<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl" type="text/xsl" media="screen"?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css" type="text/css" media="screen"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729</id><updated>2008-07-23T07:49:00.727-07:00</updated><title type="text">Because Mom Said So</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" /><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17186402682803059963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>911</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><link rel="self" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/bmss" type="application/atom+xml" /><feedburner:emailServiceId xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0">320623</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0">http://www.feedburner.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-7907861447499838750</id><published>2008-07-23T07:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-23T07:49:00.775-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life with kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="babies" /><title type="text">Got the Lil Dipper</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/07/got-lil-dipper.html" title="Got the Lil Dipper" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=7907861447499838750" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/7907861447499838750" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/7907861447499838750" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08971835646907900075</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">I saw this at the store the other day and thought it was such a cute idea and perfect for my daughter.  She is now 8 months old and very interested in eating "real" food (vs nursing).  She also likes to grab at what we eat and gets so ecited when she sees her spoons.

Of course, she's not all that great at feeding herself, but when I saw these, I thought they were such a great idea for this age &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=b1WYkj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=b1WYkj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=rppuKJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=rppuKJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=JGKXAj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=JGKXAj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=NvcIyJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=NvcIyJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=mB1xij"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=mB1xij" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=O6KZDJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=O6KZDJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-1146951664184090962</id><published>2008-07-20T11:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-20T11:24:40.131-07:00</updated><title type="text">Do You Edit Yourself out of Pics?</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/07/do-you-edit-yourself-out-of-pics.html" title="Do You Edit Yourself out of Pics?" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=1146951664184090962" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/1146951664184090962" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/1146951664184090962" /><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17186402682803059963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">I hate pictures of myself...so I often edit myself out. Here are two lovely pics of my pooches and they're much better without me in them. :-)

Anybody else do this?&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=u0ebyj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=u0ebyj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=0UM7BJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=0UM7BJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=CmfZZj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=CmfZZj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=6z1a0J"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=6z1a0J" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=xtnGHj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=xtnGHj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=PaAQYJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=PaAQYJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-1388597703655804419</id><published>2008-07-17T00:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-17T00:16:01.256-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life with kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="babies" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="birth" /><title type="text">Surprised at Myself</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/07/surprised-at-myself.html" title="Surprised at Myself" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=1388597703655804419" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/1388597703655804419" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/1388597703655804419" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08971835646907900075</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">I did a post a about a month and a half ago asking "How do you know when you're done having kids?" Well...(no, I'm not pregnant)....I just had the privilege of being present at the birth of my sister's very first child.  My sister is 8 years younger than me and my one and only full blooded sibling.

First of all, I have to say, she did great!  She delivered her son after about 9 hours of labor &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=qKGCCj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=qKGCCj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=g3JVuJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=g3JVuJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=e1Up9j"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=e1Up9j" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=HIAJMJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=HIAJMJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=tsozEj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=tsozEj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=MROkQJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=MROkQJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-6258808753955416293</id><published>2008-07-14T16:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T16:11:41.004-07:00</updated><title type="text">Do you play video games with your kiddos?</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/07/do-you-play-video-games-with-your.html" title="Do you play video games with your kiddos?" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=6258808753955416293" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/6258808753955416293" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/6258808753955416293" /><author><name>MarieY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14013165896283634836</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">
I do ... I know it may sound goofy but it is quite FUN! We just got "Rockband" not too long ago cause it was on sale and at first I thought it was irritating cause the kids (I have 3) were so noisy when they were playing. Plus, I guess because I didn't really care for the song selection - I guess I'm an old fart for not liking the kinds of music they had in the game. Anyway, one evening, my &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=npBbBj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=npBbBj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=01criJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=01criJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=8NcAUj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=8NcAUj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=74DwQJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=74DwQJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=k67szj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=k67szj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=GW6XdJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=GW6XdJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-6002036721986114167</id><published>2008-07-12T22:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-12T22:29:25.541-07:00</updated><title type="text">Do You Have Enough Energy?</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/07/do-you-have-enough-energy.html" title="Do You Have Enough Energy?" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=6002036721986114167" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/6002036721986114167" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/6002036721986114167" /><author><name>Carrie Lauth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04439049196337197660</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">It seems that one thing a lot of moms have in common is: not having enough energy.

