<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DUQBSH0-fCp7ImA9WxNUGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340</id><updated>2009-11-10T17:55:59.354-06:00</updated><title>Boy Crazy</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>671</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><link rel="self" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/boycrazyblog" type="application/atom+xml" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkUBQH07cSp7ImA9WxNUFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-4929534687940637043</id><published>2009-11-06T08:21:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T09:10:51.309-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-06T09:10:51.309-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="stuff" /><title>Stuff</title><content type="html">I have so much I want to write and so little time to write it.  I considered doing NaBloPoMo, but I KNEW I'd NEVER be able to keep up with it, so I'll just touch on some of it in a condensed post.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Jacob has really matured this year. We're still dealing with anger issues and that whole meds-wore-off business at the end of the day, but at school he's stellar.  Last night was the third grade musical (I made it this time!).  It was nice and he did well, but I was more impressed with the new boy who approached me at the end to introduce himself and tell me how glad he was that Jacob was his friend.  Last year, his friends hid from him because they didn't want the others to know they were friends.  This year, at least five kids made an effort to tell Jacob good-bye or give him a high five and one made plans to meet early today to discuss all things Mario.  You know I cried on the ride home.  I credit his teacher.  She has really boosted his confidence and just boosted him to all those around him.  She's making him cool.  I love her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*My MIL arrives on Sunday.  Time to get out the Febreeze.  I think God has a sense of humor because Hurricane Ida is heading our way also.  And don't forget all the swine flu she's bound to come in contact with on her three day train ride.  My husband came home with a large bottle of scotch.  Enough said.  (You can read my past MIL experiences in November 2008 and 2007.  Please pray for me)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*My friend is doing okay.  She's getting things together and figuring out the next steps.  Last night she logged into her husband's computer and found a ton of pictures of him and the boys from a few days before his death and it hit her hard.  I want to fly up RIGHT NOW and be there with her, but as she only got three days bereavement leave she had to use the rest of her vacation time and she wants me to wait until she's accrued some more to fly up.  I'm just trying to do what I can through the phone and computer.  If anyone has any suggestions on what else I can do, pass it my way, because I feel like a useless friend just sitting here.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I'm having a jewelry party.  I hate those things, but my friend is just starting out as a consultant and I wanted to help her out.  I am pretty put out, though, at all those "friends" I bought Pampered Chef, Discovery Toys, USborne Books, Stamping Up, Longaberger, Homemade Gourmet, Tastefully Simple, Premier Jewelry, Tupperware, and Creative Memories from who won't even respond to me.  So far...no sales whatsoever.  Thank you fake party friends.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*This is how Elizabeth entertains herself these days:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SvQ31yQ1nVI/AAAAAAAAC3I/SR9sI_8uUTE/s1600-h/bethsownpics+093.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SvQ31yQ1nVI/AAAAAAAAC3I/SR9sI_8uUTE/s320/bethsownpics+093.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401003250289057106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just too old and tired to do anything about it.  It buys me some floor mopping/bed-making/bathtub scrubbing time.  &lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2007/10/its-major-award.html"&gt;Sure would be nice to win some diapers now.  &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Christmas is 49 days away.  Any suggestions on a "big" girl gift?  I am lost on the whole girly thing.  Once I find it, I'll be done with my kid shopping.  Of course, my boys changed their lists now, but, oh well.  They're just going to have to take what they get.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*We did Halloween without spending a dime.  &lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2008/11/halloween-fun.html"&gt;You might recognize the costumes&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SvQ5LvXl1SI/AAAAAAAAC3Q/rSaTq3KZ_W0/s1600-h/halloween2009+013.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SvQ5LvXl1SI/AAAAAAAAC3Q/rSaTq3KZ_W0/s320/halloween2009+013.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401004726980826402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And after that picture=taking fiasco, you'll be happy to know that Penneys will be taking our Christmas pictures this year.  I give up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Next up on my chili tour....Iowa. Tall Corn Pork Chili for &lt;a href="http://www.sherrypg.blogspot.com"&gt;Sherry.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-4929534687940637043?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/Go_sxHuSY8M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/4929534687940637043/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=4929534687940637043&amp;isPopup=true" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/4929534687940637043?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/4929534687940637043?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/Go_sxHuSY8M/stuff.html" title="Stuff" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SvQ31yQ1nVI/AAAAAAAAC3I/SR9sI_8uUTE/s72-c/bethsownpics+093.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/11/stuff.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkAAQX4-eyp7ImA9WxNVF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-4627629937911367862</id><published>2009-10-28T16:01:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T16:25:40.053-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-28T16:25:40.053-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Jacob" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="school" /><title>Proud</title><content type="html">I have cried all day....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sui_oZQwU_I/AAAAAAAAC24/B_GxNrK5msY/s1600-h/awards1028+002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sui_oZQwU_I/AAAAAAAAC24/B_GxNrK5msY/s320/awards1028+002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397774854100374514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sui_owmYF1I/AAAAAAAAC3A/EeF-B1l1mTw/s1600-h/awards1028+004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sui_owmYF1I/AAAAAAAAC3A/EeF-B1l1mTw/s320/awards1028+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397774860365076306" /&gt;&lt;/a&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know what it's like to have another mother tell your kid he's too weird to play with her kid?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know what it's like to have another mother yell at your kid because he "just won't shut up"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know what it's like to be asked to leave Gymboree because the other mothers are "scared" of your kid?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know what it's like for your kid to be kicked out of Mother's Day Out because the teachers "just can't handle him"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know what it's like to lose "friends" because they no longer want their child exposed to your "weird" child?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know what it's like to have adults laugh at your kid?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I do.  And it's not fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But today was full of the fun.  I turned around and looked at some of those mothers while doing a little dance when my son was called up to accept his award for second-highest average in his class this grading period.  After missing it by a point the past two years, he finally made it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've always known Jacob was smart.  Now the rest of them know it too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-4627629937911367862?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/ZmyzzwFYAnQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/4627629937911367862/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=4627629937911367862&amp;isPopup=true" title="13 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/4627629937911367862?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/4627629937911367862?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/ZmyzzwFYAnQ/proud.html" title="Proud" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sui_oZQwU_I/AAAAAAAAC24/B_GxNrK5msY/s72-c/awards1028+002.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">13</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/proud.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8EQXozeCp7ImA9WxNVFEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-7728587907421102106</id><published>2009-10-25T09:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-25T09:00:00.480-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-25T09:00:00.480-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="picture pages" /><title>Elizabeth's View Part 1</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5Hg9kGHI/AAAAAAAAC2o/EBhkaeevOm8/s1600-h/bethsownpics+016.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5Hg9kGHI/AAAAAAAAC2o/EBhkaeevOm8/s320/bethsownpics+016.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395515892348229746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5HbVrO1I/AAAAAAAAC2g/KJWyRuo5e4o/s1600-h/bethsownpics+015.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5HbVrO1I/AAAAAAAAC2g/KJWyRuo5e4o/s320/bethsownpics+015.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395515890838747986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5G3xMn9I/AAAAAAAAC2Y/sSF40beOhYo/s1600-h/bethsownpics+012.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5G3xMn9I/AAAAAAAAC2Y/sSF40beOhYo/s320/bethsownpics+012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395515881290506194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5Gp9Q8AI/AAAAAAAAC2Q/ZaMWPCMoGdY/s1600-h/bethsownpics+035.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5Gp9Q8AI/AAAAAAAAC2Q/ZaMWPCMoGdY/s320/bethsownpics+035.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395515877583024130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5GCbChaI/AAAAAAAAC2I/k5h5IC0ESwA/s1600-h/septoctpics2009+006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5GCbChaI/AAAAAAAAC2I/k5h5IC0ESwA/s320/septoctpics2009+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395515866970490274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-7728587907421102106?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/2ZCFqOpSax4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/7728587907421102106/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=7728587907421102106&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/7728587907421102106?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/7728587907421102106?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/2ZCFqOpSax4/elizabeths-view-part-1.html" title="Elizabeth's View Part 1" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuC5Hg9kGHI/AAAAAAAAC2o/EBhkaeevOm8/s72-c/bethsownpics+016.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/elizabeths-view-part-1.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEFRHc7eCp7ImA9WxNVEkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-3526353589192194802</id><published>2009-10-22T13:06:00.008-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T13:43:35.900-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-22T13:43:35.900-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="chili" /><title>Chili Nation</title><content type="html">I love chili.  Love, love, love chili.  If I go out somewhere and they offer it, I'll usually order it, at least a small cup just to try it.  There are some I like more than others, but really, all chili is good.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ten years ago when I had tons of extra throw away income I joined a cook book club.  I had to buy SIX in a year, but I got, like, eight free.  Most of those I've given away or sold in garage sales, but I still have my very dog-eared copy of &lt;a href="http://www.ecookbooks.com/p-15397-chili-nation.aspx"&gt;Chili Nation.  &lt;/a&gt;.  Chili Nation has a chili recipe representing each of the 50 states.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't opened it in a while, preferring to find my chili recipes online, but when I unpacked it from a long lost box a few weeks ago I got to thinking.  In all these years I've had that book, I've only used three of the recipes.  Three?  How can it be?  So I decided then and there that I was going to try every. single. recipe* in that book.  I was going to make chili once a week, but my husband, he doesn't like chili as much as I do.  So, I'm just going to wing it and make chili when it sounds good.