<?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-26610901</id><updated>2012-02-16T04:48:11.862-05:00</updated><title type='text'>ihavenothingtosay</title><subtitle type='html'>Stay at home mom, self employed woman, sole female in a house o dirty boxers, shopaholic suffering from withdrawl because there is nowhere good to shop...wanna join me?</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>241</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-1969204434813298507</id><published>2008-04-10T10:19:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-10T10:44:04.685-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes</title><content type='html'>I have always felt odd about leaving this like it was. It looks like that crazy old abandoned house at the end of a dead end street. You know the one, it looks like someone could possibly be there still, at first. But after time you realize it's empty. I always have felt like just leaving this with some stupid post about football made it look like I had just run out. Run out of words, or ideas or feelings. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really some of that is true. My mom died later that night. Six months and a day after my &lt;a href="http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/07/jake.html"&gt;brother&lt;/a&gt;. Yet another late night phone call, only this time I wasn't immediately consumed by grief, just disbelief. How do you deal with losing two people who mean so much in such a short time? The answer is, I have no clue. I am still trying to figure it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I prepare for my sister's wedding, a wedding we started planning just a year ago. A year that feels like 20 lifetimes. I watch my oldest son prepare for Senior Prom and graduation. I take him to visit his home next year, a home that will be four hours from me. I watch my middle son prepare, with great excitement,for his Freshman year of High School, and beg my youngest for kisses goodbye in the morning. Kisses he used to dole out happily, now I am hard pressed to get from an almost 10 year old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do these things, and I know life does indeed go on, circumstances change, and people around us change. No matter how bleak the night before was, the sun will come up again. Sometimes it's covered by clouds, but it's always there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spring in Albany always means tulips. It's a Dutch city, and tulips are everywhere. There was really no doubt in my sister's mind what her wedding flower would be. Tulips. My mom always loved to see the tulips, they meant spring was finally here. Now that I'm a mom, I completely understand the love of warm outside playing weather. Even though it was the farthest thing from my sister's mind when she made the decision, it's a way to have my mom there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I haven't run out of ideas, or words or even material. I still have a husband who drives me nuts, a neice to talk down off the ledge over SAT scores and lack of a prom date. Three boys who are becoming men, and 2 sisters and a brother, a nephew, and 2 new in laws joining our group before labor day. My life hasn't been abandoned, just changed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-1969204434813298507?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/1969204434813298507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=1969204434813298507' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1969204434813298507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1969204434813298507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2008/04/ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.html' title='Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-8340134241739198653</id><published>2008-01-22T09:56:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T10:01:00.642-05:00</updated><title type='text'>ps</title><content type='html'>Can I also just put it out there the Football??   Yeah it's DEAD to me, not just because the Skins lost, I can deal with that and still be interested (God knows I have alot of practice there) And really, the cowboys losing was like icing on a cake...However the fact that nothing good can come from this superbowl leaves me mourning the end of my passion a little early this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Giants win?  GOD knows how I hate the Giants, and the Pats and their "perfect season"  Ugh...I threw up in my mouth a little just typing that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Farewell lover..... I will see you in August.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-8340134241739198653?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/8340134241739198653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=8340134241739198653' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8340134241739198653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8340134241739198653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2008/01/ps.html' title='ps'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-1967130350096076237</id><published>2008-01-22T09:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T09:51:08.330-05:00</updated><title type='text'>brrrrr, or reason 1234976 why winter sucks</title><content type='html'>Yeah so let me start this post off by letting the world know.  There are 2 ways to find out the gauge on your heating oil tank is broken.  The good way, and the bad way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The good way would happen with you going out to check the tank on a more regular basis and realize it had not moved in a month.  The bad way is to wake up at 6 am and wonder why the hell it is so cold in the house.  Which also tells me I was a complete MORON to think my oil consumption had dropped so considerably this year.  NO Maria, it hasn't really been that warm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And why (please someone tell me) does this stuff ALWAYS happen in the middle of the coldest weather?  Why can't it happen in late April, when it drops to mid 40's, as opposed to today when the high is expected to hit a balmy 11 degrees, and I am talking Farenheit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then explain to me why my old oil company sold out this past fall, leaving me as a "new" customer to anyone else I call.  And if you are unfamiliar with heating oil wars, I can assure you...the new guy, gets the short end.  How can EVERY oil delivery company for 20 miles be sooooo busy, they can't meander down my driveway and drop of some of that thar black gold?  You know, before we turn into people cicles?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok enough....I'm done.  And I get to spend my day running to fetch kerosene to dump into my oil tank.  Survival skill #23, you can, in an emergency dump kerosene into your oil tank and it will do the job.  It isn't exactly convenient, but hey THAT'S WHY I LOOOVE WINTER, it's so damn convenient.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What else?  hmmmm  My husband took most of our profit last year and started himself a new venture.  If you know us in real life, you know this is pretty much a biannual event.  Now I don't like to say he has ADD, because that is a real true problem for a lot of people. But I DO say, we absolutely, positively, know where the youngest gets his inability to pay attention to anything for longer than 20 minutes at a stretch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I have had more business ventures than I care to think about.  Several of which I am still getting tax credit for, or feeding, or heating, or reeling from.  I would actually list them, but I do have kerosene to fetch today, before dark.  And time is valuable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway this venture involves him snowmobiling.  Which really, is the one thing he enjoys as much as he does breathing.  He LIVES for winter and riding his sled.  SO somehow, he thought that buying a whole bunch of them, and then renting them out to people would be a great idea.  OK, whatever, I can sell the sleds in 2 years when he's done with this AND have him out of my hair most of the winter.  Not really losing anything much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However he attmpted to tell me it was WORK!  (ohnohedidn't) oh yes he did.  uh huh, that would be my equialent to getting paid while laying on the beach, alone, reading a book.  Not only did he attempt to tell me it was work, he tried this tactic AFTER I had spent a week.  A SOLID week,12 hours a day, working on our books, so the accountant could get taxes done timely, so we could apply for fiancial aid for that scam they call "higher learning", for the oldest next year.  PLUS attempting to finish the 8 million pieces of paperwork that one needs to complete to graduate high school , and move forward in their life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;parents of small children....bask in the glory that is the early years...it gets sooo much worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, I was not falling for the "I was working all weekend" that was spewing from his mouth.  Which opened a can of worms I didn't know even existed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, now I have my work done, for the first time EVER by the end of January.  Every year I say I am going to get all these projects done over the winter, most of them are home improvement, or deal with the boxes of pictures I have laying around the house.  Most of them never get done.  My list this year is small, but keep your fingers crossed for me.  I really want to paint the living room, move the furniture around and frame some recent photos (ie senior pics, and this beautiful gift from my sister this Christmas).  However I have spent the last 2 days watching the Walton's and Little House.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clearly I am motivated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-1967130350096076237?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/1967130350096076237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=1967130350096076237' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1967130350096076237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1967130350096076237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2008/01/brrrrr-or-reason-1234976-why-winter.html' title='brrrrr, or reason 1234976 why winter sucks'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-8461009257422509790</id><published>2008-01-07T09:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-07T10:04:08.900-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I have been VERY busy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.redskins.com/gameday/default.jsp?gameId=93"&gt;crying&lt;/a&gt; in my towel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that is just for starters, the husband wanted the kids to go away snowmobiling this weekend, however he is afraid to be in charge of all of them for longer than an hour or two at a time.   So I went.  We arrived a little after 1 am, to a 3 room cabin in the middle of nowhere surrounded by snow.  The guy my husband rents the cabin off of turns the heat down when he sees no sign of occupation.  It bordered on 40 degrees in there.  I crawled on the couch in front of the heater and my ever observant oldest asked me "Is this your hell?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;why yes son it is...Thank You.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whole diet, so I can fit into the &lt;a href="http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/12/whos-fat-chick-in-little-dress.html"&gt;dress&lt;/a&gt; , would be going so much better without the stress of taxes, secondary education financing, and a bout of insomnia that I am way too old to handle any more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah and the whole family thing.  This is an example of the crazy from which I was born.  My mother, who has not remembered my birthday in probably 4 years, and remembers the kids' a month later, sent my husband a birthday card.  In all fairness in 16 years it's the first one he ever got from her, but she spelled our last name wrong!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sending a card = nice, don't get me wrong.  However not knowing how to spell you daughter and grandson's last name = crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I should be happy that some thunder thighs is really all I seem to have inherited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw a commercial this weekend on CTV, that stands for Canda TV, or something similar.  (I told you it was my hell)  I cannot find a link to it anywhere.  My &lt;a href="http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/07/jake.html"&gt;brother&lt;/a&gt; would have LOVED it.  These kids are playing street hockey.  A taxi pulls up, someone yells "hockey" .  They get out of the taxi, pick it up and carry it around the game in the street.  "Hockey Rules" it reads at the bottom.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's much funnier if you actually see it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trust me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to work&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-8461009257422509790?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/8461009257422509790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=8461009257422509790' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8461009257422509790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8461009257422509790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-have-been-very-busy.html' title='I have been VERY busy'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-959266978945155379</id><published>2008-01-01T06:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T08:49:59.268-05:00</updated><title type='text'>2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3fOh6U81vI/AAAAAAAAAE0/jFDiRG-q4Jc/s1600-h/newyear.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3fOh6U81vI/AAAAAAAAAE0/jFDiRG-q4Jc/s320/newyear.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149811780909586162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's here and I don't know wheteher to laugh or cry.  I don't mind New year's , nor do I revel in it the way some folks do.  It is what it is, a day.  The end of the kid's Christmas break, and the beginning of the long haul until March.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is also my husband's birthday and for the next 3 months he is older than me, so that is kind of a bonus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year though, this year will be my test.  This year I am out of High School for TWENTY years.  TWENTY!!!  how is it even a remote possibility?  I sure don't feel that old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is also the year in which my oldest will graduate High School and head off to &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3fOpqU81wI/AAAAAAAAAE8/FY-Q67isdBE/s1600-h/grad.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3fOpqU81wI/AAAAAAAAAE8/FY-Q67isdBE/s200/grad.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149811914053572354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;college.  &lt;em&gt;somewhere&lt;/em&gt;  you know when he MAKES A DECISION MAYBE.  It is the year my middle son enters High School, and youngest turns 10.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't it odd that I say it seems unthinkable I have been out of HS for 20 years, yet will have an 18 year old in a months time?  and my youngest will be 10.  Where does this time go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also hope it will be a year of healing and happiness, I really feel it is my time.  I optimisticlly feel this is the year things will start to turn around.  It's been a long haul, it seems like I have been saying it for a lot of years now, only to have fate laugh at me year after year.  So today I give fate the ol single digit salute and say Bring it ON!  I'm ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope your 2008 brings everything you want, need and desire.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-959266978945155379?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/959266978945155379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=959266978945155379' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/959266978945155379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/959266978945155379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2008/01/2008.html' title='2008'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3fOh6U81vI/AAAAAAAAAE0/jFDiRG-q4Jc/s72-c/newyear.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-9207442321937443968</id><published>2007-12-30T19:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-30T19:50:16.346-05:00</updated><title type='text'>look out Seattle</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3g8raU81xI/AAAAAAAAAFE/0n-fjEJlC9A/s1600-h/skins.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3g8raU81xI/AAAAAAAAAFE/0n-fjEJlC9A/s400/skins.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149932890397398802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;you're going down&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-9207442321937443968?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/9207442321937443968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=9207442321937443968' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/9207442321937443968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/9207442321937443968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/12/look-out-seattle.html' title='look out Seattle'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3g8raU81xI/AAAAAAAAAFE/0n-fjEJlC9A/s72-c/skins.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-3570574690407271003</id><published>2007-12-29T10:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T10:26:51.041-05:00</updated><title type='text'>stinky boys and football</title><content type='html'>ARRGGGHHHH New Year, whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.  New Year = a hella lotta work.  I have been avoiding it since we got home from vaca, but the time has come.  Nothing like the added pressure of KNOWING it has to done on time this year, if there is any hope of us receiving some financial aid and keeping me from selling a kidney before the oldest completes his secondary education.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only that kid could pick a major that somehow makes his tuition double what the average undecided kid will pay.  He is his father's son.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, on a lighter note, this was overheard this morning after I noticed the youngest has been in the same pj's since Christmas morning, and insisted he bathe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh my God...I DO smell, quick smell me mom"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so proud right now I could bust.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;****************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah and GO SKINS.....with a win against the effn Cowboys we are playoff bound BABY!!!!!  wooo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-3570574690407271003?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/3570574690407271003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=3570574690407271003' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3570574690407271003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3570574690407271003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/12/stinky-boys-and-football.html' title='stinky boys and football'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-9076014056206216232</id><published>2007-12-25T19:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-25T20:11:45.909-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Californication</title><content type='html'>we have been Californiaized, it was fun, I am tired.  Originally our plan for this years vacation was the sunny warm beaches of Mexico, unfortunately our neice does not have a passport, nor are we able to obtain one for her.  There is some silly rule about &lt;em&gt;PARENTS&lt;/em&gt; having to do that.  Something about taking minors out of the country without parental consent nonsense, jeez.  She will be 18 next August, and we contemplated attempting to work with her mother in an effort to get her a passport, but decided it probably would just be quicker to wait until she can just get her own, because any of my in laws are crazy that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we decided to do something that would not involve a) leaving the neice home by herself while the rest of us frolicked on some foreign beach, or b) being forced to leave her in some strange country, because while she is free to go anywhere it seems the issue would be actually getting her back in.  We picked the closest thing to Mexico we could find...California.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was great, we actually left a day and a half earlier than expected because nasty weather was due on our original departure date.  Of course when i tried to change our tickets I was told to try back later, no weather emergency had been declared and the cost would be almost $300 per ticket to switch them at that time.  My husband calls and 5 minutes later has us leaving at 8 the next morning with no additional cost....it's times like that I remember how he conned me into spending the rest of my life with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we arrived in San Francisco and ended up 8 days later in San Diego.  And we saw it all in between.  It was great, we even ventured into Tijuana for an afternoon.  My children were awestruck, to say the least.  The oldest wants to "have his birthday party there", and the 14 year old was offered a shot of Tequila at lunch.  You can't put a price on memories like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BIG PROPS to Southwest, we flew out on Dec 23rd, and I never saw an airline run so smoothly amid so much chaos.  So after my disaster &lt;a href="http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/vaca-that-didnt-want-to-end.html"&gt;last year&lt;/a&gt; , I was a happy camper.&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3GqD6U81uI/AAAAAAAAAEs/FsfcV4C815U/s1600-h/hollywood.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3GqD6U81uI/AAAAAAAAAEs/FsfcV4C815U/s320/hollywood.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148082833234646754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While it was a great vacation, it was not relaxing, 8 days 5 different hotels, 3 cities, a couple amusement parks, more National Parks than I can remember, well worth it, but it's one of those vacations that have me dreaming of a vacation.  Next year I am going to the beach and not moving for a week.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-9076014056206216232?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/9076014056206216232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=9076014056206216232' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/9076014056206216232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/9076014056206216232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/12/californication.html' title='Californication'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R3GqD6U81uI/AAAAAAAAAEs/FsfcV4C815U/s72-c/hollywood.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-9164653496270886923</id><published>2007-12-13T07:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-13T07:32:06.828-05:00</updated><title type='text'>it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R2ElsGuPsXI/AAAAAAAAAEU/8fw7gdIM5xI/s1600-h/tree.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R2ElsGuPsXI/AAAAAAAAAEU/8fw7gdIM5xI/s320/tree.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143433689082868082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have many a tale of Christmas woe.  Who with children doesen't?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was the year my sister and I were kicking and cursing at a Little Tykes pick up truck at 4 am.  That was also the year of "WAY TOO MANY gifts".  I was storing them in a house we had rented, but had none living in, it snowed and I had to keep driving back and forth at all hours of the night.  In my pre Christmas delusion I was sure "there weren't that many gifts".  I was WRONG&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there was the year when I thought I was GOOD, I had one week left.  And youngest was in pre school 4 days a week.  My plan was to wrap all that week to avoid my usual Christmas Eve wrap fest.  Who knew everyone in the house, including moi, would be stricken by a flu that would almost kill us.  Needless to say the wrapping?  Again my poor sister and I sat up all night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then my  favorite? Because of cats and children, and the fact that I grow trees, so I am always the absolute last person on earth to put up a tree.   I planned on putting up the tree and wrapping the weekend prior.  Then a ton of snow fell in NY and the husband and I ditched everything for a weekend of snow mobiling.  And I hurt my back...BAD.  My poor sister arrives and has to assume my role, becuase I am useless.  There is a picture of her somewhere hacking at the top of a too tall tree with a steak knife.  With sap running down her arm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's no wonder she never wants to come to my house anymore, and gets twitchy when A Christmas Story is on.  Because I insist we watch all 24 hours of it, it was usually on during our Christmas Eves from Hell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adios I say to those ghosts of Christmas past.  NEVER again.  We are once again, taking the week before Christmas and running away.  The whole lot of us.  When I told someone our plans she looked at me incredulous and asked how I could possibly do that?  How was I ready for Christmas an entire week before?  "Easy", I replied.  I'm already done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The few gifts are bought and wrapped, the tree is up, and as long as I remember to take the turkey out of the freezer, dinner is ready to be prepared upon my return.  It took the kids until this year to accept the fact that the ridiculous amounts of gifts from Christmas' past were done.  But really they would rather miss an extra week of school and go somewhere exciting than get a bunch of clothes anyway.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this week I was in the mall picking up some flip flops for the middle child, and I almost got sucked into the "just one more thing" habit from my past.  But I walked away.  Because really, I don't miss it one bit.  This is more fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R2El6muPsYI/AAAAAAAAAEc/OMmZNY6x20A/s1600-h/Imported+Photos+00061.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R2El6muPsYI/AAAAAAAAAEc/OMmZNY6x20A/s200/Imported+Photos+00061.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143433938190971266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-9164653496270886923?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/9164653496270886923/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=9164653496270886923' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/9164653496270886923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/9164653496270886923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/12/its-beginning-to-look-lot-like.html' title='it&apos;s beginning to look a lot like Christmas'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/R2ElsGuPsXI/AAAAAAAAAEU/8fw7gdIM5xI/s72-c/tree.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-1224125015418242295</id><published>2007-12-03T20:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-03T20:22:16.402-05:00</updated><title type='text'>who's the fat chick in the little dress?</title><content type='html'>when I ordered the dress for my sister's wedding I knew from the one I tried on at the store, that a certain size would fit.  It would fit just fine.  However I, in my twisted crooked, warped little mind thought if the one size fit, with a bit of breathing room, why then by ordering the size down I would have, something to work toward....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's call it incentive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know to lose that 25 pounds I've gained over the last 7 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mmmhmm...as I sit here googling "cleansers"  and diet aids, while eating a piece of cake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think my incentive is working&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-1224125015418242295?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/1224125015418242295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=1224125015418242295' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1224125015418242295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1224125015418242295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/12/whos-fat-chick-in-little-dress.html' title='who&apos;s the fat chick in the little dress?'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-6173507661117229178</id><published>2007-11-27T09:30:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T09:42:58.144-05:00</updated><title type='text'>there is a tribute in here somewhere</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object height='350' width='425'&gt;&lt;param value='http://youtube.com/v/gj0rEv6Gfk8' name='movie'/&gt;&lt;embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/gj0rEv6Gfk8'/&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I LOVE football...yes I do.  