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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:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DkMBQns6eyp7ImA9WxBSFko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421</id><updated>2009-12-24T11:07:33.513-06:00</updated><title>Hope Floats....</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>304</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/qykp" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8BRn4_fip7ImA9WxBTGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-8831294855060322969</id><published>2009-12-16T15:00:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-16T15:27:37.046-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-16T15:27:37.046-06:00</app:edited><title>Uhm, Was It Good For You...</title><content type="html">You guys have followed my medical trials for the past few years...so you know that I have suffered hip/back/&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pitiformis&lt;/span&gt; muscle pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've done shots in my back, I've had &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;xrays&lt;/span&gt; of my hip and still as I like to say, "my butt hurts!" (And yes, I know that sounds pretty awful...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So a few of my doctors have narrowed it down to my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;pitiformis&lt;/span&gt; muscle....it starts in your butt and goes down the back of your leg. The theory is because I'm walking funny due to my ankle my gait is off and it's bothering my muscle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Que the wacky music that goes along with all my doctors visits...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I go into my 150 year old &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;rheumatologists&lt;/span&gt; office (and yes, while I make fun of him...I really like him) and we start to talk about how I'm feeling. Then he starts to examine me and I'm telling him about the theory I explained earlier. Imagine my surprise when he asked me to stand up and started playing with my ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I know it wasn't like he was enjoying himself or anything but it's been a long time since anyone besides my hubby has touched my butt (now what I want to know exactly is why isn't it ever my 27 year old cutie chiropractor when I experience these situations...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he finishes his examination and tells me to sit down. I turn around wondering if I should make eye contact considering I'm sure this doctor has gotten at least through a few bases with me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of the visit was fine when he told me not to let the surgeon cut my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;pitiformis&lt;/span&gt; muscle...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;hmm&lt;/span&gt;, it wasn't in the plans but now I know for sure...just what I want is my surgeon playing with my butt, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;wallk&lt;/span&gt; out to pay my copay when I think to myself...do I really have to pay for this, shouldn't this be on the house...what I really wanted to know is "was it good for him?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It never pays to have a sore ass...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-8831294855060322969?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/rt1pfSdT_s8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/8831294855060322969/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=8831294855060322969" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/8831294855060322969?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/8831294855060322969?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/rt1pfSdT_s8/uhm-was-it-good-for-you.html" title="Uhm, Was It Good For You..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/12/uhm-was-it-good-for-you.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUIDRnY5fyp7ImA9WxBTE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-4534708840574082540</id><published>2009-12-08T16:50:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-08T17:06:17.827-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-08T17:06:17.827-06:00</app:edited><title>Four Silly Questions....</title><content type="html">So this week I got my knee walker for my ankle surgery. The company delivered to my house, the delivery man came in to fill out some paperwork. At the end he told me that he had 4 silly questions to ask me..I said ok and the questions commenced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first question was..."What year is it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I totally blanked...and said, "I don't know what year the walker is....uhm, and if you are talking about my ankle, I was born with it, so 1970."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the guy got done giggling, he said, "Melissa, what year is it this year?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I got done laughing I said, "2009!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he asked me who was president...I questioned if it was Obama...yes, I was totally doubting my answers now...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last two questions were..."have you ever been diagnosed with alcoholism or mental illness?" I answered, "no." (So yeah, I lied a little there...and no I'm not a recovering alcoholic).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After he left I got to thinking, did they really need to ask the last two questions? If I'm so drunk I can't walk straight what makes them think I'm going to try and get around with a knee walker? And seriously, if i was looking for a way to kill myself...would I scoot my knee walker off a cliff, or into oncoming traffic....REALLY?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I just happen to look down at the walker and read in bold print...."DO NOT RIDE DOWN STAIRS."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well shit, there goes my plans for the evening.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-4534708840574082540?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/I3YMXEmu-Gc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/4534708840574082540/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=4534708840574082540" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/4534708840574082540?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/4534708840574082540?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/I3YMXEmu-Gc/four-silly-questions.html" title="Four Silly Questions...." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/12/four-silly-questions.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU4DRnc8eCp7ImA9WxNaF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-4765510970737778347</id><published>2009-12-02T15:02:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-02T15:06:17.970-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-02T15:06:17.970-06:00</app:edited><title>Who?</title><content type="html">So I was texting with Joe earlier when I just happened to type....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks, hon....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm constantly swearing at the auto correct on my iPhone. I swear that thing makes more typos than I do..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I quickly type...Thanks, hon. And I look down and it auto corrects to...Thanks, Jon!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uhm shit, if you noticed earlier the hubs name is JOE....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 5 seconds later I get a message back...do you know who your texting with? Who knew your auto correct could get you in trouble....sheesh!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-4765510970737778347?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/8hRaVmV3Za4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/4765510970737778347/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=4765510970737778347" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/4765510970737778347?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/4765510970737778347?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/8hRaVmV3Za4/who.html" title="Who?" /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/12/who.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8MQX44eyp7ImA9WxNaEks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-234335971519707202</id><published>2009-11-26T14:47:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T14:54:40.033-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-26T14:54:40.033-06:00</app:edited><title>What's For Dinner...