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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUHQns6eCp7ImA9WhRUFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497</id><updated>2012-01-25T22:47:13.510-06:00</updated><category term="Summer" /><category term="The Secret is in the Sauce" /><category term="Olympics" /><category term="Big Brother" /><category term="Seinfeld" /><category term="Contest" /><category term="Crafts" /><category term="SNL" /><category term="Martin Short" /><category term="POV" /><category term="Rain" /><category term="John McCain" /><category term="Monogram Chick" /><category term="Democratic National Convention" /><category term="SuperPass" /><category term="Gymnastics" /><category term="Synchronized Swimming" /><category term="Happy Birthday" /><category term="Salsoul Orchestra" /><category term="Sarah Palin" /><title>Letters to My Daughter</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>724</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/blogspot/Nddda" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/nddda" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEEARHY4fip7ImA9WhRUFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-5036731576507513996</id><published>2012-01-25T10:09:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-25T22:37:25.836-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-25T22:37:25.836-06:00</app:edited><title>My Helper</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Madison is busy learning the joys of keeping house. &lt;img style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none" class="wlEmoticon wlEmoticon-smile" alt="Smile" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-haQXwMpsTew/TyApHxJNIJI/AAAAAAAAEx4/FF64urFeYgc/wlEmoticon-smile%25255B2%25255D.png?imgmax=800" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She helps me sort the laundry by color and then helps me load the washer and pull the clothes from the dryer. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;* She also manages to take everything out of her top dresser drawer when getting just one pair of socks. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She thinks it’s great fun to mop the floors and doesn’t do half bad for a kiddo her age. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;* She will sit and spray one area for an extended period of time until I make her move on to the next spot. Then she proceeds to walk though the clean floor leaving little footprints. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She’s very handy with a dust rag.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;* She’s good at shaking the ceiling fan duster everywhere. This allows for more dusting opportunities. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She has learned that picking up her toys before moving on to the next is the way to go. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;* She knows that the best way to play with the most toys is to dump them out all at once. This way she only has to pick up once. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She tries to herd the dogs to the back door so they can go potty. She pats her thigh like I do and says, “C’mon Charlie, c’mon Sammie! It’s time to go potty!”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;* She gets frustrated and tells them they are grounded and to go to their room for time out. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She even enjoys unloading and loading the dishwasher. I get the sharp objects and she does a great job of unloading the dishes and putting them on the cabinet so that I can put them away. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;* She also does a fantastic job of reloading the clean dishes after she’s unloaded them because she thinks it’s a great game. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Everything aside, she’s such a joy. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;And, as she would say, “Mom, look how awesome I’m are!” Yes, baby girl – you are! &amp;lt;3&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto; padding-top: 0px" title="" border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-NDlh6Awq6cY/TyApIFOJ53I/AAAAAAAAEyA/5_ENufOgSmA/002%25255B9%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="240" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;font size="2"&gt;The key to happily unloading the dishwasher – a baseball cap … who knew?! &lt;img style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none" class="wlEmoticon wlEmoticon-smile" alt="Smile" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-haQXwMpsTew/TyApHxJNIJI/AAAAAAAAEx4/FF64urFeYgc/wlEmoticon-smile%25255B2%25255D.png?imgmax=800" /&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-5036731576507513996?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DPm9rMnkz4UQYXKGvXyzdGu6xIE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DPm9rMnkz4UQYXKGvXyzdGu6xIE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/bH_ukT3mYtM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/5036731576507513996/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=5036731576507513996" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/5036731576507513996?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/5036731576507513996?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/bH_ukT3mYtM/my-helper.html" title="My Helper" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-haQXwMpsTew/TyApHxJNIJI/AAAAAAAAEx4/FF64urFeYgc/s72-c/wlEmoticon-smile%25255B2%25255D.png?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2012/01/my-helper.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUNQHgyfip7ImA9WhRUFEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-3652150439811168633</id><published>2012-01-24T21:48:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-24T21:48:11.696-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-24T21:48:11.696-06:00</app:edited><title>The Past Two Weeks</title><content type="html">&lt;p align="center"&gt;This is what the past two weeks have looked like at our house. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="" border="0" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-v2Rd3iAvn1U/Tx97Z6FboTI/AAAAAAAAEv0/yinE5A8TMZw/003%25255B12%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&amp;#160; &lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-zrl84cwPPGE/Tx97aZkQ3nI/AAAAAAAAEv4/Eu6794SgGwA/005%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-cYi8rgmxENE/Tx97arNl7XI/AAAAAAAAEwA/FeZmuK4zdE8/006%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="225" /&gt;&amp;#160; &lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-tEWX-q_qhCc/Tx97bLcblaI/AAAAAAAAEwI/uGU88Lsxc1A/007%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-WUxqn3s5Et8/Tx97bhiz9MI/AAAAAAAAEwU/tA93XMoe5fU/008%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&amp;#160; &lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-GaZ-as_6_Ig/Tx97b14s7yI/AAAAAAAAEwc/6yniZSVzHes/009%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-YvkUdcb4bVw/Tx97cbvkRXI/AAAAAAAAEwk/6_4iMEG_NqE/012%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&amp;#160;&amp;#160; &lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ltqxLhHJOkw/Tx97cthAxsI/AAAAAAAAEws/mvW4FmM39A0/015%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-g2kkKKOT0EA/Tx97c7m7FBI/AAAAAAAAEw0/Wp-4L5_3N2Y/023%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="168" /&gt;&amp;#160;&amp;#160; &lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ftgH1VmnngI/Tx97dJjCOwI/AAAAAAAAEw8/oAwh9WNQpdU/024%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-IrDeMXsoFNk/Tx97dj0MiuI/AAAAAAAAExE/WFPqtAtK-qk/026%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&amp;#160;&amp;#160; &lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-XApF-746c0E/Tx97d1aSxyI/AAAAAAAAExM/rVvj8nAMyKI/030%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-u0rwHWSCGgM/Tx97eDc9PJI/AAAAAAAAExU/0LhH1gunmT8/003%25255B15%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="302" /&gt;&amp;#160;&amp;#160; &lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-4N7Ea_cXK4Y/Tx97ehDgDOI/AAAAAAAAExc/FRGq3nWq_U0/028%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="225" height="300" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;I will spare the yucky details, but over the past two weeks things have not been pleasant in our house. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Two weeks ago Monday, Madison and I both became sick.&amp;#160; We spent the entire week in bed sick. Daddy became sick at the end of the week and that lasted through the weekend. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;I took Madison to the doctor the following week and an x-ray was ordered of her chest and tummy. We learned that due to being so dehydrated with the stomach virus her bowels had become distended and an ileus had formed. Her internal organs had been moved up and around and her stomach was pushing up towards her heart. In addition, her airflow had become restricted as the pathway had shifted. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Needless to say, Mommy was rather concerned when the doctor was explaining this had to be taken care of quickly otherwise Madison would run the risk of needing surgery. We are on our way to healing, but it seems it will be an ongoing process. Thankfully I think we are moving in the right direction. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-3652150439811168633?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cMzPzWJzlOAZYPDzswlEH8S1Yac/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cMzPzWJzlOAZYPDzswlEH8S1Yac/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/KjMIhLf3nbs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/3652150439811168633/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=3652150439811168633" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/3652150439811168633?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/3652150439811168633?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/KjMIhLf3nbs/past-two-weeks.html" title="The Past Two Weeks" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-v2Rd3iAvn1U/Tx97Z6FboTI/AAAAAAAAEv0/yinE5A8TMZw/s72-c/003%25255B12%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2012/01/past-two-weeks.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcAQXo7eyp7ImA9WhRVEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-8046974606848305730</id><published>2012-01-08T13:14:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-08T13:14:00.403-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-08T13:14:00.403-06:00</app:edited><title>“Oh, Daddy?!”</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-z51qaFq2V4U/TwkKMOPV1FI/AAAAAAAAEvo/neCA9yw2ElY/007%25255B11%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="350" height="350" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;When Daddy used to work at home Madison would go into our closet, take the vent cover off and holler down into Daddy’s office.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;They would have little conversations like this periodically throughout the day. She loved being able to talk to Daddy while peering into the air duct. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Daddy no longer works at home, but Madison will sometimes still go into the closet, remove the vent cover and holler down to her Daddy. I have to remind her Daddy is not downstairs and that he cannot hear her.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;At this point, I think she fully understands that he is not downstairs, I just think she likes talking into the air duct and hearing her voice echo.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;“Hello? Hello?”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;:)&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-8046974606848305730?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/piafN_E7krsiLYGj17qu-hxCn10/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/piafN_E7krsiLYGj17qu-hxCn10/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/9PmU1BM50co" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/8046974606848305730/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=8046974606848305730" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/8046974606848305730?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/8046974606848305730?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/9PmU1BM50co/oh-daddy.html" title="“Oh, Daddy?!”" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-z51qaFq2V4U/TwkKMOPV1FI/AAAAAAAAEvo/neCA9yw2ElY/s72-c/007%25255B11%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2012/01/oh-daddy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C08CRHY7fSp7ImA9WhRWGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-5578191412655926854</id><published>2012-01-07T21:04:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-07T21:04:25.805-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-07T21:04:25.805-06:00</app:edited><title>A Day Out with My Girl</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-B3RBH3dX3s8/TwkHtV6b8DI/AAAAAAAAEvI/9KTbf6zXcVU/009%25255B18%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="325" height="477" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;** Madison has discovered her jeans have pockets and she is thrilled. After pulling her jeans on she immediately puts her hands inside her pockets and will them there until she absolutely has to take them out. **&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;----------------------------------------&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;When Madison was younger she used to love to go on outings. She’d gladly ride along in her stroller watching everything pass by. She’s smile and wave as people walked by. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;After she started to become more mobile she no longer found the stroller to be enjoyable and would often fuss until I would let her walk beside me. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Once she had truly mastered walking, I could rarely get away with using the stroller. She even hated sitting in grocery carts. She’d throw a fit and made it nearly impossible to do my weekly shopping if I didn’t allow her to walk alongside me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Thankfully, we have reached a new stage. Now. she really enjoys riding in grocery carts and does wonderfully. She’s happy as a clam to just sit there and talk to me as we shop. She also does really well walking alongside me when we are out shopping. There are times when she becomes tired or cranky, but she does much, much better than she did this time last year. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;----------------------------------------&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;On Thursday, I told Madison we had to go shopping with Gammie’s birthday. She was very excited and we had a wonderful time together. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;For as long as I can remember, our local mall has had a large-stuffed Mickey Mouse sitting in an airplane just outside of JcPenney’s. Madison has loved Mickey Mouse for a couple years and making a stop to visit him at the mall is always on our lists of to-do’s while we are there. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-UEl_UeCwXE0/TwkHtjLS1BI/AAAAAAAAEvM/eC39AoCopvs/010%25255B10%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="325" height="325" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;“Momma, I want to go see Mickey!”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-CHX8OidTl3k/TwkHt2k-TKI/AAAAAAAAEvU/qcEpwdfY7yc/012%25255B10%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="325" height="325" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-HfwBCb_t1Rg/TwkHuEZ8s0I/AAAAAAAAEvc/71YVlzp7pFU/013%25255B10%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="325" height="325" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;My happy girl, looking at Mickey in his airplane.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;----------------------------------------&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;As we walked through the mall I looked down at my little girl walking next to me. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;There she was, my sweet girl, growing bigger everyday. I ran my hand through the back of her hair and smiled as I watched her happily walking beside me. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;While watching her I &lt;em&gt;literally&lt;/em&gt; felt my heart grow with love and fill with pride. At that moment, everyone else disappeared and it was just the two of us, walking hand-in-hand. I enjoyed that moment more than she will ever know and cemented it in my heart. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;I know all too soon she will be at the mall with friends, not thinking of these times. So, for now, I hold her little hand in mine, feeling so thankful for today.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-5578191412655926854?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VWH4eTOVfhpnMjM-F5Vhu8ZUOQo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VWH4eTOVfhpnMjM-F5Vhu8ZUOQo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/Cfqr5uODOB4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/5578191412655926854/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=5578191412655926854" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/5578191412655926854?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/5578191412655926854?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/Cfqr5uODOB4/day-out-with-my-girl.html" title="A Day Out with My Girl" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-B3RBH3dX3s8/TwkHtV6b8DI/AAAAAAAAEvI/9KTbf6zXcVU/s72-c/009%25255B18%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2012/01/day-out-with-my-girl.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0MMQXs-cCp7ImA9WhRWFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-5169998772978204094</id><published>2012-01-02T07:38:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-02T07:38:00.558-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-02T07:38:00.558-06:00</app:edited><title>Monday, January 2, 2012</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="" border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-WJqc0S-9tEA/TwCaD-YGwAI/AAAAAAAAEuo/zSvmMx7KLDE/photo%252520%25252810%252529%25255B9%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="300" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="" border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-OH6RdeB70f0/TwCaEHuIIYI/AAAAAAAAEuw/1dLRUeMntSQ/photo%252520%2525288%252529%25255B9%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="300" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="" border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-lg_7E-CGi1g/TwCaElxmA-I/AAAAAAAAEu4/Q4GFQbSDVso/photo%252520%2525289%252529%25255B9%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="300" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-5169998772978204094?