In looking at my own life and in talking with other moms, I think it can be due to a lot of factors. Things like hormonal changes, sleep disturbances, having too much to do, etc can all play a role.

Of course there are sometimes medical explanations like low thyroid function - this is actually pretty common &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=A48s4j"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=A48s4j" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=OMYQoJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=OMYQoJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=V3usQj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=V3usQj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=picD5J"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=picD5J" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=rXibtj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=rXibtj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=NIojTJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=NIojTJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-3435405592259276042</id><published>2008-07-11T08:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-11T11:21:53.015-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="living" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="dogs" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="pets" /><title type="text">We Must Be Crazy-Another Dog</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/07/we-must-be-crazy-another-dog.html" title="We Must Be Crazy-Another Dog" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=3435405592259276042" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/3435405592259276042" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/3435405592259276042" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08971835646907900075</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Yes, I'm sure my husband and I are just a tad bit off our rockers.  LOL

We have 5 kids, which a lot of people who just meet us don't believe when we tell them.  Then on top of that we have a BUNCH of dogs.  I say a bunch because I'm not even sure of the count right now, but we DO have more dogs than kids.

Then...we went out and got this...


Yup - it's a French Bulldog.  I'm actually starting a&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=iDDU3j"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=iDDU3j" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=bOm0EJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=bOm0EJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=qaSgGj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=qaSgGj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=GkQzEJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=GkQzEJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=9TyEEj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=9TyEEj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=2BbfzJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=2BbfzJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-8100727079874730485</id><published>2008-07-06T17:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-06T18:01:30.793-07:00</updated><title type="text">Redneck Tank Top</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/07/redneck-tank-top.html" title="Redneck Tank Top" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=8100727079874730485" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/8100727079874730485" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/8100727079874730485" /><author><name>Janice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07958702369979640190</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">I received this in my email and thought it was quite funny. I don't know if I could pull it off around town, but it could work in a pinch at home, maybe some pink trim would do the trick :0)

(if I had some new ones hanging around, don't think I'd attempt my husbands underwear drawer, that's really pushing togetherness a little too far!).


True  Redneck Tank Top!!!!  

This  was taken in front &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=qsdXIj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=qsdXIj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=yybL4J"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=yybL4J" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=SqwISj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=SqwISj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=NJ32NJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=NJ32NJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=poszJj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=poszJj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=DwAi7J"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=DwAi7J" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-6319623265376107622</id><published>2008-07-02T03:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T03:54:15.921-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life with kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="babies" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family" /><title type="text">Yikes 103.3</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/07/yikes-1033.html" title="Yikes 103.3" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=6319623265376107622" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/6319623265376107622" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/6319623265376107622" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08971835646907900075</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">It's late, I just got home from the ER.  My youngest daughter, who is now 7 months old, had a fever of 103.3 degrees tonight.  She was warm on a few occasions last week, but always, the next day or two she was back to normal.  She isn't congested, isn't coughing, has no runny nose, is "peeing and pooping" fine, has a normal appetite, and has been acting pretty normally as well.

But after her &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=ZcIVQj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=ZcIVQj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=jJsOCJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=jJsOCJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=dVOm5j"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=dVOm5j" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=KrRX9J"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=KrRX9J" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=P5zNbj"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=P5zNbj" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=1mQSIJ"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=1mQSIJ" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-5215573068313419249</id><published>2008-06-23T17:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T17:39:13.780-07:00</updated><title type="text">Seen at The Dollar Store</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/seen-at-dollar-store.html" title="Seen at The Dollar Store" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=5215573068313419249" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/5215573068313419249" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/5215573068313419249" /><author><name>Carrie Lauth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04439049196337197660</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">I don't know about you, but I am not too keen on using a beauty product from the Dollar Store.