</title><content type="html">If you follow me on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; you've probably read my status update that went a little like this...just about to commit justifiable &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;caticide&lt;/span&gt;...Luci has really been testing my patience lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the trees, the tree skirts and any other possible thing she can get into it seems like I'm baby proofing my house all over...only this time for my cat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week I was cooking dinner in the crock pot when I happened to walk into the kitchen to find Luci up on the counter (yeah, don't get me started) looking into the crock pot. She turned to me with a look on her face that said, "what, I'm just trying to find out what's for dinner..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank goodness she doesn't have thumbs or I'm afraid I would have found her inside the crock pot. Do you suppose she's ever going to learn she isn't a kitten anymore?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-234335971519707202?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/8JClfobJkdY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/234335971519707202/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=234335971519707202" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/234335971519707202?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/234335971519707202?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/8JClfobJkdY/whats-for-dinner.html" title="What's For Dinner..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/11/whats-for-dinner.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUAQXo6fip7ImA9WxNbFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-7464805417378573127</id><published>2009-11-18T13:17:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-18T13:24:00.416-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-18T13:24:00.416-06:00</app:edited><title>Pardon Me...</title><content type="html">So this morning I'm having my hair done. I go to a local school so I never know quite who I'm going to get when I go in. This morning I had a nice woman about my age come and introduce herself to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She started working and we started talking. We were finding out we had some things in common when she leaned over to me and said, "excuse me, I have horrible gas today....why is it always the days I have a client...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was good and didn't bust out laughing like I wanted to...I just said, "oh, ok."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you suppose is the right thing to say in this situation...does Emily Post have an answer for this? And the other thing I want to know is why do people feel they can tell me anything...seriously, if I had 'bad gas' I'd hold my cheeks together until I could move away before I would mention it...either that or blame it on my neighbor..."hey, that was my classmate...doesn't she stink?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, have you ever had someone tell you something that fell under overshare?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-7464805417378573127?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/4bBKVLIhiJk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/7464805417378573127/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=7464805417378573127" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/7464805417378573127?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/7464805417378573127?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/4bBKVLIhiJk/pardon-me.html" title="Pardon Me..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/11/pardon-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMGRXw4fip7ImA9WxNUGU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-9196096585808484630</id><published>2009-11-10T20:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T21:00:24.236-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-10T21:00:24.236-06:00</app:edited><title>Can I Borrow a Cup of Ice...</title><content type="html">One daylawhile back week I asked Joe to bring home dinner, when he walked into the house without a bag full of food, I nearly lost my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pulled a meal out of the freezer and started to thaw it for dinner when I realized that I didn't have any rice. Talk about pulling your hair out. Then it occurred to me if you can borrow a cup of sugar from your neighbor why not a cup or two of rice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I picked up the phone and called my BFF. After complaining about Joe for a bit, I asked her to borrow two cups of rice. We talked for a bit and I wondered why she was slightly confused with my request.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ended the conversation with me saying, "thanks for the rice" when it finally dawned on her that I was asking for RICE instead of ICE. Could you imagine calling your neighbor and asking her for two cups of ICE to go along with your stuffed green peppers? Yeah, my BFF couldn't either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we had a good giggle I sent Joe for the rice and wondered if he would come back with not only the rice but a ice cube tray to boot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next time I'll be asking not only for the rocks but the margarita that goes with them....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-9196096585808484630?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/1vwbwJ1Ohzs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/9196096585808484630/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=9196096585808484630" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/9196096585808484630?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/9196096585808484630?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/1vwbwJ1Ohzs/can-i-borrow-cup-of-ice.html" title="Can I Borrow a Cup of Ice..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/can-i-borrow-cup-of-ice.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cCQHczfip7ImA9WxNVF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-2903873246225075827</id><published>2009-10-28T16:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T16:24:21.986-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-28T16:24:21.986-05:00</app:edited><title>Going On Safari....</title><content type="html">So I'm at the chiropractor's office today...I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before but they do all of their PT and other modalities in the ' great room.' So anyone getting electrical stimulation is getting it usually with at least one other person on the table next to them...I'm talking 2 feet away from each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I think this is odd. When you can look over and see the chiropractor digging down &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;someone's&lt;/span&gt; pants to place the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;stim&lt;/span&gt; pads, well, it looks pretty freaky. But imagine my confusion at this conversation today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dr. Adorable (seriously I want to pinch his cheeks) starts to dig around in a very dignified 70 year old woman's pants when I hear him say....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, you've got on Zebra ones today, huh?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At which point I think, holy crap, he's talking about her underwear...I can't believe he's talking to a 70 year old about her underwear, and he continues the conversation with...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Last time you had on cheetah ones...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm over on the next table with my jaw laying on the floor next to me thinking, hell, I wore a leopard print thong last week and you didn't mention anything to me...looks like he's into older women. So then the conversation went something like this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Did you go on safari and buy them?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here I'm thinking does he want to buy a pair for his wife or something? The poor lady answered...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I bought them at department store."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point I'm totally astounded my doctor and his 70 year old patient are having a discussion about her underwear on the table next to me....does this kind of $hit only happen to me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Imagine my surprise when the woman bent over and picked up a Zebra print jacket that was on the floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Click, the whole conversation made so much more sense...and now Dr. Perv can go back to Dr. Adorable. Guess I shouldn't jump to conclusions...another valuable lesson learned today....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-2903873246225075827?