<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046</id><updated>2012-01-10T21:16:48.962-08:00</updated><category term='SAHM'/><category term='motherhood'/><category term='multitasking'/><category term='trips'/><category term='tired'/><category term='nursery'/><category term='doctors'/><category term='shopping'/><category term='hurry'/><category term='boys'/><category term='cartoons'/><category term='relationships'/><category term='mom&apos;s on the edge'/><category term='wal mart'/><category term='easter'/><category term='uncomfortable situations'/><category term='jello'/><category term='travel'/><category term='jazzercise'/><category 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with kids'/><category term='toddler'/><category term='attitude'/><category term='restaurants'/><category term='friends'/><category term='infant'/><category term='children'/><category term='office'/><category term='vacation'/><category term='random'/><category term='riding in the car'/><category term='parenting'/><category term='games'/><category term='music'/><category term='diapers'/><category term='wife'/><category term='tantrums'/><category term='award'/><category term='carpets'/><category term='fashion'/><category term='carseat'/><category term='comebacks'/><category term='life'/><category term='company'/><category term='bogus'/><category term='messes'/><category term='breastfeeding'/><category term='door to door sales'/><category term='discipline'/><category term='behavior'/><category term='changing behaviors'/><category term='two'/><category term='potty training'/><category term='visitors'/><category term='shots'/><category term='emergency'/><category term='annoying'/><category term='fitness'/><category term='infants'/><category term='money'/><title type='text'>I Hate Pink.</title><subtitle type='html'>A 20 something mom relates her stories from the funnier side of staying home.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>58</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-2485943916737667193</id><published>2011-02-02T14:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-02T14:50:36.171-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sh!t..I painted your gender roles</title><content type='html'>There just isn't enough time in a day for blogging anymore.&amp;nbsp; Mostly because I work, but also partially because I'm trying to sleep enough hours a day so that I can function.&amp;nbsp; I know it's selfish of me...&amp;nbsp; But today I was reading my fav blog &lt;a href="http://www.thebloggess.com/"&gt;The Bloggess&lt;/a&gt;, and it made me yearn to write something whitty...or is it witty.&amp;nbsp; (Probably the second one.&amp;nbsp; The first one made me think of that episode of Family Guy where Stewie accentuates the silent 'h' in words like whip.&amp;nbsp; Hilarious.)&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;A wise person once said that good humor comes from pain.&amp;nbsp; I don't have a whole lot of funny stuff happening in my life these days, because I'm happier so things don't need to be made humorous for me to cope with them anymore.&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So mostly I'm just focusing on teaching my kids to cuss properly, which is working out GREAT.&amp;nbsp; Just last night my son properly used the word "shit" in a sentence when he said to his sister.&amp;nbsp; "Don't pour out all those toys, cuz I don't wanna have to clean that shit up."&amp;nbsp; Such a proud day.&amp;nbsp; Mother of the year award nominee here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and another proud moment (actually I was really proud of this) I had this week was when his dad's girlfriend was painting his sisters nails, and he wanted his toes painted.&amp;nbsp; She told him "no boys don't paint their toes. Only girls."&amp;nbsp; (This isn't the first time that's happened so I taught him to say "stop trying to define my gender roles.") &amp;nbsp; So Monday night he comes in and says "mommy can you paint my toes for me. Manda wouldn't do it."&amp;nbsp; I said "did you tell her to stop defining your gender roles?"&amp;nbsp; He said "yes, but she still wouldn't!"&amp;nbsp; So I grinned widely and painted them myself.&amp;nbsp; Muhahahaha...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-2485943916737667193?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2485943916737667193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2011/02/shti-painted-your-gender-roles.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2485943916737667193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2485943916737667193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2011/02/shti-painted-your-gender-roles.html' title='Sh!t..I painted your gender roles'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-3911183319366264006</id><published>2010-07-11T21:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-11T22:02:09.161-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life is Messy</title><content type='html'>My dear readers:&lt;br /&gt;I so apologize for my absence the last few months. &amp;nbsp;I have been so busy adjusting to life as a single mommy, and didn't have Internet for a couple of months. &amp;nbsp;I hope you can still find my posts...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your blog writin' mom,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anna&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I JUST got my Internet set up yesterday, and this morning I sat down at my computer to browse the inter webs thinking "I get to blog again...&lt;span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"&gt;YAY&lt;/span&gt;!" &amp;nbsp;Then I realized I didn't know what to blog about. &amp;nbsp;Perhaps I had lost my blogging mind over the chaos of the last few months? &amp;nbsp;Maybe I just needed to brainstorm for a while and think of something I could make funny? &amp;nbsp;As any of you know it's not easy to just find any old topic and make it hilarious. There has to be a catalyst to inspired humor. &amp;nbsp;You literally can't make this shit up, and have it be as funny as real life. &amp;nbsp;Luckily, my 3 year old has a wonderful way of creating situations to write about. &amp;nbsp;At the time they're not so funny, but later...yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight after dinner I was watching the latest episode of True Blood, while my kids played in their playroom. &amp;nbsp; My son likes to color, so it's not unusual for him to get into my "pen drawer." &amp;nbsp;He's usually very good about not getting into anything else. &amp;nbsp;This time apparently he couldn't help himself but dig through the contents of the drawer and find something more entertaining. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard Lillie slip and fall, so I ran in to see if she was okay, and I found a scene that was horrifying for many reasons. &amp;nbsp;First of all, I rent my house, and the substance was on the floor. &amp;nbsp;Second of all, it was covering my computer monitor. &amp;nbsp;Thirdly, my kids were covered in it. &amp;nbsp;Most importantly, my daughter had a lot of it in her mouth. &amp;nbsp;Whiteout. Oh...my...bob...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran to the living room to get my phone and dial poison control while I'm trying to dig the stuff out of her mouth. &amp;nbsp;It goes in a liquid and immediately turns into a hardened coating from hell. &amp;nbsp;Just try to swipe that out of their mouth! &amp;nbsp;It's stuck in teeth, covering the roof of her mouth, and coating her tongue. &amp;nbsp;The stuff smells terrible, so I'm expecting dramatics and a rush to the emergency room, but secretly hoping that milk is the cure. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another stroke of luck...whiteout is NOT poisonous. It's merely an irritant. &amp;nbsp;And Milk was indeed the cure. &amp;nbsp;But no one escaped unscathed...not even the dog!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/TDqeyjcobgI/AAAAAAAAAOM/uiGYdd4k2D8/s1600/IMG_0759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/TDqeyjcobgI/AAAAAAAAAOM/uiGYdd4k2D8/s400/IMG_0759.jpg" width="300" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/TDqg8NqZghI/AAAAAAAAAOU/ey6JGGwtm0M/s1600/IMG_0760.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/TDqg8NqZghI/AAAAAAAAAOU/ey6JGGwtm0M/s400/IMG_0760.jpg" width="300" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/TDqhsJi1i4I/AAAAAAAAAOc/Fo_q4t1gBDw/s1600/IMG_0751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/TDqhsJi1i4I/AAAAAAAAAOc/Fo_q4t1gBDw/s400/IMG_0751.jpg" width="300" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Anyone know how to get whiteout off linoleum? This stuff is NOT coming off. &amp;nbsp;I had to scrape it off the monitor with my fingernail. &amp;nbsp;That was so fun. &amp;nbsp;It's not really working on the floor, so I need a new plan of attack. I've also tried magic erasers (don't worry I didn't use them on the kids like that idiot that burned her kids skin), and fingernail polish remover. &amp;nbsp;The magic eraser helped on the monitor, but not on the linoleum. &amp;nbsp;The fingernail polish remover did nothing. &amp;nbsp;Where's Martha Stewart when you need her?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-3911183319366264006?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3911183319366264006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/07/life-is-messy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3911183319366264006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3911183319366264006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/07/life-is-messy.html' title='Life is Messy'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/TDqeyjcobgI/AAAAAAAAAOM/uiGYdd4k2D8/s72-c/IMG_0759.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-6736596777443254378</id><published>2010-05-19T13:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-19T13:00:40.666-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hide-and-seek'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='games'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laughs'/><title type='text'>Hide-and-Seek</title><content type='html'>My son is now to the age where you can start playing hide-and-seek really well with him. &amp;nbsp;He knows how to count and keep his eyes covered while you hide. &amp;nbsp;His hiding skills leave something to be desired. &amp;nbsp;He thinks he can hide behind the couch and as soon as I walk by he has to show himself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few nights ago I was having a hard time coaxing him upstairs to go to bed, and so I yelled down. &amp;nbsp;"I'm hiding you have to come find me!" &amp;nbsp;I quickly looked around, and decided the closet was a good place to hide. &amp;nbsp;I left the doors only 2/3 of the way shut so he could see me if he really got close. &amp;nbsp;Well, he comes upstairs, giggling, and saying "Momma where are &lt;span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial;"&gt;youuuuu&lt;/span&gt;?" He just looks around the room real quick and leaves. &amp;nbsp;I'm sitting there trying to stifle my giggles thinking it would give me away, and yet none of the sounds seemed to tip him off. &amp;nbsp;He ran back downstairs, (because in toddler logic I could have easily gone back downstairs apparently.) &amp;nbsp;So I ran to the closet at the top of the stairs and just hid with the door mostly open. &amp;nbsp;He comes back upstairs crawling and doing his best T-&lt;span class="goog-spellcheck-word" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: yellow; background-image: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial;"&gt;rex&lt;/span&gt; impression and I just couldn't hold the laughs in. I'm standing in the closet laughing my butt off no more than 2 feet away from him and he looked all around him BUT the closet. &amp;nbsp;It was so cute! &amp;nbsp;It reminded me how innocent he is even though he seems to be growing up so quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So if you want to feel like a pro at hide-and-seek....play with a toddler. ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-6736596777443254378?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6736596777443254378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/05/hide-and-seek.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6736596777443254378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6736596777443254378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/05/hide-and-seek.html' title='Hide-and-Seek'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-3747494178312764966</id><published>2010-03-31T15:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-31T15:56:55.765-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='opinion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='discipline'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wal mart'/><title type='text'>Public Display of Discipline</title><content type='html'>After work today I had to run to Wal Mart after work to get some essentials. For us that would be bananas, cheese and milk. &amp;nbsp;Also Byron needed some more plastic pants, because he's just finally getting potty trained away from home. &amp;nbsp;(As long as he's naked he's potty trained, but that doesn't work so well outside of the home.) Anyway, Byron was in a very good mood, and he asked to walk next to the cart instead of riding like usual. &amp;nbsp;Since he was being good I obliged. &amp;nbsp;As we walked through the front doors he saw the coin operated games and rides to the left and made a bee-line. &amp;nbsp;Of course I told him no, and that we had to hurry and get our groceries. &amp;nbsp;Well, as you can imagine, a melt-down of epic proportions ensued. He was inconsolable. &amp;nbsp;So I decided to find a spot for a time out. &amp;nbsp;Right in front the pharmacy is some benches, and I plopped him down, stepped a few feet away and turned to the side. &amp;nbsp;The kid is just screaming bloody murder and freaking out. &amp;nbsp;Every person that walks by or is standing near me is staring. &amp;nbsp;Then this lady walks up to him and says "are you lost?" &amp;nbsp;I was like "he's just in a time out. &amp;nbsp;He's fine." &amp;nbsp;She goes "well public isn't the best place for a time out. You might want to think about that next time." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay people what the heck?! &amp;nbsp;If you don't punish your kids in public you're a bad parent? If you do you're a bad parent? &amp;nbsp;Make up your minds. &amp;nbsp;I almost asked her if I should just spank him right there in the store and have CPS swoop in on me like a plague of locusts. &amp;nbsp;They have so many cameras in Wal Mart they could get it from every angle and plaster it all over the news. &amp;nbsp;I can see the headline now,"WORLD'S WORST MOM SPANKS SON IN WAL MART!" &amp;nbsp;Although the bad publicity worked out for the Octomom and Kate Gosslin, so maybe I could ride that to fame and fortune.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-3747494178312764966?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3747494178312764966/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/03/public-display-of-discipline.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3747494178312764966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3747494178312764966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/03/public-display-of-discipline.html' title='Public Display of Discipline'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-5458567888254395070</id><published>2010-03-30T19:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-30T19:56:40.696-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dreams come true'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='divorce'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mother'/><title type='text'>Dream Come True</title><content type='html'>I'm going to go ahead and be honest here and let everyone know that when I was married (technically I still am, but I consider myself mentally divorced already) I often "fantasized" about life as a single person again. &amp;nbsp;Not in a sexual way, so that I could go out and sleep with every guy that I could get my hands on, but in a simplified life kind of way. &lt;br /&gt;For example I have a fairly good sized house, and I would often picture myself in a little house that was nice and cozy, but arranged just how I like things. &amp;nbsp;That should be coming true in the near future; provided we can sell this one. &amp;nbsp;I like my house, don't get me wrong, but like I said the word simple comes to mind. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also imagined that if I didn't have a husband anymore then my house would stay clean more easily. &amp;nbsp;Now with two kids I'm sure you're all laughing at me right now, but ladies...it's TRUE. &amp;nbsp;I have less laundry, less dishes, and the bathroom stays clean much longer. &amp;nbsp; I don't have socks to pick up off the floor or toothpaste splatters to clean off the wall. &amp;nbsp;The pillows on the couch stay arranged how I like, and the dish washer gets loaded in an orderly fashion.&amp;nbsp;Now how is it possible that a grown man can make such a mess? &amp;nbsp;I don't know. &amp;nbsp;It boggles the mind! &amp;nbsp;He grew up in a very clean house, and yet I still had to clean pee dribbles off the front of the toilet. &amp;nbsp;Ewww!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You also may not realize this, but men take up a LOT of free time. &amp;nbsp;Now that I'm not spending time on nurturing a relationship or sex there are more hours in the day for chick flicks (which I wasn't able to watch) and chocolate. &amp;nbsp;I can go to Jazzercise any time I want. &amp;nbsp;I can make whatever food I want for dinner, and there is no one to complain. &amp;nbsp;Not to mention there is actually leftovers to reheat the next day, so I only have to cook a few times a week instead of daily. &amp;nbsp;BONUS! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now if you're happily married, and I do stress the word HAPPILY, please don't think I'm trying to encourage you to leave your husband just so you have more time to read your Twlight books. (Let's be honest...Edward and Jacob never disappoint you emotionally!) But, if you find yourself plodding through your marriage or day dreaming about a little loft apartment filled with Chick Lit and cheesecake...maybe you should let it go. &amp;nbsp;It's was scary in the beginning, but now I just want it over with so I can move along. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-5458567888254395070?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5458567888254395070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/03/dream-come-true.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5458567888254395070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5458567888254395070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/03/dream-come-true.html' title='Dream Come True'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-9092106707360275255</id><published>2010-03-09T15:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-30T19:31:04.509-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='divorce'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>The Beginning of the End</title><content type='html'>Obviously I haven't written a blog in nearly 2 months now, and I do apologize for that. &amp;nbsp;First I went through a little struggle with writer's block, and then about 3 weeks ago my husband and I separated. &amp;nbsp;Needless to say my humor level has been a little low. &amp;nbsp;So today's blog probably won't make you laugh, but I feel the need to write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About three weeks ago my life was turned upside down by finding out my husband was talking to yet another woman behind my back. &amp;nbsp;This has happened so many times during our 5 year relationship that it's almost comical now to look back on it. &amp;nbsp;Why did I let that happen to myself? &amp;nbsp;Why did I let him disrespect me over and over again? &amp;nbsp;Now the struggle of trying to posture myself as the perfect little wife is over, and I feel so free. &amp;nbsp;Free to do the things I want to now without worry that he will disapprove or tease me. &amp;nbsp;Free to find someone that loves me for the amazingly strong person I am. &amp;nbsp;I forgot how strong I was, but just to put up with things over the last 5 years took strength.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, of course he's already moved on. &amp;nbsp;Starting a new relationship when the papers aren't filed yet. &amp;nbsp;I find myself torn about this. &amp;nbsp;On one hand I feel better without him around. &amp;nbsp;On the other the crazy and jealous feelings brought up by infidelity over the relationship are still there. &amp;nbsp;It hurts a little still. &amp;nbsp;I kind of want to tell that chick that he's not who she thinks, but no one ever listens to the woman scorned. &amp;nbsp;Ladies, sometimes it's impossible for a man to date that many crazy people in his lifetime. &amp;nbsp;There starts to be a little truth to the things they say. &amp;nbsp;I think they should come out with a survey system for dating. &amp;nbsp;That way you could just look up a person's over all personality, cleanliness, and appearance! &amp;nbsp;It would save so much time. &amp;nbsp;I'm not talking about going all&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://www.dontdatehimgirl.com/"&gt;Don't Date Him Girl&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;on every person you date. &amp;nbsp;That's not right. &amp;nbsp;But one woman's trash is another's treasure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One woman may consider being wined and dined the type of romance she desires from her mate. &amp;nbsp;I on the other hand would love a spouse who does little things for me instead. &amp;nbsp;I would prefer someone to take the garbage out for me everyday or show up at my work to give me a hug over flowers any day. &amp;nbsp;I've already been married to the guy who will give you anything except love me the way I deserve. &amp;nbsp;Or simply to know I'm appreciated would be a big step.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At any rate, I will no longer be a Stay-at-home mom anymore. &amp;nbsp;I'm about to enter the crazy life of a working mother, so I'm hoping that some good material comes from this new direction. &amp;nbsp;Maybe my blog will be better than ever! &amp;nbsp;Wish me luck. ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-9092106707360275255?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/9092106707360275255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/03/beginning-of-end.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/9092106707360275255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/9092106707360275255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/03/beginning-of-end.html' title='The Beginning of the End'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-2473798806430630228</id><published>2010-01-18T13:55:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T16:51:52.287-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='changing behaviors'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cussing'/><title type='text'>The F word</title><content type='html'>My son got in trouble at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Jazzercise&lt;/span&gt; daycare for saying "F***er."  I'm so embarrassed.  He got that one from me. I've got a bit of a potty mouth.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt; a pretty good one.  I'm able to control it in polite company, but when I'm relaxed I really let it go.  I was a dispatcher for a trucking company for a while, and that is when I really started cussing a lot.  Now that I'm married to a truck driver, well, it's not really helping the situation. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So the daycare lady told me he said that and I did a major face palm.  At home when he says those words I say "don't say that it's a grown up word."  Obviously that's not cutting it. Besides the fact that I have a really hard time not laughing or at least cracking a smile when he blurts out "oh shit" with perfect timing isn't helping anything.  My kids love an audience.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The problem is I don't know if this is irreversible or not.  I told Byron that I will try not to say those words if he tries not to say them too.  We'll do it together.  But it isn't going to be easy!  I *heart* the F word.  I just do.  As a kid I heard both my parents cuss, and my mom has a few stories about how I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;embarrassed&lt;/span&gt; her with my inopportune use of the words.  So I guess paybacks really are a bitch.  (See I just cussed. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;DOH&lt;/span&gt;!)  Then as I grew up I didn't use those words until I was pretty much grown, and if I did it was never in front of adults.  So somewhere along the lines I learned how to keep my mouth shut at the right times.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So there's another challenge for myself this year.  Stop cussing.  Okay, only when I get hurt.  How hard is it going to be to not say "OUCH! F**K!" when I stub my toe?  That's just a natural reaction.  You have to say it then.  Or what about when you are carrying a load of groceries into the house and the bag breaks and a jar of spaghetti sauce shatters all over the damn (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;DOH&lt;/span&gt;) place ?  You have to say "SHIT!" It's just how it's done.  Right?  What do people who don't cuss say in those situations?  Don't tell me they say "shoot" or "fudge," because those are basically the same thing, or so I've been told.  Maybe I'll start saying what Thomas says "CINDERS AND ASHES!"  Or how about "CHEESE AND CRACKERS!"  Is it acceptable to just say the letter of the word?  Like "F that!  That's BS!"  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So many rules...