Sometimes I love it a little too much.  Sometimes I think I may have missed something somewhere, because if I'm at a game and someone gets hit HARD, other moms are lamenting someone is going to get hurt and I am the one high fiving the kid after the game telling hin what an AWESOME hit it was.  I like to think I just appreciate the skill it takes to excell at such a demanding sport.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it is with a heavy heart I say go in peace Sean Taylor, you had some AWESOME hits.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-6173507661117229178?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/6173507661117229178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=6173507661117229178' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6173507661117229178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6173507661117229178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/11/there-is-tribute-in-here-somewhere.html' title='there is a tribute in here somewhere'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-7505607421572658086</id><published>2007-11-20T09:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-20T09:24:37.542-05:00</updated><title type='text'>turkey turkey turkey</title><content type='html'>mmmm I love Turkey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I HATE shopping at Wal Mart 3 days before Thanksgiving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Normally it is just me and husband and the chillins on Turkey Day.  Occasionally I have had one of my siblings come to visit.  But rarely do I have more than 6 or 7 people to cook for.  Until this year when I have 13.  So every other year of my Thanksgiving cooking life I have wanted a small turkey.  Go ahead find a small turkey, like less than 12 pounds, I dare you.  Unless of course you are looking for a large turkey, in which case every effn turkey you pick up will weigh less than your kids did at birth.  So I pick up the biggest one I could find, at a whopping 13.56 pounds and think I'll just have to either a) make a crapper load of sides and appetizers or b) continue to check around for a larger bird.  On my 3rd store I finally found one.  So looks like I'm all set for Christmas dinner shopping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am very excied for everyone to come visit, however I was not so excited when I pulled into the parking lot and practically had to get a shuttle to the store.  WTF does NO ONE work at 2 pm on a Monday afternoon?  So after playing cart crash derby for an hour (By the way, why do they insist on filling the aisles with shit during the busiest weeks of the year?), I got into what appeared to be a "short" line, as if.  The short line was filled with people buying crap without prices....300 pounds of butter that was on sale somewhere else and they wanted the sale price for it, (why don't these poeple just go to the store where the sale is?  It's like 3 miles away?  and what could 2 people possibly be doing with that much margarine...)and a VERY chatty older couple buying gifts off a baby registry, but forgot to give the cashier the slip until AFTER she wrung it up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As my ice cream is melting on my shoe.  Good times.....as I'm thinking why the hell did I invite, oh no not just invite...INSIST all these people come visit.  Then I remembered, becasue I am thankful I have them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Turkey Day...remember why you are thankful too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-7505607421572658086?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/7505607421572658086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=7505607421572658086' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7505607421572658086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7505607421572658086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/11/turkey-turkey-turkey.html' title='turkey turkey turkey'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-5885552520210193921</id><published>2007-11-16T09:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-16T09:36:07.596-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I have a boy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rz2p-et9OQI/AAAAAAAAAEM/fs70P7T-fAg/s1600-h/IMG_2475.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rz2p-et9OQI/AAAAAAAAAEM/fs70P7T-fAg/s200/IMG_2475.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133446041135036674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;actually I have 3, and a neice who's moved in, but enough about them already. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Did you ever look back on something, an event or series of events and, while you may have been confused when it happened, later on you figured out why?  That is my youngest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we got knocked up we both looked at each other like naa uhh wasn't me.  I mean really I know we were all virile and fertile and what not, but it had been one of those months.  So much so, that we were on vaca alone when I was at about 4 weeks, and I was thinking I had just gotten lucky that my Aunt Flo had held off visiting until after my trip.  I even went sky diving (of course now I know what that does to a 1 month old fetus...dude it makes em all scrambled).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So really his arrival was sort of a shock.  But regardless along he came.  And you know how you finally start to feel back in the groove when your (then) youngest starts pre school, and you're not hauling diapers and bottles and strollers EVERYWHERE you go?  Tantrums finally stop and you start to think life will be normal again some day.  Only WRONG...you're in for it again.  Yeah that was how I felt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone told me FOR SURE this would be my girl, that's why it happened.  I was due a girl and here she came...only they were wrong.  Turns out he did come along for reason I didn't know at the time, but now, NOW I know.  Only I start to think I know, only to realize later, there is yet more to the tale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was born and my grandmother was very sick, she had been going down hill for a year or so and it was nearing the end.  She lived to see him at 5 days old, and I thank God everyday I decided to ignore any medical advice and drive the 2 of us to see her.  She died less than 48 hours after we left.  So I said "That's why he came along, to help me through my Gram dying"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, a year later our marriage was bad.  And a big move was approaching, and I contemplated just staying put.  But I looked at him and knew he would hardly know his dad if I didn't at least give it an effort, and he dserved that.  So we stayed together and I am so glad for that now.  So I thought, again...good thing he came along.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then this past summer when my brother died, my youngest has his name for a middle name.  So I thought, see I had him so I would have a tribute to Jake.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yet again, this past weekend, he and I went alone to visit my siter in Va Beach.  I seriously needed a break, but didn't want to leave him home with the older kids and dad, because then I would worry, with husbands schedule I knew the kids would be on their own alot.  So I just took him with me.  We get to the beach and I am TIRED, I left mad early and it's a long drive, but we decided to walk to the beach and "Say hi".  As we are walking up the dunes the smell hits us.  You know that sweet sweet smell of salt and wind and uber fresh air.  As I am thinking to myself how much I LOVE that smell he yells at the top of his lungs  " YES!  I LOVE THIS SMELL!".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yet again my friends, that is why I had him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-5885552520210193921?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/5885552520210193921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=5885552520210193921' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/5885552520210193921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/5885552520210193921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-have-boy.html' title='I have a boy'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rz2p-et9OQI/AAAAAAAAAEM/fs70P7T-fAg/s72-c/IMG_2475.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-20321798738779465</id><published>2007-11-15T08:32:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T08:46:06.641-05:00</updated><title type='text'>today is the day</title><content type='html'>I was feeling a little blue this morning, Thanksgiving is here and while I am super excited that my brother and sisters and their g/f's, b/f's, dogs and offspring are all heading to the great white hell to celebrate together with me.  Obviously we will be minus one and that makes me so sad I could just curl up and suck my thumb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That and the fact that as I watched the youngest wait for his bus this morning that shit they call snow started falling, AND I think I may have some PMS issues, that have returned since I am no longer physically active &lt;strong&gt;EVAH&lt;/strong&gt;, it seems.  Anyway I was in a pissy mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And my husband calls, now usually this would segue into a rant or something bad.  And believe you me, that man has done enough in the last month alone to warrant me putting a price on his head.  But not today, today I am so glad he is mine.  If I think the weather is bad here, where is working it is worse.  It is pouring rain, turning to snow and miserable.  He has already spent the last week working in the rain with a cold, and this morning he souned like hell.  One look at the Doppler where he is and I said to him, "Why not just call it a day and try next week?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because he is afraid if he waits the opportunity to make the $$$$ up there will be gone.  And I loved him so much, because I know how much he hates to work in these conditions, and I know the guys are being asses because they don't want to work in it, and I know the trucks are getting stuck, and the drivers are bitching for late hours and I know it would be easy for him to say screw it and come home.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he didn't, because giving his family the absolute best of everything is more important to him than anything else.  Today I feel so lucky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(however next week, when the rosy facade is gone, I will bitch about the fact I live in an effn fort, while we collect snow mobiles)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-20321798738779465?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/20321798738779465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=20321798738779465' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/20321798738779465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/20321798738779465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/11/today-is-day.html' title='today is the day'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-7091878352184994130</id><published>2007-11-05T07:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-05T07:46:46.371-05:00</updated><title type='text'>electronics anonymous</title><content type='html'>Umm Hi!  my name is Maria and I am finally joining the new millenium.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I am soo incredibly frugal, I have hee hawed around over the ipod situation for at least 2 years now.  As soon as I think I have myself talked into splurging on one for, you know, me (my kids are on  2nds, mind you) a better one comes out.  So, I wait and again finally convince myself to do it and the price goes down, and I get leery, a better one must be on it's way.  It is a vicious cycle, and sometimes I just tire myself out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward through the changing of my mind 43567 times, and the actual adding of one to a shopping cart, to remove and/or delete it another 1243 times, that brings us to Friday.  I walked in and my neice says "look on the table".  So I look, and glory be...angels sing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THE GIRL BOUGHT ME AN IPOD!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How sweet is that?  Why?  Because I always say I want one and never buy it.  My kids could seriously take a lesson.  or you know my husband. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have found the one electronic item that could bring me peace.  Yeah, it's THAT good.  A friend many moons ago referred to my tatse in music as, let me see if I can remember his exact phrase...."on crack".  I can't help it, I grew up in the age of disco, bopped through the British invasion of the 80's, banged my head to some serious metal, saw the first Seattle grunge thing, and have always had a soft spot for anything groovy..you know some r&amp;b, blues, rap.  Needless to say I can now jump from Suicidal Tendencies to Elvis, and back to LL Cool J, with zero effort.  Plus all my old cd's that skipped...HELLO?  It fixes them...(swoon).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only downfall?  I can never use it in public...I can't resist singing LOUDLY.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-7091878352184994130?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/7091878352184994130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=7091878352184994130' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7091878352184994130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7091878352184994130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/11/electronics-anonymous.html' title='electronics anonymous'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-7265069920146845238</id><published>2007-10-31T08:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-31T09:39:45.787-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Boo humbug</title><content type='html'>I am not a halloweenie kind of person. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to be, I was all about dressing up and scoring some free goodies.  Playing a trick or two, (or twenty, but just one year, I swear) and generally having fun.  Even after I got out of school and was working, I would dress up and embrace the day o spooky.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was a full fledged grown up and would decorate the life out of my house, even though I have usually lived in the boonies where nary a trick or treater shows their face.  I loved to get treat bags together for school, and couldn't wait to dress up the chillins and head out in search of a free sugar rush.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere along the line I lost it.  I actually said to myself this morning  "One more year".  Fifth grade is the last year for Halloween parties where the kids dress up. I didn't even buy a pumpkin this year.  I am a Halloween grinch.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RyiFENFbQzI/AAAAAAAAAEE/GwT8Fx9-FiI/s1600-h/IMG_2757.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RyiFENFbQzI/AAAAAAAAAEE/GwT8Fx9-FiI/s200/IMG_2757.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127494483039699762" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-7265069920146845238?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/7265069920146845238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=7265069920146845238' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7265069920146845238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7265069920146845238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/10/boo-humbug.html' title='Boo humbug'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RyiFENFbQzI/AAAAAAAAAEE/GwT8Fx9-FiI/s72-c/IMG_2757.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-7241476606959046500</id><published>2007-10-24T10:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-25T08:24:22.477-04:00</updated><title type='text'>to football moms</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RyCI69FbQxI/AAAAAAAAAD0/QKlOB_B2ijI/s1600-h/bulldogs.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RyCI69FbQxI/AAAAAAAAAD0/QKlOB_B2ijI/s200/bulldogs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125246922358735634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One fine hot summer day in August of 1996 I did something that would become a ritual.  I dressed my oldest son in his football gear, and took him to practice.  It seemed like it was the hottest day of the year so far, and I failed to realize he would need a drink.  Lucky for him we lived close to the field and my error was soon remedied.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will never forget that day.  I think of it every time football season starts, every time I put in pads for the inaugural practice, and boil the mouthpiece.  How I struggled with the equiptment (and he was only playing flag that year), fought with the damn belt, and cursed my husband for not realizing before hand I would have no clue how to do this and taken care of it.  Only 10 minutes late that day, not bad at all, of course we were minus a drink and the mouthpiece was too big.  But we were there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without fail every August rolls around and I know it's coming.  Tweleve years and it's never let me down, the first week of camp will be the hottest it's been all summer, and the stentch of the equipment when I finally get to wash it never stops shocking me.  Only now, I am the mom who is always on time and always ready.  I am the mom everyone asks for directions to away games, and I am the mom who warns of the danger of over boiling, and carries a spare mouthpiece in her car, because someone will always lose one 5 minutes before kick off.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a football mom.  I cry when they lose and cheer the loudest when they win.  I boo the refs when neccesary, and run along the sidelines if my kid has the ball.  I brave a season that starts when I am still swimming and ends with a snowstorm.  I will stand in a downpour sipping bad coffee, because if I don't, I won't be able to stand not knowing what is going on.  The teams have changed, we have been Bulldogs, Vikings and Huskies, but my pride remains the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night my oldest informed me his tentatively scheduled game for next week was cancelled, and because of their stellar 3 and 5 record so far this season, the last game would indeed be Friday.  As of right now he has no plans to play in college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at him and said "Just like that, huh?" and started to cry and he said "yup" and teared up a little as well.  It's been a nice run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will still have gear to wash and pads to fit into those tiny pockets next year, but I will have one less set to deal with, one less game to watch, one less son to cheer for.  But my memories of all those games will live on forever and right now I'm glad I was there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was in a program a few years ago, and it's a little hokey, but it sums it up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;His Football Uniform&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;For many long years I washed this suit and goodness what a chore!&lt;br /&gt;I've seen the grass, blood and dirt, the stains and grime galore.&lt;br /&gt;I've held it very gingerly, then dropped it in the wash.&lt;br /&gt;While thinking, next week wash again, gee, O Lord, gosh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fortune on detergent, the time I've spent _ I shudder.&lt;br /&gt;For many long years I've washed this suit; call me mother.&lt;br /&gt;But today I washed this uniform, perhaps the final time.&lt;br /&gt;After all those years of drudgery, I failed to see the grime.&lt;br /&gt;I saw the boy who wore it with such pride and dignity.&lt;br /&gt;And suddenly, that football suit looked beautiful to me.&lt;br /&gt;I saw the dedication of my young man to the team.&lt;br /&gt;His pride to wear the uniform, to play the game and dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel the tingling of the game, the tumult to the end.&lt;br /&gt;The heart, the spunk, the cheer and pats of every loyal friend.&lt;br /&gt;The character and goodness that this uniform helped to grow.&lt;br /&gt;And precious boy who wore it is so special I can glow.&lt;br /&gt;If I had one wish for certain, the one I would adore-&lt;br /&gt;Would be to wash this uniform for many long years more!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you Zak!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RyCJr9FbQyI/AAAAAAAAAD8/WSefJxjHGys/s1600-h/IMG_2734.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RyCJr9FbQyI/AAAAAAAAAD8/WSefJxjHGys/s200/IMG_2734.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125247764172325666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-7241476606959046500?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/7241476606959046500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=7241476606959046500' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7241476606959046500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7241476606959046500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/10/to-football-moms.html' title='to football moms'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RyCI69FbQxI/AAAAAAAAAD0/QKlOB_B2ijI/s72-c/bulldogs.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-7140828472918171488</id><published>2007-10-16T12:44:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-16T12:58:28.884-04:00</updated><title type='text'>on words</title><content type='html'>My youngest son has had, for most of his 9 years, a gift for butchering the English language.  The first word he ever said was "tree", he said it "free", and so it began.  Trucks were frucks, motorcycles were a group of sounds I hope I am never able to make, oatmeal was oatmore.  The list is long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even as he got older he refused to say things correctly, no matter how much correcting I did.  I'll admit, he's my youngest it was cute.  I would correct him, but it never took.  Not only does he mispronounce everything, he refers to most things, at least once as "You know, that thing".  Clearly if it isn't overly important to him it gets shuffled to the back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have had many an early morning arguement over the mint muffin and ENGLISH muffin debate.  A mint muffin (you need to say mint with emphasis) is a sausage egg and cheese sand, like a mc muffin.  Which is what the rest of us call it.  An ENGLISH (again said more loud than emphatic) muffin is just that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night the 2 of us stopped for dinner on the way to a football game.  He was telling me about the dinner he and his brothers and husband went to a few months ago.  It was funny because they told the waitress it was middle son's b day and got a free dessert.  (survival skills my friends) He proceeded to inform me that the guys, "you know the guys who work there".  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Waiters" I interrupted&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah them, anyway the guys who work there brought out the bong and everything"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I froze, pretneded not to hear, and prayed no one around me did either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The what?" I said&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know the thing they hit (I swear I almost choked when he said that) with the big stick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He proceeded to demonstrate how to hit a "bong"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only he meant a GONG.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-7140828472918171488?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/7140828472918171488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=7140828472918171488' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7140828472918171488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7140828472918171488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/10/on-words.html' title='on words'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-1603176737888439170</id><published>2007-10-01T09:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-01T09:57:16.484-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Homecoming '07</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RwD8tY38nJI/AAAAAAAAADs/fLZyknKFuqw/s1600-h/IMG_2631.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RwD8tY38nJI/AAAAAAAAADs/fLZyknKFuqw/s320/IMG_2631.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116367033394306194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RwD8Ao38nII/AAAAAAAAADk/YHcZxLIzAVE/s1600-h/IMG_2629.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RwD8Ao38nII/AAAAAAAAADk/YHcZxLIzAVE/s320/IMG_2629.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116366264595160194" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I offer proof, that even though I am aging, my genes are still quite impressive.  My oldest at his last HS homecoming, and his equally stunning g/f, and not to be ignored, the good car.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-1603176737888439170?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/1603176737888439170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=1603176737888439170' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1603176737888439170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1603176737888439170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/10/homecoming-07.html' title='Homecoming &apos;07'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RwD8tY38nJI/AAAAAAAAADs/fLZyknKFuqw/s72-c/IMG_2631.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-3241389524648728082</id><published>2007-09-28T08:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-28T09:21:57.197-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey Now</title><content type='html'>TWO posts in a week...wooo, setting the world on fire.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stayed home yesterday, on the premise that I had some of my work to do. I am tired of running all week and working all weekend while the dear sig other travels around the country feeding his man crush on &lt;a href="http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/players/profile?statsId=6624&amp;campaign=PSTeams"&gt;Romo&lt;/a&gt; .  Laundry was piled, paperwork was long ignored, receipts were spilling out of their bin, and payroll was still unfinished from LAST week.  Plus I thought it would be nice to feed my family something that didn't come from a window or had been previously frozen.  What did I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;umm nada, but I did clean and cook dinner and do laundry, and read 200 pages of Ghost Story...but I hate paperwork.  I am such a non starter.  So here we are today and I am once again putting off some work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I saw a commercial yesterday for the re release of the "previously released for a short time only, once it's gone it's gone for good" &lt;a href="http://disney.go.com/disneyvideos/animatedfilms/junglebook/"&gt;Jungle Book&lt;/a&gt; .  It got me to thinking of the movies my kids attached themselves to, and how many times I had seen each one.  Beauty and the Beast, 101 Dalmations, The Lion King, and I thought if I had to listen to Woody and Buzz one more time, I might actually try to fly myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe this is why I don't watch TV now.  I find travelling around the blog o sphere lately I am in the minority of non TV watchers.  My boys and husband watch Prison Break.  Which, in my humble opinion, is the stupidest thing going...how many times is this guy getting locked up?  Come on, do people really like this crap?  Ewww, so I feel a little like the geek in HS, because I do NOT watch any network prime time shows, do not look forward to the fall lineup, and could care less who has been kicked off, voted out or eliminated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just call me Nerd, I'm alone in my room reading a book.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-3241389524648728082?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/3241389524648728082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=3241389524648728082' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3241389524648728082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3241389524648728082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/09/hey-now.html' title='Hey Now'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-9032873693217663845</id><published>2007-09-27T07:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-28T08:50:08.381-04:00</updated><title type='text'>ohhh click on publish post.....</title><content type='html'>anyway....questions questions questions.  That's all I have lately are questions.  And questions with no answers, not exactly a riveting read.  That added to the fact that the only spare time I have had is from 5:45 to 6:00 am, or 10:30 pm until I fall into a deep coma like sleep, usually 2 minutes later.  SO while I don't claim to be a literary genius, or anything, it still hasn't left much time to sit down and think of something to write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know, like questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am tormented by the questions.  