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/_wmbjD0vS0A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/2903873246225075827/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=2903873246225075827" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/2903873246225075827?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/2903873246225075827?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/_wmbjD0vS0A/going-on-safari.html" title="Going On Safari...." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/10/going-on-safari.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU8HRH48cCp7ImA9WxNVFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-9221695604407633587</id><published>2009-10-27T13:07:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-27T13:23:55.078-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-27T13:23:55.078-05:00</app:edited><title>Down In the Dumps....</title><content type="html">As you may have noticed, I haven't been blogging much this month and that's because I have an attitude problem (not to be confused with an altitude problem...though my head has been in the clouds most of this month.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have gotten to the point that I just can't post about positive stuff when I'm not feeling it. Plain and simple my RA is kicking my butt this year and I'm just tired of it. I'm tired of being achy, taking all kinds of meds, planning surgery and all of the rest of the things that go with having RA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I just want to stomp my feet and scream and holler about it...which won't solve things but maybe it would help me blow off some steam. I'm pissed...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm getting ready to have an ankle fusion, and I really don't want it. It's not just the surgery that scares me, it's being 39 and actually being 'sick' enough to warrant this surgery. I call RA an invisible disease but it seems the person I have the most convinced of that is myself. I keep waiting for the remission. I push the doctors, change my meds, try new things like acupuncture and yet nothing is working. This has truly been the most frustrating time of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And slowly (or maybe quickly) as I standby and watch us not getting control of the RA I'm kissing joints away one by one...and it SCARES the hell out of me. If you had asked me after my elbow surgery if I would be contemplating an ankle surgery a year and a half later I would have been horrified...and yet, here I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I'm done with this surgery I won't be able to bend my ankle...basically I won't have a joint at the ankle anymore...not to mention I will have at least 5 screws in there to hold things together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have done all I have been asked....I have played by the rules...is it to much to at this point to ask for a break? I'm going to Hawaii in April to celebrate our 15th anniversary...I don't care if I have to wear a cast and someone has to push me in a wheelchair, I'm going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now excuse me while I go and put my Christmas tree up...better early than never....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-9221695604407633587?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/OxlTfOYJHCk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/9221695604407633587/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=9221695604407633587" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/9221695604407633587?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/9221695604407633587?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/OxlTfOYJHCk/down-in-dumps.html" title="Down In the Dumps...." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/10/down-in-dumps.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk8GSX0_eip7ImA9WxNVFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-5845813705369148717</id><published>2009-10-26T14:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T14:20:28.342-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-26T14:20:28.342-05:00</app:edited><title>Getting Caught With Your Pants Down...Or Something Like That...</title><content type="html">Uh yeah, so I haven't learned my lesson yet. I got caught in my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;rheumatologists&lt;/span&gt; office the other day wearing a thong. It never occurred to me that he would want to look at my hip...color my 150 year old doctor embarrassed as I pulled my drawers down and he was looking at way &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;mo&lt;/span&gt;re cheek than he wanted to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it gets worse (I know, hard to believe)...I came home and later that day while using the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;facilities&lt;/span&gt; I looked down and noticed that I was wearing my underwear inside out. I was hoping that it was just the seams and that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;my&lt;/span&gt; doctor wouldn't have noticed...except for the big black lettering with the name of the store and size right above the hip he was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;looking&lt;/span&gt; at.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Uhm&lt;/span&gt; yeah, I'm 39 years old and I can't seem to put my underwear on correctly. I hope that the doctor will just figure that I was having a really bad day (which is true) and not that he thinks I get two wearings out of my clothes by turning them inside out....&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;ick&lt;/span&gt;!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me tell you, before I go to the doctor I'll make sure to look for tags from here on out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-5845813705369148717?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/GZd6R9xRZjc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/5845813705369148717/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=5845813705369148717" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/5845813705369148717?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/5845813705369148717?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/GZd6R9xRZjc/getting-caught-with-your-pants-downor.html" title="Getting Caught With Your Pants Down...Or Something Like That..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/10/getting-caught-with-your-pants-downor.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEIGQX8zeyp7ImA9WxNXGEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-6060274038724453415</id><published>2009-10-06T06:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-06T13:08:40.183-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-06T13:08:40.183-05:00</app:edited><title>Things To Ponder...</title><content type="html">Hope and I were watching a tv program today and the person on tv said, "call my name three times and I will appear in your living room."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope thought about it for a second and turned to look at me and asked, "Mommy, why would I want him to pee in my living room...."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-6060274038724453415?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/gCMfIlc5hos" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/6060274038724453415/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=6060274038724453415" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/6060274038724453415?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/6060274038724453415?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/gCMfIlc5hos/things-to-ponder.html" title="Things To Ponder..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/10/things-to-ponder.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QCQHk5cSp7ImA9WxNXF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-365127744104886279</id><published>2009-10-05T18:28:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T18:29:21.729-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-05T18:29:21.729-05:00</app:edited><title>Deep Thoughts....</title><content type="html">Why is it when we get what we want we find out maybe we didn't want it as much as we thought we did....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-365127744104886279?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/3dOv_hqzOiA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/365127744104886279/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=365127744104886279" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/365127744104886279?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/365127744104886279?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/3dOv_hqzOiA/deep-thoughts.html" title="Deep Thoughts...." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/10/deep-thoughts.