<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><rss xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/" xmlns:blogger="http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" version="2.0"><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Thu, 11 Sep 2025 07:57:03 +0000</lastBuildDate><category>complaints</category><category>germs</category><category>hand foot and mouth</category><category>marriage</category><category>men</category><category>misery</category><category>plague</category><category>playspace</category><category>sick</category><category>worry</category><title>Short Fat Dictator</title><description></description><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>258</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-8235888993783116315</guid><pubDate>Fri, 03 Oct 2014 17:44:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-10-03T10:45:12.659-07:00</atom:updated><title>One Special Thing</title><atom:summary type="text">






Clown costume circa 1979. Don&#39;t blame my Mom for the makeup - I insisted on doing it myself.


When my siblings and I were little my Mom would start taking orders for our Halloween costumes at some point in the late summer.&amp;nbsp;

For months she would work on crafting our outfits. She&#39;d tear pictures of whatever superhero or historic figure she was attempting to recreate out of magazines </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/10/one-special-thing.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRC6foMGYY8d9au2o0fq4GkL0tm5Zz2B-X2YIgICwXQRwtPXP4J8F5akkDnlBmWIZtR11RrlMba1Km0Fqiot2y_2YeK_Ws8tZgwxa1UGUBN2lIgTVX7hHpi6WbnvSAAIp593cdmUq6yo/s72-c/clown.JPG" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-7098287282067942172</guid><pubDate>Sat, 13 Sep 2014 00:41:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-09-12T17:43:02.567-07:00</atom:updated><title>Home Again.</title><atom:summary type="text">

Well, it took us two full months but we are FINALLY home.






Four years ago we decided to move. One year ago we decided it would be this June. And two months ago we packed up our home in Los Angeles and hit the road for what&amp;nbsp;turned out to be points HIGHLY unknown.

After almost 5 weeks&amp;nbsp;with my in-laws in Texas we headed for New York&amp;nbsp;because we&#39;d been assured from all&amp;nbsp;</atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/09/home-again.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-2708234636342007740</guid><pubDate>Thu, 24 Jul 2014 15:15:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-07-24T08:53:43.639-07:00</atom:updated><title>Diamonds in the Rough</title><atom:summary type="text">





On account of our in-flux housing situation&amp;nbsp;my&amp;nbsp;fivesome has spent&amp;nbsp;the better part of the summer hanging out in Texas with my in-laws.&amp;nbsp;

I&#39;ve spent time in Texas before, but never like &quot;surprise, you&#39;ll be here for six weeks!&quot; time, and so I&#39;ve had to do quite a bit of improvising.

You know what&#39;s not all that easy when you have three kids under six? &amp;nbsp;IMPROVISING.

</atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/07/diamonds-in-rough.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7jKyVoAh94uR7qPPzyyFHSrM0Rr5f7pB0Mw3ASazIZP5KUqk3VPOimUxu6UlBc6lri-ueph96Ol-CkJYpdELs3W_ynVRHb1uR1tCvvnbqSAXLEwAq-6mRtbqEP0em40IqzVP_uGhK4tAO/s72-c/blue_bear_party.jpg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-7414575420992992538</guid><pubDate>Thu, 10 Jul 2014 17:46:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-07-10T13:17:01.519-07:00</atom:updated><title>Perspective Lost</title><atom:summary type="text">

When my father was a young man he had surgery to remove a large growth from one of his lungs. Because the medical technology of the time was neither all that medical nor all that technical, part of his recovery required him to abstain from water for&amp;nbsp;the better part of several days.




When visitors would come to see him during this period my father recalls being&amp;nbsp;overcome by a single </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/07/perspective-lost.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-7862587418101609347</guid><pubDate>Thu, 26 Jun 2014 18:07:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-06-26T11:07:00.692-07:00</atom:updated><title>&#39;NOW I SEE YOU&#39; Book Giveaway!</title><atom:summary type="text">





It&#39;s giveaway week at Short Fat Dictator!