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks ago was one of those times.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made the Arkansas chili because I was craving&lt;a href="http://www.mcclards.com"&gt; McClards BBQ &lt;/a&gt;and that recipe was a copycat on the Tamale-BBQ spread that is so absolutely fabulous.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuCwZG8H5SI/AAAAAAAAC14/PyE0uWp1om4/s1600-h/arkansas+059.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuCwZG8H5SI/AAAAAAAAC14/PyE0uWp1om4/s320/arkansas+059.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395506298995860770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuCwYiU36ZI/AAAAAAAAC1w/H85V6CG_4HE/s1600-h/arkansas+061.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuCwYiU36ZI/AAAAAAAAC1w/H85V6CG_4HE/s320/arkansas+061.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395506289167559058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mmmmm.  &lt;a href="http://www.mcclards.com"&gt;McClards.&lt;/a&gt;  There's nothing else like it, but it takes nine hours to get there.  Seriously.  If you ever find yourself driving through Hot Springs, Arkansas.  You MUST stop there.  You won't be sorry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway.  A couple weeks ago I set about making the Hot Springs Chili-Tamale Spread.  The recipe called for homemade tamales and I was like, BWAHAHAHA! I live in TEXAS. There's plenty of tamale trucks and authentic Mexican grandmas who KNOW how it's done. And, low and behold, HEB had fresh ones on sale that week. So there ya go.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I had my tamales.  Check.  Then I needed to make the chili. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuCzCGTxDdI/AAAAAAAAC2A/Q_gq5vWyVqE/s1600-h/septoctpics2009+028.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuCzCGTxDdI/AAAAAAAAC2A/Q_gq5vWyVqE/s320/septoctpics2009+028.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395509202224483794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Check.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the chili was done, 45ish minutes later, I made the spread.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spread the tamales in a row in a casserole dish and covered them with the chili.  I then topped that with a ton of shredded Cheddar and chopped green onions.  Then I baked that for 20 minutes and then served each portion with a huge helping of corn chips.  Just like McClards.  Mmmmm....McClards.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But.  I have no pictures of my actual very beautiful Chili-Tamale Spread.  Because as soon as it came out of the oven my husband cut into it and it was pretty much completely devoured in a half hour.  Nothing left.  Nothing.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't McClards, but it was good.  Oh, it was good.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Chili Experiment State One, ARKANSAS, was a four thumbs up.  Adam gave it a thumbs down, but Adam eats only sliced ham and yogurt without a fight, so he's not a good judge.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you want the recipe, let me know and I'll add it in a separate post.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I'm taking my chili journey to OHIO.  Cincinnati Chili.  Mmmmmm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If there's a state you want me to try, leave a comment.  *The only states I refuse to make are Colorado (venison, no access to that) and Maryland (crab!  Ewwww.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-3526353589192194802?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/wId0yWu_ZgI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/3526353589192194802/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=3526353589192194802&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/3526353589192194802?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/3526353589192194802?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/wId0yWu_ZgI/chili-nation.html" title="Chili Nation" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SuCwZG8H5SI/AAAAAAAAC14/PyE0uWp1om4/s72-c/arkansas+059.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/chili-nation.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkAHSXY9eip7ImA9WxNVEU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-6126982144834916496</id><published>2009-10-21T04:20:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T04:25:38.862-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-21T04:25:38.862-06:00</app:edited><title>Oink</title><content type="html">So....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who's getting the swine flu vaccine?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are your children getting it too?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are on opposite sides of the fence here and it may likely come to blows or much time spent in divorce court.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I apparently am living with the world's foremost expert in the subject and all truth comes only from him.  Glory, Hallelujah.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would love to hear someone else's view on this for a change.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-6126982144834916496?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/OIVmTPvi_nE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/6126982144834916496/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=6126982144834916496&amp;isPopup=true" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/6126982144834916496?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/6126982144834916496?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/OIVmTPvi_nE/oink.html" title="Oink" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">9</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/oink.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUAFSXc8fSp7ImA9WxNWEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-4422361011328121937</id><published>2009-10-09T09:20:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T09:55:18.975-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-09T09:55:18.975-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="random bitchiness" /><title>Kroger, We're Breaking Up.</title><content type="html">I hate &lt;a href="http://www.kroger.com"&gt;Kroger&lt;/a&gt;.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do I keep going there?  Oh sure, they have double and triple coupons and sometimes I can come home with some free food, but is it really worth the hassle that I get every. single. time I go there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm starting to think that's a no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am on a grocery budget and I follow it carefully.  I buy what is on sale and we go from there. It makes life interesting because the kids never know what kind of snacks they're going to receive and Jacob rarely takes the same lunch twice.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although I am not allowed to grocery shop until October 15th, I went today anyway because Kroger had some produce on sale and I needed two cans of beans to make some chili.  I figured I could use my birthday cash and get out of there under thirty bucks.  It was more like fifty bucks and I stuck to my list.  It wasn't until I returned home that I realized all that produce I &lt;strong&gt;thought&lt;/strong&gt; I was getting at the sale price, was priced wrong.  All of it.  My 87 cent red leaf lettuce was $2.49.  My 99 cent green beans were $2.49 &lt;em&gt;a pound&lt;/em&gt;, 4 buck for those beans. My 88 cent apples were $1.49.  And my $1.77 strawberries were $2.99.  That.  Is just unexceptable.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know you're wondering how I missed all that.  Well, Kroger has some weird wonky computer check out system where the item rings up at full price but then it subtracts the amount you should save.  It is extremely frustrating trying to do all that double and triple digit math in my head while the checker is scanning fast enough to beat Mach 1.  And?  I had two cart diving kids with me.  And I had to bag my own groceries. So, yeah, I missed that &lt;s&gt;intentional error&lt;/s&gt; blunder.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I swear, I've gone to Kroger since we moved here, although rarely more than once a month just for this reason.  I even go to a different Kroger now that we've moved and it's the same damn thing.  I admit I've gotten sucked in to their coupon/sale deals, but I don't think I can do it anymore.  I mean, it's now pouring down the rain outside and I need to drive all the way back to that place, take my kids out of the car, drop them into another swine flu laden cart, and attempt to get my bill fixed.  I've done this before.  They usually fight with me.  Or give me a load of shit for not catching it while I was in the store to which I say....UM...isn't it Kroger's job to get the prices right?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My guess?  They misprice the things on purpose.  Most people don't go through their receipt with a fine tooth comb like I do.  I've even been in the check out and pointed out to people in front of me that their items are ringing wrong and they just don't care.  Must be nice for those people, but I don't have hundreds of bucks available to just throw away once a week.  I think the stupid computer is part of their plan and the fast checkers are taught to go that quickly so you can't catch the mistakes.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love &lt;a href="http://www.heb.com"&gt;HEB&lt;/a&gt;.  The checkers aren't running a race.  Their computer shows only the price they are going to charge you.  I have never, NEVER, had anything ring up wrong there.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry, Kroger.  I know some people think you're the best grocery store ever, but I've given you a butt load of chances and you're just not doing it for me.  Maybe you're meant to be with someone else.  I just can't continue feeling this way every time we get together. I tried, really I did.  But it's time for me to move on and commit to HEB.  Yes, I'll miss those 49 cent Vitamin Water weeks and it will be hard to live without my Big K Vanilla Cola, but I can do it.  I HAVE to do it.  Not only for me, but for my budget.  And my sanity.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-4422361011328121937?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/ZS6MMnZoLzk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/4422361011328121937/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=4422361011328121937&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/4422361011328121937?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/4422361011328121937?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/ZS6MMnZoLzk/kroger-were-breaking-up.html" title="Kroger, We're Breaking Up." /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/kroger-were-breaking-up.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYCRXk5eip7ImA9WxNWEEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-130628743025921038</id><published>2009-10-07T08:33:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T09:36:04.722-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-08T09:36:04.722-06:00</app:edited><title>RIP</title><content type="html">Dear Rich,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for being a good husband to my best friend and an even better father to your children.  You are loved and missed.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Ss4FO44BAjI/AAAAAAAAC1I/FxwQ2PNEuiI/s1600-h/Wedding+Pictures+012.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Ss4FO44BAjI/AAAAAAAAC1I/FxwQ2PNEuiI/s320/Wedding+Pictures+012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390251557352702514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Richard E. Robinson, 40, of Fairmont, formerly of Charleston, passed away on October 4, 2009, the result of a motorcycle accident.&lt;br /&gt;He was a regional sales manager for Chick Packaging and a graduate of Stonewall Jackson High School.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rich's goal in life was to bring joy to others; in doing so he was rewarded by the pleasure of helping those around him. Rich had a wonderful spirit for living and always saw positive opportunities under every circumstance. Rich's laughter was contagious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rich's true love in life was his wife, Jennifer, and their children. Jennifer helped him appreciate life to the fullest and to become a better person. His best friends were his sons, Nathan and William, who looked up to their dad as being their “hero.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was preceded in death by both parents, Richard and Orma Robinson; and his son, Jack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is survived by his wife, Jennifer Robinson of Fairmont; two sons, Nathan and William; and sister, Susanne Cole, her husband, Steve, and their daughter, Sydney, of Pittsburgh, Pa. Also surviving him are his mother- and father-in-law, Nelson and Joyce Jennings of New Martinsville.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Memorial service will be 1 p.m. Thursday, October 8, at Barlow-Bonsall Funeral Home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Visitation will be held from 6 to 8 p.m. Wednesday and one hour prior to the service at the funeral home on Thursday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In lieu of flowers donations may be made to the Richard Robinson Memorial Fund for his two children, c/o Jennifer Robinson, P.O. Box 3220, Clarksburg, WV 26302.