us. Elle might be the world's worst traveler. For those of you who have kids that travel easy, you might consider yourselves an expert. You might think you have exposed your child to more experiences and so you've won this contest. I am here to tell you, she just isn't a good traveler. Baby has been to Mexico and Canada but she can't stand to drive to Solon.We set 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/W7zvSLrJ3eqyjOycuWaH_8fHi2s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/W7zvSLrJ3eqyjOycuWaH_8fHi2s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/fb-Gr4edIhU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/09/disney-warm-up.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkQNQngzeSp7ImA9WhdXGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-7303273530644320040</id><published>2011-08-30T22:41:00.016-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-31T21:26:33.681-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-31T21:26:33.681-04:00</app:edited><title>Sweet Weekend</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/7303273530644320040/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=7303273530644320040" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/7303273530644320040?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/7303273530644320040?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/_so8iobrFvw/sweet-weekend.html" title="Sweet Weekend" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x8adf9rNZ0Y/Tl2gUqMInEI/AAAAAAAAArc/mFksAAmmzHc/s72-c/btr-big-time-rush-24912573-400-400.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">I am going to give you three clues to where our family is going this weekend. I could give you one sweet clue but you'd guess it too easily.

Here is the first:

"I Want to be Famous."

The second:

It will be my children's first concert.

And third:


Oh yeah. We are driving to Allentown, PA to see my son Kyle's favorite band. Big Time Rush! We bought him tickets for his birthday back in March. 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yGp_hI511X3eLf5xjci8eFQj-IU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yGp_hI511X3eLf5xjci8eFQj-IU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/_so8iobrFvw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/08/sweet-weekend.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0MCR3g6eyp7ImA9WhdXE00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-3033262922289429312</id><published>2011-08-23T10:52:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-25T15:44:26.613-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-25T15:44:26.613-04:00</app:edited><title>Whatever Her Name Is</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/3033262922289429312/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=3033262922289429312" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/3033262922289429312?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/3033262922289429312?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/KqRmj-Z-1aw/whatever-her-name-is.html" title="Whatever Her Name Is" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Oy8be2k0CYU/Tlakjmx06jI/AAAAAAAAArM/pyOuHzNq28s/s72-c/Socks-clinton.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">
We looked from cage to cage searching for the perfect cat. I kept track of our top five. The room was hot and crowded. I needed some water and I was ready to go home. My kids on the other hand were on the search. I wasn't so sure I was ready to replace my dear Indy.

But the search continued until a fight erupted over the perfect cat choice. After a few threats of "We are going home without a 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sDcm-73ItWw_BaRRhkgzuX2n1Cs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sDcm-73ItWw_BaRRhkgzuX2n1Cs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/KqRmj-Z-1aw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/08/whatever-her-name-is.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkYARHk7eyp7ImA9WhdQF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-8379927507709447665</id><published>2011-08-19T14:15:00.015-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-19T14:55:45.703-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-19T14:55:45.703-04:00</app:edited><title>The One and Only Carnation Festival</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/8379927507709447665/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=8379927507709447665" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/8379927507709447665?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/8379927507709447665?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/4BCtE9es0b4/one-and-only-carnation-festival.html" title="The One and Only Carnation Festival" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LhSx5s-LiP0/Tk6wuPtcElI/AAAAAAAAArE/E-8xz3XXdJs/s72-c/fries.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">
When I drive home to Alliance, I see many rough looking houses. The people are struggling. Steel factories have shut down and there aren't the jobs to support the working class. It looks like a John Couger Mellencamp video. Many of the working class are now poor. The jobs are not there. So many hurting and struggling. Except for one week a year.