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hey I just thought of a good original one "SALT &amp;amp; VINEGAR CHIPS!"  "TOILET SCRUBBER!" (That's a really dirty one.)  Got any ideas for more?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-2473798806430630228?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2473798806430630228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/01/f-word.html#comment-form' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2473798806430630228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2473798806430630228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/01/f-word.html' title='The F word'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-473837951761407836</id><published>2010-01-16T07:41:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-16T08:03:21.002-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='random'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='observations'/><title type='text'>Things I Don't Understand</title><content type='html'>1) &lt;b&gt;Women who get all done up for work outs&lt;/b&gt;.  I've got one or two of these offenders at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Jazzercise&lt;/span&gt;, but there is one that is really over the top.  It looks like she spends an hour getting ready to go sweat.  Her hair is short and all styled up with LOTS of hairspray.  She wears hoop earrings, and color coordinated eye shadow.  Why?  That is a whole lot of work for it to run down your face, go home and shower, and have to do it all over again.  I understand a little mascara or light colored shadow on a puffy eye day, because those are quick fixes to pillow face.  Give yourself a break, and go to the gym with the bear minimum on.  You deserve it.  If you're married you shouldn't be trying to impress anyone, and if you're single the guys at the gym are probably gay or players.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2) &lt;b&gt;People Offended by Fat People.  &lt;/b&gt;There are some people who are just offended by the weirdest things.  Why would a fat person offend you?  Is it because you think it is unacceptable to be fat or you're afraid you might be fat someday, so you are like "ugh, I will NEVER be fat."  Never say never, then it will REALLY happen to you!  It's like a jinx.  If you don't send this blog link to 7 people you will gain 50lbs this year. Or maybe you're secretly jealous that they can eat a whole cheesecake and no one will blink.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But seriously, if a person is overweight they are usually upset enough inside, and don't need your comments.  Just move along...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3) &lt;b&gt;Tattoos.  &lt;/b&gt;I don't get them.  People get some really strange things tattooed on their body.  Like a naked chick with her legs spread open that covers your whole back.  What is that about?  It makes me think you either a) never get any of that stuff betwixt her legs, so you're over compensating or b) you were drunk off your ass and your friends thought it would be hilarious.  I realize that a majority of people who do tattoos are artists, and can create some amazing things on your tender canvas.  But as a needle &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;phobe&lt;/span&gt;...and a hepatitis &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;phobe&lt;/span&gt;...I have to decline the invitation.  Besides I have never thought of something I would tattoo on my body forever.  But to each their own!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4) &lt;b&gt;People who were cool in high school and never got over themselves.  &lt;/b&gt;I'm planning my 10 year reunion and while there are so many people that have changed a lot, in a good way, there are some that haven't.  No one cares if you were the sports star, or had the prettiest hair in school.  You're just another person.  Sorry to break it to you.  A handful of people from our class are above average in the job category...and if you have time to read my blog it's probably not you. :)  Not that I don't appreciate the readership.  In fact if you're reading this I really really like you.  It's not you I'm talking about.  You're awesome.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-473837951761407836?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/473837951761407836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/01/things-i-dont-understand.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/473837951761407836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/473837951761407836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/01/things-i-dont-understand.html' title='Things I Don&apos;t Understand'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-5571268124620360147</id><published>2010-01-11T12:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-11T13:19:31.606-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rude'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='inconsiderate'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jazzercise'/><title type='text'>Parking Challenged?</title><content type='html'>This is just a little rant.  There is another &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Jazzerciser&lt;/span&gt; that is really getting on my nerves with her parking.    For this we may need a diagram to illustrate the inconsiderate style in which this person parks.  I know exactly who she is because I've seen her be one of the first people there, and park in the same inconsiderate manner every time.  She's relatively new like I am, and I don't see how she couldn't notice the general parking order.  Okay here is my diagram:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  # # # #  (She is the 8)  (Okay this shit isn't working.  The bottom 2 # should be over 2 spaces)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;       # #&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   8  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; Now notice how her parking takes up 2 MARKED spaces, and it also blocks the lane behind and messes up the parking situation there.  I don't want to be the one to say something to her, and be "that bitch."  It should be obvious that her parking sense is a little "off."  But no, she's noticed other people pull in after her, and yet she doesn't try to correct it or correct it the next day!  RUDE!  It makes me think that I won't like her as a person either.  Is that weird?  I find myself thinking "if she's that inconsiderate about parking imagine how she would be about everything else?"  I find myself glaring at her car as I pull in, and I don't know why this bothers me so much.  Maybe I've just found a new pet peeve?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-5571268124620360147?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5571268124620360147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/01/parking-challenged.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5571268124620360147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5571268124620360147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/01/parking-challenged.html' title='Parking Challenged?'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-4928751552453886909</id><published>2010-01-04T14:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-04T15:02:29.016-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dancing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='workout'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fun'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jazzercise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='aerobics'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fitness'/><title type='text'>Jazzercise</title><content type='html'>I know many people have their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;set judgements about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Jazzercise&lt;/span&gt;.  That there is nothing but spandex, leg warmers, and high cut bodysuits as far as the eye can see.  While there is spandex on some people it is not the really tight hot pink you might imagine.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Jazzercise&lt;/span&gt; actually has their own line of workout clothing, and a good portion of the long-term members own at least one pair of pants that say &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;JAZZERCISE&lt;/span&gt; across the butt.  I joke I joke...It's in small letters on the hip of the pant or front of the shirts...very tasteful.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Most people probably imagine that there is nothing but a sea of stick thin women in spandex "feeling the burn."  But really there are several types of people that go to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Jazzercise&lt;/span&gt;.  One of them is the thin person wearing spandex that you wonder if they got thin by doing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Jazzercise&lt;/span&gt; or if they have always been that way.  There are the old ladies who you think might die of a heart attack when you see them walk in, but manage to out Jazz you in their spandex.  Finally, there are the people like me, who aren't comfortable in spandex yet...I'm sure I'll get there...so we wear sweats and a t-shirt and wish we could fit in the spandex spaghetti strap tank tops that adorn the thinner members.  Most of us sweat pants wearing ladies, are also the ones that drop the kids off at daycare when we come in, so at least we have a small excuse. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm the only one at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Jazzercise&lt;/span&gt; that doesn't wear shoes.  I can't.  My feet fall asleep every time I wear them, and I've tried 3 different pair.  So I just go in my socks.  I don't know why more people don't do it in their socks.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I first started going I felt like I had 2 left feet, but day by day I get the moves down, and an even better workout.  I'm really loving &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Jazzercise&lt;/span&gt; actually.  My background in dance, and my love of music is being renewed there.  Don't let the spandex fool you.  It is a GREAT workout in 60 minutes.  I feel like a million bucks when I'm done, and the women there are so wonderful and fun.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Did you know Cheryl Burke from Dancing With The Stars is their new &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;spokes model&lt;/span&gt;?  Check it out!  www.jazzercise.com&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-4928751552453886909?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4928751552453886909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/01/jazzercise.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/4928751552453886909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/4928751552453886909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2010/01/jazzercise.html' title='Jazzercise'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-8258786571316370297</id><published>2009-12-15T19:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-15T20:26:19.158-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sports'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='working moms'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='olympics'/><title type='text'>Mom Olympics</title><content type='html'>Today I took a trip to the store during a small snow storm we're having here.  When I went in it was freezing rain, and when I came out it was snowing again.  I had my snow boots on, so I was set there, but I was having a little trouble pushing the cart.  My cart was filled with groceries, and two kids.  I was pushing it slightly uphill through the snow/slush/crusty ice.  I mean I was almost horizontal pushing that damn thing!  By the time I reached the car I was out of breath, my already sore thighs (from working out you perverts) were shaking, and I had a dewy glow on my brow.  It was crazy, and I thought to myself "this should be an Olympic sport."  Then I thought to myself "there are lots of things moms do that could be made into a sport."  It's true!  I mean sometimes being a mother requires every ounce of strength, agility, speed, and creativity we've got.  How many times have you sat there for a minute and thought about how you would execute something with your kids in the mix?  Personally, I can't even count.  Just go back to those posts about flying with 2 kids and you've got about 2 dozen right there. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here are some of the other events I'd put in the mom &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Olympics&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1) &lt;b&gt;Getting out of the house with yourself and your children fully dressed in less than 10 minutes.&lt;/b&gt;  Honestly, it is pure insanity itself to even put that time restraint on yourself, but sometimes we've got an emergency or rare situation when you have only minutes to leave the house.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Inevitably&lt;/span&gt; my toddler is running around laughing at me as I try to catch him to put his clothes on, and the baby pulls her socks and shoes off 5 times before we leave.  I've managed to get out of the house in minutes, but it isn't pretty and I need a stiff drink afterwards.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2) &lt;b&gt; Trying to get all your errands done before the baby gets tired or hungry.&lt;/b&gt;  There is a short window and these things require planning.  The minute they're up from their nap you have to shove food in their mouth and throw them in the car, so that you can get all your errands done before the meltdown happens.  Very hard to avoid.  You've probably seen me in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Wal &lt;/span&gt;Mart with the screaming baby and a toddler that is about to wiggle himself out of the cart headfirst.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3) &lt;b&gt;Changing diapers on a newly mobile baby or young toddler&lt;/b&gt;.  I've had to resort to putting my foot on the baby to keep them from wiggling away before I can either a) get the poop off before the baby wiggles it all over both of us and the carpet or b) get the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Velcro&lt;/span&gt; tabs cinched down on the new one.  It's like trying to diaper a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;de&lt;/span&gt;-clawed cat!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4)  &lt;b&gt;Feeding the kids and yourself at the same time when you have only 5 minutes&lt;/b&gt;.  In between shoving bites in your own mouth you have to shove them in the baby's mouth, and yell at the toddler to "please eat! for the love of god, we have to leave in 3 minutes!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5) &lt;b&gt;Install a car seat on an airplane while you have a baby strapped to your chest. &lt;/b&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6) &lt;b&gt;Pregnancy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;tri&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;athalon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt; - you have to shave your legs, paint your toe nails and tie your shoes.  First one done wins. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-8258786571316370297?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8258786571316370297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/12/mom-olympics.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8258786571316370297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8258786571316370297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/12/mom-olympics.html' title='Mom Olympics'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-6647842348409451618</id><published>2009-12-11T21:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-11T21:29:04.713-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I almost hate to say it...</title><content type='html'>but....&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;we're potty training. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; I mean he's actually doing it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; He's getting the hang of it.  He's excited.  It's going much easier than I ever anticipated.  It's all due to a visit to a friend's house who is potty training, and the use of suckers as a reward.  I would have never guessed that would be the ticket to success, but hey...I'll take it!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;That is not to say it's not still disgusting.  I stand by my observations that it is still yucky.  On a few &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;occasions&lt;/span&gt; poop has ended up all over the bathroom, and once on his sister.  Don't ask me how....daddy was babysitting. I wish I could have been there to see that go down.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;He has to be naked or it doesn't work as good.  If I put sweat pants or underpants on him he forgets he is potty training.  Is this normal?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I mean I'm still gonna take it. I don't care if he has to be naked for a year.  It's better than being the only one who hasn't potty trained their kid yet.  I felt like a pariah.  Now I feel like I'm the one that's getting my big girl panties. LOL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-6647842348409451618?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6647842348409451618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-almost-hate-to-say-it.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6647842348409451618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6647842348409451618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-almost-hate-to-say-it.html' title='I almost hate to say it...'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-6243558460132660352</id><published>2009-11-20T13:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-20T14:30:58.516-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='emergency'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poison'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dogs'/><title type='text'>I'm a bad fur mommy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If any of you follow my tweets (@ihatepinkmom or look in the lower right corner of my blog) you will be aware that the other day I found a suspicious looking "chocolate sprinkle" aka mouse turd in my bathroom. Anyone who's had a mouse knows that you must nip the problem in the bud IMMEDIATELY or you will never get rid of the damn things. So I promptly put out some mouse bait that we had on hand, from last year's garage mouse. I put it behind the garbage can in my bathroom, and then made sure to keep the door closed during the day. I didn't want my kids or dogs getting into it. At night I left the door open, so the mouse could feast on his last supper while the dogs were crated and the kids in bed. All went according to plan, and I found small nibble marks last night on the poison. I was feeling very triumphant! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This morning I went to take my shower while the dogs were still crated, so the door was open. My son let the dogs out of the cage when he came down while I was in the shower. I get out of the shower, dry off, and head for the bedroom to get dressed when I see the puppy eating something green. At first I thought it was a crayon. There were only tiny crumbs left scattered on the carpet. Suddenly, I had a flash of recognition, and I ran to the bathroom. NO POISON! "SHIT, OH $#@%! OH NO, OH CRAP WHAT DO I DO?" I grabbed my phone and called the vet. She told me I need to make her throw up, and to make her drink hydrogen peroxide until she does. Luckily I just bought a new bottle last week. Seriously, I had only like a 1/4" in the bottom of the old bottle a few days ago. If I hadn't this whole thing could have been worse. So I use a syringe and force the peroxide down her throat, while she tries to bite my hand off to keep that nasty stuff out of her mouth. (Puppy teeth are so sharp and I don't know how she didn't cut the skin.) She throws up the poison after about 5 syringes of it, and then I had to wait 15 min and start over. This time no poison left. Then I realize that one of the other dogs could have licked up some of the poison that I didn't vacuum up yet (thank goodness the baby was still asleep!) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I force peroxide down the male Boston (Edward) and he throws up. Nothing. Phew! Now the female. Let me just tell you that she is THE hardest dog to give anything to orally. It takes 3 vet techs to hold her down and give her a worming pill at the doctor and she only weighs 13 pounds. This was a serious battle. After the second syringe of her fighting me and pushing it out of her mouth, I just started tearing up. Thinking to myself. "OH MY GOD SHE MIGHT DIE, BECAUSE I CAN'T GET HER TO TAKE THIS." I finally mustered the strength to get a 3rd syringe full down her throat. And then I waited to see if it would work. (The peroxide foams when it contacts the hydrochloric acid in your stomach, which then fills up your stomach so much it causes vomiting.) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Finally after 5 minutes, she threw up. The first batch showed nothing, and I thought I just went through all that for nothing. The second batch....one tiny fleck of poison. I don't know if that would have been enough to kill her, but it certainly wouldn't have been good. Since the poison causes internal &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;hemorrhage&lt;/span&gt; it would have been difficult to tell anything was wrong until it did a lot of damage.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now the funny part. The whole time I was doing that I was naked. Never got to the point of getting dressed. So by the time the whole thing was over I had to take another shower. I was covered in a rash (just had my allergy shots yesterday, and am allergic to dogs), and hydrogen peroxide. I took a pic of my arm to show you, but it was literally everywhere.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406315826505908770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SwcXma51AiI/AAAAAAAAANc/yQrB2fdNvlI/s400/skin.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406316150043801810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SwcX5QLReNI/AAAAAAAAANk/zAKoUErQ-wo/s400/barfbags.jpg" border="0" /&gt;This is 3 bags of barf &amp;amp; the paper towels it took to clean it up.  Yay.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Then I had to rush out of the house, to get to Lillie's 9 month check up.  I'm still having an anxiety attack 4 hrs later.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The dogs are fine.  They are playing outside like nothing ever happened.  Don't call the Animal Police.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-6243558460132660352?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6243558460132660352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/im-bad-fur-mommy.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6243558460132660352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6243558460132660352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/im-bad-fur-mommy.html' title='I&apos;m a bad fur mommy...'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SwcXma51AiI/AAAAAAAAANc/yQrB2fdNvlI/s72-c/skin.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-8035258517302621835</id><published>2009-11-07T14:22:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T14:56:36.050-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='LATCH system'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bogus'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='carseat'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='General Motors'/><title type='text'>Get With It GM</title><content type='html'>About a week ago I decided it was time to purchase Lillie's new car seat to replace her infant carrier. I don't take her out in that thing much anymore, and when I do I nearly give myself a hernia...so it was time. Now, being that I hate switching car seats back and forth I have a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt; for each car. So I needed to buy 2 car seats, and instead of buying 2 new ones for Lillie. I decided to buy the kids new car seats for my car, and put the old ones in my husband's pick-up. I set my sights on the &lt;a href="http://www.britaxusa.com/car-seats/marathon"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Britax&lt;/span&gt; Marathon&lt;/a&gt;, because it has such good ratings for both safety and user friendly features. My sister assured me that they take only minutes to install. "How wonderful would that be?" I thought to myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yesterday afternoon I set out to install those puppies in my car. All excited that this should only take a few minutes, and my children would be forever safe and secure. I put my daughters in, rear-facing on the passengers side, and moved around to the driver's side to put in my son's. Little did I know that the people that design car LATCH systems like to play "Russian Roulette" with the placement of the anchors.  They put anchors in the passenger's side, and the center, but not in the driver's side.  Why? Why not just put them in every seat to give people flexibility?  My Toyota had them in every seat, AND it had removable headrests, another awesome feature for car seat installation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just sat there considering my options.  I could either A) put my kids right next to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;each other&lt;/span&gt;, but I couldn't even consider that one without breaking out into maniacal laughter.  I mean really? Put my kids in poking distance of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;each other&lt;/span&gt;?  I'd never have a peaceful drive again!  