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4plMbQU022wuZE1Mnj5l18s-iWs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4plMbQU022wuZE1Mnj5l18s-iWs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/NQQupMIitmg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/5169998772978204094/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=5169998772978204094" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/5169998772978204094?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/5169998772978204094?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/NQQupMIitmg/monday-january-2-2012.html" title="Monday, January 2, 2012" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-WJqc0S-9tEA/TwCaD-YGwAI/AAAAAAAAEuo/zSvmMx7KLDE/s72-c/photo%252520%25252810%252529%25255B9%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2012/01/monday-january-2-2012.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkAHRnkycSp7ImA9WhRWFEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-4159693533502133620</id><published>2012-01-01T17:32:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-01T17:32:17.799-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-01T17:32:17.799-06:00</app:edited><title>No Nap For Me …</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;I have had a terrible headache the last few days and I had my eyes set on a nap this afternoon. Madison had other ideas.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She wanted to play, paint and take care of her babies. So we played together until I thought she was sufficiently worn out. I underestimated her. Ha&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I gave up on my idea of taking a nap so we started playing her new learning computer game. She was really interested for about 10 minutes …. then I looked over and saw this.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;At least one of us got a nap in today. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="" border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XunCHqP0K8U/TwDtAFHXOrI/AAAAAAAAEvA/geAWLuxLNwo/photo%252520%25252811%252529%25255B9%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="300" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-4159693533502133620?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/g-E4hw3IlhEvkWo9lgGJX8lLBjY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/g-E4hw3IlhEvkWo9lgGJX8lLBjY/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/g-E4hw3IlhEvkWo9lgGJX8lLBjY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/g-E4hw3IlhEvkWo9lgGJX8lLBjY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/y-wUtJr7tkQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/4159693533502133620/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=4159693533502133620" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/4159693533502133620?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/4159693533502133620?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/y-wUtJr7tkQ/no-nap-for-me.html" title="No Nap For Me …" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XunCHqP0K8U/TwDtAFHXOrI/AAAAAAAAEvA/geAWLuxLNwo/s72-c/photo%252520%25252811%252529%25255B9%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2012/01/no-nap-for-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE4ASX45eip7ImA9WhRWFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-587721594147880002</id><published>2012-01-01T10:55:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-01T10:55:48.022-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-01T10:55:48.022-06:00</app:edited><title>Happy New Year!</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-nfP_3_I7_3w/TwCQEc_HDYI/AAAAAAAAEuY/5WPeMV6X9B0/photo%252520%2525286%252529%25255B13%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="300" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-cgowgOw6MEQ/TwCQEmqw1SI/AAAAAAAAEug/Iq91Kzu-2bU/photo%252520%2525287%252529%25255B9%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="300" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Our girl rang in the New Year (at 7:45pm) by playing with one of her favorite toys, her trains. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Happy New Year!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;font color="#80ffff" size="4"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. – Romans 15:13&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-587721594147880002?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tE6K8cD0bSryCwgxRUqmxD1g2OA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tE6K8cD0bSryCwgxRUqmxD1g2OA/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/tE6K8cD0bSryCwgxRUqmxD1g2OA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tE6K8cD0bSryCwgxRUqmxD1g2OA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/lgIvll-_NGQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/587721594147880002/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=587721594147880002" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/587721594147880002?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/587721594147880002?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/lgIvll-_NGQ/happy-new-year.html" title="Happy New Year!" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-nfP_3_I7_3w/TwCQEc_HDYI/AAAAAAAAEuY/5WPeMV6X9B0/s72-c/photo%252520%2525286%252529%25255B13%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2012/01/happy-new-year.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcER3o_cCp7ImA9WhRWE0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-2458170967291682016</id><published>2011-12-31T21:20:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-31T21:20:06.448-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-31T21:20:06.448-06:00</app:edited><title>Busy, Busy …</title><content type="html">&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-jDW3BTfqWj4/Tv_Q4BoSxbI/AAAAAAAAEtw/Hbs0CnaI-mU/photo%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="250" height="335" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;This girl, she moves like a tornado.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Yesterday I took our Christmas decorations down and while I was busy, she was too. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-S2ynaWmY8bk/Tv_Q4elxYsI/AAAAAAAAEt4/vMRTRxvCN-U/photo%252520%2525281%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="254" height="339" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;In fact, she was busy several times yesterday. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-5yCRzrQ-V3Y/Tv_Q43vbYkI/AAAAAAAAEuA/cdnW8Yj6LMY/photo%252520%2525282%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="254" height="339" /&gt;We’d get her room cleaned up, I’d return to what I was working on and would come back to find her sitting in yet another pile of ‘stuff’. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-tDAmHvP-ZDA/Tv_Q5NT2jVI/AAAAAAAAEuI/HJHzA9y6pgk/photo%252520%2525283%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="254" height="339" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Thankfully she is good about helping to clean up her messes. Unfortunately, she’s even better at making messes than she is cleaning them up. She’s quite proficient really.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;I love our busy girl … but, when she’s so busy, Momma’s exhausted! &lt;img style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none" class="wlEmoticon wlEmoticon-smile" alt="Smile" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-xZmElseVGRM/Tv_Q5aBvT9I/AAAAAAAAEuQ/PF-bKKt4NGo/wlEmoticon-smile%25255B2%25255D.png?imgmax=800" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-2458170967291682016?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cSFMVp6gV0fMyUln5xV58lx2ja8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cSFMVp6gV0fMyUln5xV58lx2ja8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cSFMVp6gV0fMyUln5xV58lx2ja8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/cSFMVp6gV0fMyUln5xV58lx2ja8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/XfAQjqd1WtY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/2458170967291682016/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=2458170967291682016" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/2458170967291682016?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/2458170967291682016?