When my brother died everyone said it had to happen for a reason.  Maybe a reason we'll never know.  But I cannot stop thinking that part of it was so that the rest of us would really and truly understand how short and precious life is.   A kick in the ass so to say.  But what does it really say?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be happy.....does that mean change the things in my life that make me unhappy.  Or, accept my life isn't perfect and be happy with what I have?  Do I go crazy to lose weight, because my body does not make me happy?  or do I accept who I am and stop worrying about me shape and just eat the food I love?   Do I work harder to acheive things quicker?  or relax and take life as it comes, knowing as long as my kids are healthy everything else will be good?  Do I spend more or save more?  Green beans or broccoli?  Take more vacations?  Take less? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clearly I need some answers....or medication.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-9032873693217663845?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/9032873693217663845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=9032873693217663845' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/9032873693217663845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/9032873693217663845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/09/ohhh-click-on-publish-post.html' title='ohhh click on publish post.....'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-7482893110453145031</id><published>2007-08-27T08:41:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-29T08:20:12.022-04:00</updated><title type='text'>i'll be expecting a swarm of locusts anytime now</title><content type='html'>You know when you go through the tragedy of losing a loved one, it SUCKS. Right? right. &lt;em&gt;SO&lt;/em&gt; you would think maybe the universe would take my fragile state of emotions into consideration. Maybe I could be sheltered from some of life' s problems for a couple months. Give me time to maybe, you know, get my sanity back. I honestly don't think that would be asking alot. I don't want to win the lottery, well I do, but it's not like I'm gnashing my teeth and shaking my fist at the world because I couldn't score the 300 mil from powerball. I don't expect my children to suddenly become angelic little cherubs, cleaning, laundry doing, non fighting cherubs. I don't even expect special treatment, I know life goes on, I know the world continues, I know I have to continue to be strong and brave and show my children mommy has not completely lost it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So is it too much to ask that maybe I be spared some of the other shit that isn't just a normal part of everyday stress? Which in all honesty, I think I have enough of anyway. thankyouverymuch. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because there are quite a few things I seriously could have done without recently, like the 10 day vigil where I was begging God, Allah, and pretty damn near much anyone who would listen to bring upon my niece's (ahem) time of the month. Even though she swore it was &lt;em&gt;impossible&lt;/em&gt;, she be pregnant. Never mind the fact there seems to have been NO responsible parental unit when she was back visiting her mom, and grandmother and old boyfriend and friends, a few weeks ago. Finally it arrived with much quiet celebration on my part. Then there was the nail I apparently drove over at some point, a rather large nail it was at that. I found out about it when I came out of Wal Mart to a completely flat tire. So yeah frozen food does NOT hold up well when it's a billion degrees out and you're waiting for someone to come change your tire. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course my ever helpful husband, has decided it's time for his 2987th mid life crisis, and every bit of available cash has been dribbling away to incredibly important things like $100 hair cut and color, non profitable trips to AC, useless shit for car racing that is over for the year anyway, and even more important stuff for the snowmobiles..that will be lost before that season begins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He must have more lives than my cat who keeps running into traffic, with all the "mid life" issues he has had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of neighbors has filed a complaint against us and we get to go to court, my accountant is having "trouble" piecing together where $50k went last year, and my printer and Windows Vista don't get along so well. Only they decide not to get along only when I need to have something printed immediately. My dryer has stopped drying things, unless it runs for 90 minutes or so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are tons of little things, I seem to be operating in a daze because I have stubbed my toes, and whacked my hands and fingers against more objects I can count. The kid's current schedules have me driving in circles for almost 3 hours straight every evening. And could the oldest stop being a jerk and then blaming it on MY bad mood?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then finally as if all of that were not enough for me, a poor grieving soul who wants nothing more than to relax and get herself back on track, the real kicker, the big one. There was the raging flood that destroyed all our carpet and alot of our furniture in our downstairs. The same DS that houses ours and the 2 younger boys bedrooms. Well housed, I should say as the boys have been forced to move back upstairs into my old office and we are sleeping in a slightly damp, kinda stinky bedroom. With a dehumidifier that has decided it will no longer auto shut off. I found that out as it was pouring water back out onto the lovely cement floor I get to tread over..IN MY BEDROOM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And just now as I was dumping said de humidifier, I stepped an a piece of the rug tack strip that was next to the tub....and it hurt.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-7482893110453145031?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/7482893110453145031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=7482893110453145031' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7482893110453145031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7482893110453145031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/08/ill-be-expecting-swarm-of-locusts.html' title='i&apos;ll be expecting a swarm of locusts anytime now'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-808519778414252229</id><published>2007-08-20T08:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T09:11:25.172-04:00</updated><title type='text'>and you thought picking a pre school was hard</title><content type='html'>Because my oldest son thought he knew it all, he made 2 mistakes in the last year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.He failed a quarter of US History because he didn't turn in the take home work he had to complete while we were on &lt;a href="http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/12/back.html"&gt;vacation&lt;/a&gt; last year, and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.He missed, by 20 points, the cut off for a couple very good universities on the math section of the SAT. THEN didn't get up the day in May he was scheduled to take it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has since remedied no 1 by dating his History teacher's sister.  &lt;em&gt;kidding&lt;/em&gt;, actually he won't even be his teacher this year. And no 2, well he has to take the SAT in October again, but unfortunately he really needs to apply before then.  Now, he is looking at probably not getting into his first choice of schools (Pitt).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So guess what we did this weekend?  Made a list of schools.  Ten places my oldest feels will be acceptable to give him the knowledge he needs to succeed in life.  Plus I think the hotness of the girls on the brochure factored in some as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This task was not as simple as it sounds, seeing as at one juncture I almost threw the 6 inch, 5 pound, US News and World Report Ultimate College Guide at him.  If I wasn't so weak from arguing I may have given it a go.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you pick a college?  I mean really, sure we all have dreams of Ivy League eduacated children...FULL scholarship Ivy League eduacted, I should say.  But in reality there are so many schools to choose from.  How do you pick a place where you will drive your child, and drop him off on Saturday in August, with his belongings to fend for himself?  I gotta tell you..it's HARD.  We compromised by choosing schools (with one exception) that were within a 3 hour drive from home.  Close enough to visit alot, far enough to let him be on his own.  But who is to say he's ready?  He was looking for cool campuses, varied food choices and coed dorms.  I am searching for bloodshot eyes (or lack thereof), lighted parking lots, lots of cell service, and girls with morals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am praying we picked the right ones....he chose 5 we know he will get into&lt;br /&gt;Slippery Rock, Gannon, Marshall, Cal University of PA, and Dayton University.  And 5 that he is going to have to BS his way into...Pitt, Penn State, State University of NY at Albany (my family is in Albany so I made a concession), Temple and U of Maryland.  Now he could be accepted to a satelite campus for any of those schools (except Temple I think), but his goal is Main.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the work begins, there are millions of dollars in app fees to pay, essays to force him to write, and a math section on the SAT to conquer.  All this out of a kid who would be content to lay on the couch and play Madden the rest of his life.  I have quite a road ahead.  If a really handsome 17 yr old is seen wandering the streets you will know why.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-808519778414252229?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/808519778414252229/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=808519778414252229' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/808519778414252229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/808519778414252229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/08/and-you-thought-picking-pre-school-was.html' title='and you thought picking a pre school was hard'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-6134478342132309579</id><published>2007-08-18T08:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-18T09:09:50.205-04:00</updated><title type='text'>and what the hell is that SMELL.....</title><content type='html'>umm yeah, so that funky stench of old sweat, axe body spray, and feet.  That would be my house, and it would mean only one thing....Football season is upon us.  Which shockingly enough, means that this is the last weekend of summer vacation.  Wow.  That's only all I can say.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In past years the return of school has brought about parties the likes of which even Lindsey Lohan couldn't imagine.  This year ehh.  I mean don't get me wrong, I will eagerly herd the chillins onto the buses and into their cars, and I am uber ready to regain some order around the house.  But I am so not ready for the schedules and the running, and the homework.  The homework more than anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got just a wee taste of it this week, with four kids in 3 schools and participating in 5 different sports, and my niece who was still working.  Back to school meetings, booster clubs, fundraisers, Senior (don't even get me started on that path) parents, and work for us which was very busy this week.  I don't think I was home for longer than an hour at a stretch until 9 pm most nights.  And here I am bright and early this morning getting ready to head out to a scrimmage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They say when these days pass me by, I'll miss them.  At this point I am ready to give it a go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-6134478342132309579?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/6134478342132309579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=6134478342132309579' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6134478342132309579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6134478342132309579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/08/and-what-hell-is-that-smell.html' title='and what the hell is that SMELL.....'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-1067873305110396605</id><published>2007-08-09T08:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-09T19:38:10.046-04:00</updated><title type='text'>and so</title><content type='html'>it seems, as the saying goes, life does indeed go on. My pain doesn't necessarily disappear, but it takes a backseat. One day last week I noticed I hadn't cried once all day, then I was able to listen to Sweet Home Alabama without feeling like my insides would be torn apart. Then I was able to tell the story of the crack in the light fixture and smile instead of whimper. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I realized, my brother, had the last laugh. I have this hideous light fixture over my table, for 8 years I have dreamed of ceremoniously tossing it off my deck and watching it shatter into millions of pieces. Now my husband is doing the happy dance, because my constant begging for it to be put to death are over. Once when Jake was here he hit his head on said fixture, and put a crack in it. Now I will most likely take it with me when I move out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But things move forward, and luckily we had a happy 1st birthday to celebrate. So I loaded the vehicle and headed home to spoil my nephew and smother him with birthday kisses. He, of course, wants nothing to do with me, but I bide my time, soon he will realize who's house has the cool stuff, and I will become auntie #1. And I'm not too proud to bribe him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rruh3RH0auI/AAAAAAAAADU/bI5aiebA3gc/s1600-h/IMG_2546.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rruh3RH0auI/AAAAAAAAADU/bI5aiebA3gc/s200/IMG_2546.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5096845374160923362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Husband and I celebrated 13 years of marital bliss yesterday. Although I am forced to point out, our actual anniversary number pales in comparison to the "living in sin" anniversary, which is coming in at almost 16. Which makes for a whole lotta years. I would thrill to say "our love grows more with every passing year", but in actuality, isn't it more like "we become more tolerant of each others crap because we are just plain tired of the same old arguments with each passing year" ? I mean if you were to be honest, what's your view on making a marriage last? I recently told my SIL to be, a/k/a mama to perfect nephew, the key to making a relationship last is determination, love fades in and out, determination keeps you together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lastly, when I was home for birthday we also went and picked out out brides maid dresses for my youngest sister's wedding and I am pleased to say I like &lt;a href="http://www.davidsbridal.com/bridesmaids_bycolor_detail.jsp?stid=2817&amp;sid=17485&amp;cfid=50"&gt;it&lt;/a&gt;. WHich shocked me, because I never dreamed I would feel comfortable in something so &lt;em&gt;strapless&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With all the bad that has happened over the last year, I can only hope that the 12 months ahead will be full of joy, weddings, maybe more babies(them, NOT me), graduations and so on.  And while they will all feel a little empty, all we can do is go on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-1067873305110396605?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/1067873305110396605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=1067873305110396605' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1067873305110396605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1067873305110396605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/08/and-so.html' title='and so'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rruh3RH0auI/AAAAAAAAADU/bI5aiebA3gc/s72-c/IMG_2546.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-50470199274220710</id><published>2007-07-29T18:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-29T19:05:48.945-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Jake</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rq0YlRH0atI/AAAAAAAAADM/Yx1yREoluAk/s1600-h/IMG_2043.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rq0YlRH0atI/AAAAAAAAADM/Yx1yREoluAk/s320/IMG_2043.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5092753782156323538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day I was born, God looked at the road I had ahead of me and knew I would need some help.  He gave me a sister who would be my rock, then He saw I would need a sense of humor, He gave me a brother who would always be able to make me laugh.  He knew I would need to feel tenderness, He gave me another brother to show me I was loved.  Finally with the knowledge I would be a mom, He gave me someone who would show me how to be patient and tolerant, He gave me another sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The four of them helped to shape my future more than any other people I have known in my life, my own children included.  We are 5 parts that make a whole, each of us self sufficient, but occasionally, needing the other 4 to fill in the gaps for us.  Our love for each other is something rare and wonderful.  It is a precious gift that not every group of siblings knows.  I am blessed to have them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last weekend my laughter was taken away, and our group became smaller.  I feel like I might never laugh again, and if I do it will be hollow and empty.  I cry every time I say "my brothers and sisters", because now it is just my brother.  I feel lost and sad, sadder than I ever thought possible. The last week of my life was so long and tortured I thought it might never end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I am thankful knowing I am not alone.  And together we will each pick up a little of the laughter that was taken from us.  And with our brother's memory, we will smile again....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-50470199274220710?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/50470199274220710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=50470199274220710' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/50470199274220710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/50470199274220710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/07/jake.html' title='Jake'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rq0YlRH0atI/AAAAAAAAADM/Yx1yREoluAk/s72-c/IMG_2043.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-383773842062603433</id><published>2007-07-02T08:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T08:52:09.150-04:00</updated><title type='text'>the me in mommy</title><content type='html'>One of the only pros to having little uninterrupted time to write a post is that it gives you time to reflect on what you may be writing. As was the case with this piece of literary genius.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up the other morning, looked around my room, and literally felt sick.  Don't go jumping to conclusions, I assure you pregnancy is not in my future.  Cleaning my bedroom was.  The mess I looked at was disturbing. Back in the spring when our neice moved in with us, the "throw in whatever you have no idea what else to with" room was forced to become my 2 younger son's room, and our bedroom became the room for the crap.  Not only did it become the crap room, it also became the I'll get to it later room.  YUCK, later was here.  When you find yourself feeling uncomfortable being barefoot in your own bedroom, yah later had definitely arrived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I spent the afternoon cleaning the enitre downstairs and when I was done I was glad.  As I looked around though, I saw things and didn't see things.  I saw piles of books waiting to be read, bottles of nail polish tossed, a whole lot of clothes that hadn't seen the light of day since Christ walked the earth, and could I find more than one scented candle to cover the stink of old dust? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the hell? I thought, who am I?  I used to have at least one book going at all times, nails polished to perfection, enough Yankee Candles laying around to open my own outlet and the list goes on and on.  The thing I didn't understand was I was able to keep these things up with 3 boys under the age of 10.  It seems the older they  get the less attention I pay to myself.  Why?  Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was my original question....Where have I gone? Do I give so much of myself to my kids, that I somehow lost who I was?  But the more I thought about it the more I thought, maybe that was me then and maybe this is me now.  Maybe I shouldn't feel bad about things that are part of my past.  I still love to read, but I also love to spend an hour sweating my butt off at the gym.  I would still love to have beautiful nails, but I like working in my yard alot too.  Candles and nonsense around the house all the time?  Come to think of it I just got damn tired of dusting the shiznit off all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't lost me to mommy, I've just become a new me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-383773842062603433?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/383773842062603433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=383773842062603433' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/383773842062603433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/383773842062603433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/07/me-in-mommy.html' title='the me in mommy'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-3880118381322875263</id><published>2007-06-27T07:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-27T08:13:29.331-04:00</updated><title type='text'>to think Pink Floyd had it all figured out and I was too stupid to listen</title><content type='html'>Do you read your horoscope?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do, almost every day, believing it though is usually an entirely different beast all together.  Sure you read it, you chuckle, you go about your day never giving it a second thought.  Every once in awhile though, it seems to hit the nail right on the ol head.  Usually my head, but sometimes it is dead on.  Unfortunately i don't heed the advice until it's too late, or will read it the next day and think damn, there's some info that would have come in handy  &lt;em&gt;yesterday&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, to end this nonsense rambling, let me get to the point....my horoscope the other day told me, things will begin to calm down now.  Take advantage of the peace.  I spoke out loud to my computer..."You better be right". Because we still &lt;a href="http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/06/love-and-such.html"&gt;like &lt;/a&gt;each other, I am thinking it will listen. The mess of last week is looking up, for that I am grateful.  But in the midst of it, I selfishly thought how much it sucked that I couldn't even get 2 days to myself without the world crumbling.  Then guilt took over, and slapped me around.  So, if there is one thing I am ready for is some peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am one of those people who pretty much sees any situation as half full.  So, I like to think I do not create my own drama.  So you move along through life things are going ok.  Could be better, could be worse...blah blah blah.  Then one day you walk smack dab into the brick wall.  No matter how hard you try, that wall is there,  yielding occasionally, just enough to trick you into thinking all was good again.  "HAH...sucker", the wall snickers.  Back again. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But if you think back, you can remember a time when the wall wasn't there.  All was quiet, if you're like me, it's when my kids were young.  I was young.  I was staying home, living in a neighborhood I loved, enjoying every day of my life.  Then one day the wall showed up, and I have been struggling to get over, around, or just blow the damn thing up, since.  It's given way on occasion, but it won't completely let me through.  Here's hoping my horoscope was right, and my wall lets me pass this time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-3880118381322875263?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/3880118381322875263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=3880118381322875263' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3880118381322875263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3880118381322875263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/06/to-think-pink-floyd-had-it-all-figured.html' title='to think Pink Floyd had it all figured out and I was too stupid to listen'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-997696540943216519</id><published>2007-06-21T12:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T12:46:59.881-04:00</updated><title type='text'>genetics and not so much</title><content type='html'>Last weekend was my anuual girl's trip to Atlantic City, and it was fabulous....for the first 24 hours.  Then I got some bad news and it became nothing more than a test of my will and determination.  The first phone call to my husband went something super rational like "You NEED to come get me NOW, because I CANNOT be here with this going on!!!!!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However cooler heads prevailed for me, and helped me realize there wasn't much I could do wherever I was.  Short of renting a leer jet to transport me, and seeing as nickel slots don't usually pay out in the hundred thousand dollar range that wasn't a viable option.  So i ran my cell phone battery down like 4 times and waited out the last day of my trip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I received the news I had been on my way to "dinner".  I say dinner, but really I was on my way to the feeding frenzy that can only occur when the words seafood, buffet, all you can eat, and crablegs are involved.  And I was gonna show my friends my trademark "butter" shooter too.  But I would like to retain some sort of dignity here, so I will refrain from further explanation.  So obviously, I begged off dinner.  My dear friends didn't want to go, but I had blubbered at them long enough and they had endured an hour of the kind of phone calls a large family in crisis can create, so I told them to go.  I would go outside and get some air, then go charge my phone and &lt;em&gt;wait&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 90 minutes later I am talking to my sister in VA, and I realized as I was on the phone with her, that even though I wasn't hungry, I had eaten a rather large bag of ceddar and sour cream chips, and half of the gallon bag of mini candy bars.  HMMMMM Stress much?  My sister wouldn't admit to it, but she was most likely smoking her 50th cig while her 3rd french bread pizza was cooking.  Today she and another family member are headed to Friendly's...because if there is one thing our family does in crisis it's eat and we do it well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Switch to the opposite end of the spectrum, upon my return I checked my email the next day.  My youngest sister who is getting married next May had already emailed me a link to her registries (before the near tragedy, of course).  Because if that had been me, the one who did her entire 20 page senior essay in one weekend.  You know the one they assign the beginning of the year to turn in at the end?  Registries wouldn't be complete until 2 weeks before.  No wonder she's nervous about me being in charge of her shower.  Has anyone ever had an "after wedding" shower?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-997696540943216519?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/997696540943216519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=997696540943216519' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/997696540943216519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/997696540943216519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/06/genetics-and-not-so-much.html' title='genetics and not so much'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-3537625015670954423</id><published>2007-06-14T13:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T13:43:28.508-04:00</updated><title type='text'>love and such</title><content type='html'>I am IN LOVE!!!!! I am, I am, I am.  I have suffered long and hard and the rewards are so worth it.  I have mentioned &lt;a href="http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/05/can-i-get-abacus.html"&gt;before&lt;/a&gt; about my love/hate relationship with all things electronic.  Sure they make life a little easier, but in the long run, they always kick me when I'm down.  Take for example computers.  My PC before the one i have been using up and quit on me in JANUARY 2005.  JANUARY people.  As a self employed bookeepeer who is a little lazy on the backing up, that is absolutely the worst possible time for my computer to quit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why?  You ask....Becasue in January I have reports to file, w 2's to send out, and those pesky things like income tax to prepare for.  