B) put my son in the 3rd row, but then I would have to climb back there to buckle him in, give him snacks on long drives, wipe his nose, etc. And finally, C) install the car seat with the lap/shoulder belt, which makes you feel like you love one kid less.  Guess which one I picked?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You got it GM!  I chose to love my 3 year old, first-born son, less than his baby sister.  I hope you're happy with yourself.  It's totally understandable.  I mean those little metal loops probably cost an arm and a leg.  Oh, and then you'd have to hire someone to install the extra set, so that's an annual salary of $80,000, which would raise the price of the Denali to $100,000.  Ya, you're right, we don't need those loops.  It's better if my son flies out of the car, because he only has a flimsy lap belt holding him in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We cool GM!  You &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;gotz&lt;/span&gt; the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;justifikashun&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;heer&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-8035258517302621835?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8035258517302621835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/get-with-it-gm.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8035258517302621835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8035258517302621835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/get-with-it-gm.html' title='Get With It GM'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-5644996402027686230</id><published>2009-11-02T20:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T15:46:34.677-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mess of the day'/><title type='text'>Send me your mess of the day</title><content type='html'>Amazingly my kids haven't been making that many devestating messes lately *knock on wood.* So I would love to see some of yours! Snap a pic of those messy messes and I will use them as part of my Mess of the Day feature. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Send them to my &lt;a href="mailto:%20simiala@hotmail.com"&gt;email.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-5644996402027686230?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5644996402027686230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/send-me-your-mess-of-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5644996402027686230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5644996402027686230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/11/send-me-your-mess-of-day.html' title='Send me your mess of the day'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-5745865893865206597</id><published>2009-10-30T21:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-30T21:37:33.475-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='walking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='leering'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='husbands'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dogs'/><title type='text'>Puppy love?</title><content type='html'>Someone smack me on the head.  What the hell was I thinking getting a puppy?  I must have lost my damn mind for a while.  I mean sure puppies are cute and all, but the chewing, and the razor sharp puppy teeth.  Oh and don't even get me started on the accidents in the house.  I'm so tired of cleaning up pee!  Just when I think she's getting the hang of it...Squish!  That's me stepping in a freshly urine soaked carpet.  Or god forbid I don't see it, and literally smell it later.  It gets this nasty chicken soupy smell to it...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;gagarific&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is supposed to be my husband's dog, but he does NOTHING to take care of her.  Today I called him and said "I don't know what to do with this dog! She keeps tackling Byron and gnawing on him.  Now he won't go outside to play, and I'm going crazy with him in the house!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know what he said to me? "Maybe you should go outside and play with her?"   Oh. No. He. Didn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy who doesn't do anything to take care of her is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;criticizing&lt;/span&gt; the fact that I haven't walked her that day.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Grrrrrrr&lt;/span&gt;....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then I hung up on him, took a shower and walked her.  Because I needed the walk to straighten my attitude out anyway.  As I was walking with my beastly double stroller, and three dogs, a car rolled up on me very slowly and paced me for a bit.  It was filled with 3 men (one with a lazy eye) who just leered at me and smiled.  Totally &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;creeped&lt;/span&gt; me out, and I gave them a healthy dose of stink eye.  It's the curse of having this white girl ghetto &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;booty&lt;/span&gt;.  It draws unwanted attention, and smacks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then later it made me feel good to know that I'm still worthy of leering.  I mean it's better they leer then bark at me out the window right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-5745865893865206597?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5745865893865206597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/puppy-love.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5745865893865206597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5745865893865206597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/puppy-love.html' title='Puppy love?'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-953777978055167584</id><published>2009-10-23T22:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T22:23:21.702-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='doctors'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='needle phobia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sissy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>I have a phobia OKAY!</title><content type='html'>For anyone who knows me this is a well-known fact.  I am a needle &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;phobe&lt;/span&gt;.  Seriously.  The thought of shots gets me all sweaty, and my heart starts to race.  The last time I got a shot was when I was 16, and I worked myself up so much that by the time the nurse gave it to me I passed out.  So, when I made the decision to get WEEKLY allergy shots it was for a couple reasons.  1) I have bad allergies to many things around me.  I'm allergic to dogs, and I have 3.  I'm allergic to sagebrush and tumbleweeds, and I live in the desert.  More importantly I'm allergic to cows, and hay.  My husband's dream is to farm and have cows. So allergy shots might help me deal with that. And...&lt;br /&gt;2) I wanted to force myself to get over my fear.  Or at least lessen it.  Right now it's affecting my decisions for my health, such as I haven't had a tetanus shot since I was 16.  I need to get up the courage to say I want it, but that is so much easier said than done.  I thought a little exposure therapy might help me suck it up.  '&lt;br /&gt;Allergy shots use very small needles, and they only go into the subcutaneous layer of the skin, not into the muscle.  Everyone was telling me this, and that they were easy.  The thing is you can't tell someone with a phobia that it doesn't hurt. They won't believe you.  If I go up to a person afraid of heights and say...."oh the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ferris&lt;/span&gt; wheel isn't scary, just try it!"  They are NOT going to believe me.  More than likely they will not get on that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Ferris&lt;/span&gt; wheel, unless they really want to try to work past their fear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I had explained these fears to my doctor &amp;amp; nurse.  I left the kids with my mom, so that they wouldn't see me act like a Sissy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;LaLa&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Bedwetter&lt;/span&gt; for my shots, and I walked to the office.  I needed to walk to help with my anxiety.  When I walked in she was literally surprised to see me.  She said "oh I thought I'd have to call your sister (who already gets shots) and have her drag you in here."&lt;br /&gt;"No," I said. "I'm afraid, but I'm doing this to get past that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She made me sit in a chair and suck on a Jolly Rancher in case I decided to pass out.  Then the next thing I know she's like "okay other arm."  I DID NOT EVEN FEEL THE FIRST SHOT! &lt;br /&gt;The second one pinched a bit, but it wasn't bad at all.  Now I feel like a total idiot for even being nervous, but like I said I have a phobia.  At least I won't be afraid to get the shots every week for 3-5 years now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I just have to talk myself into that tetanus shot....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I mention I was REALLY busy...I don't think I have time. ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-953777978055167584?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/953777978055167584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-have-phobia-okay.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/953777978055167584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/953777978055167584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-have-phobia-okay.html' title='I have a phobia OKAY!'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-3956444803096547281</id><published>2009-10-02T19:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-02T19:44:34.361-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mess of the day'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bad day'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Had a baaaad day and Mess of the Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Ever have one of those days that things just keep going wrong all day? I had one of those today. I felt like I should just go back to bed and start over only you can't do that when you have 2 kids and a new puppy. (Oh ya, in case you didn't know we got a puppy...I know I'm crazy. She's really good though. So far no accidents in the 2 days we've had her.) Anyway, the day started out good, but turned bad in a hurry. I strode out of the bathroom after doing my make-up, ready to dress the kids and head off to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;play date&lt;/span&gt; when I noticed my son licking the floor. I get closer, and see a puddle of brown liquid on the floor and the Jumbo size Maple Syrup bottle next to it. My&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/Ssa4S3rBFOI/AAAAAAAAANU/D318wj4T_I0/s1600-h/syrup.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388196638516909282" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/Ssa4S3rBFOI/AAAAAAAAANU/D318wj4T_I0/s320/syrup.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; son poured Maple Syrup on my off white carpet that had just been professionally steam cleaned 2 weeks before.  So after I went off of him for 5 minutes, and did the best I could to quickly clean it up with my Hoover Steam Cleaner I grabbed the kids and dressed them quickly to go to playgroup.  I needed this time out to vent to other moms and distract myself as much as he did.  He said he didn't want to go, so I like to think it was sort of a punishment. ;)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After playgroup we went to the store, and when we returned I tried to shut my garage door and it wouldn't shut. I had to call a service tech out.  As I'm talking to the guy for that on the phone Byron decided to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;RoundUp&lt;/span&gt; the entire garage with my husbands sprayer. So I had to yell at him while I was on the phone.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Embarrassing&lt;/span&gt;.  Ended up fixable on the garage door, but it's life is short lived and will be needing a new one soon.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I go inside and notice a red spot on the carpet in the dining room. Get closer and discover it's freaking hot sauce.  Do you know how hard it is to get hot sauce out?  Almost as hard as engine grease (that was my husband's fault, and he nearly lost his life to a deranged wife that day.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Finally, I decided to use a brightening product on my towels that said it was for whites AND colors, but it totally bleached them.  ALL of my towels are now peach instead of beige.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stick a fork in me....I'm done with this day!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-3956444803096547281?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3956444803096547281/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/had-baaaad-day-and-mess-of-day.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3956444803096547281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3956444803096547281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/10/had-baaaad-day-and-mess-of-day.html' title='Had a baaaad day and Mess of the Day'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/Ssa4S3rBFOI/AAAAAAAAANU/D318wj4T_I0/s72-c/syrup.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-6028112233843097814</id><published>2009-09-23T13:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T13:36:22.199-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mess of the day'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='september'/><title type='text'>Mess of the Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SrqGiBTQkeI/AAAAAAAAANM/YGDmPKfgOkU/s1600-h/photo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384764223497736674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SrqGiBTQkeI/AAAAAAAAANM/YGDmPKfgOkU/s400/photo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;That VCR tape contained priceless memories of my childhood. Bye bye memories. *sniff*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-6028112233843097814?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6028112233843097814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/09/mess-of-day.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6028112233843097814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6028112233843097814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/09/mess-of-day.html' title='Mess of the Day'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SrqGiBTQkeI/AAAAAAAAANM/YGDmPKfgOkU/s72-c/photo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-4837752638620968034</id><published>2009-09-14T13:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T13:17:15.060-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='extinct'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jello'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fashion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='comebacks'/><title type='text'>Goodbye Jello Salad..Hello 80s</title><content type='html'>The demise of the Jello Salad?  About a year ago I was at a potluck for my grandparent's 60&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; Wedding Anniversary.  Of course, the green jiggly salad made an appearance, and I thought to myself "it's days are numbered."  I mean how many people under the age of 50 do you know that bring Jello salad to a party?  I personally don't know anyone.  How many people under the age of 30 do you know who LIKE Jello Salad?  I'm gonna go with "very few" as my answer.  Jello I like.  Jello with fruit in it fine. But leave out the cottage cheese.  I like cottage cheese, but not with my jello. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides, how many people even own Jello Molds anymore?  I think by the time my generation is old the Jello Salad will be extinct.  Or maybe, all of our teeth will fall out, because of the soda we drink and we'll have to bring it back....old school style.  Kinda like how people are bringing back the hideous fashions of the 80s, and acting like it's awesome.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ummm&lt;/span&gt; no.  It was ugly then, and it's still ugly.  Skinny jeans only look good on people who are toothpick size.  Puffy sleeves.  Don't look good at all.  Side ponytails...mistake.  I promise one day you will look back and say "oh boy check out that sweet side ponytail."  I know, because I have pictures like that from my childhood.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-4837752638620968034?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4837752638620968034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/09/goodbye-jello-saladhello-80s.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/4837752638620968034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/4837752638620968034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/09/goodbye-jello-saladhello-80s.html' title='Goodbye Jello Salad..Hello 80s'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-4739254994148778304</id><published>2009-09-14T12:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T13:01:05.212-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddler'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='independance'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Wait A Minute...</title><content type='html'>I thought the terrible twos were supposed to be ending, and the "cute as a button threes" would start!  Not that my son isn't cute.  He can be very charming, and says the most adorable things.  For instance, the other day he came into the bathroom, where his sister was crawling around and grabbed hold of her bum and started shaking it back and forth going "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;shakin&lt;/span&gt;' you booty...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;shakin&lt;/span&gt;' you booty."  SO &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' cute! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he's also entering this phase where he is so bossy.  He will come in and say "mom clean up this mess." Or my favorite is when my husband and I are having a loud discussion, he says "calm down (Mommy or Daddy)."  Or in his more desperate moments he tells us to "shut up."  Great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worst is his new found burst of independence.  He has to do EVERYTHING by himself or a meltdown of epic proportions ensues.  Just try telling him he can't slice his own apple, and he falls to the floor in a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;hissy&lt;/span&gt; fit.  The frustrating part of this is that I do allow him to do more things, but of course it takes him longer to make a peanut butter sandwich than it takes me.  With 5 times the mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he can be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;heartbreakingly&lt;/span&gt; sweet too.  His vocabulary and speech are coming along so nicely.  Each day he comes up with new words, but my favorites are always "I love you mommy."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-4739254994148778304?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4739254994148778304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/09/wait-minute.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/4739254994148778304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/4739254994148778304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/09/wait-minute.html' title='Wait A Minute...'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-6784470015612832177</id><published>2009-08-28T15:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-29T15:34:27.028-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='infants'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='advice'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Advice From Every Angle</title><content type='html'>I was watching a rerun of Oprah today all about how rude people are these days. I totally agree, but I think that sometimes we are rude unintentionally. Especially as mothers. I mean, as a mother it's hard not to try to force your ideas on someone else. There is a difference between giving advice, and making the other mom feel like a failure. I have had a few of these recently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Potty training. I already know that my son is almost 3 and isn't potty trained, but for some reason people remind me of this constantly. I will see someone I haven't seen in a while, and they say "did you get Byron all potty trained now?" And I of course reply with "not yet, I've tried everything." "BUT HE'S ALMOST 3, " they say. Really?! I had no idea my son has a birthday coming up. I labored 36hrs to push that kid out of my loins, but can't remember what day it was on. Thanks for reminding me! Besides, it's not for lack of trying! Some children are just stubborn. Mine is one of those stubborn kids. Probably one day he will just walk up to me and say "mother I'm ready to use the lavatory" and we will never look back. In the meantime, I have to hear "BUT HE'S ALMOST 3" every time I see someone who asks me this question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Sleeping through the night. Honestly, like I want my child to wake up every 2 hours to nurse. Again I hear "she's old enough to be sleeping through the night now." &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Okaaaay&lt;/span&gt;, but she's not. What do you want me to do? I'm not going to drug a 6 month old. I don't have the nerves at that hour of night to let her cry for 30 min. I can handle 5 or maybe 10, but I'm too soft to go much longer. "Feed her rice cereal before bed," they say. Sure, if I could get her to swallow it that might help. Which leads me to...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Solid foods. At 4 months people started asking me if I was feeding her solids yet. Which I wasn't for 3 reasons. 1) I didn't feed them to my son until 6 months 2) I don't see the necessity in feeding them pulverized rice 3) Nursing is easier. Now that she has reached 6 months I've tried every 1st food without success, until yesterday she wouldn't swallow any of it. Which goes to show that my kids will not be pushed. They will do things in their own time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the same is true for many things about motherhood and family life in general. I have my own little system of things. I only put my kids on a loose schedule. I don't feed solids until 6 months. I think breastfeeding is the bees knees. I put my kids to bed before 8pm if possible. I use a bullpen full of discipline techniques. But, these things don't work well for everyone. So when I give advice I TRY to be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;nonchalant&lt;/span&gt; about it. I don't want to sound like a know-it-all, because I'm not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is not to say that if I hear a good suggestion I don't try it out. I do! Some work and some don't, but I think delivery of the advice is important.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-6784470015612832177?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6784470015612832177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/advice-from-every-angle.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6784470015612832177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6784470015612832177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/advice-from-every-angle.html' title='Advice From Every Angle'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-3512414559074628426</id><published>2009-08-20T15:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T15:56:39.314-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='potty training'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mess of the day'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poop'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='diapers'/><title type='text'>Mess of the Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/So3USpUJ3-I/AAAAAAAAANE/5vO0Dg8yKgk/s1600-h/photo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372183347315990498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/So3USpUJ3-I/AAAAAAAAANE/5vO0Dg8yKgk/s400/photo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Yep.  It's just what it looks like.  That's how my day has been.  :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-3512414559074628426?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3512414559074628426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/mess-of-day.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3512414559074628426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3512414559074628426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/mess-of-day.html' title='Mess of the Day'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/So3USpUJ3-I/AAAAAAAAANE/5vO0Dg8yKgk/s72-c/photo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-6739971285331008226</id><published>2009-08-17T21:17:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T21:44:42.704-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='potty training'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Potty Training SUCKS!</title><content type='html'>Okay, I'm trying to potty train, but I'm just not good at it.  So far all I've managed to train my son to do is pee his pants and put them in a bucket to soak.  I mean if you wanna get down to it he is learning when he's wet, and that it's uncomfortable...but not what I was going for.  He still isn't asking to go to the potty.  On &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;occasion&lt;/span&gt; he does ask, but then doesn't go to the bathroom.  I've tried taking him ever half an hour, making him clean up his own messes, and bribes.  It's not working!  But should I just give up and go back? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought we had a breakthrough the other day.  