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Ss4FPcJ7UMI/AAAAAAAAC1Q/vdoDYPTQomY/s1600-h/Wedding+Pictures+032.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Ss4FPcJ7UMI/AAAAAAAAC1Q/vdoDYPTQomY/s320/Wedding+Pictures+032.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390251566823067842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-130628743025921038?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/q8Lh3XdSaKM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/130628743025921038/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=130628743025921038&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/130628743025921038?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/130628743025921038?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/q8Lh3XdSaKM/rip.html" title="RIP" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Ss4FO44BAjI/AAAAAAAAC1I/FxwQ2PNEuiI/s72-c/Wedding+Pictures+012.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/rip.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk8HQn4_cSp7ImA9WxNXGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-8854511738792776394</id><published>2009-10-06T09:23:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-06T10:00:33.049-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-06T10:00:33.049-06:00</app:edited><title>Message Received</title><content type="html">I think the universe is trying to tell me something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday as I sat down to type the my-husband-does-me-wrong-when-did-I-become-a-single-parent? post, an email came up from my good WV friend.  I'm always happy to get an email from her, so I clicked to read what antics her crazy kids are into and instead read that her husband had been killed in a motorcycle accident the night before.  She was sorry for telling me in an email, but she was worn out from the calling.  And the crying.  And then I cried.  Most of the day.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend was single for a long time, thought she'd be alone forever until she stopped in a restaurant for dinner on the way home from work one day and her future husband saw her sitting alone and offered to keep her company.  They were married a year later.  When I called to tell her I was pregnant with Adam, she came back with her own news...she was too.  In fact our due dates were the same.  I was so excited when I saw the caller ID the week after Adam's birth waiting to hear all about Baby Jack but I threw up when she told me instead how he'd been stillborn.  Her husband really took care of her during all that even though he was just as distraught.  They went on to have two sons who are now three and six months.  Their oldest is a self-proclaimed Daddy's boy.  Telling him was the hardest part, she said.  Now she can be strong and make arrangements and do all that needs to be done.  That.  Is just how my friend rolls.  I know she is sad, devastated even, but she's a rock I tell ya.  Those boys are so lucky to have her.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her husband was lucky to have her too.  And vice versa.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so, so, sad she's dealing with this.  I mean, my goodness, can't she catch a break?  Isn't it bad enough her son is dead?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tell myself that now Jack has his dad and that's a good thing.  But now that Daddy's boy is going to have to learn to be Mama's boy and that is a &lt;em&gt;very&lt;/em&gt; sad thing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't get it.  Just yesterday some angry husband stabbed his wife twentyish times in a fancy neighborhood across town.  My friend's husband is in a box.  Why does that horrible husband get to go on surviving while a good one doesn't?   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time I visited them he took me down to his garage to show me his other "baby".  That motorcycle.  That stupid, disgusting motorcycle.  The last thing I said to him in person:  "You're going to die on that thing! Why don't you take up fishing instead?  HAHAHAHA" And everyone thought I was super funny.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not so funny now.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of my friend's email was this:  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know Derick makes you mad. It's okay to be mad, but PLEASE, for me, tell him you love him every day and try to let go of the small stuff.  Do stuff together.  Enjoy each other and your family.  You just never know what will happen tomorrow."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pass that on to all of you, because I know she'd want everyone to do the same.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Message received universe, message received.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-8854511738792776394?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/IOvy0HNisSk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/8854511738792776394/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=8854511738792776394&amp;isPopup=true" title="12 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/8854511738792776394?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/8854511738792776394?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/IOvy0HNisSk/sad-again.html" title="Message Received" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">12</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/sad-again.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cGRn05cSp7ImA9WxNXFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-6715470289652141676</id><published>2009-10-02T07:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-02T08:50:27.329-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-02T08:50:27.329-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="picture pages" /><title>Full</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsYAvlx5akI/AAAAAAAAC1A/IAI6YvwrToE/s1600-h/laborday+010.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsYAvlx5akI/AAAAAAAAC1A/IAI6YvwrToE/s320/laborday+010.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387994821790624322" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsYAvKGyFUI/AAAAAAAAC04/xT4XpC4-i8o/s1600-h/laborday+009.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsYAvKGyFUI/AAAAAAAAC04/xT4XpC4-i8o/s320/laborday+009.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387994814362031426" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsYAuzdE2vI/AAAAAAAAC0w/TWKMy4B-ykI/s1600-h/laborday+006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsYAuzdE2vI/AAAAAAAAC0w/TWKMy4B-ykI/s320/laborday+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387994808281520882" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsYAuShQvpI/AAAAAAAAC0o/fkXe_A0-R2M/s1600-h/laborday+004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsYAuShQvpI/AAAAAAAAC0o/fkXe_A0-R2M/s320/laborday+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387994799440707218" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2008/02/objects-in-rearview-mirror.html"&gt;My back seat.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wonderfully full.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-6715470289652141676?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/JiTSManxENQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/6715470289652141676/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=6715470289652141676&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/6715470289652141676?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/6715470289652141676?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/JiTSManxENQ/full.html" title="Full" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsYAvlx5akI/AAAAAAAAC1A/IAI6YvwrToE/s72-c/laborday+010.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/full.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck8NQns7fip7ImA9WxNXE08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-2472031795436461106</id><published>2009-09-30T07:05:00.013-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T08:28:13.506-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-30T08:28:13.506-06:00</app:edited><title>So Much To Say....So Little Time</title><content type="html">I wondered last night, in the middle of another insomnia episode, how I ever kept up with this blog.  I remember posting at least four times a week.  I look over at my side bar and I see I'm lucky to get four times a month now.  Why is that?  The third child?  The bigger house?  The four-trips-a-day trek to school?  Have I just run out of things to write about?  Bwaahhaaa.  No. I have plenty to write about. I just have no time or real motivation to sit down and take an hour out of my day to churn it out.  I hate to say it Blogger, but Facebook usually wins the computer wars around my lap-top these days.  I mean, there is Bejeweled there.  And Farkle.  And no real need to find something interesting to say all the time.  And if I'm not on Facebook, I'm on Twitter.  I never really got Twitter, until, well, last week when many of the Guiding Light actors decided to play out their characters there.  I'm still sad at 2:00, but it's better than nothing.  And I know you're totally snickering about that, but I don't care, because now I know that Lizzie had a boy and Josh and Reva are still happy, so THERE.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do have half posts all over my draft file, but until then, maybe some bullets about what's happening will suffice.  You know, if I knew how to make my computer make bullets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Jacob is doing well in school.  His teacher is awesome and she really motivates him to behave and learn.  Only one demerit all year long.  This from the kid who previously got at least one per day.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*The bullies seem to have slacked off some.  I've only heard a couple complaints about them on the playground and the teacher quickly dealt with them.  Of course now, he's being bullied by &lt;em&gt;A PARENT&lt;/em&gt;.  Yes, you read that right, a parent as in &lt;em&gt;AN&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;ADULT&lt;/em&gt;.  If you've read me for a while you read about my dealings with &lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2008/02/how-not-to-plan-valentine-party.html"&gt;Big Hummer&lt;/a&gt; Mama.  Well, it's come to my attention, that although &lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2008/05/gold-star-treatment.html"&gt;Big Hummer Mama&lt;/a&gt; (who shall now be known as Big Mercedes Mama)and her kid have not been in the same class since first grade, she has still felt the need to belittle and berate my child to pretty much every other Mama in that grade.  This will be getting it's own post soon.  It's been very hard to write because it just really pisses me off.  I'm trying to figure out the best way to handle this without likely being kicked out of school (at least this year because he is THRIVING) because Big Mercedes Mama is the rich Queen Bee who is keeping that school in new high school buildings and football fields.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*We were exposed to Swine Flu on Sunday.  I'm a little pissed off about that too.  Mom was already sick but Dad took the kids to the same birthday party we attended.  Kids were sick the next day.  They all seem to be doing allright, no complications, but how can I be sure it would be the same for my kids?  This is the third day.  Supposedly we'll get it by Friday if we're going to get it.  I'll let you know.  Loudly.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Elizabeth sleeps in her crib.  Since March.  She's the only one of my kids to ever do so.  Putting a clean sheet on the mattress is pretty hard.  I guess I'm glad I haven't had to do it until now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*The Fresh Beat Band really, really, really gets on my nerves.  Can we just have one sing-dance-hip-hop-nerdy-cool teenager show?  I want my Blue's Clues.  And the old Noggin.  I may seriously move to Disney Channel, Nickelodeon  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I am now 41 years old.  This doesn't really bother me.  But I am already freaked out about being 42 next year because I remember when my high school friend's mom got pregnant at 42 and we were all like, EWWWW.....she's 42!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*For my birthday, my husband bought me a new cell phone.  It is capable of taking pictures and connecting to Facebook.  But I can't use those things because that wold cost extra money.  So I pretty much have a new phone that does nothing but take calls and it will probably take me until next year to figure it out.  At which time he'll likely by me another one, because this is what he does.  He did buy the watch I'd been wanting, but I had to pull the website up on the computer and get it out of the mailbox all after my birthday, but hey, I got the watch I wanted.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I am not allowed to spend money until after October 15 because after paying all the recent medical bills we are broke, broke, broke.  This will be okay, though, because someone in Minneapolis hacked my credit card account and charged themselves and ton of plane tickets and my card was cancelled.  