The Carnation Festival. Somehow, the small town 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/msbtpD49MUAq7Y4XF1lb3BRxdU8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/msbtpD49MUAq7Y4XF1lb3BRxdU8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/4BCtE9es0b4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/08/one-and-only-carnation-festival.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUQDQH09fip7ImA9WhdQFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-8452300636705773391</id><published>2011-08-15T11:12:00.011-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-16T12:49:31.366-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-16T12:49:31.366-04:00</app:edited><title>Just call me a rebel</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/8452300636705773391/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=8452300636705773391" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/8452300636705773391?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/8452300636705773391?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/MEufzVjE_jQ/just-call-me-rebel.html" title="Just call me a rebel" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xq4zcy-UZHo/Tkk-POjs3HI/AAAAAAAAAqc/tA8UNc7SlTA/s72-c/202.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>7</thr:total><content type="html"> 
I am going to do it. I am not sure what will happen but I am just going to try. I am a rebel. I am sending in a wooden ruler instead of a plastic one to school on Wednesday. I know it is crazy. Totally going off the deep end here. You thought you knew me.


A little old lady saw me at Walmart pulling out my hair while looking at the kids "Back to School" lists. She said "In the old days, we 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qPBFEejTw4lySq3SH_3EN-5QJOU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qPBFEejTw4lySq3SH_3EN-5QJOU/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qPBFEejTw4lySq3SH_3EN-5QJOU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qPBFEejTw4lySq3SH_3EN-5QJOU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/MEufzVjE_jQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/08/just-call-me-rebel.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QEQnY8eyp7ImA9WhdQEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-2445834706510729948</id><published>2011-08-11T16:26:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-11T16:41:43.873-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-11T16:41:43.873-04:00</app:edited><title>Give Me Some Sugar!</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/2445834706510729948/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=2445834706510729948" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/2445834706510729948?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/2445834706510729948?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/gP8c3Tsonts/give-me-some-sugar.html" title="Give Me Some Sugar!" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-blruGqF21ZE/TkQ-EbblrZI/AAAAAAAAAqU/BaR3Vtu3V1A/s72-c/coke.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">


I am a sugar addict. I can eat an entire white cake in a day. And then drink a Coke. And then some more Coke.