On Tuesday my friend and fellow blogger at A MOM AMOK released her memoir &quot;Now I See You&quot;.&amp;nbsp;







When a friend comes out with a book your mind kind of goes like this (and when I say &quot;your mind&quot; please note that I probably mean &quot;my crazy mind&quot;):


[Book is Announced]&amp;nbsp;My friend wrote a book! How exciting! OMG I&amp;nbsp;can&#39;t wait to read </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/06/now-i-see-you-book-giveaway.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVjlSkJAYEThkJZ98CybZGgwMsghaqLKLxYu52NaefvxcBtIqHgyyNHxJMA7NcK7FAltSUhL_-LdTZ9feiD6kIsos9YuWu3Kc2xuCb77CzfbtPMd_8WxvDywsCglMeKUXPqKO6Inh7i8/s72-c/HIgh+Res+Cover+Shot+.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-1256109226844924708</guid><pubDate>Fri, 13 Jun 2014 15:46:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-06-13T08:47:58.220-07:00</atom:updated><title>Father&#39;s Day</title><atom:summary type="text">


For Father&#39;s Day this week I&#39;m sharing a piece from my aunt&#39;s blog. It is about her father, my grandfather and I love it. Go read her anytime at&amp;nbsp;



www.terrymartinhekker.com



June 2014 ~ Father&#39;s Day Memories of my Father



Probably &amp;nbsp;the most unappreciated job in our culture is “father”. He is the butt of jokes calling him clueless.&amp;nbsp;He shows up in TV commercials as the one </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/06/fathers-day.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-9014911787725176546</guid><pubDate>Fri, 06 Jun 2014 01:35:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-06-05T18:35:49.824-07:00</atom:updated><title>A Brief Update</title><atom:summary type="text">Hey Guys!

So our plan to move East has moved from &quot;planning phase&quot; to &quot;holy crap its happening phase&quot;. This means we are on the eve of a cross-country move.

In other news, the house we were in the&amp;nbsp;middle of purchasing in New York fell through. This means that my little family of FIVE leaves LA on Monday without, you know, a destination. It&#39;s pretty much like a leap of faith where&amp;nbsp;we </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/06/a-brief-update.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbDq-EXoRlbETC2BSe6afnHICmDlKAR-7ful9qEUOS2adRe0xCcxaUpdG41DM2qwxzwg3VhOIwJSTZ63QBpja5X_03XQSAIFljszYCRsz6wYiC0NABi6rGwujDkgyo-T6uPNO2ph3Fa7o/s72-c/marshmellows.jpg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-9060513273294214683</guid><pubDate>Thu, 22 May 2014 22:08:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-05-22T16:18:46.276-07:00</atom:updated><title>It&#39;s Laundry Day! (Everyday)</title><atom:summary type="text">



What else is there really to say about the laundry?

And yet -- ALL I WANT TO DO IS COMPLAIN ABOUT THE LAUNDRY!





Before I was married I can&#39;t say I ever really gave laundry that much thought.&amp;nbsp;

I would wear clothes, occasionally they would become dirty, and then I would journey to the laundry room and wash them, perhaps while reading a novel of my choosing.&amp;nbsp;

Could it be that it</atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/05/its-laundry-day-everyday.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrnUynJAgHHPYAM1Cqe4L0jMymMbBsaCjJthwY7j85cTwU7aOkAGR7O43lPpokk81VmjBHMAUhu3Y5aeUufw64dxvwnTW7WTyrsKuh1M6emkmMvL9DfPEpJEulPXQxvOgYbJ44_UmcUE/s72-c/photo+2.JPG" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-3216174929548042488</guid><pubDate>Thu, 08 May 2014 22:02:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-05-08T15:02:36.798-07:00</atom:updated><title>Fight Night! (And Day. And Then Night Again)</title><atom:summary type="text">




Oh people, the fighting at my house. It is not to be believed.






When I opted to have three children in short order I had visions of a jolly threesome who might spend long afternoons frolicking merrily about the lawn as I sat, perhaps enjoying a cocktail of my choosing.&amp;nbsp;

What I failed to imagine was just how many hours I would spend&amp;nbsp;shrieking repeatedly and at ever-increasing </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/05/fight-night-and-day-and-then-night-again.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-8655907044934595669</guid><pubDate>Thu, 01 May 2014 21:19:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-05-01T14:44:26.234-07:00</atom:updated><title>If I Lived Like My Three-Year-Old</title><atom:summary type="text">





Instead of making polite conversation&amp;nbsp;with people I didn&#39;t feel like talking to, I would simply point at them before shouting &quot;I AM SHY OF YOU!&quot;&amp;nbsp;Then I would cover my face with both of my hands until they went away.




I would consider a handful of goldfish crackers and an ice cream cone a sensible dinner.