He asked to sit on the potty and he made a trickle.  SO I did the happy dance, and gave him his bribe.  Then a few minutes later I left the room for a few minutes to change the baby, and I come back to him "christening" my brand new sit and stand stroller.  He was standing on the toddler seat part and just letting go a yellow river!  A full bladder pee ladies and gentleman.  I made him help me clean it up, but I'm thinking of letting go for a while.  Should I keep letting him wear underwear or go back to diapers?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-6739971285331008226?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6739971285331008226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/potty-training-sucks.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6739971285331008226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6739971285331008226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/potty-training-sucks.html' title='Potty Training SUCKS!'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-7810087705594893447</id><published>2009-08-01T15:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-01T15:38:58.230-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='door to door sales'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='annoying'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Don't Come A Knockin'</title><content type='html'>This is a little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;PSA&lt;/span&gt; for anyone that feels the need to come to my door randomly selling anything.  I don't care what you're selling.  I'm not buying.  I have enough to do everyday without having to sit there with my door agape, flies buzzing in, air conditioning escaping, while I try to tell you "no."  Why the two letters N and O formed together in a word, explaining my lack of interest isn't enough, I don't know.  I have to tell you multiple times.  On &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;multiple&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;occasions&lt;/span&gt; sometimes!  I mean how many times can certain religious groups come by and hear "No I'm not interested?"  Maybe they should make a sheet of addresses, and next to the address put "not interested." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least twice in the last couple of months, said knockers have come to my door and the TV is on, the kids are screaming, and I just ignore it.  I see them go to the neighbors house first and I'm forewarned.  They make me uncomfortable, and if my kids are screaming it's not really a good time to have a discussion on theology.  Is that rude?  To not answer my door if I'm too busy?  Probably!  Even more rude, my kid was yelling "MOMMY LADY AT THE DOOR!!" Repeatedly. But I just ignored it and walked by my windowed door to go change a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;poopy&lt;/span&gt; diaper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get a lot of kids coming around to sell things for various organizations.  Sometimes I feel it is a worthy cause, and sometimes I don't.  I always feel obligated to buy, because it's a child.  How many tubs of cookie dough can one person buy?  I do not need extra cookie dough sitting around.  That's bad news for this lady.  Or rolls of wrapping paper?  They are tiny rolls and they cost like $7 each!  I could buy 2 big rolls at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;WalMart&lt;/span&gt; for that price.  I know....I know...it's for a good cause. Maybe.  The one that really made me feel bad is the "Jog-a-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;thon&lt;/span&gt; for school supplies."  (I pledged okay!) I asked the little girl what kind of school supplies, and she said, "oh you know &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Kleenex&lt;/span&gt;, art supplies, and copier paper." I just kept thinking to myself "how bad is our educational system when kids need to run laps to earn the money for our school to have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Kleenex&lt;/span&gt;?"  Seriously folks, we're having a funding crisis apparently.  When I went to school the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Kleenex&lt;/span&gt; was "free" no running required.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and what about those magazine sales people that are trying to become famous?  Is that legit?  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Cuz back in college&lt;/span&gt; I bought a subscription to VIBE from a really hot guy, and I did get my magazines. Two years of a magazine I didn't really identify with much.  It just seems kinda shady.  Plus, I haven't seen his name in lights yet.  Poor dude.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the point is...it annoys me when people sell things door to door.  So stop it. Or don't, but I'm not answering anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-7810087705594893447?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7810087705594893447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/dont-come-knockin.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/7810087705594893447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/7810087705594893447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/08/dont-come-knockin.html' title='Don&apos;t Come A Knockin&apos;'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-7267560766710342911</id><published>2009-07-31T13:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T13:47:30.654-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='award'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blogging'/><title type='text'>Blog Award</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SnNXrzUIKaI/AAAAAAAAAM8/u1L6lOFYrpI/s1600-h/a-lovely-blog-award.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364727991149013410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SnNXrzUIKaI/AAAAAAAAAM8/u1L6lOFYrpI/s320/a-lovely-blog-award.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_TqyELVKuk2M/SnH1qTnNK7I/AAAAAAAAALA/a1mR3ns-Qxo/s1600-h/a-lovely-blog-award.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Thank you to Little &lt;a href="http://littleladybugsboutique.blogspot.com/"&gt;Lady Bugs boutique&lt;/a&gt; for the One Lovely Blog Award! To add to my humble collection.  It makes me smile to know someone else reads my blog, and likes it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-7267560766710342911?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7267560766710342911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-award.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/7267560766710342911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/7267560766710342911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-award.html' title='Blog Award'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SnNXrzUIKaI/AAAAAAAAAM8/u1L6lOFYrpI/s72-c/a-lovely-blog-award.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-1269928190748692207</id><published>2009-07-25T14:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T22:25:44.590-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='PR'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>The PR of Parenting</title><content type='html'>I believe I previously mentioned that I went to school for Public Relations. I do have a deep love for this, but I never got the foot in the door after college. Then the next thing I know I'm married and pregnant. So much for writing media packets, event planning, and fixing disasters (I can't even think of the name of that right now. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Oye&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;vey&lt;/span&gt;!) CRISIS MANAGEMENT! Duh. Okay, anyway I still yearn to practice PR. The other day I noticed that as a parent you are constantly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;practicing&lt;/span&gt; public relations skills. Most specifically "spinning" things to be appealing to your child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Spinning - My son will avoid trying new foods, because he doesn't know what they are. Even desserts! I have to tell him what it is, or is similar to, in his favorites category. For instance, we were at a festival last night and tried a deep fried Snickers. I asked him if he wanted a bite. He shook his head. "It's like cake," I said. He takes a bite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Promotion - You are the spokesman for your child. All children act out at times or do something unsavory in the presence of other parents. In order to maintain face you must a) accept responsibility for the actions of your child b) do some sort of punishment &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;visable&lt;/span&gt; to all around and appropriate (not an easy task) and c) vow that they will never do it again or will try to do better. Just like in being a spokesperson for a company. You can promise things all you want, but you don't have any real control. That's why they need a PR person in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Party Planning - Children's birthday parties.  Need I say more?  Everything has to have a theme, and be original. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4)  Crisis Management - Being a parent you deal with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;crises&lt;/span&gt; on a regular basis.  It can be anything from a real emergency that requires medical attention to lost &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;lovies&lt;/span&gt;.  I was making breakfast once when my son was just over a year old.  We have cabinet locks on our doors, but since I was cooking bacon I'd left it open for a min so I could easily throw away the package.  I put the bacon in the pan and turned around to see my son sitting there with a Cascade Power Pack ripped open.  Just as I looked he swiped some of the detergent off the floor and into his mouth.  He spit most of it out, but I was freaked!  So I grabbed the box, and read the emergency advice.  It said give them milk if it is ingested.  So I gave him some milk, and then I called Poison Control.  They said that he should be fine, since it was just a bit and I had done the right thing by giving him the milk.  By keeping a level head, I had avoided making a mistake into a crisis.  I could have freaked out and went off screaming for someone to call an ambulance, but I just read the label.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) Media Relations - Sending out regular emails full of pictures to family and friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-1269928190748692207?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1269928190748692207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/pr-of-parenting.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/1269928190748692207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/1269928190748692207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/pr-of-parenting.html' title='The PR of Parenting'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-6787525249831985173</id><published>2009-07-22T12:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T12:31:08.521-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='forgetfulness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memory'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hurry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Scatterbrain</title><content type='html'>It's a good thing I'm so scatterbrained lately, or I might have nothing to write about.  Or, maybe I would have more to write about if I didn't forget it.  I can't remember.  Anyway, yesterday I was having a lazy day.  You know where you take a shower, and put on clean pajamas.  Do nothing, but the bare minimum around the house, etc.  Around 4 o'clock I took Byron outside to enjoy the heat minus the sun.  (We are very fair people, sun isn't our friend.)  I was paying some bills, and I kept writing 7/21/09 on the checks.  Thinking to myself "the 21st...hmmm...why does that ring a bell."  It took a while, but suddenly it hit me.  "OH $#&amp;amp;@! I forgot to get Ryan's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tonnage&lt;/span&gt;."  I glanced at my phone.  5:06 p.m.  Are they closed already?  So I called real quick.  They are open until 5:30 p.m.  So now I have a dilemma.  Can I make it there by 5:30?  My son was soaking wet in nothing but a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;tshirt&lt;/span&gt; and a diaper.  I was in pajamas with hair that air dried, and no make-up.  Not even mascara.  I don't leave my house without mascara.  I just don't!  (I'm not high &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;maintenance&lt;/span&gt; it's just a quirk I have, because my eye lashes are so light colored people tell me I look sick without it.) &lt;br /&gt;"Screw it, I'll give it a shot!"&lt;br /&gt;So I start running around.  I put the baby, who happened to be the only one dressed for the day, in her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt;.   Then I tackled Byron and put him in a dry diaper and clothes. &lt;br /&gt;"FIND YOUR SHOES BYRON," I yelled.  He stood there looking at me dumb founded as I'm hopping around trying to put my own pants on and my flip flops at the same time. &lt;br /&gt;"NEVER MIND THERE ARE SHOES IN THE CAR.  GO TO THE CAR!" &lt;br /&gt;I didn't lock my doors, I just set the security system and left the TV on to scare away intruders.  Then I put the baby in, and chased my son into the car.  I zipped out of the garage at exactly 5:13 p.m. &lt;br /&gt;I arrived at the office at 5:25 p.m. and rushed the kids out of the car.  Only when I got inside the Department of Licensing office, did I realize that I had forgotten the form showing I paid our Heavy Road Use Tax. &lt;br /&gt;Horror crossed my face.  "Oh no.  All that for nothing?!  Now I'll have to come back tomorrow!"&lt;br /&gt;"What's wrong?" Asked the lady behind the counter. &lt;br /&gt;"I forgot my Heavy Road Tax," I said.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh don't worry, you don't have to have it in til October this year.  Just fax it to us so you don't forgot again." &lt;br /&gt;"THANK GOODNESS!"&lt;br /&gt;So I bought the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;tonnage&lt;/span&gt; and went back home.  Almost a non event!  That's what I get for being &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;scatterbrained&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-6787525249831985173?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6787525249831985173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/scatterbrain.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6787525249831985173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6787525249831985173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/scatterbrain.html' title='Scatterbrain'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-2885741032840508630</id><published>2009-07-13T22:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-13T22:54:13.832-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='money'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shopping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frustration'/><title type='text'>Big Girls Don't Cry</title><content type='html'>I've always been a crier.  I cry when I'm happy.  I cry when I'm sad.  I cry when I'm frustrated.  I cry when I'm mad.  It's just how I am, and it's kind of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;embarrassing&lt;/span&gt;.  Once, when I had just moved from Washington to Iowa during my Sophomore year of high school, I had to write a paper about someone that I look up to.  Well, I wrote it about my gymnastics coach.  She was like a second mom to me when I was little.  I spent so many hours in her care that I would call her mom by accident.  I loved her.  So I wrote this paper, in a class of people I didn't know, and was then asked to read it aloud.  I cried.  It probably doomed me from having friends at that school.  Not only was I the "new kid" but I was the "new kid" who cries about stupid papers. &lt;br /&gt;So you get the idea about how much I cry.  Well, this story is about how proud I am that I did NOT cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday I went to Costco.  Going to Costco is a big deal, because I only go once every 6-8 weeks and I have to drive an hour or more to get there.  We don't have one any closer than that, and so I often have to pick up things for other people.  This trip my sister asked me to get her a GPS and I was going to buy my husband an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;iPod&lt;/span&gt;.  I did my detailed trip through the store.  Sure not to miss any items.  Just as I was finishing the last of my list the baby started fussing.  Time to feed her again.  Perfect timing, since we were nearly done. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I got my groceries on the belt.  All rung up, and I swiped my debit card.  Declined.  I swiped it again.  Declined.  I swiped it a third time; very quickly, in case the speed made a difference.  DECLINED!!  I was starting to freak out.  I couldn't use credit, because you must have a PIN, and I don't know mine.  I couldn't write a check, because I was using my moms floating card.  So I look at the cashier and say "I don't know what to do; it's not taking it.  I can't write a check, because it's a business card."  Lillie is screaming at the top of her lungs.  It is hotter than the devil's ass in the store.  I am sweating.  People behind me in line are tapping their feet.  I feel like I want the Earth to swallow me whole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I just put my husband's paycheck in, so I don't understand" I say. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of course you do ma'am," she says (I know this must have been sarcastic). "Okay, we'll call the manager to void it.  Can you get cash to pay for it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I can get cash out" I say.  "Where is the ATM?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"All the way down at the end, by customer service.  Push your cart over there while you get it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I pushed my cart over by the area where you pick up the expensive items after you pay.  Then I hauled the kids out of the cart.  My son is upset, of course, because he &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;thinks&lt;/span&gt; we are leaving without his giant box of fruit snacks.  So I have to convince him that we are coming back for them.  We go down to the ATM, and I swipe my card.  My son pushes the red button.  I swipe my card again to start over.  My son pushes the green button.  I tell him not to touch the buttons.  I swipe my card again, and he reaches for the buttons...I hiss "DON'T TOUCH THE STUPID BUTTONS OR YOU WON'T GET TO TAKE THE FRUIT SNACKS HOME!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I take out $380 (the total of my purchase was $619) and it says I have reached my limit for the day.  SAY &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;WHAAAAT&lt;/span&gt;?!  I feel the lump rising in my throat.  I start saying to myself "stay calm dammit.  You're not going to cry!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I go over to the customer service.  They, so helpfully, tell me that I should just buy my own membership!  That way I can write a check.  Instead I decide to call my bank.  Apparently, my card has a $605/day limit.  Who knew?!  I went to two other stores before Costco.  She said she wouldn't take the limit off for me, so I had to take the GPS and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;iPod&lt;/span&gt; out of my purchase and buy the groceries.  Of course, Lillie was REALLY mad by now.   &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Inconsolable&lt;/span&gt;.  I was just glad to be out of there with my groceries, and without shedding a tear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I went to my friend's wedding on Saturday, and teared up when she walked in! You can't hold them in all the time!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-2885741032840508630?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2885741032840508630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/big-girls-dont-cry.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2885741032840508630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2885741032840508630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/big-girls-dont-cry.html' title='Big Girls Don&apos;t Cry'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-1479430279333270744</id><published>2009-07-06T15:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-06T15:40:18.666-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cleaning'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='carpets'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>A Steaming Pile of Fun</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SlJ8_an-tSI/AAAAAAAAAMM/9CcJnGb15mk/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355480335817553186" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 229px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SlJ8_an-tSI/AAAAAAAAAMM/9CcJnGb15mk/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Meet my new best friend....I call him Hoovy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoovy is a Hoover HeatSurge carpet cleaner.&lt;br /&gt;Hoovy was purchased as a luxury item about 5 months ago. I had just thrown away our crappy Little Green, after months of it oozing black stuff onto my cream colored carpet, and was fretting over the decision to buy a new one. Should I buy another little one? Do I want to spend the money to get a full sized carpet cleaner? These are tough decisions for the frugal minded. So after pacing up and down the isle in Wal Mart I finally hoisted it into the cart and walked quickly away beore I could change my mind.&lt;br /&gt;Even as the unopened box sat in my car for the rest of the evening (because I didn't feel like bringing it in yet, since that is admitting your purchase) I debated if it was a good purchase. The next morning I woke up, fed the dogs and kiddo, and assembled Hoovy. Little did I know this would be a pivotal moment in my life.&lt;br /&gt;The very next day my son tipped over a vase with nearly dead flowers in it, which happened to contain lillies. The pollen from the lillies mixed with the water in the vase and made a bright-ass yellow stain on my CREAM carpet. "Shit, that is never going to come out," I say to myself. Low and behold Hoovy came through for me on his first day on the job. Not a trace of yellow to be found.&lt;br /&gt;Since then I have cleaned up many messes with it.&lt;br /&gt;Last week, my husband walked across our carpet, again very CREAM colored, with grease on his boots. Murder was considered, but instead I put dish soap on it and sicked Hoovy on it. Success. It got it all out! A miracle to say the least.&lt;br /&gt;However, I am beginning to resent my relationship with Hoovy since we got our new "puppy." I've been spending a good portion of my day cleaning up unidentifiable stains. I feel like carpet cleaning is my part-time job. In the last 3 days I have cleaned up: juice, tomato sauce, dog barf, dog pee, baby poop, and chocolate pudding (my husband again).&lt;br /&gt;Maybe Hoovy and I should start charging for our services! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;*This is an entry I wrote as a journal for another website about a year and a half ago.  I decided to bring it here, because it's a good one. ;)  Wouldn't want my readers to miss out!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-1479430279333270744?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1479430279333270744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/steaming-pile-of-fun.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/1479430279333270744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/1479430279333270744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/steaming-pile-of-fun.html' title='A Steaming Pile of Fun'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SlJ8_an-tSI/AAAAAAAAAMM/9CcJnGb15mk/s72-c/untitled.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-4625686375695124809</id><published>2009-07-06T14:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-06T15:01:35.305-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mess of the day'/><title type='text'>Today's Mess</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SlJ0GPIzgTI/AAAAAAAAAME/FdzQpSLryaQ/s1600-h/capnmess.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355470557388439858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SlJ0GPIzgTI/AAAAAAAAAME/FdzQpSLryaQ/s400/capnmess.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-4625686375695124809?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4625686375695124809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/todays-mess.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/4625686375695124809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/4625686375695124809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/todays-mess.html' title='Today&apos;s Mess'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SlJ0GPIzgTI/AAAAAAAAAME/FdzQpSLryaQ/s72-c/capnmess.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-2672631693744475528</id><published>2009-07-02T22:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T22:44:29.188-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mojo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='multitasking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>I've lost my mojo</title><content type='html'>A while ago I  wrote about how much easier parenting two kids was than I expected.  I would like to retract my previous statement and replace it with this.  "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;AHHHHHHHH&lt;/span&gt;! HELP ME!"  You see, while many of the things I expected to be hard about two kids are not as bad as expected.  The thing is my daughter is growing up, and needs more attention.  