I won't get another one until, oh, October 15.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Remember when I took &lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/07/monkey-doand-do.html"&gt;Elizabeth to the ER&lt;/a&gt;?  In total, not counting that $150 co-pay, we owe very close to a thousand bucks for that.  And the doctor did nothing more than look at her, poke around on her belly, and then tell us to watch her for signs of internal bleeding.  I fully intend to show that bill to our pediatrician when we go in for flu shots since she insisted when I called that day that she needed to be in the ER that there was nothing they could do for her at the office, but since she also works at that hospital I'm sure she knew the rule about not giving x-rays and cat scans to tiny children.  Grrr...pissed.  I am happy, though, that there was nothing wrong because if you'd seen that drawer jabbing in her belly you'd have freaked out too.  It will have to be very, very serious for me to ever walk into the ER with any of my kids again.  And that is so very sad, because one day we may need it and we won't be able to use it.  We just can't afford it.  Gawd.  I hope we don't get the swine flu.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*My husband has not eaten a weekday meal with us for almost a year.  Now it's been weeks since he's been here for bathtime and he misses a few bedtimes too.  It's getting old.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2006/09/laura.html"&gt;Laura&lt;/a&gt; died four years ago September 22 and I totally missed it.  That's the first time I've missed it.  It's really sad that we're getting used to it.  Seems wrong.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*And just because it's cute:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsNoRjFVT3I/AAAAAAAAC0A/bEtfkJtbRZc/s1600-h/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+012.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsNoRjFVT3I/AAAAAAAAC0A/bEtfkJtbRZc/s320/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387264229949919090" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It warms my heart to see how close those two are.  &lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2007/04/what-about-adam.html"&gt;I can't believe I was ever worried about it.  &lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-2472031795436461106?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/T8Tj1z-uqZo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/2472031795436461106/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=2472031795436461106&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/2472031795436461106?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/2472031795436461106?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/T8Tj1z-uqZo/so-much-to-sayso-little-time.html" title="So Much To Say....So Little Time" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SsNoRjFVT3I/AAAAAAAAC0A/bEtfkJtbRZc/s72-c/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+012.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/09/so-much-to-sayso-little-time.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcARXw9eSp7ImA9WxNQF0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-3281264345162884510</id><published>2009-09-23T06:33:00.008-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T08:27:24.261-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-23T08:27:24.261-06:00</app:edited><title>Sad</title><content type="html">I was going to write a post about my hard and stressful life.  How I have essentially become a single mom caring for three energetic children from sun-up until sun-down due to my husband's extremely long work hours.  Oh, the boo-hoo fest.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bandssullivan.blogspot.com"&gt;But then I was reminded yesterday how precious and fleeting life is.&lt;/a&gt;  Any life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to think I've been crying over a television show.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may still write my boo-hoo fest sometime.  It just didn't seem appropriate today.  At least I am able to enjoy my children.  Even if it isn't all enjoyment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-3281264345162884510?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/gtKyC4VheY0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/3281264345162884510/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=3281264345162884510&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/3281264345162884510?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/3281264345162884510?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/gtKyC4VheY0/sad.html" title="Sad" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/09/sad.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cCSXwzeSp7ImA9WxNQEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-1419386146948437235</id><published>2009-09-17T14:47:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T16:04:28.281-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-17T16:04:28.281-06:00</app:edited><title>So Long Springfield</title><content type="html">I know you'll all think I'm a bit loony when I tell you that I've spent the better part of September in mourning.  No, no one has passed.  No one is ill.  My husband isn't leaving me &lt;s&gt;yet&lt;/s&gt;.  I am in mourning for &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guiding_Light"&gt;Guiding Light&lt;/a&gt;.  Guiding Light &lt;em&gt;the &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;television show. &lt;/em&gt;.  If you happen to see me around 3:00 each weekday afternoon, you'll probably find me crying.  &lt;em&gt;Over a television show.&lt;/em&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, CBS has decided it's in their best interest to cancel the show I have adored for over thirty years to replace it with a remake of Let's Make a Deal.  Hey, I LOVE Let's Make a Deal too, but on &lt;a href="http://www.gsn.com"&gt;Game Show Network &lt;/a&gt;with Monty Hall and all that retro 70's stuff, not at 2:00 in place of The Lewises, Spauldings, and Coopers.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started watching Guiding Light around 1981, I was in the sixth grade I think.  Don't try to do the math it will hurt you.  And scare you.  For my 41st birthday, I'm having my favorite show cancelled.  Good times.  Anyway, I spent many nights that summer with a friend who along with her mother were addicted to the show.  Having no other option, but to sit and watch with them, I began liking the show as well.  The first story line I saw was two high school couples going to the prom, and being 12ish and just beginning to like boys and school dances just on my horizon, I was hooked.  Oh, &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phillip_Spaulding"&gt;Phillip&lt;/a&gt;....how I loved you.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the longest time, I was going to name my children Hart and India because I'd heard them on the show.   Can you imagine?   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My grandmother lived with us at that time and I was never home when she was watching her show of choice, Days of Our Lives, but I made it home just in time every day to see Guiding Light.  She started watching it with me.  My mom laughed at us.  Eventually, though, she watched it too.  My Granny died in 1982.  I was out of school for a week watching it by myself.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We moved to West Virginia in 1984.  We left everything and everyone behind.  For a month I knew no one, but Reva and Josh kept me company until some future friends knocked on my door.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I frequently skipped my last period class to sit in my boyfriend's basement to watch the show.  He thought we were going there to make out before his mom got home.  HA.  Got that boyfriend hooked on it too.  When we reconnected as friends five years later, we did it over show recaps over the phone.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never scheduled a college course at 3:00.  On Fridays, I'd watch before beginning another &lt;s&gt;drunken&lt;/s&gt; weekend.  My roommate would always sit and watch while waiting for me.  She died in 1999 right before I got married.  I hadn't talked to her in a few years.  I wonder if she was still watching.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I taught, I'd get home just in time to catch the last half hour.  Those last six months I worked, I'd come home and head straight to the recliner with my hand on my belly the entire time.  My son seemed to like it too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe he missed it when he spent a month in the NICU.  I didn't though, because watching it every day before I made the second drive of the day for the evening shift of force-feeding/staring in awe/professing all my love to my pitiful looking newborn, helped me through the longest time of my life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past eightish years, Guiding Light has seen me through colic, teething, defiance, the terrible twos &lt;s&gt;and threes and fours&lt;/s&gt;, sleepless nights (thank you, Tivo), a nasty neighborhood, and MIL visits.  I was watching when they called about my mom's heart attack and I was glued to the screen while I was left alone in that waiting room while she had her surgery.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what I'll do every day without my Springfield family.  I'm so very sad.  &lt;em&gt;Over a television show&lt;/em&gt;.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still look for my childhood friend on Facebook now and then and wonder if she still watches.  Watched.  I'd like to thank her for introducing me to my favorite daily weekly pleasure.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how what I'd have done without it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-1419386146948437235?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/v7SlAjSNBxE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/1419386146948437235/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=1419386146948437235&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/1419386146948437235?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/1419386146948437235?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/v7SlAjSNBxE/so-long-springfield.html" title="So Long Springfield" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/09/so-long-springfield.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEBQ307fyp7ImA9WxNRF0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-966460640285405033</id><published>2009-09-12T13:20:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T13:27:32.307-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-12T13:27:32.307-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="picture pages" /><title>*sigh*</title><content type="html">What do you think?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sqv1QlBR_eI/AAAAAAAACzw/Twt04yA_p1s/s1600-h/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+022.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sqv1QlBR_eI/AAAAAAAACzw/Twt04yA_p1s/s320/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+022.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380663844988386786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The perfect Christmas card?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-966460640285405033?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/iqEsQLHl2ic" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/966460640285405033/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=966460640285405033&amp;isPopup=true" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/966460640285405033?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/966460640285405033?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/iqEsQLHl2ic/sigh.html" title="*sigh*" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sqv1QlBR_eI/AAAAAAAACzw/Twt04yA_p1s/s72-c/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+022.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/09/sigh.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkQGQ38ycSp7ImA9WxNRFE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-5342488919284238994</id><published>2009-09-08T09:04:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T09:38:42.199-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-08T09:38:42.199-06:00</app:edited><title>Today Should Really be the First Day of School</title><content type="html">So Jacob starts his fourth week of school today while Adam starts his second.  I still feel like I was cheated out of half of my summer, but what can you do?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jacob seems to be really enjoying the third grade (just typing third grade hurts my heart, HOW is he in third grade?)  His first weekly report was so positive with phrases like, "I love him already" and "He's such a good listener" and even "eager to learn" that I had to look up at the name on it three times to make sure he brought the right one home.  Eighteen days of school and no demerits.  He's like a new child.  He still sees his bullies on the playground and they've recruited some new blood, but he's learning how to ignore them and it's kind of helping.  He doesn't seem to be too put out about it.  Yet.  His urge to be homeschooled was squashed completely when his teacher broke out the science experiments and daily art lesson.