When big decisions were needed I would ask myself, &quot;How would </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/05/if-i-lived-like-my-three-year-old.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqM9YpV72cxKoKUDE8XOjO2xSe3KB66jm8LVRP7qwtFrPCEij5r63iwva2YWdoR_Hk1EZvXMl2LKd6eOnZidxC8e5O7-TF1n77hjEv5SskZh1Q6uewn896frx3tKafA-n8BuzHry0t9o/s72-c/IMG_7860.jpg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-6612925525647128480</guid><pubDate>Fri, 11 Apr 2014 00:50:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-04-10T18:32:51.711-07:00</atom:updated><title>When Does the Grown Up Get Here? - My Messy Beautiful</title><atom:summary type="text">





We celebrated my father&#39;s birthday a few years back, and at the end of our dinner he raised a glass and announced to his assembled family,

&quot;Well,&amp;nbsp;I can tell you one thing for sure. You never do feel seventy-five!&quot;
I knew just what he meant.&amp;nbsp;

I try, as often as possible, to spend time with my childhood BFF. Whenever we&#39;re&amp;nbsp;together it&#39;s like&amp;nbsp;old times. We laugh like </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/04/when-will-grown-up-get-here-my-messy.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaII8bjq50r8-Qysscm8esb3KoUe1vVEY0zy1QA43nhiFBQ4U5J70_A2p7cg1Fv39-skIufq0f5IKVHQ0CC8hT7UuPUCveRCwC7bqZEl7uEui17DXau9w8-7vSfuLf95rAHG8qqLHKuj8/s72-c/IMG_7650.jpg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-224312636525676392</guid><pubDate>Thu, 03 Apr 2014 23:24:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-04-03T18:07:53.005-07:00</atom:updated><title>There Were Three in the Bed (room)</title><atom:summary type="text">


We have three children under six and we live in a two bedroom house, which means that of late&amp;nbsp;we have found ourselves desperately trying to figure out how to get all three of our kids to sleep in&amp;nbsp;the same room at&amp;nbsp;the same time.

I&#39;m not gonna lie -- it hasn&#39;t been going that well.

When we first moved into this home we had one 7-month-old baby. Having moved from a one-bedroom </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/04/there-were-three-in-bed-room.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrKg_h5ygRH-m3t39qurCzaAVhRWT9bccf0XVz3L2sMntMgASBobcjLUbNJVxFu3dRgWfi1JHflSlpaT7BaAsFq2Xw-apYOihrb5YVNCS-n7zMVR96xWapFzDHtjR2qcTa3zpeL7h4PQ/s72-c/IMG_7797.jpg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-981587135349201002</guid><pubDate>Fri, 28 Mar 2014 00:14:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-03-27T17:16:08.878-07:00</atom:updated><title>No More Wandering, Cause I&#39;m Not Lost</title><atom:summary type="text">

This piece…

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/shouts/2014/03/new-parenting-study-released.html

…from the New Yorker has been everywhere this week because it is, you know, perfection.





Having been a parent for exactly five-and-a-half years this week, I&#39;ve been through&amp;nbsp;countless iterations of the &quot;new&amp;nbsp;must-have parenting system!!!!&quot;&amp;nbsp;

I&#39;ve been told:

Be a TIGER MOM and </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/03/figuring-it-out.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-6601963008089331702</guid><pubDate>Thu, 20 Mar 2014 21:02:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-03-20T14:02:46.809-07:00</atom:updated><title>On Nagging</title><atom:summary type="text">

From www.thefreedictionary.com

nag&amp;nbsp;(næɡ)

vb,&amp;nbsp;nags,&amp;nbsp;nagging&amp;nbsp;or&amp;nbsp;nagged

1.&amp;nbsp;n.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;a person, esp a woman, who nags


synonyms:shrew,&amp;nbsp;harpy,&amp;nbsp;termagant,&amp;nbsp;harridan;&amp;nbsp;More













Do you know that there is no equivalent male word for &quot;nag&quot; in the English language? Men weigh in, women nag - or so goes the logic.



As one half of a married </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/03/on-nagging.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFQhvw41n7HJ-DHIbtTK4zdCOJuG_Y0iDELLJaYY5sGtFVmLlStyOc2hPOJ66lsXCfKKR0DOV9e1Hpiul9oI4JvgB_GmGFu5G-UMzlijyxbvLl5TREOpbpwpnSVxSYUft8TzJDlR07oNc/s72-c/383482_10152181973150722_1474603551_n.jpg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-839514724545934873</guid><pubDate>Thu, 27 Feb 2014 22:41:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-02-28T10:08:28.139-08:00</atom:updated><title>We Gotta Get That!</title><atom:summary type="text">