Especially when it's made by a company called:





Yes, folks. Tinkle. I had to snap this picture because it's a funny example of Engrish. We've seen stuff at the Dollar Store that had unfortunate Chinese/English or Japanese/English translation. You can read a ton of funny examples of Engrish online. &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=lPeRAi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=lPeRAi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=zLO3tI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=zLO3tI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=UuV6pi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=UuV6pi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=elGV6I"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=elGV6I" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=64RVoi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=64RVoi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=UMMGyI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=UMMGyI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-633266714808868236</id><published>2008-06-20T14:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-20T15:00:44.299-07:00</updated><title type="text">Where The Hell Is Matt? Where He Can Make People Smile...</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/where-hell-is-matt-where-he-can-make.html" title="Where The Hell Is Matt? Where He Can Make People Smile..." /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=633266714808868236" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/633266714808868236" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/633266714808868236" /><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17186402682803059963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">This brought a smile to my face and some tears to my eyes. This guy wouldn't have made it 1 minute into So You Think You Can Dance tryouts, but the guy's got some heart:



Sorry I missed Matt when he was in Vancouver. ;-)

I believe he has had previous videos, but this looks like a new one.&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=yPouFi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=yPouFi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=Y6D88I"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=Y6D88I" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=fybQEi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=fybQEi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=6lmYiI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=6lmYiI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=sxw01i"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=sxw01i" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=PHBUqI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=PHBUqI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-2444604034841059457</id><published>2008-06-19T19:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T19:02:02.785-07:00</updated><title type="text">A Power Outage Can Be a Good Thing</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/power-outage-can-be-good-thing.html" title="A Power Outage Can Be a Good Thing" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=2444604034841059457" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/2444604034841059457" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/2444604034841059457" /><author><name>MarieY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14013165896283634836</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Well, I just woke up from a half an hour nap - I feel refreshed! It appears that a power outage can be a good thing after all. You see, at 5:00pm today, my electricity in my whole house went off. I was in the middle of working on my computer when the power died ... the air turned off ... &amp; the TV went dead! Initially, I was ticked off but since all the rooms had no power - I didn't even think of &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=Xzu5Zi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=Xzu5Zi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=JqC3HI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=JqC3HI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=pwDGPi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=pwDGPi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=e1FYxI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=e1FYxI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=UJokxi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=UJokxi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=pyun8I"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=pyun8I" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-5983012596937152096</id><published>2008-06-18T11:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T11:11:04.635-07:00</updated><title type="text">Where Do You Hang Your Wash?</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/where-do-you-hang-your-wash.html" title="Where Do You Hang Your Wash?" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=5983012596937152096" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/5983012596937152096" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/5983012596937152096" /><author><name>Janice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07958702369979640190</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">This article prompted me to think about the clothesline issue.
http://www.greenandcleanmom.org/im-officially-a-green-washing-mama-and-proud-of-it/

I live in the country so we have one, I've snowshoe'd to it in winter when it's warm enough to use but snow is still on the ground, braved the darn mosquitoes and loved it in the nice weather when it gives me a needed fresh air break.