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/XfAQjqd1WtY/busy-busy.html" title="Busy, Busy …" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-jDW3BTfqWj4/Tv_Q4BoSxbI/AAAAAAAAEtw/Hbs0CnaI-mU/s72-c/photo%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/busy-busy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8EQHY4eSp7ImA9WhRXGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-1752290756599910738</id><published>2011-12-25T10:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-25T10:00:01.831-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-25T10:00:01.831-06:00</app:edited><title>Christmas Craft: Day 7</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Day 7:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-P3PvfTDq5kE/TvII2yJJfII/AAAAAAAAEtU/RQ-zk0pw0HI/6%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="421" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Santa Claus.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Santa Claus paid us a visit last night.      &lt;br /&gt;We have one happy girl at our house.      &lt;br /&gt;      &lt;br /&gt;This craft was very simple. I painted her hand white and had her press it to the paper. I painted her thumb red to make Santa’s nose and her forefinger black for his mouth.      &lt;br /&gt;I cut out the pink circles for his rosy cheeks and the red for his hat.      &lt;br /&gt;I gave Madison the glue stick to add his eyes, glitter and fur to his hat.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Merry Christmas, Everyone!!     &lt;br /&gt;      &lt;br /&gt;May God bless you and keep you in the coming year!      &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-1752290756599910738?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oyP56rUsZqySDdHzdadpk1c1arY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oyP56rUsZqySDdHzdadpk1c1arY/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/oyP56rUsZqySDdHzdadpk1c1arY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oyP56rUsZqySDdHzdadpk1c1arY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/5HoyYkRHmL4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/1752290756599910738/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=1752290756599910738" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/1752290756599910738?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/1752290756599910738?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/5HoyYkRHmL4/christmas-craft-day-7.html" title="Christmas Craft: Day 7" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-P3PvfTDq5kE/TvII2yJJfII/AAAAAAAAEtU/RQ-zk0pw0HI/s72-c/6%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/christmas-craft-day-7.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0ECQXo5fip7ImA9WhRXGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-1807191060608085389</id><published>2011-12-25T08:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-25T08:01:00.426-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-25T08:01:00.426-06:00</app:edited><title>Merry Christmas</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-FWUYJEFYHz4/TvauTV1T_LI/AAAAAAAAEtc/331lPg3J63A/IMG_9748cc%25255B8%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="400" height="466" /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Merry Christmas!!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-1807191060608085389?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wmT2-tD7entFqvEc_jPRyaJlkSA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wmT2-tD7entFqvEc_jPRyaJlkSA/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/wmT2-tD7entFqvEc_jPRyaJlkSA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wmT2-tD7entFqvEc_jPRyaJlkSA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/d8qLzKV_BP8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/1807191060608085389/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=1807191060608085389" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/1807191060608085389?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/1807191060608085389?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/d8qLzKV_BP8/merry-christmas.html" title="Merry Christmas" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-FWUYJEFYHz4/TvauTV1T_LI/AAAAAAAAEtc/331lPg3J63A/s72-c/IMG_9748cc%25255B8%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/merry-christmas.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8EQn07fyp7ImA9WhRXF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-3837599388016595954</id><published>2011-12-24T09:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-24T09:00:03.307-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-24T09:00:03.307-06:00</app:edited><title>Christmas Craft: Day 6</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Day 6:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Ryxd_LQO3CQ/TvIH0Qr9-sI/AAAAAAAAEtM/S90C7iBcXTU/7%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="398" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Such a simple craft. I painted Madison’s hand brown and had her place it on a white piece of paper. I then put a dab of red on her pinky finger for Rudolph’s nose.      &lt;br /&gt;After the paint dried, I added the eyes and antlers.      &lt;br /&gt;I gave Madison the glue stick and had her tear up a cotton ball for the snow.       &lt;br /&gt;She really liked this particular craft. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hopefully that red nose will help to guide Santa’s sleigh tonight!      &lt;br /&gt;Ho! Ho! Ho!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-3837599388016595954?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/055dOaWut_9PbqdpFksjFGsEk6Q/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/055dOaWut_9PbqdpFksjFGsEk6Q/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/055dOaWut_9PbqdpFksjFGsEk6Q/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/055dOaWut_9PbqdpFksjFGsEk6Q/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/WrrqZei_e4Q" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/3837599388016595954/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=3837599388016595954" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/3837599388016595954?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/3837599388016595954?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/WrrqZei_e4Q/christmas-craft-day-6.html" title="Christmas Craft: Day 6" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Ryxd_LQO3CQ/TvIH0Qr9-sI/AAAAAAAAEtM/S90C7iBcXTU/s72-c/7%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/christmas-craft-day-6.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcEQXgzeCp7ImA9WhRXFkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-990767431354790622</id><published>2011-12-23T10:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-23T10:00:00.680-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-23T10:00:00.680-06:00</app:edited><title>Christmas Craft: Day 5</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Day 5:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="  " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Uc5AvK3hOJI/TvIGfX2-9PI/AAAAAAAAEtE/E-uOT9BzYoM/5%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="404" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Christmas Tree.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;I painted Madison’s hands green, she pressed them to the paper to create the branches.I painted her thumbs red to make the ornaments and later yellow to make the angel on top of the tree.   &lt;br /&gt;She thought this craft was a lot of fun, especially once she started to see the tree form.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-990767431354790622?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wiCRfNyvTpN1L6wstE22OqY0yBU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wiCRfNyvTpN1L6wstE22OqY0yBU/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/wiCRfNyvTpN1L6wstE22OqY0yBU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wiCRfNyvTpN1L6wstE22OqY0yBU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/GrcxpijUgg0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/990767431354790622/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=990767431354790622" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/990767431354790622?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/990767431354790622?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/GrcxpijUgg0/christmas-craft-day-5.html" title="Christmas Craft: Day 5" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Uc5AvK3hOJI/TvIGfX2-9PI/AAAAAAAAEtE/E-uOT9BzYoM/s72-c/5%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/christmas-craft-day-5.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcEQXo4eyp7ImA9WhRXFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-1334779207388638405</id><published>2011-12-22T09:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-22T09:00:00.433-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-22T09:00:00.433-06:00</app:edited><title>Christmas Craft: Day 4</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Day 4:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-gRyL2QUXtIM/TvH8IqxDnyI/AAAAAAAAEs8/K2hiUFoCP7s/4%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="224" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Christmas Angel.     &lt;br /&gt;I painted the angel’s face (albeit not very well).      &lt;br /&gt;After her face was dry, I painted Madison’s hand with yellow paint.       &lt;br /&gt;She placed her hands onto the paper to make the angel’s wings.       &lt;br /&gt;I cut out a dress and gave Madison the glue stick and we added glitter to her dress. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-1334779207388638405?