When I decided to lose weight about two years ago, I knew that my love affair with sugar would have to end some day. But, with Weight Watchers, we could casually keep our affair in order. I used to use Splenda all day in my tea and then at night, I would have a Coke with a treat like
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0pvVxu_pI54LsdECBda2DnRPh7c/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0pvVxu_pI54LsdECBda2DnRPh7c/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0pvVxu_pI54LsdECBda2DnRPh7c/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0pvVxu_pI54LsdECBda2DnRPh7c/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/gP8c3Tsonts" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/08/give-me-some-sugar.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0UGQX88fCp7ImA9WhdRFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-3205762885329135185</id><published>2011-08-05T15:07:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-05T15:07:00.174-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-05T15:07:00.174-04:00</app:edited><title>Now Linkedin</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/3205762885329135185/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=3205762885329135185" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/3205762885329135185?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/3205762885329135185?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/9ecsuZedCVY/now-linkedin.html" title="Now Linkedin" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e_OgglFXDeU/Tjw-UMjSxlI/AAAAAAAAAqM/4XcCxJKA63o/s72-c/linked%2Bin%2Blogo.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><content type="html">Elle is two. So, my days as a SAHM (Stay-at-Home Mom) are probably numbered. There are braces to pay for, college in less than ten years and prom dresses to buy.To be honest, I have checked the Sunday job section of the Plain Dealer since I resigned in 2002 to have Ryan. It started by being nosy. I knew everyone in my field at most universities. So, I wanted to stay up to date with who was where.
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zRdwR08MXhZ58MC0bS5HhoQ8rlE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zRdwR08MXhZ58MC0bS5HhoQ8rlE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zRdwR08MXhZ58MC0bS5HhoQ8rlE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zRdwR08MXhZ58MC0bS5HhoQ8rlE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/9ecsuZedCVY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/08/now-linkedin.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8CRXk-fCp7ImA9WhdRFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-8275573916194110724</id><published>2011-08-03T16:10:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-03T16:21:04.754-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-03T16:21:04.754-04:00</app:edited><title>Houseflies: Unwanted Houseguests</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/8275573916194110724/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=8275573916194110724" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/8275573916194110724?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/8275573916194110724?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/4tuFPE8HjE4/houseflies-unwanted-houseguests.html" title="Houseflies: Unwanted Houseguests" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0twsutSYC7s/TjmtPZcHcXI/AAAAAAAAAqE/ihpPhmTgaoA/s72-c/housefly.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">I have killed about 30 flies in the last three days. At least. I am going crazy. I have no idea where they came from. But, I know where they are going. I usually don't kill anything. I will escort a bee out the door or slip a spider in a cup and put her on the porch. And any insect outside of our house is safe. I don't let my kids kill anything. But houseflies are nasty and I can't stand to have 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/b94xhDoCFkeuLCkLJoz1Cz2_t-k/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/b94xhDoCFkeuLCkLJoz1Cz2_t-k/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/b94xhDoCFkeuLCkLJoz1Cz2_t-k/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/b94xhDoCFkeuLCkLJoz1Cz2_t-k/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/4tuFPE8HjE4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/08/houseflies-unwanted-houseguests.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0UCSHg4cSp7ImA9WhdRE0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-697250197165994282</id><published>2011-08-02T23:04:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-02T23:14:29.639-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-02T23:14:29.639-04:00</app:edited><title>Light as a Feather</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/697250197165994282/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=697250197165994282" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/697250197165994282?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/697250197165994282?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/Fy7QF0-uV5k/light-as-feather.html" title="Light as a Feather" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Life feels so much easier this week. Last week, I watched my sister's three kids so she could go on an anniversary cruise. They are great kids but it was a long week. I can barely keep up with my three so adding three was a lot of work. This week I feel so light and free. My house is a mess but I am less of a mess so I can deal with it.As I wrote in my last post, we are trying to follow a budget 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HXw6h-6GAoZRk4pz475uqz3oPr4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HXw6h-6GAoZRk4pz475uqz3oPr4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HXw6h-6GAoZRk4pz475uqz3oPr4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HXw6h-6GAoZRk4pz475uqz3oPr4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/Fy7QF0-uV5k" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/08/light-as-feather.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cERno8eSp7ImA9WhdSFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-2450627837333165335</id><published>2011-07-25T11:38:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-25T11:50:07.471-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-25T11:50:07.471-04:00</app:edited><title>Diets &amp; Budgets</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/2450627837333165335/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=2450627837333165335" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/2450627837333165335?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/2450627837333165335?