Usually there are about 3 months of work that I inadvertantly haven't backed up yet, making a computer failure disastrous.  Not to mention January begins what I like to refer to as our "humble time".  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or to put it bluntly, it's our poor season.  There is no money coming in, and because we still believe in the magic money fairy or something, we have usually spent most of our cash on really important things like...snowmobiles, and Disney trips.  Miraculously I scraped enough cash up to get a new PC and so began our honeymoon period.  You know how those first 6 months it seems like your new friend can do know wrong, it reads your mind and anticipates your desires.  Life is just too good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then one day you get a weird message from it, "No big deal" you think.  (click) all gone, still friends.  Only that's just the beginning.  My computer becomes more and more like my husband every day, whining and complaining, slow to start, and LAZY.  Then, much like I do my children, I begin to bribe it.  "Please' c'mon, just do this one thing and I'll shut you down".  Then I start to threaten it, finally I end up ignoring it as much as humanly possible and throw the ol stink eye it's way when I pass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have endured 6 long months of listening to my PC sound like a helicopter when I would attempt to do &lt;em&gt;anything&lt;/em&gt;, run 2 programs?  Oh hell no.  I think it would have flown away, or simply imploded.  Plus it noticed I was spending a bit too much time on the internet, so it quit that on me too.   Forcing me to use a laptop that my super svelte husband (all 6'4 and 270 pounds of) stepped on and cracked the hinge, so the screen hung a little crooked, which was always fun.  You haven't paid your car insurance, until you've paid it sideways!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yesterday my new love arrived, and I can run as many programs at once as I want, I can work AND go on the internet.  I can even look it straight in the eye and it's so quiet I forget it's even on.  PLUS, it has this great post it note thingy in the (gush) sidebar...ooohhhh.  I know I am falling again and I would like to think I have learned my lesson.  In matters of the heart I guess I'm a sucker.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-3537625015670954423?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/3537625015670954423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=3537625015670954423' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3537625015670954423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3537625015670954423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/06/love-and-such.html' title='love and such'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-1225694651238507861</id><published>2007-06-12T09:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T09:27:45.651-04:00</updated><title type='text'>tutus</title><content type='html'>As  a mom of only boys there are a few things I never had an opportunity to witness over the last 17 years.  I have seen my fair share of cheerleading competitions. and done some formal dress shopping, even hung around a gymnastic camp or two.  I had never been to a dance recital before this past weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know friends who have girls complain incessantly about the dreaded recital, and after sitting through one I can kind of see their point.  KINDA   Because I realized on Saturday night I GOT GIPPED!!!!!  I never wanted a girl so badly as I did sitting there watching these young women dance.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They ranged in age from 4 to 18, so there were some high points and some low.  And if I had been a mom to the 4 year olds, who were onstage for all of 3.5 minutes of the THREE HOURS, I may have been a bit put off.  But some of the girls were absolutely stunning (my son's g/f being one of them), and to pour salt in the wound, the theme was 80's songs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO I sat there listening to my songs and watching other people's daughters dance.  It was heart wrenching.  I had always thought I was ok with never having had a girl.  I am so thankful for my boys, that they are healthy and smart, and every other wonderful thing they are.  But they will not don a tutu...ever.   Probably not even on a dare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking back though I am super glad I decided to go the permanent birth control route a few years back, cause I would most likely be sweating right now if I hadn't.  As much as I loved to dance, and as much as I would have loved to have a dughter to share my passion with, I do not want to have a child starting kindergarten as I am becoming a grandma.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-1225694651238507861?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/1225694651238507861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=1225694651238507861' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1225694651238507861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/1225694651238507861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/06/tutus.html' title='tutus'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-2971944867660401968</id><published>2007-05-28T20:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-28T21:13:23.546-04:00</updated><title type='text'>time in a bottle</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rlt93_GD6qI/AAAAAAAAADE/IwKJXJMlij0/s1600-h/IMG_2355.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rlt93_GD6qI/AAAAAAAAADE/IwKJXJMlij0/s200/IMG_2355.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069784206318758562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it honestly seems like a month or so ago that I happily exclaimed in 2 days it would be a schoooool night.  Take that, another summer done, another exciting school year ahead.  Only it somehow unbelievably was 9 months ago.  On one hand it seems as though the year flew, on the other, so much has happened, it seems unthinkable it's &lt;em&gt;ONLY&lt;/em&gt; been a year.  Time, she plays funny tricks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find it incredibly painful to watch my youngest son grow up.  Maybe painful isn't the word, I guess I feel helpless.  I sit across the table from him, watching him dunk his cookies and want to freeze every second, I never want to forget these minutes.   I am making up for the fact that when he was an infant, he suffered from the 3rd baby = no picture syndrome, by snapping 2 or 3 shots of him almost daily sometimes.  I want to freeze that mischevious smile, or innocent look.  The things I KNOW for sure will fade with time.  They will fade, his voice will deepen, his shoulders broaden, his sense of humor and THAT laugh, all these things will change, and my sweet little boy who laughs at everything, will become a sulky teen, then a man.  I know it will happen, I have watched it twice now. I will not be caught off guard again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I caught a glimpse of my middle son and he had the same build as his older brother.  He was riding his dirtbike and it could have been the oldest had I not known better.  I knew at that moment he would be taller than me if we measured (he was, well is).  Taller, thinner, yet broader.  He is changing before my eyes.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time is hard on a mom, sometimes I just want to stop it, freeze everything, maybe even move it back a bit.  sigh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-2971944867660401968?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/2971944867660401968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=2971944867660401968' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/2971944867660401968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/2971944867660401968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/05/time-in-bottle.html' title='time in a bottle'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rlt93_GD6qI/AAAAAAAAADE/IwKJXJMlij0/s72-c/IMG_2355.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-6295169667202833127</id><published>2007-05-25T10:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-25T10:42:44.462-04:00</updated><title type='text'>the end</title><content type='html'>hmm no idea why no comments on the last post...hopefully it won't happen again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, take a DEEEEEP breath.  I'm done.  Work is fin, well at least the hard part is.  My darling husband, who literally came home Weds night for the first time in about a week, spent yesterday searching airfare and is on his way to BWI as I type, to do some sharkin'.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other words he bailed, to Miami, to fish.  He intends to spend 2 days on a boat with his cell phone off.  He'll make the 2 days on the boat, but no way in hell will he be able to leave the phone off.  I dared him.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The chillins are about done with school, there are some half days to go and a final or 2 yet.  But Weds is the LAST day.  Thurs at ass crack of dawn I am outta here.  Headin to da beach to visit my sis, and steal my nephew who is accompanying his parents down, as well. YEEAAHH!!!! (happy dance)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND SOME BIG NEWS....my baby sister got engaged last week.  She hit the husband LOTTO, not only is he tall dark and handsome.  He's so nice....and he's a Dr.  (ok &lt;em&gt;almost&lt;/em&gt; a Dr.)  and you know what a Dr in the family means.....good drugs!!!!  &lt;strong&gt;kidding&lt;/strong&gt;, jeesh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It also means I have less than a year to lose 700 pounds of ugly fat, so that I won't hate the pictures from the wedding.  Because I finally get to be in a wedding (go me go me).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So excuse me while I spend my weekend in my yard, planting some flowers, and making my house so pretty, so I can wave goodbye to it most of the summer.  Because I was thinking about it last night,(trying to rationalize why I was staying home and jerk was going to Miami) between family things,kid's games, a trip or 2, and college visits with the oldest i will be home for about 10.2 seconds between Thurs and Labor Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oh yeah...you can exhale now.  Hope your weather is as nice as mine promises.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-6295169667202833127?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/6295169667202833127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=6295169667202833127' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6295169667202833127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6295169667202833127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/05/end.html' title='the end'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-6447661713083873915</id><published>2007-05-18T09:33:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-18T09:59:35.861-04:00</updated><title type='text'>ohh the temptation</title><content type='html'>My beauty routine has never consisted of much more than an exfoliating scrub, Oil of Olay, a smudge of eyeliner and a dab of mascara.  Bronzer in the winter.  So basic it is laughable.  Of course some people say I'm lucky, my one friend who had bad acne as a teen has to clump on so much makeup just to feel ready.  Not that she NEEDS to, she just feels better with it, and is jealous of my ability to do close to nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have had moments in my life though, where I would be possessed by some inner diva. I would be compelled to purchase liners, lip sticks, and cute little pots of nonsense, that inevitably would be hardly touched and end up in the trash or doled out to friend's daughters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I had finally grown out of all that.  I knew just because I bought the crap did NOT mean I would use it.  Yeah, I have times where I want to look more dramatic, but I feel silly with more than my minimalist look.  I was good to go, hey here I am take me or leave me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then one Christmas I innocently went online and bought my brother's g/f (at the time, now mommy to my perfect nephew) a gift card to &lt;a href="http://www.sephora.com/"&gt;Sephora&lt;/a&gt;.  Lo and behold a couple months later, didn't those fine folks send me a catalog.  Not just a catalog, ooh no.  More like a book of girly goodness, chock full o tubes and tubs.  Scrubs and lotions, scents and little pots of glimmery, sparkly shiny stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I ever tell you how much I LOVE sparkly stuff?  The book comes and I am compelled....I MUST look.  I know I shouldn't, but I cannot stop myself.  And every stinkin time it's the same thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;diva me:"OOOOHHHHHH, look.  So cute, I would use that if I bought it"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;real me:"Yeah just like the lip Venom, there's $32 we'll never see again"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;diva me:"Come on just this one last time, and if I don't use it I'll NEVER ask for anything from here again"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;real me: "NO"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;diva me: "Screw you, I know where you keep the crdit card"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;real me: "well they do give me free samples"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest my friends is history.  3 days later I am the proud owner of at least 2 new items that will never be used, save for trying them out.  The cute little bag they "wrap" the shit in, and a moistrizer that will last 1.5 applications.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curse you Sephora, and all your wares.  You will not lure me in again. &lt;em&gt;(except for that one eyeliner maybe)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-6447661713083873915?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6447661713083873915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6447661713083873915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/05/ohh-temptation.html' title='ohh the temptation'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-743481202292419436</id><published>2007-05-17T11:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-17T11:53:51.804-04:00</updated><title type='text'>the apple and the tree it fell from</title><content type='html'>Husband and I returned home from work on Sunday.  OK, first off, don't even get me started on the fact that not only did I work on mother's day(!!), and it was real work, not one of the days where I sat around waiting, but trekking up and down this STEEP hill, crawling around under trees, trying to decide which ones were junk and which ones weren't.  Not only did I work, but we got home and darling sensitive husband walked in the door and sat on the couch and started to play X Box.  I, went about the business of deciding what to do about dinner, and cleaning the effin mess that 4 kids left in their wake throughout the day.  Because he's the dad, and that's what he does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously though, don't feel bad, I have my ways of getting even.  Like while I'm cruising the outlets in AC on Father's Day, and he's stuck home for 3 days with the kids.  I might just wander into the Coach outlet and stumble upon &lt;a href="http://www.coach.com/content/product.aspx?product_no=9376&amp;category_id=788"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt;, and take it home.  Because I'm the mom and that's what I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So husband sits his butt down to play X Box.  Only hmmm, no controllers.  Now I am the first to admit that my home will never be mistaken as a home for the compulsive cleaner.  But I do have 4 cats wandering around, so the chances of any critter being large enough to wander in and walk off with the controllers are really quite slim.  And unless all the ants, that have recently started invading (reminder to me...need some &lt;a href="http://www.epinions.com/hmgd-Lawn_and_Garden-Pest_Control-All-Sevin"&gt;Sevin&lt;/a&gt; )gathered together and hoisted the controllers on their backs, someONE had to do something with said controllers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only, you guessed it, no one knew where they were.  I had my ideas, because oldest had had some friends sleep over the night before and they were all still snoozing soundly when we left.  (at 7 am, to work on mother's day...)But I kept my opinions to myself, not wanting to stir up an unneeded, and ridiculous arguement about video game controllers.  My solution was this, given the controllers HAD to be here somewhere, oldest should go to Wal Mart and buy a new one on his way to pick up dinner.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But they're $50.", exclaims my husband, who will drop $479 on an RC helicopter that will fly once and crash to a fiery death, with out batting an eye. AT which point I told him he could either get a new controller or find something else to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oldest comes home with food and controller and we all sleep happily.   The next morning I said to oldest, if he had leant the controllers out he needed to get them back.  The mere suggestion of such an atrocity being performed by him was enough to start the mumbling, door slammimg fest of Monday morning, which carried over into the "I dont trust him", pity party of Monday evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday (Weds), husband and I were both gone ALL day. No one around but the kids after school.  What is peeking out from under the coffee table this morning, just enough to be noticed, but not enough to be tripped on?  Both controllers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because he is our son and that is what he does...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-743481202292419436?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/743481202292419436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=743481202292419436' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/743481202292419436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/743481202292419436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/05/apple-and-tree-it-fell-from.html' title='the apple and the tree it fell from'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-5308524664465317607</id><published>2007-05-15T13:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-15T13:23:34.417-04:00</updated><title type='text'>didja ever.....</title><content type='html'>look at your husband (wife, partner, significant other) and feel so madly in love with him, you were forced to remember why you chose to spend your life with him in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;then&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 seconds later wonder if you could actually get away with killing him?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cause I need to make sure I'm not the only one&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-5308524664465317607?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/5308524664465317607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=5308524664465317607' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/5308524664465317607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/5308524664465317607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/05/didja-ever.html' title='didja ever.....'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-5921990148439610491</id><published>2007-05-14T08:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T08:51:41.682-04:00</updated><title type='text'>the battle rages within</title><content type='html'>Being the oldest girl of 5 children I was like a mini mom from the ages of 8-16. Not only did I earn a whole bunch of concert, magazine and Aqua Net cash by babysitting neighbor kids, but I was the built in babysitter of the household. I complained then, but really I didn't mind. I love my brothers and sisters as much as I love my own children, just in a different kind of way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I became a mom I was pretty sure there wasn't a whole lot that could shock me. Before I even hit puberty I had been spit up on, peed on, and changed more NASTY diapers than most full grown women. I had the bouncy hip thing down and could rock a fussy, teething baby to sleep quicker than my own mom. I knew formula, cereal, how to clip nails, and clean umbilical cords. I was nothing short of a pro. There was only one thing to shock me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the GUILT&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holy shiznit. The GUILT. No one told me I would feel guilty over EVERYTHING. Ooopps dressed baby in shorts and it's cloudy. (GUILT) Didn't buy the right baseball pants and for one game he is the only one with black instead of charcoal. (GUILT) Couldn't make a PTO meeting and now he missed book fair. (GUILT) The list goes on and on, and as you can see 99.9% of it is frivolous. So pure it floats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realized last weekend my guilt was becoming too much. My oldest, who has never had to work outside of chores around the house, a milisecond of his life, never had to "collect" gas money, never paid a penny of insurance. Turned 16 and had a car, which cost him nada, at the ready. This dear sweet boy had to give up "his car", you know the one we bought, paid on for 5 years, keep full of gas, and insured, plus put a new engine in it so he would have a car to use. Yeah he had to give up "his car" so the guys that work for us, helping enable us to be able to provide all these things for him, could actually get to work for a couple days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt GUILTY!!!!! Why? Because I knew he had plans to go to the movies on Friday. I ran crazy Friday afternoon, arranging rides for 2 other children, dropping them to places where they could get rides to where they needed to be, and was stuck at home for the entire evening. ALl so oldest could keep his uber important plan to go see Spiderman intact. Am I completely insane?!!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All together now, "Why yes Maria, it seems you are"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this year for Mother's Day I decided ENOUGH. I am done with the GUILT, the GUILT is taking over my life.  The GUILT is completely unfounded, and I am taking back my emotions.  Of course the youngest woke up sniffling this morning, and I realized I had left his window open last night....damn.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-5921990148439610491?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/5921990148439610491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=5921990148439610491' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/5921990148439610491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/5921990148439610491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/05/battle-rages-within.html' title='the battle rages within'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-5949291010591415019</id><published>2007-05-10T13:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-10T14:05:29.472-04:00</updated><title type='text'>random nonsense to let you know i'm still alive</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RkNeWvfyZPI/AAAAAAAAAC8/MuesAngz1uM/s1600-h/DSC01573.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RkNeWvfyZPI/AAAAAAAAAC8/MuesAngz1uM/s200/DSC01573.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062994150894494962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;prom...awwwww&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you see &lt;a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070510/ap_on_bi_ge/oxycontin_plea"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt;?  I knew it.  A few years ago, my husband was in a bad accident.  I told the nurses I didn't trust that stuff.  It really seemed to affect him in a bad way, and he seemed to use it as a crutch.  But Oh NOOO they told me.  It's a new wonder drug.  Wonder my ass, wonder no more.  When he was released from the hospital I wouldn't even get the scrip they sent home with him filled, because I wanted him off it.  Guess I was right again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's true, girls are way worse drivers than boys.  If I thought teaching my son to drive was tough, at least he knew a red light means STOP.  Oh my gosh, I don't think I have the strength so soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You might think it would be hard for a girl to move into a house of males.  My poor boys, the youngest freaked out over a pair of her underwear.  Middle son gagged on her hairbrush being left out (in all fairness I hate hairy brushes too), and oldest refused to shave today because she had used his razor at some point.  This from 3 boys who would pee off the deck, if I would let them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*******************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have recently discovered stress can make you physically ache.  I used to poo poo people who said stress did this, stress did that.  The other night every joint, bone and muscle in my body hurt.  I need a vacation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally a little snark for your day..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the oldest I was always one of, if not the, youngest moms in the group.  With the youngest I am one of the oldest.  (hey it's the boonies there's nothing else to do, but get knocked up and married)  I would sit at youngest activities and wonder how these women stayed so fit and trim, yadda yadda ya.  Over the past year though I am noticing they aren't managing so well anymore.  HA  At the rate some of them are going, I'll be downright hottie mommie by the time they graduate.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-5949291010591415019?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/5949291010591415019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=5949291010591415019' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/5949291010591415019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/5949291010591415019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/05/random-nonsense-to-let-you-know-im.html' title='random nonsense to let you know i&apos;m still alive'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RkNeWvfyZPI/AAAAAAAAAC8/MuesAngz1uM/s72-c/DSC01573.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-94593654022603850</id><published>2007-05-04T10:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-04T11:24:03.904-04:00</updated><title type='text'>hellloooooo...oh....oh..oh?</title><content type='html'>yeah, I know there is an echo in here.  I actually posted something a week or so ago, but it discappeared, and I did not have the energy to write it again.  SO, here I am again...just as I was on the brink of quitting the whole bloggy thing, the very kind &lt;a href="http://handsonmom.blogspot.com/"&gt;Movin Mom&lt;/a&gt; tagged me.  Forcing me back, which is actually ok, because I had things storing up in my head to the point where I was like, "I will never get all this down".  And truth be told I've been feeling a little unable to complete anything lately.  So, back I am...sporadically for a while yet, because I want to be able to eat this winter, and we now have another child to feed and pay tuition for, and send off to college in 2 years.  Our 16 yr old niece has moved in with us.  GOOD TIMES, drama times 2.  YESSSSSSSSSS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here's the tag...7 things fact or habit about moi...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fact..I am freakishly good with numbers.  Not quantum physics or anything, but basic math...adding, subtracting, multiplying etc.  I LOVE numbers, they always make sense, and always work out and balance at the end of the day.  To this day I can figure change quicker than the kid in the "Keep the Change" commercial for Bank of America.  I have my many years of food service to thank for that. Which brings us to &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fact...every summer through HS I worked at the same ice cream place.  We did not have a cash register and had to figure change and add in our heads.  It was a great job, and my boss there gave me a lot of good insight about life.  He and his wife were my entire career for about 6 years, first I watched their kids all summer for 2 years, then went to schlep the lovely goodness known as soft ice cream at their shop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;habit..I bite my nails, it is disgusting and I hate it.  I had actually given it up for a long time but the last 3 or 4 years I have been at it again.  I wish I could quit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fact...I completely purged my house a couple weeks ago.  EVERYTHING went (which was good seeing as the next week, I needed the space for niece).  There was enough crap in my house and garage to fill a 20 cubic yd dumpster.  That's big.  Plus I have a bunch of stuff to sell at a yard sale I'm having next weekend. which brings us to..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;habit...I now think way too hard about buying anything.  I have gotten (dare I say) cheap.  I need to splurge a little more, esp on myself.  