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adam didn't even want me to walk him into his classroom the second day.  He's a big school boy now he tells me, he doesn't need his mama to walk him inside.  Aside from the huge hole he drilled in my heart with that, I'm glad he likes it.  I was sure he'd be lost without Elizabeth but I think they are both enjoying a little individuality for those three hours/three days a week.  I explained to him last Thursday that his school week ended then and he wouldn't be going to school on Friday.  He didn't like that.  When I picked him up seems my good boy Adam got himself into a heap of time-outs.  He was even pretty proud of himself for being the only kid to ever be in time-out.  I was dumbfounded.   My well-behaved boy had apparently sprouted horns over night and splashed others, threw trucks, and generally didn't follow many directions that day.   After some discussion I found out that cute little boy thought Thursday was not only his last day of the school week, but his last day EVER.  Because bible school was only one week, he guessed preschool was only one week too.  And because he didn't want to let an opportunity pass him by, he figured he'd have as much fun as he possibly could because what's a little time-out if you're never going to see those teachers again.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally get one straightened out and now I have to start all over again.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elizabeth was really lonely at first, but I think she's easing into her new morning normal.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SqZ4ET-YhDI/AAAAAAAACzo/Ix0mtPB8uJQ/s1600-h/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+028.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SqZ4ET-YhDI/AAAAAAAACzo/Ix0mtPB8uJQ/s320/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+028.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379118820417373234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course the morning walk/picnic always helps too.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss my boys, especially Adam since having him in school is so new, but I'd forgotten what it was like to have only one little one around.  It's kinda nice.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We might even be able to play Mario Kart now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-5342488919284238994?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/H7OxvKxhr_Y" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/5342488919284238994/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=5342488919284238994&amp;isPopup=true" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/5342488919284238994?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/5342488919284238994?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/H7OxvKxhr_Y/today-should-really-be-first-day-of.html" title="Today Should Really be the First Day of School" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SqZ4ET-YhDI/AAAAAAAACzo/Ix0mtPB8uJQ/s72-c/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+028.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/09/today-should-really-be-first-day-of.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkUHQ30yeyp7ImA9WxNSGE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-8235552557084801590</id><published>2009-09-01T13:31:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T13:43:52.393-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-01T13:43:52.393-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="school" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Adam" /><title>But He's Just a BABY!</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sp12ynDPWwI/AAAAAAAACzg/TuuaK32QhqY/s1600-h/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+031.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sp12ynDPWwI/AAAAAAAACzg/TuuaK32QhqY/s320/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+031.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376584141998349058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sweet little brown-eyed baby boy started preschool today.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I'd cry, but I didn't.  Poor middle child, he doesn't even get my Hallmark tears.   I think I've just always known that Adam would thrive in school.  He's a social butterfly and he just gets others in a way that Jacob never could.  I'm sad he's going to be away from home three mornings a week, but I just know this will be a good experience for him.  He's ready for it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, when I asked him about his day he said there was a kid in an orange shirt that wasn't nice to him so he was planning to "kick his butt" and his teacher's name is apparently Mrs. Puff.  So......we're going to lay off the Spongebob this afternoon and review optional tactics for dealing with meanies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-8235552557084801590?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/ORprNOwwkzk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/8235552557084801590/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=8235552557084801590&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/8235552557084801590?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/8235552557084801590?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/ORprNOwwkzk/but-hes-just-baby.html" title="But He's Just a BABY!" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Sp12ynDPWwI/AAAAAAAACzg/TuuaK32QhqY/s72-c/adamsfirstdayofpreschool+031.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/09/but-hes-just-baby.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D08ARXc5fip7ImA9WxNSFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-8270603933015264285</id><published>2009-08-30T07:31:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T09:24:04.926-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-30T09:24:04.926-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="reviews" /><title>The Wheels on the Bus Won't Come Off This Toy</title><content type="html">A toy website called ebeanstalk has a group of child experts that help select great &lt;a href="http://www.ebeanstalk.com"&gt;learning toys&lt;/a&gt; and toys for kids of all ages, from baby toys, toys for 1 year olds, &lt;a href="http://www.ebeanstalk.com/2-year-old-toys.php"&gt;toys for 2 year olds&lt;/a&gt;, etc. I recently received the Activity Bus from Plan Toys who makes green &lt;a href="http://www.plantoys.com"&gt;developmental toys&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Spp_yXyJRsI/AAAAAAAACzY/eFBfCDryK1o/s1600-h/july31+029.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Spp_yXyJRsI/AAAAAAAACzY/eFBfCDryK1o/s320/july31+029.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375749608574633666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cute, huh? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elizabeth likes buses.  We have two Little People ones and a big plastic one we bought in Arkansas one year that used to live in the garage sale pile, but was rescued by my sweet Libby to add to her collection.  She has also commandeered all of the Matchbox/Hot Wheels/cheap dollar store knock off buses as well.  Sometimes, I might get lucky and hear her singing The Wheels on the Bus song while she's playing with them.  She loves her buses.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when I opened the package amidst my salivating children and saw a bus, I thought, DANG, a bus?  We already have &lt;em&gt;buses&lt;/em&gt;!  I guess I'll have to run a giveaway on this here bus.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But don't think you might get a chance at this cute little bus.  There's no way in the world Elizabeth is parting with &lt;em&gt;this&lt;/em&gt; bus.  You might be able to negotiate a deal with one of the others, but not this one.  No sir.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like this bus too.  It's just....cute.  It's constructed entirely of wood so it's pretty sturdy and it opens up allowing for easy access to the four removable seats, chalkboard, and two children.  Sometimes the children ride in the bus, sometimes they sit in the pretend classroom outside of the bus and sometimes I step on them and it really, really hurts, but that would be the only downside I see to this toy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm going to look to see if there is a school to go with the bus.  Christmas is coming you know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-8270603933015264285?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/msQBKr91YeM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/8270603933015264285/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=8270603933015264285&amp;isPopup=true" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/8270603933015264285?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/8270603933015264285?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/msQBKr91YeM/wheels-on-bus-wont-come-off-this-toy.html" title="The Wheels on the Bus Won't Come Off This Toy" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Spp_yXyJRsI/AAAAAAAACzY/eFBfCDryK1o/s72-c/july31+029.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/08/wheels-on-bus-wont-come-off-this-toy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQNRHszfip7ImA9WxNTFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-2877950235641702372</id><published>2009-08-18T08:37:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T09:13:15.586-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-18T09:13:15.586-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Jacob" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="school" /><title>I'm Wearing Black Today To Mourn the Loss of Summer</title><content type="html">Who the hell thought it was a good idea to start school before Labor Day?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't get that.  I don't like that.  I'm entitled to three more weeks of summer.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's 100 degrees out.  I should be sleeping late.  Not fair.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And my kid's not happy about it either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was really nice to have the break from the bullies this summer.  Jacob was mostly pleasant these past two months.  No doubt because he wasn't being scared on a daily basis.  The past few days, though, have been a little stressful.  There were a few tears.  The uncertainty of all that would be third grade took it's toll.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We spent the last day of summer at the arcade and the cinema and, of course, Waffle House.  We were rebels and skipping the open house.  NO WAY were we spending the LAST DAY at SCHOOL!  But then the lightning came as we were crossing the street to the pool and we didn't have anything better to do right then so we went.  Begrudgingly we went.  Dang.  We weren't rebels after all.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am glad we went.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finding out he was in class with last year's best bud, first grade's best bud, and many of his kindergarten buds really eased his mind.  That and seeing that two of his bullies are in different classes and the other doesn't even go to school there any longer made his day.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the teacher seems really nice.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SorAXRGuKrI/AAAAAAAACzQ/4V2USHTBY0I/s1600-h/firstdaythirdgrade+011.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SorAXRGuKrI/AAAAAAAACzQ/4V2USHTBY0I/s320/firstdaythirdgrade+011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371317011553856178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She looks nice.  Right?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel a little better about it, too.  A little.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't want to take him to school today.  I feel worse about it this year than I ever have.  I know how bad it was.  I know how bad it can still get.   Also, I just like having my kid home with me all day.  I liked &lt;em&gt;knowing&lt;/em&gt; him during the day.  In my heart I'm starting to feel like a homeschooling parent.  I'm just a homeschooling parent who isn't allowed to home school her kids.  This makes me sad.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want those three weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my baby started third grade today.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Soq82hfooiI/AAAAAAAACzI/zPeFEI5Zco8/s1600-h/firstdaythirdgrade+010.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/Soq82hfooiI/AAAAAAAACzI/zPeFEI5Zco8/s320/firstdaythirdgrade+010.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371313150482752034" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I taught third grade.  Those kids were big.  I have a baby.  How can this be?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I started blogging &lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2006/02/all-thomas-all-time.html"&gt;he was in preschool&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2005/12/11-months.html"&gt; Adam starts preschool &lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt;after Labor &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;Day &lt;/em&gt;&lt;s&gt;as it should be&lt;/s&gt;.  My kids.  They are growing up too fast.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-2877950235641702372?