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4ER3kyfSp7ImA9WxNXEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-4085267327363750220</id><published>2009-09-29T15:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-29T15:08:26.795-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-29T15:08:26.795-05:00</app:edited><title>Learned a Valuable Lesson Today...</title><content type="html">You know how I've always wondered what is the correct pair of underwear to wear to the doctor? Well, I got the answer today....it's any pair you don't mind your doctor seeing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which means my leopard print thong went over really well this morning. Especially when my 27 year old cutie doctor went to stick the pads to the electrical stimulation down my pants....(just typing that makes me shudder.) I'm sure he got quite the surprise when all he felt was cheek....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I know I'm just another body to him and he doesn't care if I wear underwear much less what it looks like but I on the other hand wanted to DIE. OF. MORTIFICATION.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can picture is of him thinking "Oh God, if I wash my eyeballs out will that get rid of the picture in my mind?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be prepared on Friday....now where did I put those granny panties....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-4085267327363750220?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/TRlt3NSSsos" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/4085267327363750220/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=4085267327363750220" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/4085267327363750220?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/4085267327363750220?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/TRlt3NSSsos/learned-valuable-lesson-today.html" title="Learned a Valuable Lesson Today..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/learned-valuable-lesson-today.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQDRXc4fyp7ImA9WxNXGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-6450947264317489357</id><published>2009-09-22T21:04:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T09:39:34.937-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-07T09:39:34.937-05:00</app:edited><title>Overheard at My New Rheumatologist's Office....</title><content type="html">"Melissa, the issue with your feet is OBVIOUSLY your rheumatoid arthritis. Let's increase your medicine, give you some steroids and consider a cortisone injection. You are obviously NOT in remission. How long do you want to try this treatment?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A month?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I want you back in two weeks for a check up."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And at that point I had to physically restrain myself from hugging my new doctor...he's not someone I would go to for life (he's seriously about a hundred years old) but for the next three months, I can totally handle that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, I almost forgot while I was checking out he came to find me and asked me about what I take for pain...and then offered me something...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then my chiropractor told me he would be happy to deal with my back issues and that was icing on the  cake....of course this was after he rubbed my ankle for 15 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, an all around stellar day for doctors!! My trust in doctors is going up at each visit...thank goodness....pardon me while I do the happy dance...care to join me?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-6450947264317489357?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/ztRW3a7eosM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/6450947264317489357/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=6450947264317489357" title="12 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/6450947264317489357?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/6450947264317489357?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/ztRW3a7eosM/overheard-at-my-new-rheumatologists.html" title="Overheard at My New Rheumatologist's Office...." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">12</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/overheard-at-my-new-rheumatologists.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE8FQnczfyp7ImA9WxNQFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-1449682661669816530</id><published>2009-09-21T15:51:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T16:00:13.987-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-21T16:00:13.987-05:00</app:edited><title>No Tip for You!!</title><content type="html">It's been awhile since I've last had my nails and toenails done. I decided to go yesterday and treat myself...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was halfway there I realized that I hadn't shaved that morning. I had already called to ask if they had an opening and I really just wanted to get it done. I figured that it couldn't be that big of a deal, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sitting in the chair relaxing...the nail tech is rubbing my legs and she looks up at me and says, "you need a shave, huh?" I was literally struck dumb as my jaw hit the floor....now I'm not a hairy, amazon woman or anything and I didn't even think the situation was forest like or anything but I guess when your rubbing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;someones&lt;/span&gt; leg you can feel stubble.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm thinking here comes the sales pitch for waxing...when the nails tech looks down and gets back to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So seriously, my nail tech outed my leg stubble...good thing she wasn't rubbing my arm pits....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would you do in my situation?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-1449682661669816530?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/oCYs3SyN8h4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/1449682661669816530/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=1449682661669816530" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/1449682661669816530?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/1449682661669816530?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/oCYs3SyN8h4/no.html" title="No Tip for You!!" /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/no.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkYDQ3kzcCp7ImA9WxNQFEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-8457175143459058844</id><published>2009-09-19T21:05:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-19T21:36:12.788-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-19T21:36:12.788-05:00</app:edited><title>Invisible Illness Week - RA</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IpVUPOSRcc4/SrWTp_pHQaI/AAAAAAAABhY/xbFvX22q8dU/s1600-h/09_blogging-badge2.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 148px; height: 201px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IpVUPOSRcc4/SrWTp_pHQaI/AAAAAAAABhY/xbFvX22q8dU/s400/09_blogging-badge2.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383371279259091362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The illness I live with is: Rheumatoid Arthritis, Sjogren's Syndrome (does craziness count as invisible....)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I was diagnosed with it in the year: 1972&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. But I had symptoms since: I would figure probably since I was born, I started to limp at two&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The biggest adjustment I’ve had to make is: Learning to adjust to what my body is willing to do instead of what my mind wants it to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Most people assume: That I'm lazy or to young to have these kinds of issues...even some of my doctors. If I had a dollar for every time heard a doctor say your to young, I'd be rich.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. The hardest part about mornings are: Getting out of bed. Who would have ever thought putting your feet on the ground could be so painful?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. My favorite medical TV show is: Grey's of course...followed closely by Private Practice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. A gadget I couldn’t live without is: Hmm, ace bandages, my snazzy pink cane, followed closely by my ice pack or heating pad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. The hardest part about nights are: Getting comfy enough to fall asleep...and then stay asleep. Thank you Ambien...and the duct tape to keep me fom sleepwalking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Each day I take __ pills &amp;amp; vitamins. (No comments, please) I'm down to 6 prescriptions from 12...go me!