I will take the kids and drop $500 on baseball stuff like it's nothing, but not want to spend $40 on a pair of shoes for me, because I may only wear them a couple times a month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;habit...I hve the tiniest space between my 2 front teeth, and after I eat I clear it with my spit. ( ewww) because I am paranoid of having something in there.  SO I make this gross sucky spit noise until it feels clear.  I caught myself doing it in public once and almost died.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fact...even though I love GOOD food, and have dined at some of the nicest restaurants our country offers my absolute favorite thing in the world is Totinos Crisp n Tasty Pizza, you know the .99 frozen one.  It is crap, but something about it just calls to me.  When I am craving one nothing else will do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the rules call for me to tag 7 others, but truth be told I have been so lazy about blogging and commenting lately..I'll skip this step, however if you read this consider yourself tagged. Let me know if you play along.  Seeing as a few of my readers don't have blogs (at least not that they have admitted to) and NEVER comment (you know who you are) I am inviting them to quickly list their 7 facts or habits in the comments..WITH names.  Hope to see something....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS Jr/Sr prom is tommorrow, so look for some tear stained pics over the weekend I hope.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-94593654022603850?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/94593654022603850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=94593654022603850' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/94593654022603850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/94593654022603850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/05/helllooooooohohoh.html' title='hellloooooo...oh....oh..oh?'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-8938926193929623467</id><published>2007-04-05T07:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-05T08:11:21.634-04:00</updated><title type='text'>is there a meth addict in the house?</title><content type='html'>I am known for reminding my husband, rather incessantly, that Karma is indeed a bitch. It seems I am more right than I know.  While he spent a good portion of the winter hacking, sniffling, and chugging cough syrup like it were the elixir of youth, I sat back and smirked.  Hmmmm, "I'm not sick", I would remark.  "Maybe you should take better care of yourself", I would chime, smugly, on my way out the door to the gym.  "I can't believe I haven't been sick once this winter", I was heard to remark just a week or two ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that was the one that got me.  Because I AM SICK.  I can't even complain about it, cause I will never live it down.  Thank God he's been away working, or the torture of hearing him tell me "How much sicker HE was" would probably push me over the edge, and I would stuff used tissue down his throat while he slept.  Then I would have to figure out how to get his huge body out of my bed and make it look like an accident.  Quite frankly, I couldn't do it on my own.  Accomplices always turn on you, so it's super good he's not here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the last time I was sick was probably last spring, chug some Nyquil get a good nights sleep, feel better in a couple days..right?  WRONG!!!!!!  It seems while I was blissfully enjoying my sick free fall and winter, they went and f**ed with all the good shit..AGAIN.  Oooohhh we have to save the world from the stupid kids who chug cough syrup to get stoned.  Can't they just do shots like the rest of us did after work behind school 18? I mean I heard some people used to do things like that.  We have to shut meth labs down, can't have that poison in the streets. If they can figure how to make meth from cough syrup, I am sure they will be able to figure  a way to replace whatever the handy folks at Nyquil took out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if anyone out there knows where I can get my hands on some street NyQuil, I will be forever grateful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-8938926193929623467?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/8938926193929623467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=8938926193929623467' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8938926193929623467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8938926193929623467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/04/is-there-meth-addict-in-house.html' title='is there a meth addict in the house?'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-3508141364764091153</id><published>2007-04-04T08:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-04T08:27:59.987-04:00</updated><title type='text'>the difference a day makes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RhOZdPZo1tI/AAAAAAAAACo/5ent2eXVa6s/s1600-h/IMG_2338.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RhOZdPZo1tI/AAAAAAAAACo/5ent2eXVa6s/s320/IMG_2338.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049548334841779922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took this pic yesterday...70 sunny, blue skies.  today my poor daffodils will probably die while they are being SNOWED on.  ARRRGGGGHHHHHH&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-3508141364764091153?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/3508141364764091153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=3508141364764091153' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3508141364764091153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3508141364764091153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/04/difference-day-makes.html' title='the difference a day makes'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RhOZdPZo1tI/AAAAAAAAACo/5ent2eXVa6s/s72-c/IMG_2338.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-6693002440810343912</id><published>2007-04-04T08:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-04T08:21:11.438-04:00</updated><title type='text'>in which I am a boastful</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RhOYK_Zo1sI/AAAAAAAAACg/xl1XJKgp67E/s1600-h/zak.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RhOYK_Zo1sI/AAAAAAAAACg/xl1XJKgp67E/s320/zak.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049546921797539522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me stray from my usual whining about my kids, and be a proud mama for a minute..oldest yesterday did two really great things.  He not only &lt;em&gt;finally&lt;/em&gt;, after 2 years of coming so close it hurt, qualified for districts for his high jump, but he also tied his school's record.  YEA!!!!!  He is very confident he will break the school record before he graduates, if not this season, and I am just too proud of him.  That's a pic from the paper last year at one of the meets.  He jumped 5'10". How does one jump that high with just a few short steps?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-6693002440810343912?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/6693002440810343912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=6693002440810343912' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6693002440810343912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6693002440810343912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/04/in-which-i-am-boastful.html' title='in which I am a boastful'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RhOYK_Zo1sI/AAAAAAAAACg/xl1XJKgp67E/s72-c/zak.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-794603454732238494</id><published>2007-04-02T08:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-02T08:36:40.704-04:00</updated><title type='text'>reality stinks</title><content type='html'>I knew my days were numbered.  I KNEW it, I don't know why it was so much of a shock, but it is.  The questions have started.  Shortly after Christmas, after a trip to Wal Mart, youngest came up to me with a look of total disappointment and said&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;him: Mom, I have a question&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me: yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;him: Is Santa Claus real?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me: I believe in Santa (see how I don't actually lie...), why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;him: well I heard some people talking in the store, and they said   Well he still  believes in Santa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me:(cursing the morons who didn't look around to see if there was a young un near) I think maybe you just didn't hear them correctly&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;him: Well ok (big sigh)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me: what's wrong?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;him: Well, it's just it would make me real sad to think you had lied to me all this time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT!!!!! he is the first one to attempt to accuse me of lying, because he had Santa. So he has lost a couple of teeth in the last 6 weeks or so, all of which he has been compensated for.  I was hoping we were past this, he hadn't once questioned the bringer of cash.  Then the other day he said to me...."Repeat after me.  I swear that the Easter Bunny is real, and may I struck down by lightning if I am lying"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so I did what any mom would do....I crossed my fingers and took my chances.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-794603454732238494?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/794603454732238494/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=794603454732238494' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/794603454732238494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/794603454732238494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/04/i-knew-my-days-were-numbered.html' title='reality stinks'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-7479231032980160333</id><published>2007-04-01T17:45:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-01T17:47:10.727-04:00</updated><title type='text'>ME ME ME ME ME ....</title><content type='html'>&lt;embed allowScriptAccess="never" allowNetworking="internal"  enableJavaScript="false" src="http://dna.imagini.net/friends/swf/widget.swf"  quality="best" bgcolor="#000000" width="340"  height="240" name="widget" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"  pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"  flashvars="bgcolor=#000000&amp;i1=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-33E5AA4.jpeg&amp;c1=&amp;i2=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_7A214ED3.jpeg&amp;c2=&amp;i3=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_276D3B22.jpeg&amp;c3=&amp;i4=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-4811A17.jpeg&amp;c4=&amp;i5=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-396C1EDE.jpeg&amp;c5=&amp;i6=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-66240DD4.jpeg&amp;c6=&amp;i7=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-2ED3857.jpeg&amp;c7=&amp;i8=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_42E67A46.jpeg&amp;c8=&amp;i9=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_631B702E.jpeg&amp;c9=&amp;i10=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_3124B621.jpeg&amp;c10=&amp;i11=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_494EB337.jpeg&amp;c11=&amp;i12=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-3B3CA847.jpeg&amp;c12=&amp;i13=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_791C6076.jpeg&amp;c13=&amp;moodlabel=WILD CAT&amp;lovelabel=HOME SOUL&amp;funlabel=ESCAPE ARTIST&amp;habitslabel=HIGH TIME ROLLER&amp;uid=187613-afed&amp;srv=iwebcl6" &gt;&lt;/embed&gt; &lt;div style="text-align:center; width:340px;height:25px;margin-top:0px; border-top:1px solid rgb(150,150,150);background-color:rgb(0,0,0);padding:5px 0 0 0; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://networking.imagini.blueorange.co.uk/vdna.php?uid=187613-afed&amp;srv=iwebcl6" style="color:rgb(255,255,255)"&gt;Read my VisualDNA&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:10px;color:#cccccc"&gt;&amp;trade;&lt;/span&gt;     &lt;a href="http://dna.imagini.net/friends/" style="color:rgb(255,255,255) "&gt;Get your own VisualDNA&amp;trade;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-7479231032980160333?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/7479231032980160333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=7479231032980160333' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7479231032980160333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7479231032980160333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/04/read-my-visualdna-get-your-own.html' title='ME ME ME ME ME ....'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-2368971152632620389</id><published>2007-03-28T09:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-28T09:08:27.410-04:00</updated><title type='text'>lest you think I over exaggerate</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RgpoUjkbq7I/AAAAAAAAACU/Gf7meHxTDw8/s1600-h/DSC01554.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RgpoUjkbq7I/AAAAAAAAACU/Gf7meHxTDw8/s320/DSC01554.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046961034776783794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;youngest lost a t-o-o-t-h at school a couple days ago, this is what the envelope he brought it home in said&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-2368971152632620389?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/2368971152632620389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=2368971152632620389' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/2368971152632620389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/2368971152632620389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/03/lest-you-think-i-over-exaggerate.html' title='lest you think I over exaggerate'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RgpoUjkbq7I/AAAAAAAAACU/Gf7meHxTDw8/s72-c/DSC01554.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-8591258070992178094</id><published>2007-03-28T08:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-28T08:43:35.033-04:00</updated><title type='text'>six words I never thought would pass my lips</title><content type='html'>I don't want to go shopping&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I KNOW.  Believe me it shocks me too.  I am not sure when exactly it happened, but it did.  In the last year I think I only went maybe 6 or 7 times, and out of those times once was for Christmas, and most of my purchases have been for the kids.  I've grabbed a thing or 2, but most of my clothes are at least 3 years old.  Last summer I knew I needed things, but I had just started back at the gym, and figured I would wait and splurge this year....you know, when I was &lt;em&gt;thinner&lt;/em&gt;, ahem.  We all know how that worked out.  That's not the point of this, though, I am at peace with my body, I know it hates me and resists weight loss as my punishment, cause I'm super mature like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here we are today, I literally have nothing to wear for Easter.  Even my nice clothes look ratty.  And with the break in weather I started going through my clothes for summer, unless I want to do my laundry every other day, or plan on only going places where yoga pants, and my husband's old t shirts are considered chic, I need to get some clothes.  This is not something I am looking forward to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think alot of it has to do with the fact that I seem to find 2 kinds of stores, young kid stores (ie Hollister or Abercrombie) and I think their clothes are real cute, but my rear hanging out of everything isn't.  Or old lady stores, which I am not ready for either.  I know, Old Navy or Gap, but I don't like the way their clothes fit most of the time, most of my bulk is through the middle, their clothes always seem to show that off..woo hoo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I am thinking of venturing toward Pittsburgh, there are some larger malls there.  Any store suggestions?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-8591258070992178094?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/8591258070992178094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=8591258070992178094' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8591258070992178094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8591258070992178094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/03/six-words-i-never-thought-would-pass-my.html' title='six words I never thought would pass my lips'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-4723582589595348527</id><published>2007-03-24T09:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-24T10:10:12.505-04:00</updated><title type='text'>If you're only as old as you feel, I am OLD</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RgUvBkHFhuI/AAAAAAAAACM/NVYBQD3bePI/s1600-h/dirt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RgUvBkHFhuI/AAAAAAAAACM/NVYBQD3bePI/s320/dirt.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045490661458282210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 37. Can we have a moment of silence for my youth which is officially gone.......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought before about lying about my age, you know what's the big deal?  Shave a year or 2 off here and there.  Who's gonna know? Unfortunately though, I shot myself in the foot on that one.  Unless I want to admit being a 15 yr old mom at some point in the not too far future, that is.  The one drawback in having a child who is, at times, 19 years younger than you, it really screws you out of the whole age fibbing process.  I can see it now  "Why yes, I had all 3 of my boys by the ripe old age of 21." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I am not ashamed of my choices, I think I would like to keep some decorum of respect about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not neccesarily at a crossroads, and this isn't so much a "milestone" like 30 or 40, but I am none too pleased about it.  I remember feeling the same way about 10 years ago.  All of a sudden your birthday is not so much something you look forward to anymore.  It's not the end of the world, but eh you know..big deal &lt;em&gt;another&lt;/em&gt; birthday.  The thing that got me 10 years ago is similar to what is bothering me now.  Closing in on a big one.  I remember how excited I was to turn 10, and my fourth grade teacher said to me "That's it double digits till 100".  I laughed, full of joy that I would soon, no longer be able to show my age with my hands.  I was a sucker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It isn't even like I feel my age, I don't even think I look my age.  While my mom did NOT give me the genes that enabled her to birth 5 children with nary a stretch mark or ounce of flab, she did give me some good skin.  And days when I am in the gym and trucking on the treadmill, listening to some great music and running...yes RUNNING.  Me running again and not having a heart attack, I feel young.  I feel like I could conquer the world.  Then I get off the machine and reality smacks me in the ass with a wet towel..and my back feels like it is made of rusty rods, and old washers.  That's when I feel old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So take a moment and thank God if you're still young, or at least, still think you're young, and I will mourn for my old body, but not my past. Becasue if given the chance I wouldn't want to do any of it over again. The only thing I really want to do is look forward to the future.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-4723582589595348527?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/4723582589595348527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=4723582589595348527' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/4723582589595348527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/4723582589595348527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/03/if-youre-only-as-old-as-you-feel-i-am.html' title='If you&apos;re only as old as you feel, I am OLD'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RgUvBkHFhuI/AAAAAAAAACM/NVYBQD3bePI/s72-c/dirt.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-6617598081420427642</id><published>2007-03-21T13:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-21T13:24:38.688-04:00</updated><title type='text'>happy</title><content type='html'>My sister in law sent this fwd to me and I had to share....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is an open letter written to the brand manager of Proctor and Gamble...&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Dear Mr. Thatcher,&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years, and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core™ or Dri-Weave™ absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be &lt;br /&gt;your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call &lt;br /&gt;"an inbred hillbilly with knife skills." Isn't the human body amazing?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize &lt;br /&gt;it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her husband's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in capri pants. Which brings me to the reason for my letter.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: &lt;br /&gt;"Have a Happy Period."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Are you f****g kidding me?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness—actual smiling, laughing happiness—is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Well, did it, James? &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&amp;M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlúa and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local &lt;br /&gt;Walgreens armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong"? Or are you just &lt;br /&gt;picking on us?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective &lt;br /&gt;immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Always.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-6617598081420427642?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/6617598081420427642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=6617598081420427642' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6617598081420427642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6617598081420427642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/03/happy.html' title='happy'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-3551312836416239146</id><published>2007-03-21T11:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-21T11:10:52.671-04:00</updated><title type='text'>will i ever learn?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RgFK8EHFhtI/AAAAAAAAACE/-_TyfT2ozx8/s1600-h/chicken.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RgFK8EHFhtI/AAAAAAAAACE/-_TyfT2ozx8/s320/chicken.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044395453387736786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have a various amount of cats who come out of the woodwork, or the woods, I guess I should say, and dine and rest at our home.  In our ceilings, garage, barn and on the deck when weather cooperates.  But we do have 2 I consider house cats.  The other day the older of the two was being particularly annoying.  Yelling and swatting, begging at the counter like a dog.  I yelled to Miss Kitty..."Keep it up and you'll be Chinese food", in ear shot of the youngest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh the questions....and last night when I suggested Chinese fare for dinner, the DRAMA.  All I wanted was some General Tsao chicken, and I got a whole lot more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-3551312836416239146?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/3551312836416239146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=3551312836416239146' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3551312836416239146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3551312836416239146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/03/will-i-ever-learn.html' title='will i ever learn?'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RgFK8EHFhtI/AAAAAAAAACE/-_TyfT2ozx8/s72-c/chicken.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-7821800972806853845</id><published>2007-03-15T08:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-15T09:00:37.577-04:00</updated><title type='text'>spring</title><content type='html'>I like, and have grown accustomed to certain things in my life.  Food for the kids, a home &lt;em&gt;with&lt;/em&gt; electric and indoor plumbing.  Being able to keep creditors at bay, and my vehicle from being repossesed.  And maybe an occasional Coach bag or two (or ten...someone stop me PLEASE).  You know, neccesities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In order to keep me in the lavish life I live it is sometimes important to make some actual money.  Now is that time.  For the next 3 or 4 months my darling husband and I will line our greedy little palms with, most likely, 75% of the cash we will make for the year.  Yes folks, once again its&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(drumroll please)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;SPRING!!!!!!!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know the calender doesn't say it yet, but the snow has melted, and the mud flows like rain.  The frost is gone from the ground and the customers are screaming.  It is the 3 months we look forward to all winter, and instantly wish it was over about midway through the first disaster of the season.  Like Tues night at 10 pm when we had a train of vehicles, machinery and big ol chains attempting to free  85,000 pounds of truck, trailer and trees from mud.  That was a whole lot of fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is the time of the year when one day I won't have enough available cash to buy a loaf of bread, and the next day be able to buy a car if I so chose.  I will also need to be the voice of reason when my darling husband will think it would be a good idea to buy the car.  Because he is smart like that.  And has the memory of my cat who keeps trying to play with the dog next door who kicks her ass every other day.  How quickly he forgets February, and how miserable it is when we have not kept enough cashola to do more than sit around and look at each other all month, contemplating murder.  Because nothing, NOTHING, tests a marriage like being together 24/7 for a solid month with no money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will most likely put 30,000 miles on my car by June 1, and it won't be fun. There will be days when I will wake up thinking I have nothing to do, and end up 200 miles away before mid afternoon, only to turn right around and come back home.  I know my actual job could be a lot worse, I could be my husband, who deals with more headaches in a day than i sometimes do in a week.  For this reason, I become the woman most men dream of marrying.  I keep my trap shut and don't argue, and accept that I was wrong, even if I know better.  Some days I will wish I had married someone else, and one day I will enjoy planting flowers while my husband toils away from 6 am until 10 pm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It isn't fun, but it's what we do.  We joke that it keeps us young, but is the cause for most of our aging.  And just when you think you know what to expect, something new happens.  Most importantly, after this year we have 8 more to go and we will be able to hang it up.  It's all about the "BIG PICTURE", at this point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So excuse me if I am errant in my duties in the coming months, it's only been a week and I feel like I have been drug through the ringer.  HAPPY SPRING&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-7821800972806853845?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/7821800972806853845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=7821800972806853845' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7821800972806853845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7821800972806853845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/03/spring.html' title='spring'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-7963631597153417260</id><published>2007-03-11T09:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-11T09:48:14.358-04:00</updated><title type='text'>if it was 2 o clock yesterday...</title><content type='html'>Usually I'm all about the Spring forward.  I LOVE it.  This year though? It's too early.  It will be nice that it will be light later, but it will once again be pitch dark when middle guy and I rise for the day.  Daylight, which was in full force by the time he caught the bus, will again be replaced by the tease of the sun just on the horizon.  Plus after 30 some odd years of my mental clock knowing when to spring forward, I am dreading getting myself and the chillins up tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The idea is it saves energy, but really I don't see that being the case so much for the next 2 weeks.  How many of us leave lights on when we leave for the day?  show of hands...that's what I thought.  Lights that had been unneccesary on Friday morn, will be shining bright again tomorrow, most likely all day.  Oh well, I guess the happy side is that baseball practice can begin earlier...weeeeee.  And we will be able to get more wrok done for the first couple of weeks, so I shouldn't complain too loud.  I just really like waking to light, you know the natural kind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----signed, the woman who is STILL complaining even though it is sunny and 45 today.  