If I can't use &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=CzIDWi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=CzIDWi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=9u5ECI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=9u5ECI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=1AJRfi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=1AJRfi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=0PhWXI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=0PhWXI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=9PiRMi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=9PiRMi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=RWNtKI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=RWNtKI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-2955462860751782796</id><published>2008-06-17T03:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T03:33:01.246-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="babies" /><title type="text">She Thinks She Can Stand</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/she-thinks-she-can-stand.html" title="She Thinks She Can Stand" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=2955462860751782796" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/2955462860751782796" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/2955462860751782796" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08971835646907900075</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Yes, my daughter at 6 months old, thinks she can stand up!  It was just a few weeks ago that she couldn't even crawl yet.  She was just turning 6 months at the time and I remember thinking that she would start crawling soon, but I was glad that she wasn't really that milestone early.  It seems like the older you get and the more kids you have, the less anxious you are for them to hit those &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=bzzi3i"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=bzzi3i" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=yDi5PI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=yDi5PI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=P7PPzi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=P7PPzi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=v4jGTI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=v4jGTI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=cgdHoi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=cgdHoi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=EmuOII"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=EmuOII" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-1848349940642827001</id><published>2008-06-13T17:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-13T17:04:24.137-07:00</updated><title type="text">As a 1930's Housewife, How do you stack up?</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/as-1930s-housewife-how-do-you-stack-up.html" title="As a 1930's Housewife, How do you stack up?" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=1848349940642827001" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/1848349940642827001" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/1848349940642827001" /><author><name>Carrie Lauth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04439049196337197660</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Apparently I would have been a catch back in the 1930s.



75As a 1930s wife, I am
SuperiorTake the test!
As cute as some of those dresses were back then, I'm not sure if I am flattered or insulted by my score. LOL!

How did you do?&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=H12dEi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=H12dEi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=0Dj2dI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=0Dj2dI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=WQWP2i"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=WQWP2i" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=qS9SDI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=qS9SDI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=vSh5Ci"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=vSh5Ci" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=UIM9cI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=UIM9cI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-3738501640879656797</id><published>2008-06-12T20:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T20:31:35.581-07:00</updated><title type="text">My Son, The Natural Born Diplomat</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/my-son-natural-born-diplomat.html" title="My Son, The Natural Born Diplomat" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=3738501640879656797" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/3738501640879656797" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/3738501640879656797" /><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17186402682803059963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">My near 7-year old son puzzles me...and he makes me proud. Ever since he could speak, he's been a little diplomat and I don't know where he gets it from.

Not that his Dad and I are insensitive brutes, but we don't take it to the natural extremes my son seems to.

When my son was two, he rarely said, "No."

If you asked him to do something or if he wanted something and he didn't, he'd say, "&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=4FJu8i"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=4FJu8i" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=Br9bOI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=Br9bOI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=SP1pwi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=SP1pwi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=wM0JfI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=wM0JfI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=hcaN7i"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=hcaN7i" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=MPimTI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=MPimTI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-7396670569220915342</id><published>2008-06-12T00:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T20:30:32.173-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life with kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="babies" /><title type="text">Of Course It's "Da-Da"</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/of-course-its-da-da.html" title="Of Course It's &quot;Da-Da&quot;" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=7396670569220915342" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/7396670569220915342" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/7396670569220915342" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08971835646907900075</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">So, my daughter if finally making all kinds of cute little sounds on purpose now.  She's 7 months old.  And, of course, it's "Da-Da" first.  What's up with that?  Why is it that they always say "Da-Da" before "Ma-Ma?"