About two decades ago I went to Playland amusement park in Rye, NY with my best friend and her three-year-old child.&amp;nbsp;As we walked&amp;nbsp;through the midway,&amp;nbsp;I watched her eyes scan the horizon on constant alert for what might lie ahead.&amp;nbsp;

&quot;Yeah, let&#39;s turn here, I don&#39;t want&amp;nbsp;to pass that game that has all the Barneys.&quot;

&quot;OK, left up here, I don&#39;t want him to see those Pikachus</atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/02/we-gotta-get-that.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-7431444112460245515</guid><pubDate>Fri, 21 Feb 2014 01:00:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-02-20T19:28:03.192-08:00</atom:updated><title>Is This Thing Still On?</title><atom:summary type="text">

I&#39;ve always been a performer at heart.




From my earliest days I&#39;ve been trying to get people to pay attention to me. As a kid, I was the class clown.&amp;nbsp;In high school, I imagined a singular future for myself --&amp;nbsp;INTERNATIONALLY RENOWNED POP STAR.

Yeah,&amp;nbsp;that didn&#39;t exactly work out.

Instead I went to college,&amp;nbsp;where I joined an improv group and began to focus on a&amp;nbsp;</atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/02/is-this-thing-still-on.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPgMOyYufCkKmPp0Wx58jZyaqW-YIhVfuvbUaM8bJKrebD-jT0xDCrz-0vl2x4v99CF-nyC8aDIduG_yOGQ2_WhQhMpQ4DBiRJ8JEu64aOVYanHAsyCs225Zr6mKFgLk2X7C0JbCQlFjZW/s72-c/DownloadedFile.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-98367896068972879</guid><pubDate>Thu, 13 Feb 2014 23:33:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-02-13T16:31:24.844-08:00</atom:updated><title>The Time Out</title><atom:summary type="text">

Last night I came home from the gym to find my kids&amp;nbsp;eating some fast food my husband had picked up for them after an outing to the park.&amp;nbsp;





I walked by on my way to the shower, grabbed a french fry off my son&#39;s plate, and popped it in my mouth.
Outrage immediately ensued.
There was great wailing and&amp;nbsp;gnashing of teeth by my son at the loss of this beloved fry. His older brother</atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/02/the-time-out.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-7392344074258437185</guid><pubDate>Fri, 07 Feb 2014 00:05:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-02-06T16:16:46.692-08:00</atom:updated><title>Well I Nevah!</title><atom:summary type="text">

Five years and three kids into this whole parenting gig there is a phrase that I have decided to permanently retire from my arsenal.&amp;nbsp;

The phrase is:

I WOULD NEVER.






When I was pregnant with my first child I spent a lot of time on an &quot;Expectant Moms&quot; message board. One of the threads was titled,&amp;nbsp;

&quot;THINGS I WILL NEVER DO WITH MY KIDS&quot;

It featured subjects such as:

&quot;I would </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/02/well-i-nevah.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3M5Ms5U0hFpBrkdXhEg_tqWxXQC2ZCIrMHVtKF5-ZtA0-8y1lulVpPUPvvqCkJpotFEQOW9Eg4auNtHIa3u8KhMZca2gx7d8LFE-R8bot6BCyoha3YlSSoYdL-NB-aa8UgibtCHBh57Y/s72-c/images-1.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-3208619631885260847</guid><pubDate>Thu, 30 Jan 2014 20:42:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-01-30T12:57:39.705-08:00</atom:updated><title>Blue Bear Goes to Work</title><atom:summary type="text">

My son has a lovey named Blue Bear.





Blue Bear has been with us since our son was born and the two of them have been through a variety of trials together.

When my son was younger he did everything with Blue Bear. Blue Bear came to meals at the table. Blue Bear managed to skirt the &quot;No Blue Bears outside!&quot; ordinance and sneak in some occasional fun-time out in the sandbox. Blue Bear was a </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/01/blue-bear-goes-to-work.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5m35OwkVDJ0khkk1r58PaR8R1yJwvPuWTNzHP9shRt5FD3WjXHRzVCpG8UPfXJrVO6Ek_TFe9HwT1KGFNhOSHxa5-vmYoGPBRyF4XU1n4B2q49QkbFgQFr2zRdte2N6697g3R7vjnfr8/s72-c/photo.jpg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-6338794722856342191</guid><pubDate>Fri, 24 Jan 2014 04:07:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-01-23T20:07:00.962-08:00</atom:updated><title>Frozen: A Short Fat Film Review</title><atom:summary type="text">


We are BACK after almost twenty-one days of holiday fun-time travel!