Lord how does my family stand me?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-7963631597153417260?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/7963631597153417260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=7963631597153417260' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7963631597153417260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7963631597153417260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/03/if-it-was-2-o-clock-yesterday.html' title='if it was 2 o clock yesterday...'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-6205345151250253821</id><published>2007-03-07T08:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-07T09:10:45.840-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I am a mom</title><content type='html'>Today I am a mom.  I feel like a mom.  Somedays I feel like a friend, a sister, a confidante.  Today I'm a mom.  Not only am I a mom, I'm THAT mom.  You know the one I wouldn't be.  The one who freaked out over things that I thought were ok when I was 18.  The mom who is so uncool you can't stand her, the one who is out to ruin lives and the mom who is hated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I didn't know before is how much it hurts to be that mom.  Even though I know inside I am doing what is best and right.  I am doing what needs to be done to insure my child's future is bright and healthy.  I just don't understand why he can't see it that way.  Have I forgotten so quickly what it is to be 17?  No, I just never understood the love a mom has for her children and how desperate the need is to keep them safe.  Even when they hate you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's days like this, I wish my relationship with my own mom was better.  I would tell her how sorry I was, and I would cry on her shoulder.  It's days like this I just want to take my sulking son, hug him BIG, and give him all my years of knowledge so he knows this is best.  I guess I'll just have to wait for the day he has to be THAT dad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-6205345151250253821?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/6205345151250253821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=6205345151250253821' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6205345151250253821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6205345151250253821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/03/i-am-mom.html' title='I am a mom'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-6350520812138201370</id><published>2007-02-28T07:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-05T13:03:28.370-05:00</updated><title type='text'>can you smell it?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/ReWA7glgFQI/AAAAAAAAAB4/nUrydb8DTmQ/s1600-h/tulip.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/ReWA7glgFQI/AAAAAAAAAB4/nUrydb8DTmQ/s320/tulip.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036573518131631362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if you look and listen closely, you can see it. Spring is so close, I can almost taste it. Lots of little things, birds chirping early in the morning, patches of grass on the warm side of hills. There is the drip, drip, dripping of snow melting, even if the sun isn't out. The patch of mud or 2, and of course the daylight. It seems like it's been forever since it was light when my middle guy catches the bus, but once again the light is creeping back on early.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even though just last night, I was thinking I am so tired of being COLD. I long for the days of heat like this &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/07/summer.html"&gt;one&lt;/a&gt;.  This morning I was given the ultimate reminder that Spring is closer than I dare dream. The very unmistakable stench of skunk.  And it never smelled so good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-6350520812138201370?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/6350520812138201370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=6350520812138201370' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6350520812138201370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6350520812138201370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/if-you-look-and-listen-closely-you-can.html' title='can you smell it?'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/ReWA7glgFQI/AAAAAAAAAB4/nUrydb8DTmQ/s72-c/tulip.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-2153942494428328325</id><published>2007-02-26T11:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-26T12:06:18.045-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Two of a Kind</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I love, love ,love my car.  I do, I love the sunroof, and the heated seats.  I love the fact it's got a Hemi, just so I can say.."Yeah, it's got a hemi".&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I love it's color (blue), and it's dvd player to occupy the chillins on a long drive.  I love it's kick ass stereo so I can sing along.  I love that my kids can each have a row  to themselves should they choose, and I can fit more crap in it than I should be allowed.  This morning I realized why I love my car so much...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My oldest's car needed gas, and he was running late.   I told him he could take my car to school if he wanted.  At school there is a rule that your car must be backed into it's spot.  I often wonder if they made that decision after seeing the havoc that 75 16-18 year olds attempting to back out at one time was, or if they were smart enough to know ahead of time.  Anyway, he declined my offer to use my vehicle.  His reason was he hates to back it in or out of anywhere, because it's "all ass".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;We are two of a kind&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-2153942494428328325?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/2153942494428328325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=2153942494428328325' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/2153942494428328325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/2153942494428328325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/two-of-kind.html' title='Two of a Kind'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-8509831532904796959</id><published>2007-02-23T20:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-23T20:36:33.378-05:00</updated><title type='text'>L A Z Y</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Is laziness one of those seven deadly sins? I really hope not, because if it is, I am doomed. All I can think of is that movie Seven, you know, Brad Pitt. I keep invisioning him walking into my living room and finding me surrounded by dirty laundry, dishes, the Nintendo DS, laptop, and several frozen food cartons, and having some witty remark about my surroundings.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Something maybe regarding my spreading thighs or widening ass being so heavy, I couldn't escape from the growing piles of crap, and merely gave up my struggle only to be completely overpowered, and ignored by my family of slobs, who just thought one of the cats was playing in the dirty towels.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;You know, or something similar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Man I CANNOT get motivated. I don't know if it's because my home looked like nuclear war took place in it, when I returned from my long weekend of sun. Yes 10 days ago..I gotta stop milking it. Or maybe I'm just feeling kinda funky. My excuse for not going to the gym is the cold and snow. I just can't bear the thought of venturing out, unless absloutely neccesary. I should have kept my 40 bucks I paid for Feb, and slipped  it into my friend, Catch A Wave slots at the casino.  My excuse for doing nothing IN the house. To be quite honest, I ain't got one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Like I said LAZY. I swear I am starting next week off right. Back to the gym Monday morning, and cleaning house this weekend. Wish me luck, I think the boy's socks are taunting me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-8509831532904796959?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/8509831532904796959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=8509831532904796959' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8509831532904796959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8509831532904796959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/l-z-y.html' title='L A Z Y'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-2997781286159780987</id><published>2007-02-20T06:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-20T06:59:52.518-05:00</updated><title type='text'>17 years ago</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Seventeen years ago, right this minute in fact, I was most likely crying&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my eyes out. I was scared and confused, unsure of what the future would bring, How would I manage? How would I make ends meet? What about my plans? WHY GOD? WHY?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;ok, I KNEW why, but it still wasn't fair ( cmn i was 19)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I spent the next 6 or 7 hours in tears, throwing up, and in more pain then I ever imagined my body could be in. I was poked and prodded, my long standing relationship with modesty was chucked out the window. I had known this day was coming, in fact I was already 15 days past my due date. But nothing could have prepared me for that day. I had alot of emotions that day, most of all I was scared.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then something happened, amid all the confusion and pushing and crying, my son was born. I heard his first of many wails of indignation, and KNEW everything would be alright. I knew before I even laid my eyes on him. The rest of my life would be fine. How could anything ever be wrong with this little screaming creature in my life?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Seventeen years ago today I fell in love for the first time in my life....&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033583692915824722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RdrhsxtyWFI/AAAAAAAAABs/IhqeHX1XmN4/s320/DSC01490.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Can you blame me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-2997781286159780987?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/2997781286159780987/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=2997781286159780987' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/2997781286159780987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/2997781286159780987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/17-years-ago.html' title='17 years ago'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RdrhsxtyWFI/AAAAAAAAABs/IhqeHX1XmN4/s72-c/DSC01490.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-8641880617488723785</id><published>2007-02-18T10:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-18T10:51:19.480-05:00</updated><title type='text'>is it over yet?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rdh0pBtyWDI/AAAAAAAAABU/Gx0tubp_abw/s1600-h/feb.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032900831770466354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rdh0pBtyWDI/AAAAAAAAABU/Gx0tubp_abw/s200/feb.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;How do you know when it's February? It was 23 degrees out yesterday and I washed my car, and wore a sweat shirt outside. That's sad. When 23 is feeling like a heatwave, and the possibility of mid 40's makes you giddy, you know it's Feb.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;February and I have a long standing, love/hate relationship. It loves to see me suffer and I hate it for it. But really Feb is one of those months, like May and August. I can't wait for May to end, I love the first weeks of the kids vacation, money is always in good supply and there is a whole summer of laziness ahead of me. August, I love it's arrival, football is within weeks, and school starts at the end of the month. But I dread the end of it, summer goes with it and I hate to see summer end.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then we have February, it is the month in which I first became a mom, my oldest will be 17 (!!!!!!!!) on the 20th. You would think that would leave a nice warm soft fuzziness in my heart for it. Not really, all February really is, is 28 days of waiting for it to end. The end of Feb is the beginning of Spring, at least in my mind. Work will be in full swing before the end of March, and I am always ready for that. My darling husband will be out from underfoot, and cash will flow. It's also the last of the bitter weather, and I am forever ready for that to end.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I guess if I were more of an optimist I would enjoy Feb, what with all the bad going away with it's departure, but that never really was my style. I'll just swallow it like a bitter pill and Thank God Above it is not one of those 31 day months. I will hide in my snow cave and wait for March (chorus of angels singing). Smiling from ear to ear when it gets here.&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rdh11htyWEI/AAAAAAAAABc/eGKgGkLZo08/s1600-h/grin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032902146030458946" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rdh11htyWEI/AAAAAAAAABc/eGKgGkLZo08/s200/grin.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&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/26610901-8641880617488723785?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/8641880617488723785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=8641880617488723785' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8641880617488723785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8641880617488723785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/is-it-over-yet.html' title='is it over yet?'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rdh0pBtyWDI/AAAAAAAAABU/Gx0tubp_abw/s72-c/feb.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-4759926820185108785</id><published>2007-02-14T19:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-14T19:15:10.996-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The vaca that didn't want to end</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Yea!!!! I'm &lt;strong&gt;FINALLY&lt;/strong&gt; home&lt;strong&gt;.&lt;/strong&gt; I say finally because I didn't think I would ever get here. What a great time though.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My sister and I had a blast, the sun was hot, the rum flowed like water, the eye candy delish. In fact we had such a good time, we felt a need to continue to donate money into their casino. We even laughed about that by the time the trip was over. Visited the straw market in Nassau, they have more knock off bags than I have ever seen in one place in my life. Little Ms can't make a decision is the proud new owner of 3 Kate Spade bags, I managed to control myself and only give a home to one.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031544227695319074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RdOi0RtyWCI/AAAAAAAAABI/dSbSm6EWnZQ/s320/DSC01539.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;However all good and warm things come to an end, and so this happy feeling does as well. We were leaving on Sunday, and I went to the airport a little early with my sister, her flight left earlier than mine. I had a quick jump to Ft Lauderdale, followed by a flight direct to Pittsburgh. Only when I landed in Ft L, my flight was cancelled!?!?! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ummm what? there was no snow, no rain, no nothing...there WAS however, a mechanical issue, and I guess no other planes in all of the eastern us to replace the broken one. After waiting for a stand by position on a flight to DC, that was an impossible dream, i got a free night in the Embassy Suites in Ft Lauderdale. Which may have been a bit more enjoyable had it not been drizzling, and I had had someone to chill with. Of course i forgot to add that I had nothing...NO THING with me. I had a camera, a comb, and my book. Plus because the casino had been so stingy I also had about 100 bucks, and a maxed out credit card.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;WOO HOO PAR TAY.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So i got cozy with some sushi from this palce near the hotel and watched Star Wars, I couldn't even use my phone too much, my charger was in my checked bag.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Got up the next morning and headed to FLL, this time I had to go to Charlotte then another flight to Pburg, and another quick jumper to the city near my home. Get to Charlotte (home of a Jamba Juice..mmmmm), and got onto the worst ( although thankfully short) flight of my flying life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I was in the middle seat.which I totally despise. I am a wee bit claustraphobic, and sometimes all of a sudden I'll just feel like there is no air and I literally have to restrain myself from jumping up and running. Which may be frowned on, what with all the heightened security these days. Being seated in the middle of a PACKED flight, on an older plane, next to a very nice, but very overweight gentleman with a nasal issue. NO AIR&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Got to Pburg, and at this point I had been in airports for oh about 17 years. Ok maybe it was more like 20 of the past 30 hours, but still, I was happy to be almost home. Next flight is a quick 35 minutes....35 wee little minutes on a small plane that will probably have 10 other people on board. yea for air.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Turns out there were 4 of us, get on the plane...only the plane doesn't want to go, get off the plane, wait 30 minutes, get on the plane again. Now were cookin, headed to the runway...oh no not so quick. Turn around ...get off the plane (I swear I am not making this up).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;At this point i ask the girl at the desk if there is a flight available to another close city, ok first she says to me "Did you check a bag?" why yes I checked a bag..."We won't separate a passenger from a bag." was her reply, my retort? "You separated me from my bag yesterday, no problem. I don't even know where my bag is"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;she huffs...I swear she HUFFS and does the eye roll and pecks at the computer. "well we have one in 15 minutes, but you have to go through DC" see this is my life, the night before I would have killed to get to DC. Last night if I could have gotten to Dc I could have been home. But NOOOO last night I couldn't beg my way to DC...today I can go to DC and then head back home again. Because I might want to spend another 6 years on planes and in airports.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;At this point we were down to 3, one of the passengers decided to cut his losses and just head back home. So myself and a very nice woman and her daughter sat and waited, and waited .....and waited just a wee bit more. Finally an hour and a half later we board the plane. While we are waiting to take off I peek out the window and see my bag...oh sweet bag how I missed you, being placed on board. I joked at least by having to wait so long, my bag caught up to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So we quick head home and into our very small airport and go to get our bags, their bags come through....and thats it. I wanted to cry, i even peeked under the flappy thing the bags come from to see if anyone was there to get my bag that I KNOW was on the plane. No one....so I go to the desk....no one. So i ask the TSA guy, can I back through and tell them I need my bag. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;WHOA....THAT IS NOT ALLOWED. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Just to give you an idea of how small this airport really is, the guy who works the desk, also de ices the planes, AND handles baggage. Ok Rite Aid is bigger than this airport, however I could NOT enter the gate area without a TICKET. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;BUT my BAAAGGGG.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;If I could just wait a few minutes someone will be out. Only 15 minutes later no one was out..so I left. Iwas tired and hungry and missed my kids and was 20 minutes from my house and just wanted to go home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;At 10:30 pm my phone rings..the airport wants to know why I didn't stop at the desk to check on my bag.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I had no strength to answer, I just told them weather depending I would be down for it the next day. Weather has been icky and I still don't have it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So ends the vaca that didn't want to end.....but at least I made it home and can laugh about it now, and I still have tan lines!!!! wooo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-4759926820185108785?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/4759926820185108785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=4759926820185108785' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/4759926820185108785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/4759926820185108785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/vaca-that-didnt-want-to-end.html' title='The vaca that didn&apos;t want to end'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RdOi0RtyWCI/AAAAAAAAABI/dSbSm6EWnZQ/s72-c/DSC01539.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-7913592659416433775</id><published>2007-02-07T05:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-07T06:10:37.790-05:00</updated><title type='text'>mirror mirror</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Mirrors are something there are not a lot of in my house.  I don't even own a full length, and the mirror in my bathroom hangs at neck level.  I manage just fine this way.  I have never been one to scrutinize my appearance nipping, tucking, starightening, etc.  My clothes are boring casual, I don't need one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I know my body is not in the shape it once was.  But I accept it and know I am healthy, and exercise regularly, and try to eat well most of the time.  Then every once in awhile I go somewhere and catch a glimpse of something I am normally able to avoid.  Like my upper arms.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;And I want to crawl into a hole and hide.....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I wonder if I would work harder if I had a 3 way mirror in my home, or would I just lose my mind?  I'm thinking the mind would go, it's on the brink the way it is.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-7913592659416433775?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/7913592659416433775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=7913592659416433775' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7913592659416433775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/7913592659416433775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/mirror-mirror.html' title='mirror mirror'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-6336714224194614242</id><published>2007-02-05T22:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-05T22:16:11.780-05:00</updated><title type='text'>sorry</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I have wondered for a good portion of my adult life if our God was a vengeful God.  My husband says no, and if I were him, I would be inclined to agree.  I just keep telling him God hasn't gotten him yet, but he's due....ooohh baby is he due.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;It was proven to me again that God may just be a wee bit on the vengeful side.  Literally, as I was reading my last post there after I had published it, you know when I kinda said "ha ha I get to go away", oldest cell phone rings, not once or twice or even three times.  It rings incessantly, I hear him switching from call to call, I know what's going on already, but I was in denial.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;School is closed again tomorrow.  I will never learn.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-6336714224194614242?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/6336714224194614242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=6336714224194614242' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6336714224194614242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/6336714224194614242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/sorry.html' title='sorry'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-8201183432502495183</id><published>2007-02-05T21:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-05T21:51:41.916-05:00</updated><title type='text'>hey Mon</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;DUDE...I'm freakin freezing.  Gar I HATE winter.  I told my darlin dear husband on Fri that this winter thing, it's clearly not working for me, and he has precisely 9 years in which to make enough cash and sell most of what we own so that I may rest my growing ass somewhere warm for 7 or 8 months a year.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;He has agreed to comply, which leads me to believe 1 of 2 things....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;1.  old people really do not like cold, as much as he loves snowmobiling, he too as he ages, wishes for snow without cold&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;2. i have super Jedi powers i wasn't aware of all these years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;The lakes are beginning to freeze, so my snow should not be so bad from here on out (knock on wood), and I really have no business whining cause I am heading to Bahamas in 48 hours for a long weekend with my  one sister, leaving the male species to fend for themselves while I sport some flip flops.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;It's ok to hate on me , if you want.  I'll understand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-8201183432502495183?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/8201183432502495183/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=8201183432502495183' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8201183432502495183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8201183432502495183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/hey-mon.html' title='hey Mon'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-3846874613054118169</id><published>2007-02-01T20:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-01T20:26:11.687-05:00</updated><title type='text'>RIP</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I had this long post in my head all day an ode to February so to say.  Then it happened.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;After struggling through spelling homework for 45 minutes, my youngest was clearly finished.  I sent him to get his bath and get ready for bed.  Before the tub water even began running I hear a wail of&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I go to the room, ready to break up whatever arguement is escalating and there is the youngest sobbing, not just sobbing..SOBBING.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;*sniffle* "m m my f f fish is deaddddd"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;why God? why tonight? He was tired to begin with, couldn't this wait for a night when he wasn't already cranky?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I explain to him in my best mommy voice that most goldfish live for just a couple of months, his are like almost 5 years old.  if they were people they would probably be 200 by now.  This does not help matters, not one little bit.  The wailing continues.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;He also has a thing about his fish, yeah we've been through this 5 other times.  We have to bury them, in the flower bed between the trees, near the pond.  Only there's currently 2 feet of snow in the flower bed, between the trees, near the pond.  So I mentioned maybe we didn't have to bury this one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;*sniffle* "but he'll be loonneeelyyyyy"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Do not open the foil packet in the ziploc bag in my freezer.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Unless you want some sushi.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-3846874613054118169?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/3846874613054118169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=3846874613054118169' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3846874613054118169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/3846874613054118169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/02/rip.html' title='RIP'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-8472990535892823208</id><published>2007-01-31T10:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-31T11:02:42.212-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the snow already</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I know I recently requested "some" snow to get my nagging husband off my couch. I do not recall asking for 2 solid weeks of it. Some days we get an inch or two some days we get 6, Monday I awoke to probably 10 new inches. It is getting kind of difficult to tell where the old starts and the new begins. Mainly because I live at the nexus of the universe or something with the wind gusts and all, and drifts get as high as I am tall, but also because there is so much of the damn stuff.