I have a really hard time getting things done, besides holding her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm failing miserably at keeping my house clean!  I basically do damage control all the time, and if company is coming I try to get it as clean as possible.  It's just not up to my standards, and it's driving me nuts!  The dust!  You should see the dust piling up!  This is not a priority.  My priorities are as follows:&lt;br /&gt;1) dishes/kitchen clean&lt;br /&gt;2) clothes&lt;br /&gt;3) garbage picked up&lt;br /&gt;4) main living areas tidy&lt;br /&gt;5)main living areas vacuumed&lt;br /&gt;6)bathrooms&lt;br /&gt;7) everything else is a bonus&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you type it out it doesn't sound like a lot to do, but then do all those things mixed in with feeding a toddler every 30 min, and a baby every 2 hours (or less right now).  Plus, changing 2 sets of diapers! (My kids are being poop machines the last couple of days. It's ridiculous that their little bodies contain that much poo!)  And then holding the baby while you do things or wearing her in the sling, which is okay, but not as good as her working on her motor skills alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, my son recently decided that he doesn't like to go play outside by himself anymore.  Darn I knew nothing good could come of me making an effort to play with him more!  Those parenting specialists don't know what they are talking about!  He used to go out there and play for 30min to an hour with his dump truck and tractors, but now he wants me to go out there with him.  I know it's cute, but it's messing with my "to do list." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom was telling me that I need to enjoy this time, and those moments where I'm just holding them or playing.  I do!  But...I also became slightly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;OCD&lt;/span&gt; about having a clean house when I got married.  I'm afraid my MIL is going to surprise me with a visit someday (she has never done this, but still) and my house is going to be so messy she keels over.  She's the cleanest person I know!  How do you live up to that when you have two small children?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YOU CAN'T!  If you are able to then you are either 1) on some kind of drug that keeps you up all night 2) from another planet or 3) a freakishly organized person and I think you're also an alien.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, all this adds up to the fact that I'm tired.  T-I-R-E-D!  And it's messing with my blogging &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;mojo&lt;/span&gt;.  I have a hard time getting on the computer at all, and it's impossible to blog from my iPhone!  When I do get up here my mind is numb, and I feel like I have nothing funny to say.   So hopefully the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;sporadic&lt;/span&gt; posts are keeping you somewhat entertained.  It's the best I've got for now!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-2672631693744475528?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2672631693744475528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/ive-lost-my-mojo.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2672631693744475528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2672631693744475528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/ive-lost-my-mojo.html' title='I&apos;ve lost my mojo'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-3503849615781685523</id><published>2009-07-02T21:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T22:00:34.625-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Comments</title><content type='html'>*For those of you that were having problems leaving comments after I switched blog themes, I have fixed this problem.  Please let me know if you are still experiencing difficulties.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-3503849615781685523?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3503849615781685523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/comments.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3503849615781685523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3503849615781685523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/07/comments.html' title='Comments'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-8492084539821612507</id><published>2009-06-23T15:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T16:17:42.064-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='uncomfortable situations'/><title type='text'>Uncomfortable Situations</title><content type='html'>For over a week now, I've been having a serious case of writer's block.  Probably if I wasn't trying to write a humor blog I would have lots of things to say, but sometimes you just don't feel funny.  Lo and behold I went to Spokane again today.  This place is a goldmine for blogging apparently.  I came back with the idea for 3 different blogs.  I'm going to start with this one though, because it is the one I have developed the most in my head. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a list of situations I find uncomfortable.  Once again, I encourage you to respond with your similar situations to continue the laughs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  &lt;strong&gt;Using the bathroom at a restaurant and seeing an employee leave without washing their hands.&lt;/strong&gt;  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Eww&lt;/span&gt;!  This situation is never a good one.  It gives you a huge case of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;icks&lt;/span&gt;.  The worst is when you see that AFTER you've eaten your meal and are preparing to leave the restaurant.  If you notice before you can still leave before you've been infected with whatever nasty bacteria you could get, but after you've already eaten.  Ya, there is no feeling like knowing you might get sick.  The ironic part is how often do you get sick at a restaurant that you see a worker not wash their hands?  Not often.  It's usually a sneak attack when you think you're safe! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  &lt;strong&gt;Sitting in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;gynecologist&lt;/span&gt; office waiting room.&lt;/strong&gt;  You're just all sitting around knowing your going to get &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;every one's&lt;/span&gt; favorite exam.  There is no escaping it.  Everyone there knows that you're going to have a doctor's face between your legs within minutes of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;each other&lt;/span&gt;.  Now that I think about it.  It's kind of like your doctor is cheating on you with everyone in the room.  We should all be really catty in the waiting room.  Instead we're like {whispering} "are you done with that People Magazine? Oh you're here to see Dr. Smith too.  Their the best, aren't they?  My vagina used to hate going for a checkup.  She would break out in a cold sweat, but not since I started seeing Dr. Smith!"  Where else in real life do you have that conversation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  &lt;strong&gt;Sitting on a public toilet and reading about STD prevention&lt;/strong&gt;.  It's just not something you want to think about at that particular moment.  It's a good thing to warn people about, but it just gets you thinking.  What's on this toilet?  Was someone just sitting here and said to themselves "oh my, I didn't even think about getting a disease from that guy with the icky sores.  Maybe I should get checked?!"  No, you want delusions that everyone who sat on that toilet before you had a pristine &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;hiney&lt;/span&gt;.  Nuns.  That's who I want to have sat on that toilet before me.  Nuns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  &lt;strong&gt;Elevators!&lt;/strong&gt;  I find elevators to be highly uncomfortable for two reasons.  1) you are in such close quarters with people you sort of feel obligated to talk to them.  It's kind of like being locked in a closet with someone and not talking to them.  But it's doubly awkward, because you don't know what floor they are getting off on.  Maybe your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt; will be cut short!  Then you just sound like a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;buffoon&lt;/span&gt;. 2)  The elevator is sometimes to full to fit everyone in your family in the car.  So then you feel like an idiot for trying to press yourselves into the elevator with all your baby gear.  Sometimes you just can't fit, and then you feel dumb for wasting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;every ones&lt;/span&gt; time instead of just sending them on and waiting for the next one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;strong&gt;When someone waves from far away and it looks like they are waving at you, but they could be waving at someone behind you.&lt;/strong&gt;  That's awkward!  You wave back hesitantly.  Unsure if they are waving at you.  Only to find out they weren't!  This is more embarassing when it's an aquaintance who is really waving at someone they like more than you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-8492084539821612507?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8492084539821612507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/uncomfortable-situations.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8492084539821612507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8492084539821612507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/uncomfortable-situations.html' title='Uncomfortable Situations'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-2077875689124687278</id><published>2009-06-14T22:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T12:28:54.915-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='packaging'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><title type='text'>Package Problems</title><content type='html'>Not that you perverts. I know what you were thinking when I said "package problems!" You were hoping for another post about s-e-x! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Welp&lt;/span&gt;, sorry to disappoint you, but I want to talk about something a little more mundane.&lt;br /&gt;Have you purchased anything in a clam shell (focus...I know it's easy to get sidetracked by dirty thoughts!) or in the children's toy aisle recently? The precautions they take to keep people from stealing things have gotten out of control. Anytime you buy an electronic accessory of some sort you are forced to contend with the molded plastic clam shell &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;monstrosities&lt;/span&gt; they are packaged in. Those things are so difficult to get into that someone invented a tool to open them more easily. I don't remember what the tool is called, but I wish I did. I would buy it. It probably comes in a clam shell too. So then what are you supposed to do? You make some strategic cuts and then try to Hulk that thing open like you're tearing phonebooks in half. I've cut myself more than once on one of those &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;bad boys&lt;/span&gt;. YIKES! Maybe I should sue someone for the physical pain I endure opening their product. It really takes away from the joy of opening that brand new &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;sparkly&lt;/span&gt; cellphone charger when it takes you an hour to wrestle it out of the package.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there are the toy packages. Seriously Fisher Price, I think two freakishly, hard to untwist, twisty ties is ample to secure your Little People Airplane in it's packaging. You don't have to put ten of them. I mean if someone is going to sit in the store aisle, and somehow manage to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;finagle&lt;/span&gt; that toy out of the box with a few of those twist ties AND dodge the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;surveillance&lt;/span&gt; cameras; I say they deserve that free toy. That would really be something!! I can barely get those puppies out in the comfort of my own home under the impatient eye of my toddler. After a while, he just gets frustrated and just decides to play with it in the box, because he can't wait! Now that's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;embarrassing&lt;/span&gt;. Your own child gives up hope of you ever getting that toy free from the package!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-2077875689124687278?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2077875689124687278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/package-problems.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2077875689124687278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2077875689124687278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/package-problems.html' title='Package Problems'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-5246870181522824463</id><published>2009-06-09T23:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T11:00:36.509-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='award'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blogging'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nominations'/><title type='text'>Kreativ Blogger Award</title><content type='html'>Thank you so much to Kim from My Parenting 411 for nominating me for her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Kreativ&lt;/span&gt; Blogger Award. It's really flattering! Especially when you've only been blogging for a short time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kim's blog is really neat. It's about her experiences and advice for how to handle parenting situations. She is a former school teacher and has some really great tips! Check her out sometime at &lt;a href="http://www.myparenting411.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://www.myparenting411.blogspot.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the RULES of this Award:&lt;br /&gt;(1) Thank the person who nominated you for this award.&lt;br /&gt;(2) Copy the logo and place it on your blog.&lt;br /&gt;(3) Link to the person who nominated you for this award.&lt;br /&gt;(4) Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting.&lt;br /&gt;(5) Nominate 7 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Kreativ&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Bloggers&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;(6) Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.&lt;br /&gt;(7) Leave a comment on each of the blogs, letting them know they have been nominated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To follow the rules of this award, I am choosing the following blogs to receive this award...&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;a href="http://sometimesdisgruntled.blogspot.com/"&gt;Mommy Confessions&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;a href="http://mommygaga.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Mommygaga&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;a href="http://serenitynow006.blogspot.com/"&gt;Serenity Now!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;a href="http://bloglikeninja.blogspot.com/"&gt;Blog Like Ninja&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;a href="http://onezenmom.blogspot.com/"&gt;ZenMom&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;6. &lt;a href="http://www.nannygoatsinpanties.com/"&gt;Nanny Goats in Panties&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. &lt;a href="http://playgroupsarenoplaceforchildren.com/2009/06/07/usually-im-wearing-a-dress-and-high-heels/"&gt;Playgroups are no place for children&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seven Facts about Me...&lt;br /&gt;1. I'm a mother of 2. I have a 2.5 yr old son and a 4 month old girl.&lt;br /&gt;2. I come from a large family.&lt;br /&gt;3. I love blue cheese. Well most cheeses really!&lt;br /&gt;4. I'm a historical fiction junkie.&lt;br /&gt;5. I actually enjoy a lot of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;childrens&lt;/span&gt; movies and shows.&lt;br /&gt;6. I have two dogs. Edward &amp;amp; Merry. They are Boston Terrier cuties.&lt;br /&gt;7. I love being a housewife. It's my favorite job ever!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-5246870181522824463?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5246870181522824463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/kreativ-blogger-award.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5246870181522824463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5246870181522824463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/kreativ-blogger-award.html' title='Kreativ Blogger Award'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-6673556126616829249</id><published>2009-06-09T11:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-09T11:35:06.418-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cleaning'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='company'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='visitors'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>So Little Time</title><content type='html'>You'd be surprised what you can get done in an hour.  Since, I became a mother, let alone a mother of two, I can literally clean almost my whole house in 1 hour.  Now it won't be "eat off the floor clean" or "the MIL is coming over clean," but it is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; not shameful! Before I had kids this might take me all day.  Now I have learned to clean in a whirlwind of furry.  A bag for garbage tied to my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;waistband&lt;/span&gt;, a rag for wiping slung over my shoulder, and madly throwing toys into bins!&lt;br /&gt;This morning I woke up around 9:30 (thank you very much you saintly little children for letting your mother recharge her batteries) and soon after my friend called.  I haven't seen her for a very long time, and she just moved back to town.  So she asked if she could stop by this morning, and of course I'm not going to turn that down no matter how dirty my house is. &lt;br /&gt;So I had 1 hour to do the shower ritual, clean the house, and get breakfast.  I managed to get all that done, and now I'm just waiting for her to get here.  This is no small task considering our house is 2300 sq. ft.  *takes a bow* THANK YOU VERY MUCH, YOU'RE TOO KIND!  (sorry that was just me imagining the praise you're giving me. Just kidding!)  Now that she's taking a little longer, I might try to go do something over the top like vacuum!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-6673556126616829249?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6673556126616829249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/so-little-time.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6673556126616829249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6673556126616829249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/so-little-time.html' title='So Little Time'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-2874154696082302098</id><published>2009-06-07T09:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T09:34:45.875-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='behavior'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='infant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mom&apos;s on the edge'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddler'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='attitude'/><title type='text'>My last shred of sanity...</title><content type='html'>On Friday, I was about to check myself into the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Loony&lt;/span&gt; bin!  My children are driving me to the edge.  As I've said before, in the past I would get so wound up that I felt I was always yelling at my son.  Part of that was being pregnant and having a toddler, but I was also focusing on the negative.  Well, since my baby girl arrived I have made a huge effort to find the humor in situations instead of getting uptight.  This rule, however, has exceptions for days where my son literally does the opposite of everything I say, gets into things he knows aren't allowed, and uses his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;sippy&lt;/span&gt; cup of chocolate milk as a crop duster on my carpet.  The rule also doesn't apply to days where all those things happen, and my daughter decides to cry at the drop of a hat and wake me up for good at 5am.  All these things compounded have me feeling so frazzled that I would be willing to set my children on the curb with a $50 tucked in each of their pockets and a FREE sign.  I might do it just for 5 min of quiet and then go bring them inside (you think they would still be there? Probably, if they were still crying.)  This dramatic incident, which I like to call &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;TI PMS&lt;/span&gt; (Toddler/Infant &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Pissy&lt;/span&gt; Me Syndrome) lasted for 3 days this last week.  (Actually, I'm not sure it's over. *crosses fingers it is*)  It resulted in a headache so bad that I wanted to decapitate myself just to get some relief.    I hate the sight of blood though.  So I just took one of my leftover post &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;partum&lt;/span&gt; pain pills.  It was that bad people...a near migraine from tension.  Don't go running off and telling people that I'm a pill popper now...it was just one.  It didn't even make it go away totally, but it did a lot to dull it.  Enough so, that when I put my son in his room for an extended time out I was able to tidy up the whole house!  By the way, it's amazing what taking one person out of the situation will do.  That time out, allowed my daughter to sleep, which seems to be her main problem.  I cleaned the house, which was adding to my stress.  And my son was so glad to be released from his room that he behaved pretty darn good for the rest of the evening. &lt;br /&gt;I really hope this whole &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;TI PMS&lt;/span&gt; thing is over though.  I don't know how many days in a row I can handle this attitude.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-2874154696082302098?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2874154696082302098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-last-shred-of-sanity.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2874154696082302098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2874154696082302098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-last-shred-of-sanity.html' title='My last shred of sanity...'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-5237501967941024667</id><published>2009-06-04T11:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T09:20:10.601-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nursery'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='furniture'/><title type='text'>Assembly Blitz</title><content type='html'>After dinner on Tuesday night we decided to put together all the furniture for Lillie's room. I think we may have underestimated the amount of time this would take. The crib was the easy part. It only took about 15 minutes to assemble, but the chest of drawers...holy cats. If you've never tried to put one together let me just go ahead and recommend that you buy one already assembled. Please. For the sake of your sanity. They are ridiculous! They have about a million pieces to spread out all over the floor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really I don't mind putting things together.  I kind of like starting with a bunch of pieces and ending up with a whole thing, but my husband literally hates putting things together.  This doesn't stop him from telling me what to do the whole time.  He makes me read the directions, and then tells me that I'm reading them wrong.  If I had been in a bad mood this could have been a tense situation, but instead I was chuckling at his grumpiness the whole time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Putting the dresser together required several different screwdrivers, even though it said it only needed one.  For some parts we were able to use a battery powered one, which is awesome.  Except the battery ran low part way through (my son was playing with it for a while before he went to bed...that couldn't have worn the battery down at all.)  So then I had to plug it in and we were waiting for it to charge so we could finish.  I used this time to start assembling drawers.  They didn't need the battery powered screwdriver.  My husband used this time to lay down amid all the parts and pieces and complain about assembling things.  I really wanted to take a picture of this, but he was only in his underwear and I didn't think that it would go over well if I posted that on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;interwebs&lt;/span&gt;. So I had to put all 6 drawers together myself, and he only put the handles on!  The easiest part!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we finally got everything put together, it was such a relief.  It only took about 3 hours!  And by the way, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Graco&lt;/span&gt; may say that they have "quality" pieces of furniture, but I beg to differ.   The things I bought from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Ikea&lt;/span&gt; were easier to assemble, easier to move, and less expensive.  So there you go!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-5237501967941024667?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5237501967941024667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/assembly-blitz.