We had some airline related woes (previously chronicled) but in general our trip was wonderful and successful and filled with visits to parents, aunts, uncles and cousins large and small.

We also went to see the newest Disney film &quot;FROZEN&quot;







For weeks we&#39;d been passing billboards for the movie as we drove around L.A. </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/01/frozen-short-fat-film-review.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-3859091277431555132</guid><pubDate>Fri, 17 Jan 2014 02:55:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2014-01-17T07:40:39.505-08:00</atom:updated><title>I&#39;m Back...Almost!</title><atom:summary type="text">

Hey there strangers!

So I took a little blogging hiatus over the Winter Break that has accidentally turned into almost a month away from the site. 

Oops!

I&#39;ll be back in one week describing my not-too-successful outing to the film &quot;Frozen&quot; with my 5 and 3 year old boys.

In the meantime come over to www.facebook.com/shortfatdictator and join the conversation!

Happy New Year and I&#39;ll see you</atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2014/01/im-backalmost.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-8300333414181272906</guid><pubDate>Fri, 27 Dec 2013 15:17:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2013-12-27T07:17:45.835-08:00</atom:updated><title>The Delay</title><atom:summary type="text">

We&#39;re in Texas where we&#39;ve been visiting my husband&#39;s family and introducing the kiddos to the simple joys of the 60 degree Christmas.&amp;nbsp;

Good times.







Unfortunately, in order to enjoy all of this holiday merriment, we of course had to travel by airliner from Los Angeles, CA to San Antonio, TX.



Yeah, that part didn&#39;t go so well.



Because we didn&#39;t want to lug our kids&#39; &quot;Santa toys</atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2013/12/the-delay.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7X2WpL2kyMaTMbOzKPOa_el14hKBQR47IzJ3anZ4rTIBd-g5pYoQbdPRDt13fjgLihYPljHxWuKrIH1WNSs8r7TIJO6qE3rxn3A1FcDSveoSAY7yLrms61pJPC7Qf-maTvf-jIUeIKg/s72-c/CofF.JPG" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-3919219785623756206</guid><pubDate>Thu, 12 Dec 2013 20:41:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2013-12-12T12:41:06.200-08:00</atom:updated><title>The Bye Week</title><atom:summary type="text">

Two weeks ago we traveled to Chicago for Thanksgiving.







The kids took the travel in stride and then held up pretty well for a week at my brother&#39;s&amp;nbsp;non-toddler-centric&amp;nbsp;home. We had a really fantastic visit, but on the whole the entire undertaking proved to be kind of monumentally exhausting.



Then, as I mentioned last week,&amp;nbsp;we came home and flew headlong into a weekend of </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2013/12/the-bye-week.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-6025030915344145984</guid><pubDate>Thu, 05 Dec 2013 22:37:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2013-12-05T14:40:42.896-08:00</atom:updated><title>Christmas Fever</title><atom:summary type="text">

It never ceases to amaze me how 5-plus years into this whole parenting gig I still fall into the simplest of traps.&amp;nbsp;





At this point in my &quot;momming&quot; journey&amp;nbsp;I really should understand&amp;nbsp;this&amp;nbsp;simple rule:

&quot;You should not tell your children about exciting events before those events are actually going to happen.&quot;

It&#39;s Parenting 101, people, but I admit that blew it. Last </atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2013/12/christmas-fever.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnb3ScSjuAC2iBVLQsYPyzyNJkjJ7KQ9UpLLU7t3zOudN_3mTvU3J0XHxAb1d20pW6w612fH93GIYhdKTyu2q7rTItMDXv8CrTtS_Ug_rJBzfuKzHJEqOEzJpUOJuFKrVV07qE7fLfYNo/s72-c/Unknown.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9212561424262522382.post-1044570637487037507</guid><pubDate>Thu, 21 Nov 2013 18:47:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2013-11-21T11:31:16.275-08:00</atom:updated><title>The Five Stages of the Stomach Flu</title><atom:summary type="text">

Once again the plague has come to my door. My family has been visited by the stomach flu and only two have come out unscathed. (And no, I was not one of the spared. I was scathed. DEFINITELY scathed.)&amp;nbsp;

So today I come here to simply present

THE FIVE STAGES OF THE STOMACH FLU

1. DENIAL

There is no way I can have the stomach flu. I mean sure the baby was puking pretty bad yesterday and I</atom:summary><link>http://www.shortfatdictator.com/2013/11/the-five-stages-of-stomach-flu.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Margaret)</author></item></channel></rss>