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/e5YQ4ME0A4g/diets-budgets.html" title="Diets &amp; Budgets" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">I was just reading another person's blog about her obsession of only wearing a very expensive brand named shoe. Hmmmm. I cannot relate at all unless you call a Target shoe a "brand." About a month ago after our family vacation, my husband noticed that we were getting a little crazy with our finances. We were eating out weekly, picking up fast food, ordering pizzas, huge trips to Target and 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VigdeZ7vsNzinuJYtxmJxggnxMg/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VigdeZ7vsNzinuJYtxmJxggnxMg/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VigdeZ7vsNzinuJYtxmJxggnxMg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VigdeZ7vsNzinuJYtxmJxggnxMg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/e5YQ4ME0A4g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/07/diets-budgets.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQFR3w4fyp7ImA9WhdTGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-8085865408695014463</id><published>2011-07-13T12:13:00.017-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-18T10:11:56.237-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-18T10:11:56.237-04:00</app:edited><title>RHSC</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/8085865408695014463/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=8085865408695014463" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/8085865408695014463?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/8085865408695014463?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/7G7bi2yfMxI/rhsc.html" title="RHSC" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">If only I was on the show Real Housewives of Summit County. I am apart of a group of friends that instead of throwing dinner parties, we just throw parties. We all bring something to share (and store bought is A-OK) and we have cocktails. We call it Party Club. It is more fun than parents should be allowed to have. We take turns hosting and I am up to host this Saturday.As I climbed on a ladder 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/EC5UDD5UFXBA_S_sGdxepBvsh14/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/EC5UDD5UFXBA_S_sGdxepBvsh14/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/EC5UDD5UFXBA_S_sGdxepBvsh14/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/EC5UDD5UFXBA_S_sGdxepBvsh14/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/7G7bi2yfMxI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/07/rhsc.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU4DRn48cSp7ImA9WhdTEEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-2883936981519204204</id><published>2011-07-07T14:22:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-07T14:39:37.079-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-07T14:39:37.079-04:00</app:edited><title>No more teachers, no more books...</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/2883936981519204204/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=2883936981519204204" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/2883936981519204204?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/2883936981519204204?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/bARPGUw66pE/no-more-teachers-no-more-books.html" title="No more teachers, no more books..." /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">I was in Target today looking for a new sprinkler. It is still summer, right? In Ohio, it just started getting warm enough for the pool. Summer it is. On my way to the summer section, I was hit smack in the face with Back to School. Already.When I cringed last week at the Toys R Us ad for Back to School, my husband said "Aren't you counting the days?" Well, yes. Sort of.I hate to rush summer. The
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NTeE3wHnpenZq8l4MfBYz0d517U/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NTeE3wHnpenZq8l4MfBYz0d517U/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NTeE3wHnpenZq8l4MfBYz0d517U/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NTeE3wHnpenZq8l4MfBYz0d517U/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/bARPGUw66pE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/07/no-more-teachers-no-more-books.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcASXszeip7ImA9WhZaFEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-3784283207670719883</id><published>2011-06-29T12:58:00.020-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-30T13:47:28.582-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-30T13:47:28.582-04:00</app:edited><title>Don't Get Fat</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/3784283207670719883/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=3784283207670719883" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/3784283207670719883?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/3784283207670719883?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/ZBPZbcv9sJ0/dont-get-fat.html" title="Don't Get Fat" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y6w4H9eUx-Y/TgteF_OPyhI/AAAAAAAAAps/knxidY7zQgM/s72-c/Cancun%2B046.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><content type="html">My maternal grandmother weighed over 300 lbs. When she died, her license said something like 160. She was always so funny. We just laughed and laughed when we saw that. She tried every diet in the world. As a child, I remember my mom driving her to the Cleveland Clinic for some diet appointment. She came home with some crazy, strict diet. I know she also did Weight Watchers. My mom and grandma 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/h98rGhe_s-XX1HOEyQ8Mb7D67NY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/h98rGhe_s-XX1HOEyQ8Mb7D67NY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/ZBPZbcv9sJ0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/06/dont-get-fat.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkUBQnY7fyp7ImA9WhZaEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-5734084010786926740</id><published>2011-06-27T14:05:00.012-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-28T11:17:33.807-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-28T11:17:33.807-04:00</app:edited><title>The Boa</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/5734084010786926740/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=5734084010786926740" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/5734084010786926740?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/5734084010786926740?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/U7i4sDFWzFs/boa.html" title="The Boa" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wFfgvsexO4I/TgjMxiEsLiI/AAAAAAAAApk/K2tRQkKmfI4/s72-c/kpfun.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">This hot mama left hot pink feathers at every winery we visited. It was a trail of fun. I wondered what the people finding the feathers would think. Where did these come from?KpFUN was the sixth or seventh birthday girl to wear the boa. I can't remember who we bought it for first. Each 40th birthday, the bag is passed around and once the party has gotten started, the feather boa is pulled out and