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Regarding alternative treatments I: Think they are the greatest thing since sliced bread. I think mainstream and alternative treatments together make a great marriage...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. If I had to choose between an invisible illness or visible I would choose: Not sure, either one sucks...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Regarding working and career: I'm a stay at home mom and some times by the time dinner rolls around I want to crawl to the kitchen but I push through...because that's my job. You know, besides watching soap operas and eating bon bons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. People would be surprised to know: I love to exercise and it's one of the things I hate to give up the most when I'm flaring. I'm at my best physically and emotionally when I can get on my bike and ride for an hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. The hardest thing to accept about my new reality has been: Adjusting activity as my illness increases. I just hate to give up anything....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. Something I never thought I could do with my illness that I did was: Parasail...I was sure it would be more painful to my joints then it was...thank goodness, because it was fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. The commercials about my illness: Don't really do the disease justice. If taking a shot made me 100% better, that would be awesome, but yeah, not so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. Something I really miss doing since I was diagnosed is: Walking as much as I want to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. It was really hard to have to give up: Gluten...seems like something is always missing from my food...oh yeah, it's FLOUR.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. A new hobby I have taken up since my diagnosis is: Well, since I was diagnosed at two maybe drinking out of a cup? I have lots of good hobbies like...piano, blogging, reading, yoga, pilates, biking....17 at my last count...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. If I could have one day of feeling normal again I would: One day would never be enough. And I've been lucky to have a few long remissions...during which time I just lived a normal life...who could ask for more...we all want normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. My illness has taught me: Some times life just ain't fair. It's what you do with the cards you're dealt that matters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. Want to know a secret? One thing people say that gets under my skin is: Your to young (as I mentioned earlier) but my favorite was said by my doctor last year, "RA sucks..." Uh, thanks Sherlock...that's news.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. But I love it when people: Realize that I'm making the effort. Sometimes it's not easy and I would like to stay in bed and yet I get up every day to enjoy things with my family. It's big when someone validates that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. My favorite motto, scripture, quote that gets me through tough times is: It is what it is...sometimes when we accept this is just what we have to deal with, it makes it easier to get on with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. When someone is diagnosed I’d like to tell them: Now is the best time to have RA (if you have to) the medications they've come out with in the past 10 years are AMAZING...and then add alternative options and if there is ever a time to have RA it's now (and then they punch me in the head and call me Pollyanna.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. Something that has surprised me about living with an illness is: It's never far from your mind. So many things revolve around how you are feeling at any one moment...it's a lot harder to plan for than I thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. The nicest thing someone did for me when I wasn’t feeling well was: I'm pretty easy...just a call can make my day. Though my mom did make me dinner not to long ago when I got out of the hospital...that was pretty awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. I’m involved with Invisible Illness Week because: I think educating people about ALL invisible illnesses (and believe me, there are A LOT) is worth 5 minutes of my time. And when you are giving me the evil eye for parking in  a handicap space, know that those extra 5 steps could mean the difference between shopping and not shopping for me. (Though that was back when I had a handicap tag....now I just schlep from the back 40 like all the rest of you poor people.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. The fact that you read this list makes me feel: Hopeful...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-8457175143459058844?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/KQQh8Neq_HQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/8457175143459058844/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=8457175143459058844" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/8457175143459058844?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/8457175143459058844?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/KQQh8Neq_HQ/invisible-illness-week-ra.html" title="Invisible Illness Week - RA" /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IpVUPOSRcc4/SrWTp_pHQaI/AAAAAAAABhY/xbFvX22q8dU/s72-c/09_blogging-badge2.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/invisible-illness-week-ra.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0EGQ30_cCp7ImA9WxNQEUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-3724178191202840362</id><published>2009-09-16T18:54:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T19:00:22.348-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-16T19:00:22.348-05:00</app:edited><title>A What???</title><content type="html">I just sent the hubs out to Dairy Queen for ice cream (why no, that isn't on  my diet....thanks for asking). Amongst some grumbling and moaning he asked both Hope and I what we wanted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peanut Buster Parfait for me (hey, it's a good source of calcium) and then Joe turns to Hope and she says, "I want a hairy Dilly Bar." Or at least in my head that's what she said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at her with a confused look on my face and said, "a what?" All the time imagining the employee at DQ rubbing a dilly bar on the floor to pick up hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I said I want a CHERRY Dilly Bar, Mom. What did you think I said?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be getting measured for my hearing aid later this week....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-3724178191202840362?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/Xmxfe7ggwQo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/3724178191202840362/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=3724178191202840362" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/3724178191202840362?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/3724178191202840362?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/Xmxfe7ggwQo/what.html" title="A What???" /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/what.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkIMQX88fCp7ImA9WxNRF0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-2324025537174990781</id><published>2009-09-12T12:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T13:03:00.174-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-12T13:03:00.174-05:00</app:edited><title>You Live Long Enough You See Just About Everything....No, Really...</title><content type="html">The other day I was shopping at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Walmart&lt;/span&gt;, as I do quite often now that I can walk without a cast or boots (do you hear a YIPPEE! in there?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally decided I was done and went to the check out lane. Now this is a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Walmart&lt;/span&gt; that is close to an Active Age Community (or as I call it the Raisin Farm, though I can say that because my parents live there.) There are usually a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;jillion&lt;/span&gt; retired shoppers there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked up to the front of the line when I noticed a woman with a very ill fitting dress on. There was a place for her chest but nothing to fill it up. That's when I figured out that she wasn't wearing a bra...because her dress had no back. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Uhm&lt;/span&gt; yeah, she had to be a good 60 years old and she was wearing a dress with no back and no bra with saggy b00&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;bies&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I thought, to each their own...if that made her comfortable, no problem. Well, at least until she walked away. There was a slit up the whole back of the dress...I mean from the bottom to the waist. Yeah, nice tanned brown booty flashed in the wind as she walked away. Obviously underwear wasn't high on her list in the morning when she got dressed. And let me tell you this woman tans with nothing on....I wonder where in the neighborhood she actually does this....and do old men drool?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now this is the second old lady moon (I know I'm going to hell for this statement alone) I've seen this year. I'm all about comfort and wearing what makes you feel good but cripes....could you make sure that all your important parts are covered? There are just somethings on your body I don't need to be personally introduced to...well, at least until you've taken me to dinner once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now don't get me started on black socks and sandals.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-2324025537174990781?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/5klaIYQFKtY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/2324025537174990781/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=2324025537174990781" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/2324025537174990781?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/2324025537174990781?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/5klaIYQFKtY/you-live-long-enough-you-see-just-about.html" title="You Live Long Enough You See Just About Everything....No, Really..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/you-live-long-enough-you-see-just-about.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMFQXgzfSp7ImA9WxNRFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-3708456341132658027</id><published>2009-09-09T08:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-09T15:33:30.685-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-09T15:33:30.685-05:00</app:edited><title>Make Your URL Smaller...</title><content type="html">The other day Joe was telling me about some unwanted SPAM he received. He has a website to promote Santa's Landing. This email told him about how he could shorten the URL to his website.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said to me, "imagine my surprise usually SPAM is about enlarging things, not making things smaller."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shook my head and acted like I was interested when he said, "you know, like enlarging your peanuts."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm, me thinks that was a Freudian Slip...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-3708456341132658027?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/3hMfnR33604" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/3708456341132658027/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=3708456341132658027" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/3708456341132658027?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/3708456341132658027?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/3hMfnR33604/make-your-url-smaller.html" title="Make Your URL Smaller..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/make-your-url-smaller.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4GRnk_fCp7ImA9WxNRE0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-4456282535456630196</id><published>2009-09-07T20:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T20:22:07.744-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-07T20:22:07.744-05:00</app:edited><title>Potty Talk....</title><content type="html">I'm beginning to wonder if our society hasn't become a little obsessed with our ability to eliminate. Seems every time I turn around someone is talking about their colon health or how regular or irregular they are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grew up in a house where we didn't discuss these things (are you starting to wonder what era I grew up in, first we couldn't say fart, then we didn't talk about pooping and the best for last, crap was a swear word in our house...it was kind of like the Brady Bunch with 4 less kids and no house keeper...but totally the same.) We all pooped but it wasn't common knowledge, we didn't count the days or keep a calendar with big red &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;x's&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; the last time a movement was made (and I'm not talking a feminist movement).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An example, the other night I was laying on the massage table when the massage therapist (just what I need another therapist) told me "my mom and grandma can't eat garlic or onions or else they get diarrhea....and I don't mean the normal kind, I mean the really bad kind."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Hmm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, I'm laying on a table practically naked (thong not appropriate coverage for massage, though I was told to keep underwear on, wonder what would have happened if I took it off) 5 minutes after I've met you...I'm feeling slightly uncomfortable having a 12 year old rub me when you find it totally appropriate to share your Mom's/Grandma's bathroom habits with me. Well, that makes me feel right at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what's with this 'it's worse than normal diarrhea." Can't we all agree that diarrhea is pretty shitty? Who needs to make levels of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;shittiness&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean seriously, if on the odd chance I should be walking around the mall and run into my therapist and her mother what am I going to say, "hey, nice to meet you....your daughter speaks highly of you....how's that diarrhea thing going?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as if yesterday's conversation wasn't bad enough today I had another moving conversation. A friend of mine was not feeling well today. I looked at her and asked her what was wrong. Imagine my surprise when she shared with me she was constipated. My reply, "no shit, have you taken anything for it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean what do you say to that, "hey, I barely know you but would you like to borrow a suppository?" I figured it wasn't any of my business to help her get things moving and she could handle things on her own (it's not like I carry a container of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Miralax&lt;/span&gt; around with me).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She left me with the parting shot of "I'm going to the doctor so he can check things out." Well &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;craptastic&lt;/span&gt;, now I will never look at her again without thinking of her doctor going on an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;archaeological&lt;/span&gt; dig.  Next time I see her do I ask "hey, how's that not pooping thing going? Gives a whole new meaning to being full of shit, huh?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I know that all of us poop. Heck, they even wrote a book about it...but do we literally need to be that in touch with ourselves.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-4456282535456630196?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/dzD_1nk0MuM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/4456282535456630196/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=4456282535456630196" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/4456282535456630196?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/4456282535456630196?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/dzD_1nk0MuM/potty-talk.html" title="Potty Talk...." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/potty-talk.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IHQn06eyp7ImA9WxNREEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-5434401190573604868</id><published>2009-09-04T14:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-04T14:12:13.313-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-04T14:12:13.313-05:00</app:edited><title>Uhm, yeah...I'm  39</title><content type="html">The other day I was complaining to Joe as I'm wont to do. When I started to moan and groan, "I'm 38 and I shouldn't have to be dealing with my body falling apart"....moan, groan...you know the usual things I normally complain about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I said the "I'm 38" part for about the 5th time it finally occurred to me that I just celebrated a birthday and I am now 39. I looked at Joe and said, "uh yeah, I'm 39." He just smiled at me and kept his mouth shut.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess he figured if he corrected me at that point he probably wouldn't have lived to see his 39th birthday....smart man!