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Maria is not a happy camper. Tommorrow they are calling for an actual storm with like a foot or so. hmph&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Bitching was not the pointof my post though. This morning, what with snow falling and wind chills below zero, the kids actually got a 2 hour delay. I love the 2 hour delay, not really a whole day, where they will be doing that infuriating talking to me all day, but just enough time so we are not quite so rushed in the morning.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;With my middle guy catching the bus at 6:45 am, and the other 2 out the door an hour later, there isn't too much time to relax in the AM. It's nice to have a good breakfast, and the sun actually be out when they leave. No one is too exhausted and they all get up so much easier. With mornings like that the whole day seems easier.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5026223526673688978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RcC7qt0YqZI/AAAAAAAAAAk/hFxZNvB8KxM/s320/DSC01522.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is the snow from the roof about to hit the snow drifts on the deck.  what a view (can u read sarcasm) I used to look out that window and see my ponds, now I see snow, ooh AND ice.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5026224102199306658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RcC8MN0YqaI/AAAAAAAAAAs/fjpXEja99dU/s320/DSC01524.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;And this poor unfortunate chair is the victim of my laziness this fall, I mean clearly I did not  have enough time between October and the middle of Jan to put it away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-8472990535892823208?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/8472990535892823208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=8472990535892823208' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8472990535892823208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8472990535892823208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/snow-already.html' title='the snow already'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/RcC7qt0YqZI/AAAAAAAAAAk/hFxZNvB8KxM/s72-c/DSC01522.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-5224649002293275732</id><published>2007-01-30T14:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-30T14:44:55.177-05:00</updated><title type='text'>hey google.....****^$*) off</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;you know when i&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;switched over to the google deal this past weekend, i had to change my sign in info.  when i attempted to enter my password, THE password, the one I use for every last God forsaken thing., Google told me it wasn't secure enough and I had to choose a different password.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Hey Google.....I use the same password for everything because I am an idiot who cannot remember her own last name half the time.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Now I have to do everything TWICE  because I keep forgetting it changed..the inconvenience.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-5224649002293275732?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/5224649002293275732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=5224649002293275732' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/5224649002293275732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/5224649002293275732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/hey-google-off.html' title='hey google.....****^$*) off'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-2187801762461127366</id><published>2007-01-29T18:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-29T18:44:24.564-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ichabod Crane we are not</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;If you grew up in the Capital District of New York, you right now get the title. For those of you who didn't, let give you some background.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Imagine it's a snowy Weds morning, you sit by the radio eagerly awaiting the announcement. "Albany public and parochial schools (or whatever district you were in) closed." Nine times out of ten, you wouldn't get your wish. Instead you would pull on those damn rubber boots that never came off easily at school, over 4 pairs of socks (I would have given my right thumb for thinsulate back then), thrown on a coat, hat gloves pulled pants on under your skirt, because God forbid a pair of pants be allowed when it's 5 degrees out and snowing, and trekked the 9/10 of a mile to school.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;And yes I am aware that was a very long sentence, and yes I know exactly how far it was because if you lived a mile from school you got a free bus pass.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Who were you cursing the entire bone chilling walk to school? Those damn kids from Ichabod Crane School Ditrict. Why? The mere thought of snow shut that school down tighter than Sr Lois's supply closet. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;To this day their snow day free for alls puzzle me. I mean it's upstate NY, the Adirondack Mountains are all around....IT SNOWS. Sometimes it snows ALOT, and it's COLD. Those Ichabod Crane people thought they were in Florida or something.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I thought of good 'ol ICSD this morning, and if my kids knew better they would have been cursing them too. This is what they had to wait for the bus in&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rb6GMd0YqYI/AAAAAAAAAAY/Wv6Lp6QQ_Zg/s1600-h/DSC01519.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025601782912952706" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rb6GMd0YqYI/AAAAAAAAAAY/Wv6Lp6QQ_Zg/s200/DSC01519.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&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/26610901-2187801762461127366?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/2187801762461127366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=2187801762461127366' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/2187801762461127366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/2187801762461127366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/ichabod-crane-we-are-not.html' title='Ichabod Crane we are not'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rb6GMd0YqYI/AAAAAAAAAAY/Wv6Lp6QQ_Zg/s72-c/DSC01519.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-4315542260606608489</id><published>2007-01-28T09:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-28T09:48:32.600-05:00</updated><title type='text'>65000 calories and some tv</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;.....or what I did with my Saturday. Don't you love days like that. OK so my big ol ass doesn't love days like that but I did. I actually got up early and headed out, I was out of bread and youngest had baseball signups. But by 9:30 I was home, back in my sweats and plopped on the couch reading a magazine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I did do a little work, like cleaned the birdcages (eeewwwww, birds are the WORST pets, anybody want a parrott or 3?), and got the stragglers that didn't get filed when I did all my work earlier this month finally put where they need be. Made 3 square meals, and , and I finally switched to "new" blogger so I had to go to all the trouble of setting up a google account AND changing my layout, cause it's PINK. (sigh) and work hard browsing my pics. And , ummm thats about it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I was later cruising channels looking for something to watch, and you know TV just sucks. I have no idea how people sit down and watch TV every night, I just don't get it. It is either lame shows or movies I have seen more than 10 times. So my remote finger scooted to the PPV channels, which I always forget about and watched not one, but TWO movies I had never seen.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rby3Kd0YqXI/AAAAAAAAAAM/lpKzGpXYF-g/s1600-h/sunshine.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025092674669554034" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rby3Kd0YqXI/AAAAAAAAAAM/lpKzGpXYF-g/s200/sunshine.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Little Miss Sunshine, which was effn hysterical. A little raunchy but just my style. And DaVinci Code, which my 13 year old surmised precisely "This movie is confusing". I f I hadn't read the book, I would have no clue about what was going on. And I just didn't like Tom Hanks in that role. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Thats why I usually avoid seeing a movie if I read the book, it is always a let down and it's hard for me to switch my picture of the character to who the actor is. Of course thats  also why I couldn't read Lord Of the Rings until &lt;em&gt;after&lt;/em&gt; I had seen the movies. Cause Tolkien was just high, and I needed that visual.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I sure hope I can take it easy today, my heart can't stand the excitement.&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/26610901-4315542260606608489?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/4315542260606608489/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=4315542260606608489' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/4315542260606608489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/4315542260606608489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/65000-calories-and-some-tv.html' title='65000 calories and some tv'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GeEPx4SkEOY/Rby3Kd0YqXI/AAAAAAAAAAM/lpKzGpXYF-g/s72-c/sunshine.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-8717812626955411562</id><published>2007-01-27T14:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-27T15:18:30.456-05:00</updated><title type='text'>it's gone to the cats</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Ever live in the boonies? No? you may not get this post, in fact you may be inclined to call the nearest Humane Society on me when you're done.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Anywhoo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Because I have cats, you know actual pets, who spend a good portion of their time in my house, take their meals in my kitchen and snuggle up on my bed when I am out earning their keep, our home also attratcts a good deal of "feral" cats. You know crazy strays. I'm not quite sure when they became so numerous, but there are quite a few. We realized it may be an issue when one day last summer. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My son had some friends over and they were snacking on pizza and wings on the deck. Being men, they just left everything on the table out there when the shindig was over. About 4 am I am revived from my slumber by what sounds like a pack of wolves skittering on the deck. I stumble up the stairs, carefull not to trip over my 2 house cats who are cowering on the stairs, to the door to see no less than 15 cats fighting over pizza and chicken bones, you know at the table. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I had decided then that maybe I should stop leaving food for my cats out there, obviously I was attracting attention. But the cats couldn't stay away, our garbage is just too tantalizing. All those picked at plates that find their way to the trash, it's like my youngest is trying to feed them. Of course to blame it all on one person is just not fair, we are a house of carnivores and what the coons don't get the cats will.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I told the story of Charley one of the strays who decided to join us ( of course as soon as we named him he disappeared, loong story). Now I have a chapter to add.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;During the last 2 weeks the weather has gone from unseasonably mild to actual winter. Cold, lots of snow and frozen garbage. At one point someone left the garage door open and two more visitors wandered in. They wouldn't come out of hiding behind Mt Crapmore, and being an animal lover, I couldn't stand the thought of them being cold or hungry. So i put some food in the garage for them to eat and figured they would escape at the next opportunity.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I was wrong, seems my house cats showed them the "here's how you get into the ceiling" trick, and I haven't had a decent nights sleep since. I know they are coming out of the ceiling, they eat the food. I even saw the one stalking me under the old coffee table thats down there. And there are kitty prints all over the sports car. Come nightfall though those little buggers are prancing all through the ceiling. Hissing and fighting with each other. Guttural growls from every corner. It's like some kind of turf war going on. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Only guess what? IT'S &lt;strong&gt;MY&lt;/strong&gt; TURF!!!! and I would like to get some sleep. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;******************************************&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;You know I totally just realized, if you had told me 18 years ago that I would have feral cats living in my ceiling and keeping me up at night I would have had to have you institutionalized. How the mighty have fallen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-8717812626955411562?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/8717812626955411562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=8717812626955411562' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8717812626955411562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/8717812626955411562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/its-gone-to-ctas.html' title='it&apos;s gone to the cats'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116975109470493350</id><published>2007-01-25T13:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-25T13:51:34.726-05:00</updated><title type='text'>watch what you wish for</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm not really sure which is worse, listening to my husband whine over a lack of snow or this&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5819/2680/320/813731/DSC01515.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Right this minute I might say he could whine for snow the whole rest of the winter and I wouldn't care.  I actually used to enjoy winter.  But now I remember why, we lived in a place with normal winter.  A few small storms, a couple big snows, and regular old days in between.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then we moved here.  Now it hasn't been bad.  I actually have no business complaining.  But that's never stopped me before, and it won't now either.  I HATE it.  HATE...HATE...HATE.  The icky icy slush in every parking lot, the icy wipers that you need to stop and smack on the windshield 10 times in a 40 minute drive.  The fact it takes 40 minutes to go anywhere it used to take 20 to get to.  The deck that I have to shovel off so that an hour later in can be  covered again.  The white outs, ummm love me some white outs.  Nothing like cruising along at 50 mph to suddenly not be able to see 15 feet in front of you.  And I can't forget the blowing drifting snow, and that my house is the eppicenter of said snow (as you can see from the pic).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Oh yeah and the best part, my driveway.  I have 4 wheel drive and sometimes need a running start to get out of it.   Even if it's cleared, the plows come by and leave a foot of snow at the top of it, which,  if it gets cold enough will form a wall of ice.  As long as I'm ranting over Penn DOT ,we shant forget that at least once every year my mailbox gets it, then I get to dig my mailbox out of the ice and snow to retreive the mail, and try to figure out how to put a new one up with everything all frozen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;good times , good times&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116975109470493350?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116975109470493350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116975109470493350' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116975109470493350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116975109470493350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/watch-what-you-wish-for.html' title='watch what you wish for'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116947270409546480</id><published>2007-01-22T08:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-22T08:31:44.110-05:00</updated><title type='text'>little story</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Let me tell you a story.  Once upon a time there were 2 girls. We'll call them M and T.   These girls were very good friends, through everything.  From Brownies to  boyfriends, to boy bands(lol),to weddings, to having children of their own.  Their friendship hit hot spots and cold spots, but they always were friends.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;One day M was none to happy about a decision T had made.  It really was none of her business, but she stuck her nose in where it shouldn't be and decided she knew everything.  And T was wrong.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;T attempted to patch things with M, but she had pride too and figured if M was going to be that way let her be.  That my dear readers was 13 years ago.  In that time M thought about T at least once a week.  She thought about T's  kids on what would have been their first days of school, and wondered how it went.  She heard T had had another baby and felt bad she couldn't offer congrats.  She heard T had gotten a divorce and suffered that she hadn't been able to help her friend through what was most likely a very hard decision.  She wondered what her dear friend had been up to all these years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then one snowy Saturday night, M had her home and computer all to herself.  She was killing time and looked people up on Classmates.  There was T, so M being ever curious, shelled out the 15 bucks to see what her old friend had been up to.  M saw pictures of T's children she had posted and could take no more.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Really she remembered why the friendship went sour, but she couldn't remember why it had bothered her so much.  It didn't directly affect her, she knew that a long time ago.  Pride and stubborness had gotten in the way.  M took the step and sent T a short note through the site, asking her to send her an e mail.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;And send she did, about a 3 page email chock full o silliness and pictures.  M responded back, with an apology and silliness and pictures.  And it was like the last 13 years were erased.  Phone #'s exchanged and marathon phone calls loom in the near future.  Turns out T had thought of M alot the last 13 years too, and missed her just as much.  M will be in T's city in a couple weeks, and cannot wait to see her old friend, armed with many pictures and stories from all those years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;We all have someone from our past that we let slide out of life for no reason.  Bring that person back, trust me you won't regret it.  Now if you'll excuse me, I have some pics to gather up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116947270409546480?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116947270409546480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116947270409546480' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116947270409546480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116947270409546480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/little-story.html' title='little story'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116914313692957269</id><published>2007-01-18T12:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-18T12:58:56.970-05:00</updated><title type='text'>so it begins</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;The Hubs and I have found the secret to many years of happiness.  We avoid each other at all costs.  OK maybe avoid is a bit strong, we do enjoy spending some time together.  But I find it is usually in my best interest to have a bit of a break once in awhile.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;That time is now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I know it may sound a bit cruel or uncaring, but right now...right this minute in fact, I just want him to leave my house and do&lt;em&gt; something,&lt;/em&gt; &lt;strong&gt;anything&lt;/strong&gt;. Please?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I thought his recent trek to Washington would cure his snow itch, it really only made it itch more.  The saying around here is "If poppa ain't happy, ain't nobody happy".  Never is that more true, he was fighting with the 8 yr old last night over a video game.  It's like some 37 yr old kid is living on my couch, eating all my food, and complaining to the end of time over the fact that we have yet to receive any snow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Like I control the snow.  Believe me if I did, there would be 6 feet of it on the ground and he would be snoozing away the daylight awaiting his nightly snowmobile trek.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;If it isn't going to snow then I want Spring so I can throw his ass out to work for 3 months.  Absence does make the heart grow fonder you know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116914313692957269?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116914313692957269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116914313692957269' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116914313692957269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116914313692957269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/so-it-begins.html' title='so it begins'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116893578801785220</id><published>2007-01-16T03:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-16T03:23:09.316-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;In which I pay homage to many years of mindless TV watching&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://youtube.com/v/yIYVuomGJHY"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://youtube.com/v/yIYVuomGJHY" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br&gt;this pretty much describes how I feel today&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116893578801785220?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116893578801785220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116893578801785220' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116893578801785220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116893578801785220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/in-which-i-pay-homage-to-many-years-of.html' title=''/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116879257732417295</id><published>2007-01-14T11:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-14T11:36:17.336-05:00</updated><title type='text'>good ole days</title><content type='html'>in light of &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my post below, i think i'll just live in denial and pretend this is here and now&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5819/2680/320/385970/scan0003.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116879257732417295?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116879257732417295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116879257732417295' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116879257732417295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116879257732417295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/good-ole-days.html' title='good ole days'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116879187654884616</id><published>2007-01-14T10:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-14T11:24:36.566-05:00</updated><title type='text'>lessons</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Oldest had Winter Ball last night.  He took his new girlfriend and they had a lovely time.  He is still grounded, but got time off for good behavior. I will post a picture of the very stunning couple as soon as my desktop decides to stop being an ass, and let me sign on the ole internet with it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;He learned a very valuable lesson last night.  In PA, until you are 18, you have a Jr license.  You cannot drive between 11 pm and 5 am, with that license.  Speedy Mc Leadfoot, decided the square sign with a 45 on it did not apply to him and got pulled over at 11:40 pm.  Had the cop been so inclined oldest could have lost his license until he was 18.  There is a zero tolerance for speeding with a Jr license.  Instead he gave him a warning and a citation for Jr license violation.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This kid learns lessons ALOT.  Last summer he luckily blew a 0.0 on a breathilizer, after chugging a forbidden mug o beer at an outdoor festival.   He said he was so scared he almost soiled himself.  But he got off.  His whole grounding is over a BIG error in judgement, luckily we caught him before he had an opportunity to get into big trouble.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;He coasts through alot of things and comes out clean.  Before football camp they have to have completed certain Accelerated Reader points to participate.  He waited until the day before and tried to read an entire book.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Just so you know Friday Night Lights the book, is NOTHING like Friday Night Lights the movie.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;He took the test and initially  failed,  however even though he failed, he aquired enough points to participate in camp.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I worry about the fact he seems to have a golden touch.  Or a ton of luck.  I'm not sure which it is.  He falls asleep in a class, and teachers can't stay mad at him.  He is one of those kids. When he brought that ticket in last night I said to him, "You know you got lucky, right?"  I say that to him so much it's scary.   What happens if his luck runs out one day, or the day he comes across someone he can't bluff or charm his way by.  Have I failed in some way because he feels like no matter what he does everything will be ok?  Or is that not such a bad way to be.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This parenting thing is HARD&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;As much as I enjoy watching him become an adult, I long to have my little boy back.  I can just tell him to go to bed with no TV if he's bad.  And clean his room...lesson learned.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116879187654884616?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116879187654884616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116879187654884616' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116879187654884616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116879187654884616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/lessons.html' title='lessons'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116864286676360499</id><published>2007-01-12T17:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-12T18:01:06.806-05:00</updated><title type='text'>in search of...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Have you been shopping lately?  Holy crap.  It's no wonder I am in a clothes rut.  Who is creating the sizes on these items?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;must be oompa loompas, because noone else could label that t shirt I saw today as a large and be serious.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;For the love of all that is Holy!!!!  are you freakin kidding me?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Now I am the first one to admit I am no longer the leetle thing i was back in the day.  I know I am carrying around some major junk in da trunk, BUT (hahaha &lt;em&gt;butt&lt;/em&gt;) something labelled an XL (16/18) should not only make it past my thighs, it should not casue me to lose consciousness while attempting to see if I had missed a secret button somewhere or something.  It &lt;em&gt;should&lt;/em&gt; not only fit, but it should be big.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;cmon, you know they do that sometimes....the secret button, snap or hook n eye..they do it right?  i'm not the only one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;They keep trying to pawn off teens and eating disorders on models.  Blame it on the damn clothing manufacturers.  I am sooo sick of it.  Go into a Hollister store, they do not even carry a misses size over a 9.  I bought my neice a pair of sweat pants there for Christmas, they were a Large, she couldn't get them on.  Yet her jeans are a 9/10.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;There seems to be no happy medium anywhere.  I either dress like an old lady or continue on in my jeans and tshirt rut.  I even tried plus sizes for tops and sweaters.  I guess plus size means you got some knockers cause most of the necklines hit my belly button. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; Yeah thats HOT  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I miss buying new clothes I do, I used to love to shop.  Now I avoid it like the plague.  