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/CFSU36VD0WU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/2877950235641702372/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=2877950235641702372&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/2877950235641702372?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/2877950235641702372?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/CFSU36VD0WU/im-wearing-black-today-to-mourn-loss-of.html" title="I'm Wearing Black Today To Mourn the Loss of Summer" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SorAXRGuKrI/AAAAAAAACzQ/4V2USHTBY0I/s72-c/firstdaythirdgrade+011.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/08/im-wearing-black-today-to-mourn-loss-of.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYHQHY-eyp7ImA9WxNTFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-8392800351429963686</id><published>2009-08-16T08:17:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T09:22:11.853-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-16T09:22:11.853-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="reviews" /><title>Do You Need Ear Plugs?</title><content type="html">I can't believe summer is almost over.  School starts on Tuesday.   Big.  Fat.  Bummer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where did the summer go?  I had big plans.  We were going to museums and the beach and I was going to SEW!  And I was going to teach my kid to SEW!  Ummm.....yeah.  Well, we did go to the beach.  Once.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What did we do all summer?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We swam.  That's what we did all summer.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every day that it didn't rain (only 3 days of rain) or we weren't out of town (about a week) we were at the pool.  The pool right across the street.  Man, I love having that pool across the street.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was really good at keeping the kids and I slathered with sunscreen.  We never had a sunburn.  But it never dawned on me that I should probably keep their ears dry until I got a message from the people at &lt;a href="http://www.earbandit.com"&gt;EarBandIt&lt;/a&gt;.  I hadn't even thought of ear plugs for my own kids, but when I was nine or ten, I remember having the WORST case of swimmer's ear EVER.  I got it in early July that year and couldn't swim the rest of the summer because my ears hurt SO.  FRICKING.  BAD.  The next summer I tried ear plugs, but they'd always fall out to the bottom of the pool and I could never find them and eventually my mom quit buying them.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when &lt;a href="http://www.earbandit.com"&gt;EarBandIt&lt;/a&gt; offered to send ear plugs with head bands to keep them in place, I took them up on it because I figured better late than never.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SogeTyeyYfI/AAAAAAAACzA/jH8Ql_E82oA/s1600-h/july26+115.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SogeTyeyYfI/AAAAAAAACzA/jH8Ql_E82oA/s320/july26+115.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370575880956568050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SogeTQVuaAI/AAAAAAAACy4/oTaqnv7LrZA/s1600-h/july26+114.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SogeTQVuaAI/AAAAAAAACy4/oTaqnv7LrZA/s320/july26+114.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370575871791753218" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SogeS29SsAI/AAAAAAAACyw/rogijwQ3BaA/s1600-h/july26+120.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SogeS29SsAI/AAAAAAAACyw/rogijwQ3BaA/s320/july26+120.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370575864978386946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cute, No?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And they even sent the right colors.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really thought I'd get a fight from Jacob, he hates tags in shirts and his hair getting long so I thought something in his ears and over his head would send him over the edge.  I was wrong, though.  Jacob thinks the band makes him look cool and I think the ear plugs actually help his ADD by blocking out excess noise.  He loves them.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elizabeth kept hers in for a while, but eventually pulled the plugs out.  Play-doh she told me.  I never can keep the plugs in because all she wants to do is play with them.  She does love the head band and I figure that keeps a little water out of her ears.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gave Adam's plugs to my friend whose son has ear tubes and is required to wear them every time he's in the pool.  He seemed okay with them that first day, but never would use them again.  My friend's son, the one who has used plugs all his life, uses them without complaint.  His mom really likes that they don't fall to the bottom of the pool and she doesn't have to buy anymore. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;If your kid needs ear plugs to swim, these are a good product.  They keep the plugs in the ears and the band even helps keep the sun off their ears, one place I always forget to slather.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe I have only two more days with my ear-banded, coconut-smelling boy.  It's 100 degrees out.  Who thought starting school in August was a good idea?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-8392800351429963686?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/0xXr5t8dcj0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/8392800351429963686/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=8392800351429963686&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/8392800351429963686?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/8392800351429963686?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/0xXr5t8dcj0/do-you-need-ear-plugs.html" title="Do You Need Ear Plugs?" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SogeTyeyYfI/AAAAAAAACzA/jH8Ql_E82oA/s72-c/july26+115.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/08/do-you-need-ear-plugs.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUABQXY5fyp7ImA9WxNTEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-826878630380149082</id><published>2009-08-12T10:00:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T10:15:50.827-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-12T10:15:50.827-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mischief" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Adam" /><title>And I Was Really Hoping They'd Be Artistic</title><content type="html">Remember when I got the &lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2007/02/my-weekend-so-far.html"&gt;duvet cover&lt;/a&gt;? The &lt;a href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/2007/02/tuesday-tidbits_27.html"&gt;75% off duvet cover &lt;/a&gt;that I'd been coveting for months? Two and a half years later and I &lt;em&gt;still&lt;/em&gt; love that duvet cover, which will now be known as the comforter because, well, because I &lt;em&gt;hate&lt;/em&gt; the words: duvet cover. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I like my comforter.  I don't want a different one.  I matched my bathroom to it. I've looked at other comforters, you know, maybe since we've moved I might want a new one, but no.  I only like this one.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoHlO0XmGtI/AAAAAAAACyI/QN9oITYeU-0/s1600-h/july31+023.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoHlO0XmGtI/AAAAAAAACyI/QN9oITYeU-0/s320/july31+023.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368824273540881106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love that comforter.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also love Adam.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoHmOurvQRI/AAAAAAAACyg/z5Qtnj-RmxA/s1600-h/aug11+040.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoHmOurvQRI/AAAAAAAACyg/z5Qtnj-RmxA/s320/aug11+040.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368825371526381842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoHmOVi9yYI/AAAAAAAACyY/Y0s3Hz0y1F4/s1600-h/aug11+047.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoHmOVi9yYI/AAAAAAAACyY/Y0s3Hz0y1F4/s320/aug11+047.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368825364778699138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoHmOByb7jI/AAAAAAAACyQ/AnA63RikpwA/s1600-h/aug11+045.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoHmOByb7jI/AAAAAAAACyQ/AnA63RikpwA/s320/aug11+045.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368825359474880050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I was very close to selling Adam on Craig's List yesterday afternoon after I saw this.  Anyone in need of an in-house artist?  He also does wall murals.  Typically in the nude.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As if I haven't had enough of that damn Spongebob this summer, now I can keep him forever enshrined in my bedroom lest they ever cancel that wretched show and I should happen to *gasp* forget about him.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because no.  It won't come out.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the record, I adore Spongebob like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoLozNFNNfI/AAAAAAAACyo/aik4X1SxaW8/s1600-h/july26+049.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoLozNFNNfI/AAAAAAAACyo/aik4X1SxaW8/s320/july26+049.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369109672161523186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On my linens, not so much.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I attempt to clean or cook, things like this happen.  For my birthday, I want a maid.  Or *sigh* a new comforter.  And maybe an art tutor for my obviously artistic, creative, seemingly paper-deprived children.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-826878630380149082?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/HY2IcMKRJ4w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/826878630380149082/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=826878630380149082&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/826878630380149082?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/826878630380149082?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/HY2IcMKRJ4w/and-i-was-really-hoping-theyd-be.html" title="And I Was Really Hoping They'd Be Artistic" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SoHlO0XmGtI/AAAAAAAACyI/QN9oITYeU-0/s72-c/july31+023.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/08/and-i-was-really-hoping-theyd-be.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUDQX4-cSp7ImA9WxJaGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-7161197783502752852</id><published>2009-08-11T07:33:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T07:44:30.059-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-11T07:44:30.059-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="winners" /><title>And the Winner is.....</title><content type="html">&lt;strong&gt;AMIE&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do realize it's Tuesday.  I tried all day to find a name picker doo-dad-a-mathing to choose the winner on Monday.  Well, all day when I wasn't scrubbing my bathroom walls after my middle child covered every inch with very greasy, hard-to-remove bath crayons.  The boys now have a pink toilet.  Sweet justice, I think.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't get any pictures of that.  I was too stunned to use the camera.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was too lazy to get the camera to catch Bethy choosing the winner also.  In fact, we are all still lazing in the big bed enjoying seeing Diego again.  We've missed him.  That dang Spongebob.  But I assure you, she was completely fair.  And now if I don't get up and make that baby some breakfast she will eat all your names.  Hmmm....that might've been a good way to pick the winner.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Amie:  Send me your email again and I'll forward it to Jennifer at Jump Start and she'll get you all set up.  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you didn't win and still want to check it out....Go &lt;a href="http://www.jumpstart.com"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-7161197783502752852?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/YwwLgzbtRuo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/7161197783502752852/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=7161197783502752852&amp;isPopup=true" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/7161197783502752852?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/7161197783502752852?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/YwwLgzbtRuo/and-winner-is.html" title="And the Winner is....." /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/08/and-winner-is.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUBRHw_eip7ImA9WxJaFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-5222551023718229639</id><published>2009-08-06T16:22:00.010-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T16:37:35.242-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-06T16:37:35.242-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Elizabeth" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mischief" /><title>Sometimes Silence Isn't Golden.....It's Red</title><content type="html">Where are you, Elizabeth?  What are you doing?