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/D1JRmNzrogu3Fh_yri9cnkGmB30/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/D1JRmNzrogu3Fh_yri9cnkGmB30/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/U7i4sDFWzFs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/06/boa.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIBRH08eyp7ImA9WhZbFU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-5842601745534631687</id><published>2011-06-19T21:30:00.036-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-19T22:39:15.373-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-19T22:39:15.373-04:00</app:edited><title>Are We There Yet?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/5842601745534631687/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=5842601745534631687" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/5842601745534631687?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/5842601745534631687?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/FJ_bBlVAvCs/are-we-there-yet.html" title="Are We There Yet?" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bLcv80Fj6Xc/Tf6n85B-14I/AAAAAAAAAo8/sJluE5NPNVg/s72-c/skywheel.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">We were only on the highway when we heard our middle child yell "Are we there yet?" We had only about 13 1/2 more hours to go. We knew it was going to be a long trip.Every three years, we take a vacation with my in-laws to Myrtle Beach. When my husband was a child, they went every summer. We rotate our vacations so that we can go somewhere with my family and then on the off year, we take one on 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q5ooR-5MWSzNZ9s9XIfhXuqLFGc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q5ooR-5MWSzNZ9s9XIfhXuqLFGc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/FJ_bBlVAvCs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/06/are-we-there-yet.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0MBSXc8eyp7ImA9WhZbEUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-3896988760785913903</id><published>2011-06-15T15:14:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-15T15:17:38.973-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-15T15:17:38.973-04:00</app:edited><title>Cock-a-doodle-do</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/3896988760785913903/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=3896988760785913903" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/3896988760785913903?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/3896988760785913903?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/1xv-tXG4Bwg/cock-doodle-do.html" title="Cock-a-doodle-do" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qChEgVWXDqE/TfkFRTngGYI/AAAAAAAAAo0/mI9FWWGBEiA/s72-c/facebook.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">I am a big old chicken. I don't like the girl that is cutting my hair. She is a girl, not a woman. I am not sure she is even out of high school yet. You are right. She has to be. But when I am sitting in that chair, I feel older than dirt. It isn't a good feeling. I pay big bucks to sit in that chair for two hours. I should walk away feeling like a million dollars. That was my sign. My other sign
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bIZjMAEN4Xsn-GQeJMahDa02eZA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bIZjMAEN4Xsn-GQeJMahDa02eZA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/1xv-tXG4Bwg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/06/cock-doodle-do.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YFSXg4fCp7ImA9WhZbEUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-2219222621320504628</id><published>2011-06-15T15:11:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-06-15T15:11:58.634-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-15T15:11:58.634-04:00</app:edited><title>Kitty News</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/2219222621320504628/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=2219222621320504628" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/2219222621320504628?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/2219222621320504628?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/bwEjrqdi8-4/kitty-news.html" title="Kitty News" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">We let Indy go in early June. RIP sweet kitty. We love you!
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/o-TFiPU7sIu9GnsxrEtobVAtfAQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/o-TFiPU7sIu9GnsxrEtobVAtfAQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~4/bwEjrqdi8-4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/2011/06/kitty-news.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QMQnc5fip7ImA9WhZVGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314917761990865938.post-5353818061401294845</id><published>2011-05-31T14:57:00.012-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-31T15:16:23.926-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-31T15:16:23.926-04:00</app:edited><title>Indy (aka KiKi)</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://imnottalkingaboutitimjustsaying.blogspot.com/feeds/5353818061401294845/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5314917761990865938&amp;postID=5353818061401294845" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/5353818061401294845?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5314917761990865938/posts/default/5353818061401294845?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NotTalkingAboutItJustSaying/~3/o-iiK_BWwE8/indy-aka-kiki.html" title="Indy (aka KiKi)" /><author><name>Indy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05544675666827041726</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="21" height="32" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_9uC_kcLmxRU/R_rDxmVjQEI/AAAAAAAAAAM/W0xnVA7dIv4/S220/t716496262_9935%5B1%5D.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0msW8RYw7IU/TeU9pxn1eKI/AAAAAAAAAoo/oPPrrlI16dg/s72-c/Animal%2BPlanet.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><content type="html"> This is Ryan, my oldest back in 2002 with our dog and Indy is on the back of the couch.My name on this blog has been Indy but my real name is not Indy. It is my cat's formal name. We now call her KiKi. She is about 13 years old and we've had her since we were first married. We lived on-campus because my job at Lake Erie College required that I live in the residence halls. My lucky husband!!! So,
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