Of course, my husband is happy about it and my daughter always has this big, teasing smile on her face when she says it as if she's saying "Da-Da" instead of "Ma-Ma" on purpose &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=ei9YXi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=ei9YXi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=Cm5ezI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=Cm5ezI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=Cbjm1i"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=Cbjm1i" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=hw3ZMI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=hw3ZMI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=3efPji"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=3efPji" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=m6clXI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=m6clXI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-5596600645284806904</id><published>2008-06-10T18:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T19:04:54.186-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="babies" /><title type="text">Separation Anxiety</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/separation-anxiety.html" title="Separation Anxiety" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=5596600645284806904" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/5596600645284806904" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/5596600645284806904" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08971835646907900075</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">I guess it's about that time when my daughter is at the age that separation anxiety starts.  She's starting to grumble if I'm by her then walk away.  She's starting to protest when I hand her over to someone else.  And she's very "verbal" about it.  She lets you know, quite loudly, what she thinks about having to be away from mom.  It's amazing how much of her own personality she already has at 6&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=D2RoEi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=D2RoEi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=IAfMiI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=IAfMiI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=RMU65i"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=RMU65i" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=fBa0PI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=fBa0PI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=z7bVci"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=z7bVci" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=SLf2GI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=SLf2GI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-6358619101429798065</id><published>2008-06-10T09:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T10:51:32.032-07:00</updated><title type="text">"And Tango Makes Three" OR How Mama Got Surprised at the Library</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/and-tango-make-three-or-how-mama-got.html" title="&quot;And Tango Makes Three&quot; OR How Mama Got Surprised at the Library" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=6358619101429798065" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/6358619101429798065" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/6358619101429798065" /><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17186402682803059963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">The other day, I took my 5 and 6 year olds to the library. We were in the storybook section and I was helping my youngest pick a storybook. They had And Tango Makes Three on display and since my son likes penguins, I asked if he wanted to borrow that book. My son said yes, we finished up at the library and we were on our way.

A few days later, I told my youngest that we could read that book at &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=4ykdNi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=4ykdNi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=wRGz2I"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=wRGz2I" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=9TkyWi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=9TkyWi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=fbZmFI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=fbZmFI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=vXnCxi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=vXnCxi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=fF8CbI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=fF8CbI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-1545410485841033030</id><published>2008-06-03T18:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-03T18:39:00.739-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="babies" /><title type="text">How Do You Know When You're Done?</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/how-do-you-know-when-youre-done.html" title="How Do You Know When You're Done?" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=1545410485841033030" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/1545410485841033030" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/1545410485841033030" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08971835646907900075</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Having kids I mean....how do you know when you're done?  My husband and I have been blessed with being able to have our children with little medical issues.  We've never made our decision on whether or not to add another based on our financial situation either.  Since we don't have health or financial reasons to help us make the decision to me "done" how am I going to know when I'm done?  Do you &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=mYpnWi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=mYpnWi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=ibSEhI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=ibSEhI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=wyuBYi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=wyuBYi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=tgTmbI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=tgTmbI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=Rj7Lvi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=Rj7Lvi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=UELpSI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=UELpSI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-7569487848285950730</id><published>2008-06-03T17:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-03T17:59:13.045-07:00</updated><title type="text">Parental Paranoia Bit me in the Butt Today</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/06/parental-paranoia-bit-me-in-butt-today.html" title="Parental Paranoia Bit me in the Butt Today" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=7569487848285950730" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/7569487848285950730" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/7569487848285950730" /><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17186402682803059963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">A little while back, we had the opportunity to judge Lenore Skenazy's parenting judgment, well it's now your turn to judge me because the cops showed up at my door to check on me and my kids.

I think it's all indicative of this paranoia we have as a society where things that were once perfectly acceptable are now horrific things that could cause our children to spontaneously combust if we're not&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=rarqti"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=rarqti" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=4KoFDI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=4KoFDI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=LU64ii"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=LU64ii" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=HlaFcI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=HlaFcI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=v7v7Xi"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=v7v7Xi" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=dIfklI"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=dIfklI" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-924166170701614963</id><published>2008-05-28T18:27:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T18:38:29.229-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kids" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="babies" /><title type="text">My Baby Likes Tags</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/05/my-baby-likes-tags.html" title="My Baby Likes Tags" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=924166170701614963" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/924166170701614963" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/924166170701614963" /><author><name>Stacie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08971835646907900075</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">My daughter is now 6 months old and she loves tags.  One day, my sister gave her a little teething toy.  It was some kind of squishy/stuffed animal with a plastic bone in it's mouth.  Okay, now that I think about it, maybe that "animal" was a dog.  Anyway, this dog had many things for my daughter to bite on.  The feet, the arms, the ears, and of course, the plastic bone.  After all, that's what &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=NUP0sh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=NUP0sh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=SApTtH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=SApTtH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=FZ3Rsh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=FZ3Rsh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=soI8KH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=soI8KH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=XEDyyh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=XEDyyh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=3PsgGH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=3PsgGH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-7190865459819769414</id><published>2008-05-27T10:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-27T11:00:55.974-07:00</updated><title type="text">Why Dogs Are a Boost for Any Ego</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/05/why-dogs-are-boost-for-any-ego.html" title="Why Dogs Are a Boost for Any Ego" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=7190865459819769414" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/7190865459819769414" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/7190865459819769414" /><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17186402682803059963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">