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pyg-0D0Fi7bXImghJSm9WPaKMHU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pyg-0D0Fi7bXImghJSm9WPaKMHU/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/pyg-0D0Fi7bXImghJSm9WPaKMHU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pyg-0D0Fi7bXImghJSm9WPaKMHU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/jwQeTr6JV6U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/1334779207388638405/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=1334779207388638405" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/1334779207388638405?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/1334779207388638405?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/jwQeTr6JV6U/christmas-craft-day-4.html" title="Christmas Craft: Day 4" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-gRyL2QUXtIM/TvH8IqxDnyI/AAAAAAAAEs8/K2hiUFoCP7s/s72-c/4%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/christmas-craft-day-4.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcEQXk_cSp7ImA9WhRXFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-9108841623390442174</id><published>2011-12-21T13:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-21T13:00:00.749-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-21T13:00:00.749-06:00</app:edited><title>A Conversation with Puppy Bear</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Two nights ago I turned the volume on our baby monitor up to hear what Madison was doing in her room. To my surprise, she was sitting on her bed, talking to her stuffed animals. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;This is what I heard:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Madison: “It’s Christmas Eve! No, it’s on Saturday. On Christmas Santa Claus will come to my house. He lands on the roof, but he won’t fall off!”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She giggled to herself after that comment, I had a little chuckle myself.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;This is the first year she has an understanding about the big guy in red. She’s been talking about Christmas with great excitement for some time now. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I’ve also been talking with her about baby Jesus and the true reason for the season. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;This holiday season has been a lot of fun watching her explore and grow more excited about the upcoming holiday. She’s quite eager for snow as well. She was very disappointed when we didn’t get the big snow initially forecasted earlier in the week. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-9108841623390442174?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Pt_yyJjEecZRVxlmM1j52zD2uME/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Pt_yyJjEecZRVxlmM1j52zD2uME/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/Pt_yyJjEecZRVxlmM1j52zD2uME/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Pt_yyJjEecZRVxlmM1j52zD2uME/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/h4PIM6zT5Lo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/9108841623390442174/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=9108841623390442174" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/9108841623390442174?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/9108841623390442174?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/h4PIM6zT5Lo/conversation-with-puppy-bear.html" title="A Conversation with Puppy Bear" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/conversation-with-puppy-bear.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkMGSX89cCp7ImA9WhRXFEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-5906854548824630279</id><published>2011-12-21T09:13:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-21T09:13:48.168-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-21T09:13:48.168-06:00</app:edited><title>Christmas Crafts: Day 1-3</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;My goal was to share one picture a day leading up to the week of Christmas of craft projects Madison and I have done over the past week. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-D23AoIPeeYo/TvH3o6HRA-I/AAAAAAAAEsU/OFoiHK4BsN8/9%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="450" /&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-r3nrkSAN374/TvH3pCnEg-I/AAAAAAAAEsc/5Bm1kX4uCyo/10%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="450" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;My little artist, hard at work.&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I’m already three days behind – not a good sign! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Day 1:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-p_tRdzaKIY0/TvH3p-Z9LUI/AAAAAAAAEsk/KvuJKL87BzY/2%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="381" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Our Christmas tree.      &lt;br /&gt;I cut out the tree and gave Madison a glue stick.After she spread glue on the tree I gave her sequins and ribbons.       &lt;br /&gt;Her motto: If a few sequins are good, many must be great!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="left"&gt;Day 2: &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-p2D4yUCfyCA/TvH3qoykrwI/AAAAAAAAEss/2zMGDiGpcxw/1%252520%2525283%252529%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="350" height="168" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Snowflakes.     &lt;br /&gt;These snowflakes are made from coffee filters.       &lt;br /&gt;I wet the coffee filters and let Madison paint them.      &lt;br /&gt;When she was finished, I put the coffee filter in the microwave to dry.I folded the snowflakes and then helped Madison make cuts in the coffee filter. She thought this was especially neat when I opened the snowflake and she could see the design. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="left"&gt;Day 3:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-rCpBfQ7vTuM/TvH3qwAK7CI/AAAAAAAAEs0/r1xf7oXVGoE/3%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="350" height="257" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Strand of Christmas Lights.     &lt;br /&gt;This craft is all over the internet and while ours didn’t turn out as ‘perfect’ as the sample pictures, I love our unique creation.      &lt;br /&gt;I drew a ‘cord’ with a black sharpie across the paper.       &lt;br /&gt;I then painted Madison’s thumbs with different colors. She pushed her thumbs onto the paper creating the ‘bulbs’.      &lt;br /&gt;She started putting her thumbs wherever towards the end, so we have an extra strand of lights at the bottom. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-5906854548824630279?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PWfgWdxGo3Q09Jn-yHOZ0-evH4Q/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PWfgWdxGo3Q09Jn-yHOZ0-evH4Q/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/PWfgWdxGo3Q09Jn-yHOZ0-evH4Q/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PWfgWdxGo3Q09Jn-yHOZ0-evH4Q/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/VVWfrwpPWv8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/5906854548824630279/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=5906854548824630279" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/5906854548824630279?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/5906854548824630279?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/VVWfrwpPWv8/christmas-crafts-day-1-3.html" title="Christmas Crafts: Day 1-3" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-D23AoIPeeYo/TvH3o6HRA-I/AAAAAAAAEsU/OFoiHK4BsN8/s72-c/9%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/christmas-crafts-day-1-3.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C08MRHs4fip7ImA9WhRXEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-5552187898964562346</id><published>2011-12-17T19:31:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-17T19:31:25.536-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-17T19:31:25.536-06:00</app:edited><title>Dear Santa,</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Tonight I asked Madison what she wanted for Christmas. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The following is her list, as she told it to me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;1. Baby Doll&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;2. Barbie Doll&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;3. Train&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;4. Bologna Sandwich and Meatballs with Chocolate Milk&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I kid you not, my child asked for a bologna sandwich! She’s never even had a bologna sandwich. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;At least she’s practical. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-5552187898964562346?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/97fSoeqj6MGy-XoAKe6tEYLBT80/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/97fSoeqj6MGy-XoAKe6tEYLBT80/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/97fSoeqj6MGy-XoAKe6tEYLBT80/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/97fSoeqj6MGy-XoAKe6tEYLBT80/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/YccoELXV8a8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/5552187898964562346/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=5552187898964562346" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/5552187898964562346?