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntYBDxuqKI/AAAAAAAACws/RN87jSS71VE/s1600-h/aug6+006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntYBDxuqKI/AAAAAAAACws/RN87jSS71VE/s320/aug6+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366980156159076514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where did you get that?  How did you sneak into the bathroom?  Didn't I lock up everything dangerous/poisonous/colorful/fun? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntY5s7IqsI/AAAAAAAACxE/_DiWDoaFqTA/s1600-h/aug6+011.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntY5s7IqsI/AAAAAAAACxE/_DiWDoaFqTA/s320/aug6+011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366981129277057730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntYtFoZc-I/AAAAAAAACw8/hwhH_f1-wCw/s1600-h/aug6+015.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntYtFoZc-I/AAAAAAAACw8/hwhH_f1-wCw/s320/aug6+015.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366980912571053026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*sigh*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fingernail painting &lt;em&gt;is&lt;/em&gt; a an acquired skill, Goose.  This is why you should get a good education and a decent job so you'll be able to afford to have &lt;em&gt;someone &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;else&lt;/em&gt; do that for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntZnqW1u3I/AAAAAAAACxM/kyUFAbKSbr8/s1600-h/aug6+012.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntZnqW1u3I/AAAAAAAACxM/kyUFAbKSbr8/s320/aug6+012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366981918861933426" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahem.  This is NOT what I meant by "pose".  We'll discuss this one further in the future.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntaCGniIUI/AAAAAAAACxU/0klTlYupWac/s1600-h/aug6+014.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntaCGniIUI/AAAAAAAACxU/0klTlYupWac/s320/aug6+014.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366982373124743490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, you think you're really cute don't you, Lib?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntaVDPWIBI/AAAAAAAACxc/EY7kPbulTxI/s1600-h/aug6+017.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntaVDPWIBI/AAAAAAAACxc/EY7kPbulTxI/s320/aug6+017.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366982698635501586" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're lucky I think so too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-5222551023718229639?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/LNqjaggMGRU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/5222551023718229639/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=5222551023718229639&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/5222551023718229639?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/5222551023718229639?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/LNqjaggMGRU/sometimes-silence-isnt-goldenits-red.html" title="Sometimes Silence Isn't Golden.....It's Red" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SntYBDxuqKI/AAAAAAAACws/RN87jSS71VE/s72-c/aug6+006.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/08/sometimes-silence-isnt-goldenits-red.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IBRHw-eyp7ImA9WxJaFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-2424606289597916374</id><published>2009-08-04T09:03:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T12:12:35.253-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-04T12:12:35.253-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="reviews" /><title>Need Something to Keep Your Kids Busy?</title><content type="html">Before I was a mom, I was a teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For sevenish years I shaped and molded a variety of elementary school children in three states.   I enjoyed it.  I was good at it.  Some days I really miss it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was kind of forced to become a stay-at-home mom because my oldest was born eight weeks early arriving home just in time for my very short maternity leave to end.  How could I leave my tiny premature, RSV prone baby at a day care less than 24 hours after his homecoming?  Answer:  I couldn't.  I called to extend my substitute the next day.  And the next day.  Eventually I was fired.  Although I could, and probably still can, teach the pants off half the teachers in the state of Texas, I am no longer welcome to do so.  So what.  I am grateful for my dismissal &lt;em&gt;almost&lt;/em&gt; every day.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I still miss teaching.  Especially this time of year.  I love the smell of new crayons and paper and feel the yearn for a brand new lesson plan book.   Right now, I'd really like to homeschool all my kids forever and ever and hang art projects from the ceiling and serve lunch on melanine trays just like the old days.  My husband, eh, he's not that keen on the idea.  So for the summer, I play school two days a week with my kids.  Where before I'd have sixteen kids of the same age, now I have three of various ages so it's hard to keep everyone interested every single minute.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few weeks ago Jennifer with the &lt;a href="http://www.jumpstart.com"&gt;Jump Start &lt;/a&gt;company contacted me about reviewing a new product.  I don't usually &lt;em&gt;jump&lt;/em&gt; at all the offers presented to me, but this one intrigued me.  When I was teaching those Gifted kids in West Virginia, the only room they had to &lt;s&gt;stick&lt;/s&gt; put us was one half of the computer lab.  Well, it was that or the hallway.  The teachers didn't like having to be forced from it during prime morning hours, but it worked.  Sometimes when the kids finished their work &lt;s&gt;and I had nothing else for them because they were so fricking smart they cruised through everything I had and I couldn't keep up&lt;/s&gt;, I'd let them use the computers.  Being 1997 and, knowing almost nothing about computers, I'd just give them a Jump Start CD and let them go.  The kids LOVED it.  I was even known to spend a few too many of my lunch hours cruising through the fourth grade disc &lt;s&gt;because I was addicted&lt;/s&gt; because I wanted to be sure the kids were learning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I liked the program so much I bought the toddler, preschool, and kindergarten programs for Jacob.  All before he was eighteen months old.  And he loved them too.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now &lt;a href="http://www.jumpstart.com"&gt;Jump Start&lt;/a&gt; has a virtual web world where kids can make their own avatars and cruise through the city playing games and earning coins.    I &lt;em&gt;jumped&lt;/em&gt; at the chance to check it out and thought it might be a good educational way to keep my big kid occupied while I attempted to teach the younger two ABCs and 123s and all that stuff that's sooo boring to almost third graders.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jacob loves using this program.  There are different places in the world to stop where he can play games and they each have some sort of skill to teach or practice.  Yesterday he was sequencing sounds on instruments ala 1980s Simon which actually does help my ADD kid learn to stop and listen.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's what he has to say about it:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Jump Start is cool.  You can jump.  You can play cool things.  Also you can go through waterfalls and you can collect jewels and money so you can buy things like new clothes.  It's fun.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think you'd like to try it too?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, ONE of you can.  I'm giving away a three month membership to the Jump Start Virtual World so you can check it out for yourself.  If you're interested, drop me a comment a let me know your kid's favorite computer game and you'll be entered in my drawing.  If you &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; want it, post a link to your blog and I'll give you two more entries.  I'm going to let Monkey-Girl choose the winner next Monday morning so sign up before then.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-2424606289597916374?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/VdVVy6OMNuE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/2424606289597916374/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=2424606289597916374&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/2424606289597916374?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/2424606289597916374?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/VdVVy6OMNuE/need-something-to-keep-your-kids-busy.html" title="Need Something to Keep Your Kids Busy?" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/08/need-something-to-keep-your-kids-busy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMMR3w5fyp7ImA9WxJaEEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-1715138916463777016</id><published>2009-07-31T15:16:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T16:14:46.227-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-31T16:14:46.227-06:00</app:edited><title>Monkey Do....and Do</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SnNhAqf4JdI/AAAAAAAACwc/OdwZps1I9aY/s1600-h/july31+023.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SnNhAqf4JdI/AAAAAAAACwc/OdwZps1I9aY/s320/july31+023.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364738245164279250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaahh....Elizabeth.  My little monkey.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have I told you how I now have to keep the pantry locked?  How I found her one morning hanging with white knuckles from shelf five in an attempt to snag old Halloween candy?  Or how we keep all the bathrooms locked to keep from scaling the counters to reach the toothpaste?  Or how we moved our couch against a wall to contain her mountain-scaling attempts?  Of all my children, she is the monkeyiest.  The boys can't even keep up with her.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I wasn't completely surprised when I went upstairs to investigate some panicked shrieking to find her completely underneath an overturned dresser.  Now, I'm not saying I wasn't upset about it, but it's just, well, if anyone is going to turn over a dresser, it's going to be Elizabeth.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for the record, Adam says she &lt;em&gt;made&lt;/em&gt; him help her.  I almost believe this.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So on Tuesday, we toured the new pediatric ER at our local hospital.  We were one of the first to see it.  We only paid $150 for that honor.  And for the nice doctor to poke around my monkey girl's abdomen for about fifteen seconds and deem cat scans to have too much radiation for children and let us know the signs of internal bleeding, which if we happen to see any of those, by all means COME BACK.  You know, you and your co-pay.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SnNm1Mp674I/AAAAAAAACwk/uFBKBHjrBzA/s1600-h/july31+020.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SnNm1Mp674I/AAAAAAAACwk/uFBKBHjrBzA/s320/july31+020.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364744645244546946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch her close now.  Her kidneys may dissolve.  Or she may be hanging from the ceiling any minute.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course this all came less than 24 hours after I drove Jacob to the pediatrician to have his palate inspected.  The palate he lacerated after jumping up and down with a plastic stick shoved in his mouth.  But FYI....blood comes out of clothing if you soak it quickly in cold water.  And out of carpet.  And toys.  And hardwood floors, stair banisters, cheap laminate furniture, every rubberbacked rug, and also dog fur.  Man.  If you think pulling a baby tooth is bloody, imagine a two inch gash on the roof of your mouth.  But he's fine now.  Really.  And the pink stuff only cost me a dollar.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no pictures of that, but trust me, you don't want any.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know I can't leave the middle child out.  That just wouldn't be fair.  He saw the doctor too.  He's been complaining or his heart beating very fast for a couple of weeks now.  It could be anxiety over school starting or just noticing it while he's calming down in the evening, but either way, I wanted to be safe rather than sorry so his pediatrician scheduled an EKG and a chest x-ray.  We were even able to bang that out while waiting for our ER tour.  I'm all about killing two birds with one stone.  Haven't heard from the doc about the tests, but I'm assuming no news is good news.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do wish I had a picture of him grinning so sweetly at me with all those EKG wires connected to him.  That sweet little Adam grin that just melts me.  It about tore me up inside.  I don't know what I'd do if something were wrong with him.  Or his sister.  Or his brother.  In a second, Jacob could've severed his carotid artery, the dresser could've smashed Elizabeth's skull, but it didn't happen.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God it didn't happen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-1715138916463777016?