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5237501967941024667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5237501967941024667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/06/assembly-blitz.html' title='Assembly Blitz'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-6559874510620503613</id><published>2009-05-31T23:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-31T23:48:05.716-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='surprises'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='motherhood'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='list'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Things I Wasn't Prepared for in Motherhood</title><content type='html'>I got to thinking the other day, as one of these things happened, that no one told me about these things. Or maybe they did and I said "ya right that will never happen to me...my kids will be better than that." Wasn't that naive of me?! I mean you go into parenting knowing that things will change about your everyday life. That you'll have less time to yourself. That you have to change diapers now. That you will have to give up things for your child's sake. Those things you are prepared for, but there are other little things you didn't know would happen. Those moments come and you just sit there, bewildered, and blinking, and think to yourself. "No that didn't just happen to me? My free lifestyle got traded for this?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here we go:&lt;br /&gt;1) &lt;em&gt;Immediately after you give birth, you suddenly don't care how many people walk into that delivery room.&lt;/em&gt; You're so tired, and relieved that you literally don't care if people see your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hoo&lt;/span&gt; Haw. I was stunned by this when I later gained back some modesty!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) &lt;em&gt;The first time you stand up after giving birth everything will look like a horror show happened there.&lt;/em&gt; I'm breaking a code of ethics among mother's here, because this is something that no one talks to you about until after you have a baby. Otherwise, it might scare people who haven't had kids. Most people that read this have kids, so if you don't...it's really not that bad. *wink* *wink*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) &lt;em&gt;When you give birth, a good portion of your brain falls out with the baby&lt;/em&gt;. I had heard of "mommy brain," but again I thought it wouldn't happen to me. I've had an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;audio graphic&lt;/span&gt; memory nearly all my life, but once I had kids I forget things so easily. I should buy stock in sticky notes! I have to write EVERYTHING down. Even ideas for my blog. (My iPhone has a notepad that is great for this, by the way!) If you ask me my birthdate I may or may not remember it on a given day, but I can sure as heck tell you how many times my kid pooped that day so far! Speaking of poop...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) &lt;em&gt;I didn't think that poop would become a major aspect of my life.&lt;/em&gt; NEVER, EVER, did I think that I would worry about how many times my kids have pooped that week. Never did I think that I would have my child spray me with poop mid-diaper change...more than once. Never did I think that I would be cleaning poop off the carpet after my son decides he would rather use the floor than his diaper or the potty. Certainly, I never expected to do a dance and make up a song for my son that says "you went poop on the POTTY...WHOO...You're a big boy now...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;WHOO&lt;/span&gt;!" Never. I'm way too cool for that! Don't even ask me how many times I've had my son pee on me either...can't count them all!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) &lt;em&gt;I didn't realize my clothes would become a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Kleenex&lt;/span&gt; for my kids.&lt;/em&gt; Pretty much self-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;explanatory&lt;/span&gt;. Your kids will wipe anything on their face onto your shirt. Which leads me to...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) &lt;em&gt;I didn't expect to find stained shirts acceptable for everyday wear. &lt;/em&gt;When my son reached a certain age he would either wipe snot, food, or spit on my shirt every time I picked him up. So it got to the point where I would just pick a shirt out of my closet and if it had a stain I would say "like it matters...I'm just going to get more on it later!" Sometimes I go in public like this without even noticing, but when someone tells me I'm not even &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;embarrassed&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) &lt;em&gt;Getting things sneezed into my face. &lt;/em&gt;Let's see I've had spit (normal sneeze), pureed squash, cottage cheese, sticky red medicines, sticky clear medicines, and various other substances sneezed into my face since I became a mother. Every time it happens I think of those variety shows where they get a pie smashed in their face and have to wipe their eyes clear to see. Plus, you always get that same look of utter disbelief, and resignation when it happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) &lt;em&gt;Barf.&lt;/em&gt; I can't even tell you how many times I've been barfed on since I became a mom. It happens a LOT when my kid is sick, because he doesn't feel good and comes running to me just as the chunks are rising...voila! Mom is barfed on. The worst part about it is that it doesn't bother me as much as I thought. I have always had a weak stomach, and was a huge sympathy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;puker&lt;/span&gt;. I mean I threw up when I had to clean up dog barf only about a year before my son was born. Since I became a mom I can clean up any &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;barfy&lt;/span&gt; mess you give me! And I could tell you some stories about barfs around here!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) &lt;em&gt;Baby erections. &lt;/em&gt;It makes me uncomfortable every time! I'm trying to be a mature mom and ignore it, but I just want to say "cover up boy...that's not Kosher!" Or laugh and point. One of the two! I know...so mature.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10) &lt;em&gt;Being followed like the pied piper. &lt;/em&gt;But in my house it's not rats. It's dogs, kids, and even my husband. I can't shower by myself. I can't go to the bathroom by myself. Every time I turn around I'm tripping on someone or something. It really makes things take a lot longer than they should. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Some days&lt;/span&gt; I get so fed up with it I have actually yelled "will &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;everyone&lt;/span&gt; please go do something else and leave me alone! I just want to load the dishwasher without you all in the way! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;GAHHH&lt;/span&gt;!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those are all I can think of now, but feel free to add some of your own in the comments!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-6559874510620503613?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6559874510620503613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/things-i-wasnt-prepared-for-in.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6559874510620503613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6559874510620503613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/things-i-wasnt-prepared-for-in.html' title='Things I Wasn&apos;t Prepared for in Motherhood'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-1381383952223012519</id><published>2009-05-30T13:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-30T13:23:09.357-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='reorganizing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cleaning'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='office'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nursery'/><title type='text'>Making Room</title><content type='html'>This weekend we are starting to make Lillie's room. It used to be our office, so I have to go through and switch furniture and reorganize lots of papers, etc. Why is it I never realize how much junk I have until I go to do something like this? I think it will take an hour or two to complete and it takes a couple days. Mostly because my little helpers aren't so helpful. Byron keeps dragging things out that I just put away and playing with my printers (he must think since I moved it out to the family room it's okay to touch now...). The rooms I'm rearranging are upstairs, and Lillie is downstairs napping on the dryer. That means I have to go up and down the stairs every time she wants the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Binky&lt;/span&gt; back in. It's good for the exercise program though! Just frustrating for my personality. See, I'm one of those people that likes to sit down and finish a project all at once or I'm afraid I never will. It's so daunting to have to keep starting and stopping every time someone needs a drink, a snack, a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Binky&lt;/span&gt;, a boob, etc. I'm sure I'll get it done sometime this summer.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, just wanted to write a quick note about my frustrations, while I'm cuddling the toddler. (He is being very clingy today, this is also not helping.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-1381383952223012519?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1381383952223012519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/making-room.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/1381383952223012519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/1381383952223012519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/making-room.html' title='Making Room'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-2055697482664406583</id><published>2009-05-25T22:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T23:01:15.852-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tired'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Memorial Day'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleep'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>I'm so tir...Zzzz</title><content type='html'>Today was kind of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;craptastic&lt;/span&gt;.  I've had worst days as a mother, but if there is a grey area between great days and the worst days of your life...this is in the grey area closer to the worst side. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, my daughter is having some issue.  She's got a little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;temperature&lt;/span&gt;, and a runny nose and will NOT sleep.  It's either teething or another cold.  I'm hoping it's teething, because this cold business is just about to send me over the edge.  Really?!  Another cold?!  Really?  Give me a break!  So if baby isn't sleeping then of course neither is mommy.  I think I got maybe 2 hours of sleep total last night.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Every time&lt;/span&gt; I'd get her quieted down, and I was just about to drift off into a deep sleep she would start wailing again.  So basically I had an entire night of cat naps.  Not good enough! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so tired when I got up this morning that anytime I closed my eyes I would nod off.  I could be standing up, talking, reading, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;texting&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Facebooking&lt;/span&gt;, eating...you name it...I fell asleep doing it today.  Bad news, bears!  It's pretty bad when you consider eating coffee grounds for the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;caffeine&lt;/span&gt; instead of just making coffee.  I don't like plain coffee though, it's got to be coffee masquerading as cocoa for me to drink it.  But I digress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So anyway, even though I was tired, and Lillie was crying off and on all day, I had to go to the store today.  We were out of milk and ice cream, which is an emergency in this house.  (Plus, I have this handy new gadget on my iPhone that is a grocery list, and I had about 12 things on there.  Sounds like a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;reasonable&lt;/span&gt; number of items to go to the store and get if you ask me.)  So I pack my kids up and head in to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt; Mart.  On Memorial Day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So everyone was in vacation mode except me.  To me it was just a normal day since my husband was working and I stay at home.  Before I left  home I tried to feed Lillie, and of course she wasn't hungry then.  She was hungry about 3 minutes into shopping though, and proceeded to scream the entire shopping trip. The worst part about this is that EVERY person that walked by would look at her with this pity face and say "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;aww&lt;/span&gt; poor baby."  Which is sweet of them, except it made me feel like the worst mom in the world.  Like every person who said that was saying, "I'm sorry your mom is a horrible person and makes you go to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt; Mart when you don't feel good and are hungry you poor sweet little baby girl."  Just what I need more guilt as a parent!  Besides that, have you ever tried to shop while your kid is screaming?  It makes you just want to throw random stuff in your cart and run for the register to get out of there!  It's maddening to listen to and I can't concentrate on what I might need to make a meal.  So now I'm going to have to go back another time and get more groceries to complete the shopping trip.  This time I ONLY got things on my list.  So finally we pay and get out of there and head for the car.  We get there and guess what...there is a parking lot fender bender blocking my escape.  BLAST IT ALL...FOILED AGAIN! (Just ignore my cheesy lines...it's the lack of sleep talking.)  So I fed the baby in the car and by that time the police had come and made them move out of the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I got home and unpacked the groceries and made lunch.  My husband came home early, so that was one good thing that happened today.  Then the baby went to sleep and Byron was watching his cartoons, so I decided to take a little nap.  Except my son suddenly decided that he wanted to yell about things, or needed me for something.  So again I only got in a couple little cat naps.  Those are maddening...your body gets so ticked off at you for fooling it into thinking it might get to rest!  So then I was cranky for the rest of the day.  I feel bad for my family having to put up with me being snippy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope I get to sleep more tonight!  *crossing fingers*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-2055697482664406583?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/2055697482664406583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/im-so-tirzzzz.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2055697482664406583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/2055697482664406583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/im-so-tirzzzz.html' title='I&apos;m so tir...Zzzz'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-7470556705550430744</id><published>2009-05-22T21:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T22:16:18.890-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='people'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vacation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spokane'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Mini Vacation ReCap</title><content type='html'>It's sad when you call going somewhere 2 hours away a mini vacation, but my husband works so much that it's hard to go anywhere. I had a doctor's appointment on Thursday and he made an appointment for his semi to get detailed at the same time, so we just stayed in Spokane for a couple of days. We stayed at the nicest hotel in town called The Davenport Hotel. It's absolutely gorgeous. We stayed there for our honeymoon a few years ago. May I just say that it was more relaxing the first time. I should have remembered that staying in a hotel with kids isn't relaxing. I just did it a few weeks ago in Iowa. Apparently, I have lost part of my short term memory that remembers painful experiences. Okay, it wasn't THAT bad. It just wasn't as relaxing as I hoped.&lt;br /&gt;We ate some really good food! That's a highlight except for the part where I am supposed to be watching what I eat.&lt;br /&gt;We met some interesting people. By interesting I mean weird and frightening. For instance, we took Byron to the children's museum there called &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Mobius&lt;/span&gt;. We got there less than an hour before closing, but it's not a very big place. So you would think they would offer a discount at that time of day, but they didn't. So anyway, we are paying to get in and the lady asked if we wanted a year membership. We told her we were from out-of-town and so that wouldn't work for us. Just then a strange little man pops around the end of the counter and says "where from?" So we said "Moses Lake."&lt;br /&gt;To which he says "oh, I'm sorry." (are we in 5th grade? who says that?)&lt;br /&gt;The lady taking our money said "oh don't say that John it's rude."&lt;br /&gt;Then he began rambling on and on about how he drove through our town once and how terrible it was and boring and blah blah blah. My husband and I were just looking at him with complete blank stares as he kept digging himself into a hole. While he was talking and I was blank staring I was also thinking to myself "Okay Mr. I Haven't Brushed My Teeth in a Month and I have a Rat Tail....You really aren't convincing me that Spokane is any better."&lt;br /&gt;Our town is kind of boring. I'll admit it it. It's small, but I like it better than Spokane. We have our little town weirdos that you see on a regular basis, but after a while they become normal to you because you "know" them. Like the guy that walks around and lays in the road with his shoes off and placed neatly next to him. Or the guy that walks his dog in a Rascal (one of those motorized wheelchairs) wearing a coonskin cap.  Or the old lady that walks around with her hair in a side ponytail, and leaves her teeth at home. But in Spokane, there are those same weirdos times a 100,000. So I don't know what he's bragging about.&lt;br /&gt;Later last night we went swimming in the hotel pool and there was a family with 3 kids and the mom was pregnant again. There isn't anything weird about that, except for the fact that she was gorgeous, skinny as a toothpick and had long, perfectly straight hair. I was thinking to myself "she's pregnant and she skinnier than I am AFTER I had a baby." Not just skinnier than me, though, she was like a size 2. Life isn't fair.&lt;br /&gt;Today before we came home I had to stop at the Department of Licensing to get a permit for my husband.  I get this permit every month here at home, but I forgot to get it before we left.  My husband needs that before he leaves on Sunday night for work, and of course nothing will be open on Monday.  So I go into this local office, and the first lady I see says that she can't process my permit, because I don't have a Heavy Road Tax on file there.  So I asked her if she can call the Moses Lake office and have them fax it.  Well, she just "doesn't know what to do." So I have to wait until the other lady, who I will affectionately refer to as the HBIC (Head B*tch In Charge) from now on, is done explaining to another customer why she can't do anything to help her.  (I don't know what made me think it would be any different when it was my turn.)  So then I get up to the HBIC finally, and I explain her her that I need her to call and have them fax the tax document here.  So she reluctantly gets up from her throne and gets a book that has all the licensing office numbers in it (why didn't the minion know about this book?) and uses her red and silver 2" long nails to page through.  Then she calls the office and they fax it over no problem.  I'm a regular there and they know me!  Then the lady gets the paper and looks it over and notices that the serial number is different.  *sigh*  Last year the DOL sent me the renewal notice for the wrong truck, so the tax got paid for the wrong vehicle and it was totally FUBARed.  It wasn't my fault though, and the ladies here understand that.  The HBIC, however, rules that she will not sell me tonage, even when I explained the situation.  A total waste of my time, and I let her know it.  If it wouldn't have resulted in the police being called I might have thrown some magazines at her.  When I called the office here the ladies couldn't believe that she was being so ridiculous.  &lt;br /&gt;The rest of the day after that was uneventful.  So this concludes our story! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-7470556705550430744?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7470556705550430744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/mini-vacation-recap.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/7470556705550430744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/7470556705550430744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/mini-vacation-recap.html' title='Mini Vacation ReCap'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-3754928421812004471</id><published>2009-05-17T22:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T23:27:18.761-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='showering'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='me time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Getting Freshened Up</title><content type='html'>When did showering become my most conflicting time of the day. First of all, it is about the only 10 minutes I get totally to myself. Unless a) my son comes in and talks to me while I shower b) my husband comes in and talks to me while I shower or c) the baby screams while I shower. All of which detract from my 10 minutes of serenity. I don't understand why people feel the need to talk to you while you shower. In my opinion that is quiet time, but to each their own. Anyway, those are the most relaxing 10 minutes of my day barring any of the above three scenarios, which frankly happen more often than not.&lt;br /&gt;The 10-20 minutes that follow the shower, however, are some of my least favorite of the day. I hate having to put clothes on, do my lotions and potions routine, and especially style my hair. It's just not one of those things that is fun for me. Back in the day, in college, when I had nothing better to do than spend an hour doing my hair while I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-funked to go to the club with my girls, it was kind of fun. (Let's face it everything is more fun with a Smirnoff Ice and a song to shake your booty too!) But now I'm lucky if I can put on my lotion and deodorant back-to-back without someone screaming/crying for me. That's the part I hate now. I put on my lotion and then Byron will come in and say he needs another episode of Max &amp;amp; Ruby turned on. Then I put on my deodorant, and just as I'm reaching for my tooth brush the baby starts screaming. Then I brush my teeth, and just as I'm plugging in the hair dryer I will hear any number of noises that put the fear in a mother. Usually a crash noise, or a loud shrieking cry or a knock at the door (I'm still naked at this point.) (Nothing worse than answering the door in your robe, because it basically announces that you were naked when the doorbell rang.)&lt;br /&gt;So anyway, by the time I get all of that done and get dressed and put on make-up it seems like half the day is gone. Sometimes I have to stop to breastfeed the baby just so I can make it through my "get ready for the day routine." Maybe I should take up the habit of drinking a Smirnoff Ice while I get ready everyday. No...nevermind...people would probably frown on that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-3754928421812004471?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3754928421812004471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/when-did-showering-become-my-most.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3754928421812004471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3754928421812004471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/when-did-showering-become-my-most.html' title='Getting Freshened Up'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-5639003049180419588</id><published>2009-05-15T14:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T14:59:50.891-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='quiet time'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='silence'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Silence</title><content type='html'>I don't know what it is about having kids that makes you appreciate silence, and small moments to yourself.  A haircut is luxurious and relaxing.  Doing housework with no toddler following behind you destroying what you've just cleaned is "fun." &lt;br /&gt;I've been feeling really tired and over needed lately.  My kids are being high &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;maintenance&lt;/span&gt;.  My dogs are being high &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;maintenance&lt;/span&gt;, and my husband is MORE than high &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;maintenance&lt;/span&gt; you'd think he was the King of England.  I don't know how to explain to them all that I need some space, and the more they touch me the more I can't stand to be touched.  But luckily, today my husband got home from work around Noon and he took our son with him for a couple hours while he does some running around for work.  So I'm sitting here writing my blog, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Facebooking&lt;/span&gt; in COMPLETE silence while the baby sleeps.  She's been so grumpy the last couple of days.  