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-5434401190573604868?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/S8x2Fpj6fIE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/5434401190573604868/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=5434401190573604868" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/5434401190573604868?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/5434401190573604868?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/S8x2Fpj6fIE/uhm-yeahim-39.html" title="Uhm, yeah...I'm  39" /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/uhm-yeahim-39.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEMDSHs_eip7ImA9WxNSGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-7439087722484981472</id><published>2009-09-02T14:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-02T15:14:39.542-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-02T15:14:39.542-05:00</app:edited><title>The Continuing Saga...</title><content type="html">The last time we left off, my surgeon said if there was a tear in my tendon he would do surgery, my new surgeon said don't have surgery no matter what, this is RA and my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;rheumatologist&lt;/span&gt; came back with a this isn't RA, it's mechanical and I'm going to treat you with pain &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;meds&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh yeah, 3 doctors, 3 different ideas. After all of these options came in I just kind of threw my hands up in the air and wished I could bang my head on a wall. When in walked the referral lady at my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;PCP's&lt;/span&gt; office (well, she didn't really walk in, she called.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's dealt with chronic pain and suggested trying chiropractic care and acupuncture. And you know what, she caught me on a good day and I said sign me up. I didn't know exactly how big that decision was going to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really like my chiropractor (he's about 12...I'm beginning to wonder if there are any doctors my age left), not only does he have a plan, he is very respectful of me and always has a joke or smile (and considering he's sticking needles in my feet, that's always a good thing.) We have a no tears policy and I have been keeping up my end of the bargain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You guys know about the trouble with my feet but I'm  not sure how many of you know that I've been suffering from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;TMJ&lt;/span&gt; for over a year now (I've had it for many years but for the past year I've been flaring.) I finally got the nerve to talk to the doctor about my jaw thinking he would stick needles in my face, what I wasn't ready for was to have my jaw adjusted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, if there was ever a point to find out if you trust your doctor it is when he has your head in his hands and is about to twist your jaw off your face. I was laying there thinking "am I really going to let him do this" and then I asked myself "could it be any worse than the pain you're already having" and the answer was a resounding no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, while he was sitting there moving my face in positions I never even knew it could move, I focused on the fact that he needed a breath mint. Oh yeah, totally in my personal space (and after my other doctor I was feeling pretty uncomfortable.) He reminded me to relax, but tell me how do you do that when you're scared your jaw is going to pop off and roll around on the floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The verdict? For the last year I have been walking around with the right side of my jaw stuck closed. He twisted the jaw twice and voila, for the first time in a year I could pop my right ear, I could open my mouth, I could chew and my constant headache is now gone for the second day in a row.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was good and didn't cry in the office but can I tell you how hard I bawled on the way home? 1.) Because I was scared to death by what he had done and 2.) Because my jaw situation scares me to death and if it's this easily fixed maybe when I'm 65 I won't only be able to drink Ensure (see, good thing he is younger than me...he'll have to practice until he's 85.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past year I have been told that I need surgery, that I need a cortisone shot, that I shouldn't have surgery at all costs, that I could have the joint washed out, that it was RA and that it was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;TMJ&lt;/span&gt; but no one wanted or knew how to fix it....until now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have suffered for over a year when I didn't need to, this makes Joe furious...me, I just don't have the time to waste. I can't believe it was that easy....and boy howdy, am I thankful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never considered myself a "crunchy" person. Believe me when I say I have tried pretty much everything out there...I am amazed at what a difference a chiropractor is making in my life. My jaw feels better, my left ankle is good and my right ankle is a work in progress but I believe it will be healed eventually with time and care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To go from a doctor so ready to cut my foot open to a doctor that doesn't even think that my tendon issues are from my RA has been very different and difficult for me but with these results, I'm willing to trust him...and in my book earning my trust goes a long way at this point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pardon me while I go CHEW a snack....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-7439087722484981472?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/hSYTFl30r9c" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/7439087722484981472/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=7439087722484981472" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/7439087722484981472?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/7439087722484981472?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/hSYTFl30r9c/continuing-saga.html" title="The Continuing Saga..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/continuing-saga.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0QMSHw4cSp7ImA9WxNSGE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-3163281336010284355</id><published>2009-09-01T07:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T13:56:29.239-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-01T13:56:29.239-05:00</app:edited><title>There Is No Excuse for Flip Flops...</title><content type="html">I was at the chiropractor's office the other day when I overheard a conversation about a woman's shoes. Her doctor was giving her a hard time for continuing to wear heels even though they were contributing to her health issues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat on my table, smugly thinking that I had wonderful $45 flip flops on and he wouldn't possibly have a reason to yell at me. Well, at least until my next visit anyway....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked in limping asking if it was normal that my foot was numb when the war against my shoes started.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looked at me and said "don't you have any running or walking shoes" and said, "yes." Oh yeah, I lied...what's a girl supposed to do? Running shoes are just plain ugly, good for your feet, but ugly (or is that butt ugly?) So I added, "my flip flops have arch support in them" at which point he said, "I'm looking at your flip flops (dripping with disdain) and there is not enough support in them (good thing I didn't tell him they were $45, he probably would have stroked out in the middle of the practice.)  He then went on to add that "there is no excuse for flip flops."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I figured at this point I'd better let the conversation go but y'all know me...I won't be deterred. So on the way to get acupuncture (you'd think I'd be smart enough not to pick on a guy who is about to stick needles in my feet) I grabbed my flip flops and said, "I haven't been able to wear shoes for 3 months and now you tell me my flip flops are horrible and you won't let me wear them." He looked at me seriously and said, "yeah Melissa, we're all out to get you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I proceeded to burst out laughing. The funny thing about this whole conversation? The longer that I couldn't wear shoes, the more shoes I bought. I think in a space of two months I bought 8 pairs of shoes. Cute, adorable shoes...that I won't be wearing because I will be sporting a new $125 pair of butt ugly running/walking shoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, maybe those boots weren't so bad after all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-3163281336010284355?