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/5552187898964562346?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/YccoELXV8a8/dear-santa.html" title="Dear Santa," /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/dear-santa.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQAR38-eCp7ImA9WhRQFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-22690817423599398</id><published>2011-12-10T19:19:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-10T19:19:06.150-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-10T19:19:06.150-06:00</app:edited><title>Cooking Up Memories</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Work kept me pretty busy this past week; I wasn’t able to spend much quality time with Madison. So, on Friday, I planned something special for Madison and I. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;When I cut out coupons over the weekend I noticed she was excited about what she called, Santa Cookies. When we were at the grocery store on Thursday, we picked up a package with the promise, we’d bake them on Friday.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Friday morning came, and she started immediately asking to bake the cookies. When I pulled the package out of the fridge she became very excited. We had a great time and I loved cooking up memories with our girl. I look forward to spending time with her in the kitchen.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="" border="0" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-jdvJHVJJsmI/TuQFBvMsZeI/AAAAAAAAEr4/vRijkq5VU18/d%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="385" height="480" /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;This was before we put the cookies in the oven. I pulled the cookies apart and she placed them on the cookie sheet. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-qnA-U42vPCI/TuQFBwWPI-I/AAAAAAAAEsA/0UQFDiabaIk/a%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="385" height="329" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;She sat with her face pressed up against the oven almost the entire time the cookies were baking. She could not wait for them to be done cooking. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160; &lt;img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Phtufrc0bUY/TuQFCWZnhMI/AAAAAAAAEsI/9rRjISW1NBA/c%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="385" height="407" /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="center"&gt;Cookies are done … and someone is &lt;em&gt;very&lt;/em&gt; excited! :)&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-22690817423599398?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RSzH-HFKhK88RZ0u4q9v6kipcIM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RSzH-HFKhK88RZ0u4q9v6kipcIM/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/RSzH-HFKhK88RZ0u4q9v6kipcIM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RSzH-HFKhK88RZ0u4q9v6kipcIM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/m5qCJHu4mmA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/22690817423599398/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=22690817423599398" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/22690817423599398?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/22690817423599398?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/m5qCJHu4mmA/cooking-up-memories.html" title="Cooking Up Memories" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-jdvJHVJJsmI/TuQFBvMsZeI/AAAAAAAAEr4/vRijkq5VU18/s72-c/d%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/cooking-up-memories.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04AQ34-fyp7ImA9WhRQE0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-7099790370875329065</id><published>2011-12-08T13:19:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-08T13:19:02.057-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-08T13:19:02.057-06:00</app:edited><title>Waiting for the Dryer</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;When you are three years old, waiting for the dryer to finish drying your VERY special blankets seems like an eternity. I usually have to make sure she is busy and has no idea her blankets are going into the wash. When she realizes they are missing, a meltdown ensues. Her blankets are the one item(s) she is never without. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Madison sits in the laundry room with her face pressed up against the dryer door watching her blankets circle round and round asking repeatedly, “are they dry now?”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;When I pulled her blankets out this morning, she wrapped her arms around them saying, “Oh, I missed you sweeties! You’re so nice and warm.” She clung to them as tightly as she could and ran off into her bedroom. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-7099790370875329065?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CG4isvHLOt4KkB7ME0OOT6o-IcA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CG4isvHLOt4KkB7ME0OOT6o-IcA/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/CG4isvHLOt4KkB7ME0OOT6o-IcA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CG4isvHLOt4KkB7ME0OOT6o-IcA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/r6YdGYZ_MvA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/7099790370875329065/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=7099790370875329065" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/7099790370875329065?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/7099790370875329065?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/r6YdGYZ_MvA/waiting-for-dryer.html" title="Waiting for the Dryer" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/waiting-for-dryer.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0UBQHY9eyp7ImA9WhRQE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-6372937661303745288</id><published>2011-12-07T20:27:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-07T20:27:31.863-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-07T20:27:31.863-06:00</app:edited><title>Just a Story …</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Tonight as I was checking on Madison before bed, she asked me to tell her a story. She’s always enjoyed having stories read to her, but she’s never asked that we specifically tell her a story. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I sat down on the floor next to her bed, covered her up with her blankets, brushed her hair from her forehead and began to tell a story of a beautiful little girl, named Madison who lived in a tiny town, in a tiny house, who had a tiny bed. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;As she laid on her bed, her face was illuminated by her blue nightlight. Her eyes grew wide as I talked about Madison in her tiny house. She smiled and giggled as I told about her tiny house and all the tiny little animals that Madison loved to take care of.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The story ended with, and after Madison’s busy day she fell right to sleep in her tiny bed. She put her hand on my arm and said, “Wow, Momma, what a great story!”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Perhaps this is the beginning of something special. I sure hope so. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-6372937661303745288?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RPWpqdRi-lU1O4Z52v91KCivfeI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RPWpqdRi-lU1O4Z52v91KCivfeI/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/RPWpqdRi-lU1O4Z52v91KCivfeI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RPWpqdRi-lU1O4Z52v91KCivfeI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/7O_AU-gsQfI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/6372937661303745288/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=6372937661303745288" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/6372937661303745288?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/6372937661303745288?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/7O_AU-gsQfI/just-story.html" title="Just a Story …" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/just-story.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUDQH05fCp7ImA9WhRQEkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-9032123457838617561</id><published>2011-12-06T18:04:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-06T18:04:31.324-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-06T18:04:31.324-06:00</app:edited><title>Too Adorable …</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Something too cute not to share:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;While flipping through the channels on the TV tonight, Madison saw a show that she was wanted to watch. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;How did I know? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She said, “Oh, that show is so adorable!”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I’ve never heard her say that word before, but hearing it was truly, adorable. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-9032123457838617561?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BGGxKT24E4Mgel5TxqZN1JEd3tg/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BGGxKT24E4Mgel5TxqZN1JEd3tg/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/BGGxKT24E4Mgel5TxqZN1JEd3tg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BGGxKT24E4Mgel5TxqZN1JEd3tg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/VYMKQ1JvSaU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/9032123457838617561/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=9032123457838617561" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/9032123457838617561?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/9032123457838617561?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/VYMKQ1JvSaU/too-adorable.html" title="Too Adorable …" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/too-adorable.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEHR385eSp7ImA9WhRQEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-4699207002174552043</id><published>2011-12-05T11:53:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-05T11:53:56.121-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-05T11:53:56.121-06:00</app:edited><title>Furniture Mover</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;As I was getting ready yesterday morning Madison went into the closet and came back with her Daddy’s hat on her head. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She walked up to me, cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me, Mom, can you help me move the furniture? I have a hammer and a screwdriver.” &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;My first thought, I had no idea what furniture she was talking about and I didn’t know why she thought putting a hat on her head made her a designated mover. Secondly, at least she came prepared with tools in hand. I’m sure every good furniture mover carries a hammer and screwdriver with them.&amp;#160; Ha!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;No matter, she was very intent on moving the furniture. She grew quite frustrated with Mommy when I didn’t immediately oblige. After she handed me a ‘wrench’, I got the hint that whether I understood or not, I was going to play the furniture moving game.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="" border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-o6ri0jRX3W4/Tt0FMUeKuLI/AAAAAAAAEro/eNTSA_Dsdpw/photo%252520%2525282%252529%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="272" height="318" /&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="" border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-6mDHyNzYHBM/Tt0FMnabRAI/AAAAAAAAErw/oHsw5IFSaCo/photo%252520%2525283%252529%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="272" height="321" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-4699207002174552043?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BW80xAL05QodqLZAW8hu9N4tkqo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BW80xAL05QodqLZAW8hu9N4tkqo/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/BW80xAL05QodqLZAW8hu9N4tkqo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BW80xAL05QodqLZAW8hu9N4tkqo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/U7LMO3YPc9o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/4699207002174552043/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=4699207002174552043" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/4699207002174552043?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/4699207002174552043?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/U7LMO3YPc9o/furniture-mover.html" title="Furniture Mover" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-o6ri0jRX3W4/Tt0FMUeKuLI/AAAAAAAAEro/eNTSA_Dsdpw/s72-c/photo%252520%2525282%252529%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/furniture-mover.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0MCRnY8fip7ImA9WhRQEE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-8008918489353421764</id><published>2011-12-04T16:57:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-04T16:57:47.876-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-04T16:57:47.876-06:00</app:edited><title>“Mom, It’s Fine …”</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;It’s hard being a parent; thankfully or unthankfully, I have help. My help comes from a little three year-old who often has just the right ‘advice’ for her Mom.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;These are some of the typical daily conversations at our house.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Mom: “Madison, it’s time to get dressed.”   &lt;br /&gt;Madison: “Mom, I’m juuuuuuuuuust fine.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Mom: “Madison, it’s time for bed.”   &lt;br /&gt;Madison: “Mom, it’s ok, there aren’t any monsters. Don’t be scared.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Mom: “Madison, please don’t make a mess.”   &lt;br /&gt;Madison: “Mom, be patient.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Mom: “Madison, don’t do that!”   &lt;br /&gt;Madison: “Mom, be nice and gentle.” She offers a reassuring pat on my back while sharing this bit of wisdom. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Mom: “Madison, it’s time for dinner.”   &lt;br /&gt;Madison: “I can’t eat. My tummy hurts because I ate too much candy.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Mom: “Madison, let’s pick up now.”   &lt;br /&gt;Madison: “Mom, it’s ok. Don’t worry.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Mom: “Madison, it’s time to go.”   &lt;br /&gt;Madison: “Mom, it’s not time to go. I just want to sit.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Mom: “Madison, stop that.”   &lt;br /&gt;Madison: “Mom, that’s it, you understand?” As she says with her hands on her hips.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She’s full of little quips. None of which, despite her best efforts are very helpful. She does however crack us up and keep us on our toes.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She’s quite the little conversationalist, incase you can’t tell. &lt;img style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none" class="wlEmoticon wlEmoticon-smile" alt="Smile" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-1w8W37M8mig/Ttv660C-hpI/AAAAAAAAErg/ZTZEE66XzaI/wlEmoticon-smile%25255B2%25255D.png?imgmax=800" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-8008918489353421764?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/25VbuKkSpJ8uM6nwzA9-mHqc0x8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/25VbuKkSpJ8uM6nwzA9-mHqc0x8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/25VbuKkSpJ8uM6nwzA9-mHqc0x8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/25VbuKkSpJ8uM6nwzA9-mHqc0x8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/5ubDUoi1p3g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/8008918489353421764/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=8008918489353421764" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/8008918489353421764?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/8008918489353421764?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/5ubDUoi1p3g/mom-its-fine.html" title="“Mom, It’s Fine …”" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-1w8W37M8mig/Ttv660C-hpI/AAAAAAAAErg/ZTZEE66XzaI/s72-c/wlEmoticon-smile%25255B2%25255D.png?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/12/mom-its-fine.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkAFQ3g_eSp7ImA9WhRRFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-2850203349426548141</id><published>2011-11-29T14:31:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-29T14:31:52.641-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-29T14:31:52.641-06:00</app:edited><title>Winter Chill</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Jz-rkxdM7VU/TtVBMitC85I/AAAAAAAAEpU/7RzUYRNGjbg/s1600-h/photo%252520%2525281%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="photo (1)" border="0" alt="photo (1)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-aXzaMMkvwU4/TtVBNN9rvrI/AAAAAAAAEpY/8AT9FRdjDtw/photo%252520%2525281%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="304" height="304" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-J2AclU5s2e4/TtVBNebuI7I/AAAAAAAAEpg/_6uSm19HpQE/s1600-h/photo%25255B4%25255D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="photo" border="0" alt="photo" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-TkacmMeAieU/TtVBN_fXxqI/AAAAAAAAEpk/wbSMSgqc8Gw/photo_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="304" height="304" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;There is a winter chill in the air today, so we bundled up before heading out to finish our Christmas lights. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I had a difficult time convincing Madison it was time to come in when I finished as she was having a great time outside. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;After a lengthy conversation, we are now inside, nice and warm. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-2850203349426548141?