I swear she is just exhausted too.  Byron is always waking her up from her naps.  He does it to be loving, but the poor thing never gets more than a 10 min catnap most days. &lt;br /&gt;She started drooling a lot too so I'm wondering if she is teething early.  Just what I need...a cranky baby with a mouthful of teeth early. Every breastfeeding Mother's dream!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-5639003049180419588?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5639003049180419588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/silence.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5639003049180419588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5639003049180419588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/silence.html' title='Silence'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-3411390718373378593</id><published>2009-05-11T21:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T23:20:18.308-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vacation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='breastfeeding'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flying with kids'/><title type='text'>The last 3 Days &amp; Flying home: Part 3</title><content type='html'>Okay, before I get a case of "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;momnesia&lt;/span&gt;" and forget what happened the last few days of our trip I had better write about them. Although they were MUCH better than the first three. Byron really calmed down a lot on Friday. I don't know if it was the combination of swimming and more sleep or if it was because we went to eat and then just went to play at my friend Kelli's parent's house. Whatever it was he was acting like himself again. I mean he still asked to go home all the time, but he wasn't being dramatic and throwing a fit. We made dinner at their home that night instead of eating out, and Byron ate a ton of a green beans. Nothing else, but I'm not gonna argue with him for eating his vegetables! Then we went home and went swimming again, and to bed.&lt;br /&gt;The next day was Saturday, and a gorgeous warm day. We went to the zoo with Stacy, Brooke, Kelli, and all the respective offspring. It was a total blast! Byron is still talking about the "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;animools&lt;/span&gt;." Those 2 1/2 hours were probably the only ones the whole trip that he didn't ask to go home. I did, however, get my first dirty look for breastfeeding in public. This has seriously NEVER happened to me in Washington. I was using a blanket to cover up too, which I never used to do with my son, but have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;suddenly&lt;/span&gt; become more modest! My friend was also changing a diaper on the bench next to me, and this lady walked by and rolled her eyes and said "oh my gosh." (Or something of the like) RIDICULOUS! I'm sorry feeding my kid wasn't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;convenient&lt;/span&gt; for you lady. None of us could believe it.&lt;br /&gt;The last day we spent with my brother at his house just relaxing and eating &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Chinese&lt;/span&gt; food. Byron asked to go home a lot, but I could tell him that we were going "as soon as the airplane comes to pick us up."&lt;br /&gt;So at about 5:30pm we loaded up and headed for the airport. We got checked in and then realized we had to go down further to a different counter to check baggage. Once we checked the bags they informed me that I needed to take the bags over to the security scanning area. This gave me a miniature panic attack. I had 2 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;car seats&lt;/span&gt; (one with wheels and a kid strapped in it), and one infant one....then I had a backpack for me, and a backpack for Byron, and a large wheeled suitcase for Lillie and I and a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;duffel&lt;/span&gt; bag for Byron. I wasn't sure how I was going to get all that the 50 ft across the airport. (In hindsight this seems ridiculous that I was mentally freaking out, but it had been a VERY exhausting week.) One of the ladies from the counter helped me over there though, and we went on our way through the checkpoints to our gate. We were pros at this by now, already knew what to take off and such. We got to our gate and Byron spied the candy machine...and I thought what the heck...he can have a treat for being good today. Now, this could have been bad. Once he had eaten most of it I was thinking..."you're an idiot you have to fly with him on a plane for the next 5 hours." But fortunately he was so tired that it didn't matter. We got on the first plane and he was out! We got to the next airport and he did good most of the time, but did have a little tantrum about eating. He wanted to get out of his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt;/&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;gogo&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;kidz&lt;/span&gt;, and I said "no." (More like a HELL NO, because we are in a busy airport and I have a baby strapped to my chest and a huge backpack on and I don't want you thinking it would be funny to run away from me.) So he didn't want to eat his pizza, because I wouldn't let him out. I just kind of ignored him and got all set up and fed the baby and ate my food. Of course after Lillie was done, this lady came over and said that there were nice family lounges just down the breezeway. Too bad I didn't know about that BEFORE I fed us in the middle of the mall inside the airport that was packed with people. I went there after we got all done eating to change the diapers, and I thought "how relaxing...too bad I didn't know about this before."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being as our flight was at 9:30pm I thought that it wouldn't be very full...boy was I wrong. That thing was packed! Who would have thought so many people fly from Minneapolis to Spokane on a Sunday night. We got to our seats and I thought it said we had the aisle and middle seat, which sucks if you're putting a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt; in...so I put Byron in the middle seat and sat on the aisle. Well, I was wrong, and a man had the aisle, so I squeezed past Byron into the window seat. All well and good until mid-flight Lillie craps her pants. Not just a little one either....all the way up her back! I couldn't get out because Byron was watching a movie and that guy was sleeping, and the person in front of me was leaned all the way back. I had like 1 foot of space over my lap. I had to reach into my bag and get everything out by feel. I don't know how I managed to get all that poop off and her clothes without getting it everywhere. I mean most of you know how runny little baby poop is! When I was almost done Byron started thrashing around and knocked the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;poopy&lt;/span&gt; diaper and all the wipes I used onto the floor. So I had to pick them all up BY FEEL...and then use another wipe to wipe off my hands. However, that was the end of the mid-flight &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;pooptastrophy&lt;/span&gt;. Then about 40 minutes from our arrival time Byron just decides that he is done. No more travelling, no more flying. He is going to let us all know how tired he is and he just starts screaming and crying. Lillie is asleep at this point so I'm trying to calm Byron down, but not wake her up, and this lady across the aisle switches places with the guy sitting next to Byron and saves the day. She was a Grandma. She showed Byron her pictures on her camera of her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;grand kids&lt;/span&gt;, and a cute little cookbook she bought them. I am so thankful for that lady saving my sanity.&lt;br /&gt;Then we arrived, and somehow I managed to get us, and all of our luggage curbside for the shuttle to pick us up and take us to our car. After that it was all gravy. We got in the car and the kids were out in minutes, and we were home in less than 2 hours. I was so glad to get home I had to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; before bed and didn't get to sleep until after 2am.&lt;br /&gt;Since we got home we have all slept in everyday for the last week. There's no place like home!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-3411390718373378593?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3411390718373378593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/last-3-days-flying-home-part-3.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3411390718373378593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/3411390718373378593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/last-3-days-flying-home-part-3.html' title='The last 3 Days &amp; Flying home: Part 3'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-5053870975025336965</id><published>2009-05-06T10:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T11:03:48.517-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vacation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><title type='text'>The first 3 days: Part 2</title><content type='html'>As I said before, the flying was the part that I expected to be the hardest. Boy was I wrong. I didn't realize that my son was going to be like a fish out of water for the first half of the trip. He couldn't go to sleep at night. I had to turn all the lights off in the hotel room and just sit there with him on his bed until he fell asleep. This usually took about an hour. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Once he was asleep around 9 or 10pm (which is only 7 or 8 our time) I would lay in bed and watch &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;TV&lt;/span&gt; or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; until I could go to sleep. I got to sleep around 11pm most nights, so now that I'm home I'm ready for bed around 9 or 10pm. He would sleep well once he was asleep and wake up about 12 hrs later. So that was good, but it didn't seem to improve his mood that much, and it also meant that we missed breakfast at the hotel a lot. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The first day we went to visit my friend Stacy at her house. She babysits 4 other kids under 4 and has her own daughter Nina who is 2. (That seems crazy to me, but she does a good job!) Byron was being okay at first, but the longer we were there the more difficult he was getting. He wasn't being nice to the other kids, and just generally doing things he doesn't normally do. Stacy's daughter wasn't in a good place either, which helped a little (mentally for me.) Byron and Nina kept trading off who got to sit in the Time Out Chair. While we were at her house both kids pooped, and Lillie's was a total blow-out. I had forgotten to throw in an extra outfit, so Stacy was nice enough to give me one of her daughter's baby sleepers. After I had about enough of Byron picking on everyone we decided to leave and go take a drive. I could tell Byron was till exhausted from his cold and lack of sleep the night before our flight. So we drove around looking at familiar places to see how they changed. (The kids fell asleep in a matter of minutes, and this became a daily ritual to keep my sanity. A few minutes of peace and quiet everyday.) Later we met up with my brother and my niece (16 months) for pizza at his house. Byron was a little better, but was still being really pushy with her and not sharing well. Back to the hotel around 7:30, and then we started the nightly struggle to get to sleep.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next day (Thursday) we were planning to go to the zoo, but even though the temperature was nice it kept showering every so often. So my friend Brooke, her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;daughter&lt;/span&gt; Lily (9 months) and our little troop went to lunch (which Byron didn't eat), and then to the mall. Byron seemed very interested in the little car strollers, and since I didn't bring one with me I went ahead and got one even though I was hesitant. I mean really, $5 to rent a stroller?! Are yo&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SgHM7bJof6I/AAAAAAAAAJA/dWtjhGpm7_c/s1600-h/3267_596849791343_27211941_35969831_6001402_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332768755055886242" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 239px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SgHM7bJof6I/AAAAAAAAAJA/dWtjhGpm7_c/s320/3267_596849791343_27211941_35969831_6001402_n.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;u joking me? That seems a little pricey. Here is a picture of him enjoying the stroller I paid so much for, and might I just add that this also illustrates his mood the first half of the trip. We thought he would enjoy playing at the indoor play area, but he played about 2 minutes and was done. He liked the cars that you could put 75 cents in to ride, as long as you didn't actually put money in them. He also didn't enjoy the ice cream or $20 wood fire truck I bought him that day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here's the thing. I don't normally give in to my kid's every whim. I'm usually much more mean than that, but I was grasping at straws. I needed him to be happy, and I was willing to do whatever it took to get it. Let this be a lesson though, it didn't work. He was still terrible no matter what I let him do. I think he appreciated it more when I started being mean again! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, for dinner that night we went to a really fun 50's diner called Stella's. You get milkshakes poured on your head, and there is jukeboxes at your table. It's a fun place, but Byron refused to enjoy it. So here is a picture of him yelling at me that he &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SgHPM6b9ExI/AAAAAAAAAJI/gk8by3hE2rs/s1600-h/3267_596849806313_27211941_35969832_3497292_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332771254535262994" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 239px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SgHPM6b9ExI/AAAAAAAAAJI/gk8by3hE2rs/s320/3267_596849806313_27211941_35969832_3497292_n.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;wants to go home and me trying to defuse the situation. He kept trying to squirt me with the ketchup and mustard bottles and I had only one sweatshirt with me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After dinner (which Byron didn't eat) we went back to the hotel and I decided to try swimming with him. He hasn't been swimming since he was like 9 months old, so I didn't know if he would like it. He fought me the whole way down to the pool, and then once we were there I could hardly get him to leave. It totally changed his mood and he actually ate his leftover fries. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-5053870975025336965?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/5053870975025336965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/first-3-days-part-2.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5053870975025336965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/5053870975025336965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/first-3-days-part-2.html' title='The first 3 days: Part 2'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SgHM7bJof6I/AAAAAAAAAJA/dWtjhGpm7_c/s72-c/3267_596849791343_27211941_35969831_6001402_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-1793405215920072682</id><published>2009-05-04T21:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T21:34:46.607-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='working moms'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vaction'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flying with kids'/><title type='text'>Flying There: Part1 of my trip</title><content type='html'>I have to admit of all the things about my trip, I expected the flying to be the most difficult.  Don't get me wrong, it wasn't easy, but I think I under estimated the whole being away from home experience. The flying thing started out good.  My son didn't sleep the night before, because we stayed in a hotel by the airport and it was too interesting to go to sleep.  So he ended up falling asleep around 10pm I think, and we had to get up around 4:30am.  So we didn't start out on the best foot.  The first flight was the long leg, so I brought the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt; on.  I had Lillie strapped to my chest in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.becobabycarrier.com/"&gt;Beco&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, and it was really difficult to get that in there without feeling like I was smashing the baby.  She was screaming her head off the whole time, and of course the person sitting in the aisle seat was already on board because he was a "preferred customer."  What is it about the idea of letting people who need extra time go first, that seems okay to let people that fly a lot on first?  It was really frustrating.  I put on a brave face though, and acted like I had it under control.  Once the seat was in, it was fairly easy from there.  The guy next to me got "bumped" to first class (I think the flight attendants took pity on him) so that I had an extra seat next to me to set the baby down on.  Byron just watched his movies and read his books, and fell asleep about 5 min before we made our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;descent&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;SUCKY&lt;/span&gt;!  His ears started hurting from the pressure in the cabin, and he got pissed.  I tried to give him gum, or get him to drink or stick his tongue out, but he wasn't having it.  Then he was so tired and cranky when we landed that I had to literally wrestle him out of the plane and back into his seat (while wearing a baby strapped to my chest and a huge backpack full of diapers and other essentials.)  He was fine after that, because he could just wheel around with me in the airport in his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Go-Kidz-TravelMate-Black-Orange/dp/B000JJK9EY/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=baby-products&amp;amp;qid=1241497994&amp;amp;sr=8-1"&gt;GoGoKidz&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; (converts &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt; into a stroller).  We ate lunch and he fell asleep...5 MINUTES BEFORE WE BOARDED AGAIN.  This plane was too small to use the seat on, so I had to hold him in his seat (with a baby strapped to my chest)while he threw another fit.  As soon as the plane started rolling he fell asleep, and slept until we got to the airport in Des &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Moines&lt;/span&gt;.  He threw another tantrum all the way through the airport, and into the rental car. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To summarize this day in a nutshell....mind numbing.  Once I finally got the kids to fall asleep in the hotel that night, which wasn't until 10:30 or 11pm (only 8:30-9 our time) I lay in bed and it felt like the whole bed was swaying back and forth, and my head was pounding.  I needed a rum and coke.  I didn't get one, because I had no one with me to leave with the kids while I snuck out to the bar taunting me across the street.  Instead, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Facebooked&lt;/span&gt; on my Blackberry until I was tired enough to sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-1793405215920072682?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1793405215920072682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/flying-there-part1-of-my-trip.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/1793405215920072682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/1793405215920072682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/05/flying-there-part1-of-my-trip.html' title='Flying There: Part1 of my trip'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-8730310450789189835</id><published>2009-04-26T23:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-26T23:21:30.770-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='trips'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='carseat'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Quick One</title><content type='html'>Before I leave I have to tell this little story. Last night I went to a movie with some friends, and when I got in my car it smelled really bad. So I threw all the trash away and figured it would &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dissipate&lt;/span&gt; by the time I got done. But it didn't. So I started thinking about what it could be, and I had a little "aha!" moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone who has a toddler knows that there is lots of tiny pieces of goldfish, graham crackers, fruit snacks, etc. that fall down in the cracks of those seats. Well, my son had just spilled a bunch of water in his seat, and it made contact with those crumbs and created some sort of molding situation. So I drug the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt; out of the car and ripped the cover off...(okay not ripped...it is a complex process of taking the whole &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt; apart) and threw it in the wash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took me a while to get the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt; put back together once everything was dry. I put the little buckles upside down, and another one backwards. I had to take it apart 3 times. Anyway, now the headrest is stuck! It's in this cock-eyed position and I cannot get it straight. I'm sitting there wrestling with the damn &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt; and making no progress. I have one leg up on it, then I tried a knee, then I tried getting it in a scissor lock, and STILL I cannot get the thing straight. I need help! Who makes these things? They need a Geek Squad for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt; troubleshooting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey now there is an idea! *COPYRIGHT PATENT!* You cannot steal my idea to start a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;car seat&lt;/span&gt; geek squad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay now back to packing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-8730310450789189835?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8730310450789189835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/quick-one.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8730310450789189835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8730310450789189835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/quick-one.html' title='Quick One'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-8908539940611420596</id><published>2009-04-25T15:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T15:55:58.036-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh the Horror!</title><content type='html'>NO, NO, NO!  We cannot be sick again!  Byron has a terrible cough and a fever of 102.5, and I do not want it! I don't want my baby girl to get it.  We all just got over that RSV crud a month ago.  We're leaving for Iowa in 3 days.  This is a fate worse than death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Taking care of kids who are sick, while you're sick as well is just horrible!  Let alone doing it away from home.  I'm really looking forward to this trip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, anyway, I probably won't be blogging for about a week.  I'm flying to Iowa, and I don't have a laptop yet.  So I will just have to remember my funny stories and report back when I get home.  There will be funny stories, because I am flying to Iowa ALONE with 2 small children.  Have I mentioned before I might be a little crazy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Write to y'all soon!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-8908539940611420596?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8908539940611420596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/oh-horror.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8908539940611420596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8908539940611420596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/oh-horror.html' title='Oh the Horror!'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-953527794463835937</id><published>2009-04-23T11:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T17:56:23.830-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='potty training'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='boys'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><title type='text'>To Potty or not to Potty?</title><content type='html'>My son will be 30 months (2.5 yrs) next Tuesday. Over the last year and a half I have tried several times to introduce the idea of using a potty. The first time I tried he did great for about 2 days, but then decided he didn't want to use the potty anymore. So now here we are still wearing diapers. I feel pressure as a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;SAHM&lt;/span&gt; to have this taken care of already. Kids younger than him are potty trained already, but I haven't given it another go in months. Here are my current list of excuses:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) He really doesn't seem interested. He won't even let me change him when he poops yet. *BIG SIGH*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) We have a trip to go on next week. (This is legit people...I don't want him having accidents all the way to Iowa!