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/pud8jL8VjRw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/1715138916463777016/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=1715138916463777016&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/1715138916463777016?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/1715138916463777016?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/pud8jL8VjRw/monkey-doand-do.html" title="Monkey Do....and Do" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SnNhAqf4JdI/AAAAAAAACwc/OdwZps1I9aY/s72-c/july31+023.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/07/monkey-doand-do.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEYMRH8zcCp7ImA9WxJbFk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-2349733526322418568</id><published>2009-07-26T08:11:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-26T09:29:45.188-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-26T09:29:45.188-06:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="random bitchiness" /><title>Letters</title><content type="html">Dear Lady in the Red Camry,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for giving me the extra time to really work on my grocery list. I didn't think I'd have time to do that, but when you honked at me in the Penney's parking lot because I wasn't strapping my kids in fast enough for you helped me find the time. I was able to match coupons to all three grocery ads saving me lots of money. Who cares that I only went to one store? Lady in the red Camry, I hope that parking spot was as special as you thought it would be. I'm sure the six cars trapped behind you would think otherwise and probably all wondered, as I did, why you didn't just back up and take the space four cars down instead of idling there for fifteen minutes. I had three kids, packages, and a hefty stroller. If you needed to be thirty feet closer, maybe you could've gotten out of your car and helped me instead of giving me and my kids the finger. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear &lt;a href="http://woodlandsresort.com"&gt;Woodlands Resort&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize by publishing a non-password protected blog on the world wide web, that anyone can read my drivel. I'm okay with that. I don't find our lives or my writing so interesting that I think people would steal it's content but I guess that could happen. I mean, when you posted my link on your Facebook fan page without my consent for a little free advertising I'm sure you didn't think I'd notice, but it popped up on my home page just five minutes after I hit that big orange button. Didn't count on me being a fan, huh? When I commented on your link, the least you could've done is acknowledge me. Or maybe just tell me thank you. For which, BTW, You're Welcome. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Nickelodeon,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The all-day Spongebob fest is killing me. Please dispose of it. Quickly. I need more Oswald and Blues Clues and less Yo Gabba Gabba too. You know, if you ever have preschool shows again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;************************************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Sony,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there somewhere I can find how to block out &lt;s&gt;Nickelodeon&lt;/s&gt; certain channels? I &lt;s&gt;threw away&lt;/s&gt; lost our television manual. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;************************************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Family With Ten Kids Down the Street,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF? Your kids are terrorizing our neighborhood. Everyone is talking about you. Get a nanny who speaks English and can discipline the hoodlums or stay home and quit roaming around the country under the ruse of "business". If you have enough money to travel 300 days out of the year, you probably have enough money to install your own swimming pool. Please do. It'll save you tons in legal fees because your teenagers are likely to drown someone one day. PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR KIDS SO WE DON'T HAVE TO! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Yes, they really have ten kids)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*******************************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Walgreens,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One hour photo means you get your photos in ONE HOUR. It does not mean you get your photos in NINE HOURS. My order wasn't that big. Neither was the girl in front of me you tried to blame. If your equipment is screwed up, don't assure me it'll be done in an hour, be honest and say so. I've never liked you anyway since you started taking over every street corner. You almost ruined my special scrapbook getaway. I couldn't drink my beer for NINE HOURS because I was waiting, waiting, waiting to finally get in my car and pick up those pictures. That I needed. Because I was fricking SCRAPBOOKING! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***************************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear CVS,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I LOVE YOU! Forty minutes for photos. Awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***************************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Laura,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for the &lt;a href="http://yuengling.com"&gt;Yuengling&lt;/a&gt;. I need more. Meet you next year for another beer exchange? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***************************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear &lt;a href="http://www.arboroaksretreat.com"&gt;Arbor Oaks Retreat&lt;/a&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for an awesome kid free weekend. Can't wait to do it again. But I have to ask? Has anyone really used this? And where'd you get the comforters because I need one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SmxyEIeUZTI/AAAAAAAACwE/1eLbxx-CiZ8/s1600-h/july26+063.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SmxyEIeUZTI/AAAAAAAACwE/1eLbxx-CiZ8/s320/july26+063.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362786671611110706" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-2349733526322418568?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/LQ0vZcIVagI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/2349733526322418568/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=2349733526322418568&amp;isPopup=true" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/2349733526322418568?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/2349733526322418568?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/LQ0vZcIVagI/letters.html" title="Letters" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SmxyEIeUZTI/AAAAAAAACwE/1eLbxx-CiZ8/s72-c/july26+063.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/07/letters.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0IFRnwzeSp7ImA9WxJUFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19178340.post-5872802510925157464</id><published>2009-07-14T11:48:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T12:18:37.281-06:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-14T12:18:37.281-06:00</app:edited><title>One Way to Spend an Anniversary</title><content type="html">Wanna see pictures from our tenth anniversary trip?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You do?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzFj9NdGwI/AAAAAAAACvE/tEZ1ML1TTYo/s1600-h/woodlands+104.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzFj9NdGwI/AAAAAAAACvE/tEZ1ML1TTYo/s320/woodlands+104.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358374878181137154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or even better....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzF1wfTVSI/AAAAAAAACvM/eNMUkEYtjpI/s1600-h/woodlands+059.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzF1wfTVSI/AAAAAAAACvM/eNMUkEYtjpI/s320/woodlands+059.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358375184003978530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So romantic.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband was going to arrange a little getaway months ago because ten years is pretty big.  I think he's a little surprised I've stayed this long.  Or vice versa.  But anyway, we were going to do it up on our tenth anniversary by golly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks before the big day he still hadn't scheduled anything.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I did it for him.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister decided to spend her vacation that very week at my parents so I couldn't in good conscience ask them to add three more to that chaotic mix so I found a place we all could enjoy.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Woodlands,_Texas"&gt; The Woodlands&lt;/a&gt;.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As in the other side of Houston.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it still took us over an hour to get there.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it was &lt;s&gt;twice as much work and I could've stayed home and done the exact same chasing for free&lt;/s&gt; fun.  Fun.  Really.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a nice view....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzHpR8cefI/AAAAAAAACvU/mLwZmsE2DAc/s1600-h/woodlands+054.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzHpR8cefI/AAAAAAAACvU/mLwZmsE2DAc/s320/woodlands+054.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358377168669538802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And plenty to keep us busy....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzImpuJk_I/AAAAAAAACv0/f2jQPnxwPcQ/s1600-h/woodlands+094.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzImpuJk_I/AAAAAAAACv0/f2jQPnxwPcQ/s320/woodlands+094.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358378223024051186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzImGLStII/AAAAAAAACvs/KX9Y8QN_GWU/s1600-h/woodlands+075.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzImGLStII/AAAAAAAACvs/KX9Y8QN_GWU/s320/woodlands+075.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358378213482607746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzIloyhAWI/AAAAAAAACvk/0juHAb31epw/s1600-h/woodlands+066.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzIloyhAWI/AAAAAAAACvk/0juHAb31epw/s320/woodlands+066.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358378205594059106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzIlVeSaUI/AAAAAAAACvc/mFurqgv_huI/s1600-h/woodlands+069.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzIlVeSaUI/AAAAAAAACvc/mFurqgv_huI/s320/woodlands+069.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358378200408942914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there was PF Changs.  Twice.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzI_bLfLKI/AAAAAAAACv8/1em2u1qTCxc/s1600-h/woodlands+037.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzI_bLfLKI/AAAAAAAACv8/1em2u1qTCxc/s320/woodlands+037.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358378648617299106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay.  So that's not PF Changs.  It's &lt;em&gt;outside&lt;/em&gt; PF Changs.  I was too busy stuffing my face while allowing my children to run wild inside the restaurant to the chagrin of all the other patrons and waiters.  It was my anniversary, man.  I needed to have &lt;em&gt;some&lt;/em&gt; fun.   I mean, you can just drink so many eight dollar pina coladas by the poolside before you begin to feel guilty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't bother to wish me a Happy Anniversary though.  All this happened almost a month ago.  Nothing like being timely and on the ball, huh?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd tell you more about how awesome the resort was, but I don't want to give away free reviews.  I mean, I could, but if there's the off chance the people there might see that I went to THE WOODLANDS RESORT and want to offer me, say, a weekend stay with free tasty breakfast to review their amenities I would not turn it down.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nope, I would NOT turn it down.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19178340-5872802510925157464?l=boymom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~4/4QFg0VH7PiA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://boymom.blogspot.com/feeds/5872802510925157464/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19178340&amp;postID=5872802510925157464&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/5872802510925157464?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19178340/posts/default/5872802510925157464?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/boycrazyblog/~3/4QFg0VH7PiA/one-way-to-spend-anniversary.html" title="One Way to Spend an Anniversary" /><author><name>andria</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07936122859722777328</uri><email>boycrazyblog@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="11529436044192322644" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e_3LU4k6iGs/SlzFj9NdGwI/AAAAAAAACvE/tEZ1ML1TTYo/s72-c/woodlands+104.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://boymom.blogspot.com/2009/07/one-way-to-spend-anniversary.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>