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/uFEOt-tLhYEnn5v9ZKjci3dCZdE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/uFEOt-tLhYEnn5v9ZKjci3dCZdE/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/uFEOt-tLhYEnn5v9ZKjci3dCZdE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/uFEOt-tLhYEnn5v9ZKjci3dCZdE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/GU3qUpJ9AKw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/2850203349426548141/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=2850203349426548141" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/2850203349426548141?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/2850203349426548141?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/GU3qUpJ9AKw/winter-chill.html" title="Winter Chill" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-aXzaMMkvwU4/TtVBNN9rvrI/AAAAAAAAEpY/8AT9FRdjDtw/s72-c/photo%252520%2525281%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/11/winter-chill.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkAESHc5eip7ImA9WhRSGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-636558319222523732</id><published>2011-11-22T15:51:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-22T15:51:49.922-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-22T15:51:49.922-06:00</app:edited><title>20 Questions</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;I love the idea of asking your child the same questions year after year to watch how their responses change. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I found this list of questions on &lt;a href="http://pinterest.com/" target="_blank"&gt;Pinterest&lt;/a&gt; and thought it was a neat way to document what Madison is interested in at 3 years old. I typed her responses verbatim so I can always remember her sweet answers. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;20 Questions: Age 3: November 22, 2011&lt;/b&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;1. What is your favorite color? &lt;em&gt;Orange     &lt;br /&gt;      &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;2. What is your favorite toy? &lt;em&gt;Cars     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;3. What is your favorite fruit? &lt;em&gt;Lemonade     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;4. What is your favorite tv show? &lt;em&gt;Wonder Pets     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;5. What is your favorite thing to eat for lunch? &lt;em&gt;Pizza, Corn and Pudding, that’s what I want Mommy.     &lt;br /&gt;      &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;6. What is your favorite game? &lt;em&gt;Basketball     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;7. What is your favorite snack? &lt;em&gt;Bananas     &lt;br /&gt;      &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;8. What is your favorite animal? &lt;em&gt;Sheep, they are sooo cute.&lt;/em&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;9. What is your favorite song? &lt;em&gt;Jesus Loves Me     &lt;br /&gt;      &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;10. What is your favorite book? &lt;em&gt;My Bunny Book     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;11. Who is your best friend? &lt;em&gt;Big Friend and Peppa Pig (These are both cartoons that she watches quite often)     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;12. What is your favorite cereal? &lt;em&gt;Tootie Fruities     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;13. What is your favorite thing to do outside? &lt;em&gt;See Santa, Run and Play (We have a Santa inflatable in our yard right now that she is obsessed about seeing. She asks all day to open the door so she can see Santa and is quite crushed when she looks out to see Santa all deflated on the ground. I can’t blame the girl, in her mind, he’s the real deal)     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;14. What is your favorite drink? &lt;em&gt;Water and Pink Lemonade     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;15. What is your favorite holiday? &lt;em&gt;Santa     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;16. What do you like to take to bed with you at night? &lt;em&gt;Curious George, Clifford, and Pumpkin Kitty     &lt;br /&gt;      &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;17. What is your favorite thing to eat for breakfast? &lt;em&gt;Chicken&amp;#160; (This cracked me up as she has never had this for breakfast)     &lt;br /&gt;      &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;18. What do you want for dinner on your birthday? &lt;em&gt;Pizza     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;b&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;19. What do you want to be when you grow up? &lt;em&gt;A ladybug (She was a ladybug for Halloween)     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;b&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;20. Where is your favorite place(s) to go? &lt;em&gt;Gammie’s house and Granny’s house.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-636558319222523732?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ej4QYbSRcsgEmQ-QLnQlaA7IK0E/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ej4QYbSRcsgEmQ-QLnQlaA7IK0E/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/W1HdXmpgjn8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/636558319222523732/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=636558319222523732" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/636558319222523732?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/636558319222523732?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/W1HdXmpgjn8/i-love-idea-of-asking-your-child-same.html" title="20 Questions" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-love-idea-of-asking-your-child-same.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEER3g5fCp7ImA9WhRSFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8958761906873898497.post-2214826762179341702</id><published>2011-11-18T06:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-18T06:00:06.624-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-18T06:00:06.624-06:00</app:edited><title>An Animal Parade</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Madison loves playing with her &lt;a href="http://www.fisher-price.com/fp.aspx?st=2053&amp;amp;e=product&amp;amp;pid=33051" target="_blank"&gt;Fisher Price Little People Animals&lt;/a&gt;. They are one of her favorite toys as she plays with them daily. She talks to them and calls them by name. They all have places they live and you will often find the hippo and giraffe going to the store for a taco burger. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Her latest fascination is lining them all up, head-to-tail for an animal parade. She likes it best when Mommy or Daddy plays with her.&amp;#160; She tells us the direction she wants the parade to go and we get to work, putting the animals in their proper places. She thinks it’s great fun to ‘alter’ (that’s code for destroy) the parade as quickly as we get it put together. So, over and over again we play the animal parade game that takes place multiple times a day in her room. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-u2WE9QxQCjY/TsW_GnQmFhI/AAAAAAAAEoo/TH-8tNI8HUE/d%25255B4%25255D.png?imgmax=800" width="279" height="279" /&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XjWdZAtPntw/TsW_G3OfawI/AAAAAAAAEow/PZuwsn8krfs/a%25255B4%25255D.png?imgmax=800" width="279" height="279" /&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title=" " border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-hoVD82aIHZs/TsW_Hfx_22I/AAAAAAAAEo4/P-FDBi9POYI/b%25255B4%25255D.png?imgmax=800" width="279" height="279" /&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="c" border="0" alt=" " src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-P7z0IUwXILE/TsW_H4NP10I/AAAAAAAAEpA/rJ13MnGsPu0/c%25255B4%25255D.png?imgmax=800" width="279" height="279" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;It’s the small things … and I wouldn’t have it any other way. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8958761906873898497-2214826762179341702?l=staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3h3nnkIF-drYetY8x2rAJvkYCS0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3h3nnkIF-drYetY8x2rAJvkYCS0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~4/Lza5yrmmt0g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/feeds/2214826762179341702/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8958761906873898497&amp;postID=2214826762179341702" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/2214826762179341702?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8958761906873898497/posts/default/2214826762179341702?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/Nddda/~3/Lza5yrmmt0g/animal-parade.html" title="An Animal Parade" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18370149805673695642</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="26" height="32" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8fVpBixFFo/Sg9eeRQBx1I/AAAAAAAACJs/0Iq0Z1-Mb9Q/S220/IMG_4115small.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-u2WE9QxQCjY/TsW_GnQmFhI/AAAAAAAAEoo/TH-8tNI8HUE/s72-c/d%25255B4%25255D.png?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://staciesthoughtsoneverythingandnothing.blogspot.com/2011/11/animal-parade.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