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) I'm waiting for summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Potty training is disgusting. This one is a biggie. I am not excited about poop getting smeared all over the place, and my son peeing on his sister. Oh and the worst is when you don't see the poop until it's too late...and you walk in on the dogs "cleaning it up." *GAG* *HACK* *COUGH* *GAG*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying to get myself psyched up for round 3, but it's really hard. Especially when you see other moms in the store with their toddler and the tot says "mommy potty!" Which we all know means you have like 30 seconds to get them to the bathroom before they have an accident. I saw this lady at the store today with that dilemma. She was all the way over by the groceries, and had to make it half way across the store...I wonder if she did. Better her than me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now that I'm writing this I have the strange urge to start trying to train him again.  I must be crazy.  I better stalk up on M &amp;amp; Ms...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-953527794463835937?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/953527794463835937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/to-potty-or-not-to-potty.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/953527794463835937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/953527794463835937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/to-potty-or-not-to-potty.html' title='To Potty or not to Potty?'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-805165780946765067</id><published>2009-04-22T12:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T15:24:47.195-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cartoons'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parenting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tv'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chidren'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dvr'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shows'/><title type='text'>DVRs</title><content type='html'>I have a love/hate relationship with our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;DVR&lt;/span&gt;. It is seriously one of the greatest inventions of all time...besides the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt;. You can pause live &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;TV&lt;/span&gt; in the middle of it, rewind, watch something over if you missed what they said, or record your shows so if you have to start 15 min in..it's actually a good thing! Then you can skip all the commercials! If you don't own one, I highly recommend it. BUT...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My son now knows that he can watch his shows at any time of day. Instead of me saying "it's not on right now." He knows it's recorded and can watch them at his whim. Now I am being subjected to "Max &amp;amp; Ruby" episodes one after the other until I want to gouge my eyes out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong, the thing is great if I need to turn on a show I KNOW will keep him quiet for a few minutes while I talk on the phone, or write my blog. But there is a limit to how many times I can watch those bunnies. Where are their parents anyway? Ruby is maybe in 3rd grade, and Max is a toddler. They have a Grandma, but she doesn't live in the house. It's very odd! My husband (is mean and)says that they got hit by a car.  (I know it's horrible, but funny in a sick way.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although I have to say he could pick something more annoying. Barney for instance. NOT ALLOWED IN MY HOUSE. No way; no how! That show is evil. The stupid songs get stuck in your head, and the acting is terrible. I don't understand the premise for that show either. They are grade-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;schoolers&lt;/span&gt; (some look as old as 10 or 11) that imagine a dinosaur who sings songs about manners, vegetables, chores, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;choo&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;choos&lt;/span&gt;. Yeah, that's likely! You know how much kids love to sing about eating their broccoli &amp;amp; cleaning their rooms!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I guess I'll just have to take the annoying parts about the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;DVR&lt;/span&gt; along with the awesome parts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-805165780946765067?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/805165780946765067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/dvrs.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/805165780946765067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/805165780946765067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/dvrs.html' title='DVRs'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-6521237048992928453</id><published>2009-04-20T21:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T21:21:27.208-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='restaurants'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tantrums'/><title type='text'>Been There Done That!</title><content type='html'>Today was gorgeous! It was close to 80 degrees and no wind. So, I called my friend and asked her if she wanted to meet us at the park. She has a son that is 13 months old. We had fun at the park, and then decided to go get a bite to eat. Of course we were all starving by the time we got to the restaurant, and our waitress took a long time to ask for our order. So the baby started fussing, and I had to nurse her. Then Byron started in on his "I can't sit still" routine. I wanted to scream at the waitress "BRING US FOOD OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES." She finally came and took our order, and brought out the kids soup. Once we started eating the kids calmed down, so we could chat and eat our salads.&lt;br /&gt;When I say calm down it is a relative term according to age. My friend's son is as that age where he throws everything and likes to bang on the table. He got more food on the floor than in his mouth, and decided to take a loud poo while we were eating. You know the usual 13 month stuff! So throughout the meal I kept chuckling about the things he was doing, and assuring her it wasn't a big deal. As moms we have all been there! We get that anxious feeling that everyone in the restaurant is looking at our child and saying "she's a horrible mother!" We're afraid that at any moment the record will scratch to a stop and the whole restaurant will say, in unison, "get that kid out of here."&lt;br /&gt;We've all been there, so I couldn't help but laugh a little. Not because I think it's funny that she is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;embarrassed&lt;/span&gt;, but because I've been &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;embarrassed&lt;/span&gt; too. I've wanted to crawl under the table or just walk away and say "I don't know who's kid that is...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;jeez&lt;/span&gt; what a brat!" My husband and I took to leaving an extra big tip when our son created a huge mess of crumpled and spit out food on the floor or if he was just being exceptionally difficult.&lt;br /&gt;It's just par for the course! My time is coming again in less than a year, but I think this time I'll be too tired to care. I'll probably be glad that we're out to eat so someone else can clean up the spit up food. Although, the dogs do a pretty darn good job. My little Hoovers as I call them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-6521237048992928453?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6521237048992928453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/been-there-done-that.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6521237048992928453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/6521237048992928453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/been-there-done-that.html' title='Been There Done That!'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-9068795507092452402</id><published>2009-04-17T23:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T23:43:33.487-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='two'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mother'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='messes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='anger'/><title type='text'>The calm</title><content type='html'>What is it in your face sometimes that tells your children you are about to snap at any moment? Today my son made me to mad that I couldn't &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/Sel1m78e4tI/AAAAAAAAAIg/3J9QiMNoeF4/s1600-h/P1000403.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325917346129175250" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 361px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 264px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/Sel1m78e4tI/AAAAAAAAAIg/3J9QiMNoeF4/s400/P1000403.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;even yell. I was just eerily calm. I came downstairs to this huge mess, and something in side me snapped, but instead of yelling. I went and got my camera and took a picture of it (although the picture doesn't do it justice...every game was dumped out a mixed with the others.) Then I asked my son to come stand in front of me as I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;kneeled&lt;/span&gt;, and look me in the eyes. I explained to him that Mommy was very angry, and he knows he's not supposed to get into those games. Then I told him to go to his room, and get this...he went! He never goes to his room of his own free will! BOY I must have had a crazy look in my eyes. I mean looking back on the whole situation; it's not that bad. I don't know why I was so pissed, but he never gets into those things! He knows better, and he didn't just get into them...he couldn't have made any bigger of a mess. It took me a half hour to sort all that apart. Plus, the baby was screaming to nurse during the whole ordeal which raises my blood pressure to astronomical levels anyway.&lt;br /&gt;The crazy part is that all that aside, I looked at both my babies tonight and felt so much love for them that I wanted to burst into tears of joy. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ahhh&lt;/span&gt; motherhood...it's like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;schizophrenia, but no one gives you medication for it&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-9068795507092452402?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/9068795507092452402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/calm.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/9068795507092452402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/9068795507092452402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/calm.html' title='The calm'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/Sel1m78e4tI/AAAAAAAAAIg/3J9QiMNoeF4/s72-c/P1000403.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-4057581573970101120</id><published>2009-04-15T10:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-15T10:23:17.247-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='birth control'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddlers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>Free Birth Control</title><content type='html'>We're going on a personal level here, so if you don't like to hear the word &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;sex &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;you might want to stop reading now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just had an IUD put in last week, which I really hope works out for me because I cannot take those hormonal birth controls any more. They make me into a crazed psycho who wants to eat everything salty or sweet in my house. Not good for my diet or my marriage. So I'm crossing my fingers it works out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Anywho&lt;/span&gt;, this post is really about FREE birth control. Your other kids! I mean seriously, since we had the new baby it is really hard to find time to have sex. It pretty much has to be late at night after Byron is asleep and Lillie is napping. The problem with that is that I'm more of an afternoon delight type of person, and don't have much energy at night. On &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;occasion&lt;/span&gt; I do, but not usually. So I have to try to force myself to give it a try, and I'm not usually disappointed. Unless the baby starts crying mid-action. Nothing kills the mood faster than those tiny wails.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do people with 4+ children EVER get pregnant again? Seriously! You'd think that between all the stuff you have to do to take care of them, keeping the house clean (we all know this is easier after they are asleep), and you trying to sleep yourself there would be zero time left for sweet &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;lovin&lt;/span&gt;'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's why I call my kids free birth control, but I guess they aren't really free since I have to feed, clothe and diaper them. You can also put money on the fact that I'm not using that as my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;preferred&lt;/span&gt; prevention method. NO CHANCES TAKEN HERE!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-4057581573970101120?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4057581573970101120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/free-birth-control.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/4057581573970101120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/4057581573970101120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/free-birth-control.html' title='Free Birth Control'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-1771333902470908650</id><published>2009-04-13T19:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T22:35:06.302-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='riding in the car'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='behavior'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sugar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shopping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddler'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><title type='text'>Sugar Babies</title><content type='html'>Raise your hand if you think sugar makes your kids crazy. (I'm raising my hand!) My husband doesn't think it does. He says that is a bunch of bull that health nuts believe. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Riiight&lt;/span&gt; honey. Obviously you don't spend all day long with the little guy. I see a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;noticeable&lt;/span&gt; difference in my son's behavior when he eats a bunch of candy. He acts like a crazed &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Tasmanian&lt;/span&gt; devil instead of his normal &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Tasmanian&lt;/span&gt; devil self.&lt;br /&gt;So this leads into today's adventure. We just finished the 3 day &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Easterpalooza&lt;/span&gt;, and my toddler had WAY too much sugar and too little sleep this weekend. I decided to go shopping today. So I put the kids in the car and drove to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Wenatchee&lt;/span&gt;. (About an hour and 15 min trip.) We have no malls in our town, all we have is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Wal&lt;/span&gt; Mart. So I wanted to get some variety in our wardrobe. I just bought my son one of those Kid Tough DVD players for a trip that is coming up, and I thought it would be a good idea to take it along. Unfortunately, I didn't realize the batteries were dead, so that lead to tantrum #1. Then he starts in with a case of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;NOs&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;"Byron do you want some of your milk?"&lt;br /&gt;"NO."&lt;br /&gt;"Do you want your cars?"&lt;br /&gt;"NO."&lt;br /&gt;"Do you want a snack?"&lt;br /&gt;"NO."&lt;br /&gt;"Look at that big truck over there!"&lt;br /&gt;"NO!"&lt;br /&gt;You get the idea. I just tried to remind myself that he had too little sleep and too much sugar this weekend...oh and that he's 2. At this point we're about half way there. He starts thrashing around in his car seat, swaying from side to side, and knocking anything off the seat he can. I was trying not to let my blood pressure go up, but he came pretty close to hitting his 2 month old sister with his detachable cup holder. So it was my turn to yell "no."&lt;br /&gt;Then a stroke of genius came over me. I started scanning through the radio stations looking for a classical one, and VOILA! NPR! I can't believe how well it worked for about 10 min. It really did calm him down. Then he remembered he didn't want to be in the car, and the whining started. I started mentally rolling my eyes at my husband..."No honey, sugar doesn't do anything to him!" HA!&lt;br /&gt;By then we were almost at our destination. A destination (Fred Meyer) that has in-store child care. Just what the doctor ordered! I would sell my left &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;ovary&lt;/span&gt; for a Fred Meyer in this town. Whoever came up with the idea of letting a mother shop in peace is a saint!&lt;br /&gt;The trip was totally worth it too, because I went to Fred Meyer, Old Navy, and JC Penney and never got less than 40% off!  It was so awesome.  I love finding surprise sales.  Both the kids slept the whole way home.  The silence was golden!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-1771333902470908650?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1771333902470908650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/sugar-babies.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/1771333902470908650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/1771333902470908650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/sugar-babies.html' title='Sugar Babies'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-8696919542136741771</id><published>2009-04-11T21:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T16:41:14.917-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='easter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spring'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rude parents'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='toddler'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='egg hunt'/><title type='text'>Public Egg Hunt Insanity</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeJ8BmHc6kI/AAAAAAAAAHw/b5_nX3rLvnU/s1600-h/P1000389.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323954076358863426" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeJ8BmHc6kI/AAAAAAAAAHw/b5_nX3rLvnU/s320/P1000389.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Every year the Lion's Club has a big Easter Egg hunt at one of the parks in our town. This is the first year we decided to take our son who is 2 1/2. Last year we felt he was too young, so we just did a small egg hunt with our family.&lt;br /&gt;Now I had heard stories about this egg hunt getting out of control, but then some friends assured me it just depends on the group that year.&lt;br /&gt;So I was running late this morning, but I managed to make the snacks, and get the kids into the car and on the road by my goal time of 11:30. We arrived at the park about 11:45, and then I ran around the car a few times trying to decide what to do first. I decided to get the baby into the front pack first, and then put the toddler in the stroller. Then I tried to walk as fast as I could to the Egg Hunt area. Did I mention I think I pulled a muscle sometime in there? They should make getting kids in and out of a car an Olympic event. If you're under a time constraint it is one stressful ordeal. I always hear the William Tell Overture in my head as I'm loading the car. But I digress...&lt;br /&gt;So I got there, and I had to ask someone where to go for the toddler hunt. It was just people everywhere and the signs for each section were tiny, and there were people standing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;in front&lt;/span&gt; of them. So I found my friends and we decided to put our kids in the Unassisted section. You read that right. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;UNassisted&lt;/span&gt;. That means the kids are gathering eggs alone. We stand there waiting for the countdown, and then we hear 5...4...3...2...1...GO! So my little guy walks out there and cautiously starts picking up eggs. I was so proud of him and enjoying it, and then it happened. Did I read the sign wrong? Because some impatient parents couldn't just enjoy watching their kids walk around with bewildered looks on their face and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;occasionally&lt;/span&gt; pick up an egg. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;No&lt;/span&gt; they had to storm in there and swipe eggs from the reach of slowly bending UNASSISTED toddlers. A hunt that would have easily lasted 10 minutes took less than a minute. Apparently someone needed whatever little prizes were in those plastic eggs in a bad way. I have no idea what they are, because my kid only wanted the real eggs. (Hey, you have to give the kid credit. He accepts no imitations!) I just sat there with a look of utter disbelief on my face. There was a section for assisted toddlers. Perhaps these people can't read? Or they don't know what &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;UNassisted&lt;/span&gt; means? Or they are just rude. I'm going with the last one. All I can say was it was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; an experience. I might have to spend some time teaching my kid how to throw some elbows for next year! So think twice next year before you swipe the egg in front of any blond 3 year old boys. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Muhahahah&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-8696919542136741771?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8696919542136741771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/every-year-lions-club-has-big-easter.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8696919542136741771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/8696919542136741771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/every-year-lions-club-has-big-easter.html' title='Public Egg Hunt Insanity'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeJ8BmHc6kI/AAAAAAAAAHw/b5_nX3rLvnU/s72-c/P1000389.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8850853522943771046.post-247499658239360573</id><published>2009-04-11T21:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T21:47:56.072-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='working moms'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='career goals'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SAHM'/><title type='text'>Being a SAHM isn't enough?</title><content type='html'>Here I am!  I'm 27 years old and married with two kids.  I stay at home and like to refer to myself as a "domestic engineer."  My life is &lt;em&gt;very &lt;/em&gt;different than I pictured it would be.  You know those surveys your friends forward you that ask you want your life will be like in 10 years.  I laugh when I think about what I put on those puppies even 5 years ago. &lt;br /&gt;I thought I wanted to wear power suits, and carry a leather briefcase.  My college years were spent aspiring to a glamorous job in Public Relations.  My professors said I had talent for it, so I ventured out in the world ready to take it by the tail.  HA!  Then reality set in, and I had rent to pay.  I ended up working for a logistics company.  Of course, that job wasn't what I really wanted to do.  So I got a new one as a technical recruiter AKA a telemarketer who tries to find computer nerds a job.  FAILED!  Luckily, by that time I had already met Ryan (my husband) and he moved in with me while I tried to find a job.  Long story made short...I never did and we got married and here I am.&lt;br /&gt;So the funny part about all this is I ended up being at home which most people of my generation know isn't ever enough.  You see people from the past and they say "what are you doing these days?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, I'm JUST staying at home," we reply.&lt;br /&gt;It's never enough.  You should be doing more.  You should be working and taking care of your kids!  There is a stigma against those of us that JUST stay at home. &lt;br /&gt;Well, I spend my days feeding, changing, cleaning, entertaining, educating, and being generally at the beck and call of a 2 year old and a 2 month old.  It's enough!  I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' exhausted at the end of the day!  How do those working moms do it? &lt;br /&gt;Some moms feel like they need to get out and away from their children or they will go crazy.  (Believe me there are times when I understand that need!)  In general though I find myself anxious and unfocused when I'm away from my children for too long.  I just don't think I would be cut out for the working mom thing.  I also feel like what I'm doing is a very important thing by staying home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;So maybe I don't have a job as a PR Executive and a power suit that fits anymore, but I am the boss around here.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8850853522943771046-247499658239360573?l=ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/feeds/247499658239360573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/being-sahm-isnt-enough.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/247499658239360573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8850853522943771046/posts/default/247499658239360573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihatepinkmom.blogspot.com/2009/04/being-sahm-isnt-enough.html' title='Being a SAHM isn&apos;t enough?'/><author><name>Anna</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16553555389783450139</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='29' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jYGtd3a_pcU/SeF9o1X33zI/AAAAAAAAAHM/z4vF4h3U4Ro/S220/DSCF0013.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