There are many health benefits of dogs, but who else is that happy to see you after you've been out of the house for only an hour?&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=tRjvJh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=tRjvJh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=9LDzHH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=9LDzHH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=gJMBIh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=gJMBIh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=AnewaH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=AnewaH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=dVZNPh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=dVZNPh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=EyiZdH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=EyiZdH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-7404389033974183120</id><published>2008-05-26T20:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-26T20:10:52.923-07:00</updated><title type="text">On Pizza Pops, Favorite Foods &amp; Movies</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/05/on-pizza-pops-favorite-foods-movies.html" title="On Pizza Pops, Favorite Foods &amp; Movies" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=7404389033974183120" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/7404389033974183120" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/7404389033974183120" /><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17186402682803059963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">Just playing around with my new toy, A Flip Video Ultra Series Camera. A deep conversation with a 5 year old. :-)

&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=tgYjZh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=tgYjZh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=OrgelH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=OrgelH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=21TSQh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=21TSQh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=jEWFOH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=jEWFOH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=zDjOoh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=zDjOoh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=j8MGMH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=j8MGMH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-4730167641614636672</id><published>2008-05-23T07:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-23T07:45:48.475-07:00</updated><title type="text">Tarantulas with French Fry Legs</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/05/tarantulas-with-french-fry-legs.html" title="Tarantulas with French Fry Legs" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=4730167641614636672" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/4730167641614636672" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/4730167641614636672" /><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17186402682803059963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">
Before I was pregnant, Carrie suspected as such because some of my vivid dreams. At the time, I didn't recall crazy dreams in past pregnancies, but now I know what she was talking about.

With my dreams of poisonous snakes and tarantulas (who happened to have legs made out of french fries) in my house to last night's crazy zombie dream...it's been a wild night time ride.

So why do we have these&lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=jMUtMh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=jMUtMh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=vO5bbH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=vO5bbH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=4WpDah"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=4WpDah" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=Ua7YtH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=Ua7YtH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=Nz24kh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=Nz24kh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=G9mwfH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=G9mwfH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12361729.post-4502693758982739481</id><published>2008-05-04T09:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-04T09:25:19.916-07:00</updated><title type="text">Peanut Butter Bullies - What Is Happening with Our Kids?</title><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/2008/05/peanut-butter-bullies-what-is-happening.html" title="Peanut Butter Bullies - What Is Happening with Our Kids?" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12361729&amp;postID=4502693758982739481" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.becausemomsaidso.com/atom.xml" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/4502693758982739481" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12361729/posts/default/4502693758982739481" /><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17186402682803059963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><content type="html">
In a world where parents seem to go out of their way to protect their children from imagined dangers, the real danger seems to be right in front of us...with kids themselves.

How did we come to a place where our kids don't care or don't seem to be aware of the consequences of their actions?

Take these 2 stories (there are many more) of kids smearing peanut butter on allergic kids:
Bullies use &lt;div class="feedflare"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=3sIy7h"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=3sIy7h" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=596qnH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=596qnH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=r3mJuh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=r3mJuh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=8dhJPH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=8dhJPH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=yKuOXh"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=yKuOXh" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?a=pKV7EH"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~f/bmss?i=pKV7EH" border="0"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content></entry></feed>