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/Q-hdLHWPp-g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/3163281336010284355/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=3163281336010284355" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/3163281336010284355?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/3163281336010284355?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/Q-hdLHWPp-g/there-is-no-excuse-for-flip-flops.html" title="There Is No Excuse for Flip Flops..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/09/there-is-no-excuse-for-flip-flops.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IDQngyeCp7ImA9WxNSF0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-5260635349096972762</id><published>2009-08-31T12:29:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T12:59:33.690-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-31T12:59:33.690-05:00</app:edited><title>I Gotta Feeling....</title><content type="html">For the last day of summer before school started Joe, Hope and I decided to take a little road trip and go have some gluten free pizza in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Naperville&lt;/span&gt;. We settled down in the car and started to listen to the music on the radio, we weren't even out of the community before Hope asked me to hook up my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;iPod&lt;/span&gt; (the kid loves her music.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hooked up the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;iPod&lt;/span&gt; chose the 5 or 6 favorite songs that we love to sing along with and sat back to listen. Now let me point out that Joe very rarely listens to music, if his radio is on he's listening to NPR and if he's listening to a CD, it's usually a book (the more Harry &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Potterlike&lt;/span&gt; the better.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of Hope's favorite songs is "I Gotta Feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas...it queued up and started playing. Hope was humming along in the back seat and I was singing in my head up front when Joe turned and looked at me and said, "are there only four words in this song?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was slightly confused since on the dashboard it said "I Gotta Feeling" which seemed to be 3 words to me, but I didn't think right then was the time to point it out or I'm sure I would have received a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;grammar&lt;/span&gt; lesson to go along with my lyric lesson.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I started to sing along with the song to show him that there were more than four words in the song. The more I started to sing the more I started to smile...this song just makes me happy...and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;maveltoz&lt;/span&gt; always reminds me of &lt;a href="http://thesuburbanscrawl.blogspot.com/"&gt;Melisa with one S&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the song was over Hope asked me to play it again and Joe just looked at me and said "so these guys were just sitting around on a Saturday night getting ready to go out and they wrote a song about it" I replied, "yup."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he asked, "do people like this stuff?" I smiled and replied, "everyone I know is walking around singing it, blogging about it or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Facebooking&lt;/span&gt; about it...it must be popular."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I added, "don't forget the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;WHOOO&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;HOOO&lt;/span&gt;, that's a big part of the song, too. So that makes 5 whole words in the song." (Six, if you use Joe math...4+2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He turned and looked at Hope singing along and shook his head, "now you know why I don't listen to the radio..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God Forbid he should ever hear "Boom Boom Pow."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-5260635349096972762?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/WH_oVBq4hN0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/5260635349096972762/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=5260635349096972762" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/5260635349096972762?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/5260635349096972762?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/WH_oVBq4hN0/i-gotta-feeling.html" title="I Gotta Feeling...." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-gotta-feeling.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEBQnsyfyp7ImA9WxNSFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-7731455970248149530</id><published>2009-08-28T16:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-28T16:24:13.597-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-28T16:24:13.597-05:00</app:edited><title>Yappasaurus</title><content type="html">Joe and Hope have been hanging out a lot this week. They went to the zoo and saw the Dinosaurs Alive (or Live...I'm not sure which.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope had one of her talking non-stop days and Joe was pretty much at the end of his rope by bedtime. He came into the room and said...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hope, I know what kind of dinosaur you are, a Yappasaurus" and then he started to laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She looked at him and roared, "shut up" in her best dinosaur voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe asked her, "is that how a Yappasaurus roars?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She quickly turned around, waved her bottom in the air and proceeded to let one rip. Then she turned around and said, "no Daddy, that's how a Yappasaurus roars..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love it when she hands her Daddy his ass on a platter....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-7731455970248149530?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/yNkp5KJMx2I" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/7731455970248149530/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=7731455970248149530" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/7731455970248149530?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/7731455970248149530?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/yNkp5KJMx2I/yappasaurus.html" title="Yappasaurus" /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/08/yappasaurus.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYASHoyfCp7ImA9WxNSFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7863877989499492421.post-2347647592232976476</id><published>2009-08-27T15:44:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-27T15:49:09.494-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-27T15:49:09.494-05:00</app:edited><title>Overheard At the Doctor's Office...</title><content type="html">Him: Are those your new toes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: (after a confused moment) Ah...no? Those are the toes I carry with me all the time....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Him: (with a confused look on his face) I meant it looks like you had a pedicure...is that your new color?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Uh yeah, it's a new color but they're still the same toes....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Could you imagine how much time I would save if I could just change my toes every two weeks....I think he may be onto something...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7863877989499492421-2347647592232976476?l=hopesmommy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~4/JLf4UQOmjPQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/feeds/2347647592232976476/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7863877989499492421&amp;postID=2347647592232976476" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/2347647592232976476?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7863877989499492421/posts/default/2347647592232976476?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/qykp/~3/JLf4UQOmjPQ/overheard-at-doctors-office.html" title="Overheard At the Doctor's Office..." /><author><name>Melissa</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01182101665968215991</uri><email>klemenci@newsguy.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03358953833965772733" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://hopesmommy.blogspot.com/2009/08/overheard-at-doctors-office.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>