Nothing but disappointment and anger comes of a shopping excursion.  Then I am FORCED to buy a bag just so I feel better.  My friend and I have a saying "shoes and bags, they always fit".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116864286676360499?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116864286676360499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116864286676360499' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116864286676360499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116864286676360499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/in-search-of.html' title='in search of...'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116828058983110949</id><published>2007-01-08T13:12:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-08T13:23:09.850-05:00</updated><title type='text'>yeah so the title is for real</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I honestly and truly have nothing to say.  I really don't.  I got rid of my kids and my husband, and I am so enjoying the peace and solitude that I dare not even begin to think, for fear I will start talking to myself and ruin the bliss.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So I sit quietly and get work done....COMPLETELY uninterrupted.  It's reeeaaalll nice.  For the first time in my adult life my books from the previous year are complete and mailed to the accountant before June.  My employees W 2's are out, all my end of the year filings are filed, my bills are paid and there is none of that signing on frantically to pay directv at 6 am,  and my new software is up and running.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I even contemplated switching my Blogger account to new blogger, they are getting a little pushy.  But I think I will let that slide just a bit longer.  Of course now I have no option but to go clean the house....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I knew there was a reason I kept those kids around...diversion.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Enjoy your peace wherever you find it today&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116828058983110949?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116828058983110949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116828058983110949' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116828058983110949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116828058983110949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/yeah-so-title-is-for-real_08.html' title='yeah so the title is for real'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116792264106521708</id><published>2007-01-04T09:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-04T09:57:21.086-05:00</updated><title type='text'>knock on wood</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Thank you, thank you, thank you..Sweet Baby Jesus, thank you.   My husband has decided to wander off in search of snow and is currently booked on a flight to The Nordic Northwest.  He is scheduled to leave on Sat am (uber early) and not get back until Weds am.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Why do I say "knock on wood" , he is not afraid to take an airline credit should he decide otherwise.  I am waiting with baited breath.....for I need me some alone time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116792264106521708?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116792264106521708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116792264106521708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116792264106521708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116792264106521708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/knock-on-wood.html' title='knock on wood'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116766253931898142</id><published>2007-01-01T09:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-01T09:42:19.333-05:00</updated><title type='text'>here's to....</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my hubs (even though if he ever read this we would probably end up divorced).  Today he turns 37 a full 2 mos and 25 days before me. And may we not have a repeat performance of 30, when he ran out and got his tounge peirced (EWWWWW) and he is so NOT like that.  It was his first and last delve into the whole body art thing.  Thank God for surgeries, when you have them they make you take that crap out and your wife kinda loses the stud. (go me)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;May we make it through another year without killing each other to spend yet one more New Year's together, as we have every year for 16 years now.  And that's ALOT of New Years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;As happy as I am to see 06 GONE, I am a little weepy today.  The years go by too quick.  Before the year is out my oldest will have become a senior and it's just too much.  This time next year I have a feeling I will seriously be wanting to put the breaks on everything.   But as the years progress they seem to go even quicker.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Damn time....Here's to a happy, prosperous, healthy year.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116766253931898142?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116766253931898142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116766253931898142' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116766253931898142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116766253931898142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2007/01/heres-to.html' title='here&apos;s to....'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116757516077910504</id><published>2006-12-31T09:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-31T09:26:00.796-05:00</updated><title type='text'>it must be new years</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Why do I say this?  Because it's time, it's time for my kids to once again leave the nest and go back to school.  I actually went to my bedroom last evening and put laundry away...JUST SO I  COULD BE ALONE.  How sad is that?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Between work ending, a lovely vacation and Christmas break, my family is really starting to grate on my nerves.  Is that horrible?  am I the only one?  Will I actually (really and truly) look back to these days of incessant neediness and miss it some day?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Sometimes I wonder.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I took the boys to the mall yesterday, just to you know maybe spread out a bit.  Garr they fought the whole way in the car.  Sulked and kicked at each other while I was attempting to get what I needed at Staples.  Whined if I was in a store that wasn't "someones favorite", or called becasue I &lt;em&gt;needed&lt;/em&gt; to be at Hollister STAT! (!!!!)  there was a "huge" sale.  Ok, since when is a hoodie for 30 bucks a sale?  Not in my book, so we sulked because I'm cheap.  This from the oldest who wears a uniform to school anyway.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then we went home, and asked the oldest to drive to this one pizza place because we really like their pizza.  It's maybe a 10-12 min drive.  He doesn't feel like it.  Well I didn't feel like getting outta bed at 6 am one day to you know...&lt;em&gt;give birth to you&lt;/em&gt;, but i did.    I didn't feel like being your indentured servant and driver for the last 16 years, but I was.   Now go get the damn pizza.  And please when you get home make sure to whine extra hard about why we couldn't just order from the place that delivers....because you had to wait 10 whole minutes when you were there.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;TEN MINUTES!  the nerve.  I have to wait 48 hours to get your butts back in school,  you'll live.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116757516077910504?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116757516077910504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116757516077910504' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116757516077910504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116757516077910504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/12/it-must-be-new-years.html' title='it must be new years'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116757315323598028</id><published>2006-12-31T08:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-31T08:52:33.250-05:00</updated><title type='text'>football is like my lover</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;hmph...last nights game proved to be indicitave of the entire season. a few points short after a good game. at least they put the fear of God in those damn Giants, who now will probably end up playing the effn cowboys and I'll have to just wish the stadium opens up and swallows both teams. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;bye football...i'll be waiting&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5819/2680/1600/151589/PH2005040500681.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5819/2680/320/481316/PH2005040500681.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116757315323598028?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116757315323598028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116757315323598028' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116757315323598028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116757315323598028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/12/football-is-like-my-lover.html' title='football is like my lover'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116748527986470685</id><published>2006-12-30T08:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-30T08:27:59.890-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's the Superbowl...kinda</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;As mentioned earlier, I am a Washington Redskins fan.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This year I feel like I should be saying that in a meeting or something..."My name is Maria, and I am a Skins fan"  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;If you don't follow football, take my word for it, it's been UGLY.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;There have a been a few shining moments, beating Dallas was tops in my book.  Winning in New Orleans was pretty sweet, and I did enjoy the game I took the fam to.  Went to watch Atlanta beat them soundly earlier  this month, but at least my boys enjoyed that, and they managed to get attention from one of the Falcons WR's, who gave them a wave.  You would have thought it was the second coming.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Which brings us to tonight...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Growing up in "Giants Country" (if there was a font of disgust, I would have used it just there), I had 2 options when I decided I enjoyed the foolsball.  1) root for the hometown team, or 2) pick their arch rival and root against em.  I chose the latter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Why am I telling you all of this?  Because tonight is the night, last game of the season, after tonight Skins hang em up for another year.  Giants pretty much have to win to play post season...And you heard it here ...Skins are playing spoilers, sorry Tiki..after tonight it's going to  be over.  Skins are going to send you home one last time, and be heroes for the rest of the NFC. I am stoked, and I will be calling out every Giants fan I know after.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;****I reserve the right to delete this post if they lose  ******&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;HAIL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116748527986470685?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116748527986470685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116748527986470685' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116748527986470685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116748527986470685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/12/its-superbowlkinda.html' title='It&apos;s the Superbowl...kinda'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116723477436111199</id><published>2006-12-27T10:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-27T10:52:54.396-05:00</updated><title type='text'>back</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5819/2680/1600/69337/DSC01484.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5819/2680/320/781171/DSC01484.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;we're home...yeah. can you sense the excitement? Our trip was wonderful, relaxing, great weather. No one fought an obscene amount. Only the day we tried to go to Magic Kingdom killed us, it was VERY crowded. But we stayed to the bitter end (mostly to get our $400 bucks outta the place) and watched the parade and fireworks. The days at Universal were awesome, it was practically empty. Of course now we know why, everyone was at Magic Kingdom. Went to Coccoa Beach for a day, and it was so relaxing, warm sun, empty beach. It really was a great trip. We even found a PS3 and brought it home...BONUS.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;With a drawback or 2. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;A little history for you, no trip is complete without a visit to the ER or urgent care. It's always something....swimmers ear, strep throat, a foot that blows up so much it really looks like one of those cartoons where the guy blows into his hand and makes it bigger. That was more funny than anything. You name it. I was in Kona for 2 weeks in 04, and made 3 trips to Hualalai Urgent Care....nothing says paradise like heading across the street to Wal Mart for your meds.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So this time it was me, Thurs night. After feeling like I was trying to give birth to a 10 pound gas bubble for most of the afternoon. I told hubs we HAD to go to the ER, I no longer cared if they laughed at me behind my back for coming to ER over gas. I just wanted to feel better. So we went, and spent thurs night until 5 am in the Sand Lake ER. It was nice as far as ER's go. And I got some great pills to make the rest of the trip go by real smooth. Nothing major, just a slight fem problem that my Dr will be able to remedy, (as soon as she gets back form vaca...glad I'm not dying).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then because 06 could not go out on a high note, we get home late on the 23rd. There were just a couple boxes that were delivered while I was gone, I had asked a friend to stop by and put them in the garage so they would not just be laying outside. Turns out a certain grinch helped themselves to the boxes OUT OF THE GARAGE.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I KNOW!!!!!! Can you believe someone could sink so low? It wasn't even much, and unless this person had a Falcon fan, chess player, drummer and kid who wanted Guitar Hero 2 they were useless to that person. Just the point. Plus all of those gifts were for my 13 yr old, at least I was able to tell him what happened, and that I would buy him new ones. But the kid had 3 gifts under the tree on Christmas morning, and it bothered me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;but we did have a wonderful time, especially the part when I called one friend on the 20th, I was sitting at the pool, she was frantically searching for some I cat or something. ahhhh...life is good. Happy New Year ...I am hunkering down until it gets here..glad to see 06 in the rearview.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116723477436111199?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116723477436111199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116723477436111199' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116723477436111199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116723477436111199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/12/back.html' title='back'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116619043777950736</id><published>2006-12-15T08:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-15T08:47:17.796-05:00</updated><title type='text'>venus and mars collide</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My husband is a bath kinda guy.  Me? I honestly prefer a shower.  So in our bathroom we have a big ol'  jacuzzi  tub, and a separate shower.  Never the two need meet.  Until yesterday.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Because of a  plumbing glitch, the tub &lt;em&gt;desperately &lt;/em&gt;needed a disinfecting.  So the hubs was forced to use my shower.  When I said to him.."I don't have any bleach right now, just use my shower".  I had no idea the what I was bringing upon  myself.  OK, I should have.  I mean we've been married for like a jillion years.  I should have run immediately and bought some bleach.  Looking back, I wish I had.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So I got into my shower, and oh no he did not..He did, he changed my shower setting.  I had to tiptoe up (shower head comes out of the ceiling) to change it back.  Also, because he is 6'4, and I am not even close to that, the water was hitting me smack dab in the face.  Because, gawd, I guess he needed to shower his head as well,  so he moved &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; shower head to accomadate &lt;em&gt;him.  &lt;/em&gt;hmph&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I avoid drowning, and I reach for shampoo.  He has messed up my collection of 1/2 empty shower products that I don't use anymore but refuse to throw away, AND put the wrong shampoo in front.  AND used the scrub, but not put the top back on right.  Oh the list of wrongs goes on and on.  So I did what any normal woman (who is leaving for vaca in less than 24 hours and desperately trying to keep the peace) does.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I put a teaspoon of coffee in his choclate milk (he hates coffee), loosened the top of his mouthwash, so when he picks it up he'll grab the top and have a minute of frustration.  Hid his cell phone under the bed and moved his shoes.  Lots of little things, that will make him say..."I could have sworn I left it right here", but nothing that can be linked to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Because passive aggressive is my middle name.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Well I have some gifts left to wrap, and some clothes to pack and boys and girls.I AM OUTTA HERE...ciao&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116619043777950736?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116619043777950736/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116619043777950736' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116619043777950736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116619043777950736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/12/venus-and-mars-collide.html' title='venus and mars collide'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116611831620403738</id><published>2006-12-14T12:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-14T12:45:16.216-05:00</updated><title type='text'>run don't walk</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5819/2680/1600/966842/DSC01383.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5819/2680/320/991235/DSC01383.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;consider this my psa for December...should you see these innocent looking buns in your store, RUN , DO NOT WALK, away from them as quickly as possible.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Do not believe their innocent appearance.  They are evil, Satan's tool.  You will not be able to resist their cinamonny goodness, and the glob of gooey icing on top.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;You might think that one small sliver cut off the side will satisfy you.  It will not.  You might think that scraping the wee bit of icing off the top of the packaging will cut it.  NOPE.  Before you know it you will have to go buy more to avoid the embarrassment of telling your family you are weak, weak to their power.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116611831620403738?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116611831620403738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116611831620403738' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116611831620403738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116611831620403738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/12/run-dont-walk.html' title='run don&apos;t walk'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116558446577194503</id><published>2006-12-08T07:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-08T08:27:45.786-05:00</updated><title type='text'>tis the season</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Throughout much of my life as a mom I have been a Christmas nut.  Decorations everywhere, gifts galore under the tree.  Stockings stuffed, toys EVERYWHERE.  Months obsessing over was there enough?  and I loved it, don't get me wrong.  I loved every second of it.  Christmases when I was young were nice, but they were always stressful.  My mom just doesn't enjoy it.  She did it because of us kids, but her heart was not always quite in it.  I swore my kids would have Christmases of their dreams.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then one day a couple years ago, I was cleaning the playroom.  I realized my Christmasness had to be curbed.  My kids had too much.  I had too much.  I didn't need another Santa figure, or singing stocking.  I didn't need 4 Christmas trees in my home, and my kids sure as heck did not need toys that would still be unopened in May.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;The first year was hard, but I did ok.  Everyone had gifts under the tree, but I knew I could have done better.  The next year I restarined from buying any more decorations, and we took a vacation in January.  The youngest  still believes in Santa so there  were gifts under the tree, but not so many.  Last year I did great!  of course money was tight so I can't really take all the credit.  But that was nice, the gifts were well thought out and nothing was left unopened in the corner of the playroom.  I also started something last year, the kids have to clean and purge before Christmas.  Video games and toys that they have outgrown or don't like get donated.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This year I have found my stride.  We are headed to Orlando for the week before Christmas.  The only one with more than a couple gifts will be the youngest.  He still believes, or he is smart enough not to tell me he doesn't.   But even he is getting less.  I put very simple, but nice lights outside, cut way back on decorations in the house.  This year my siblings and I all decided not to exchange and  I told my friends let's not exchange.  And you know what?  Not only did everyone agree, it's GREAT!  I love it, in fact when I walk through Wal Mart and see the crap lining the aisles they are trying to pawn off as great gift ideas, I scoff.  There were days I would have snatched those things up..."Just one more small thing"..this year I am smiling thinking of how nice it is to be stress free, and counting down the days till i feel the warm Florida sun on my face.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Christmas can be anything YOU want it to be, I see that now.  It doesn't feel empty or fake without gifts and crap everywhere.  For us it's spending time relaxing and enjoying all the fruits of the months of hard work, together, as a family.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116558446577194503?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116558446577194503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116558446577194503' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116558446577194503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116558446577194503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/12/tis-season.html' title='tis the season'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116549860199603948</id><published>2006-12-07T08:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-07T08:36:42.016-05:00</updated><title type='text'>and just where the hell do you think you've been?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my answer is long and drawn out and, quite frankly, goes completely against my decision to avoid the bad joojoo.  so i will give the brief list of excuses&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my car had a run in with a majestic (albeit very large) creature of the woods.  completeing my vehicular accident tri fecta, for what i can only hope, is the rest of my life.  it also transformed me from just a chic who had a couple accidents this year, to a murderer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my desktop chose to stop connecting to the internet, turning it into a very large and expensive paperweight.  i still have the laptop, but don't really like to use it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my oldest is serving 6 mos - life for Completely Irresponsible Behavior While Operating a Motor Vehicle.  he may get an outside visit for his birthday in February.  He may avoid the max, which according to the mom rules book, i am entitled to lay upon him because the car is mine, and i pay for the gas and insurance.  we'll see how nice he can be&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;work got UBER busy at the end of the season.  This is actually quite a blessing and I am very thankful for it, the bills can get paid all winter this year.  WOOOIE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i have been a bit of a road warrior, also a good thing.  only not so comfortable because rental cars just suck.  I took advantage of the first time in recent memory i did not have a kid playing post season football and ran amuck.  it was fun, lets just say Thanksgiving weekend?  yeah, I was strolling on the beach.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;so in between, killing deer, grounding kids, travelling near and far, and work, i was also just a wee bit down in the dumps.  and lazy.   i really hate this time of year.  not Christmas, just winter.  the sun is out all of 30 seconds a week, it gets cold, and even if it's a warm day, its still cold.  i am just one of those people, i need the sun.  as of right now i have 9 more winters to get through.  then i can bail, not that i'm keeping track or anything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;so we are heading to Orlando in a week (which is a VERY GOOD THING AND I AM SUPER THANKFUL for), and by the time we get home we will be past that magic Dec21 mark.  From then on, as most of you know, the days begin to get a wee bit longer.  not enough to matter to most people, but it matters to me.  so i bide my time, safe in the knowledge the end of this misery will come again.  that and the fact my sister now lives a block form the beach, if only she wasn't 6 hours away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116549860199603948?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116549860199603948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116549860199603948' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116549860199603948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116549860199603948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/12/and-just-where-hell-do-you-think-youve.html' title='and just where the hell do you think you&apos;ve been?'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116385072976674491</id><published>2006-11-18T06:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-18T06:52:11.876-05:00</updated><title type='text'>state of me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my complete and utter lack of posting over the last couple weeks may lead you to think i had actually decided to do something, you know, &lt;em&gt;constructive&lt;/em&gt; with my time&lt;em&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;  as if.  i can assure you nothing of the sort is going on.  i have been in a bit of a funk.  and really looking back, it's not been the greatest year.  there have been worse, but this one isn't going down as the great and wonderful '06.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;in a fit  of melancholy i was looking through some old pics, and i found one of my husband and i shortly after we met.  we look like a couple of kids, and after the shock wore off, i realized that is exactly what we were.  kids.  kids who each had such a screwed up childhood (in his case) and young adult hood (as was mine), we thought we knew it all.  people our age were still in college, living off mom and dad, spending their money foolishly.  we were paying a mortgage and raising a child, soon to be 2 children, and working 60 hours a week.  it's a wonder i am a wee bit bitter now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;and it's not that i'm bitter over what other people had, i am bitter over what i didn't even have an opportunity to try.  but i look at my hub, and i see in his past, that even i was lucky by his standards.  and i realized my oldest is at the age i was when my life changed forever.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i guess the change ahd been in motion for a year or 2 before, but i was young and unaware.  if it wasn't on MTV, did it really count?   but at the ripe old age of 16 my life was thrown into a tailspin, and my parents true identities surfaced.  i and my siblings were tossed into the ugly world that can exist when your parents are more worried about themselves, then they are you.  and let me tell you..it can get u g l y .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;that moment i was forced into adulthood, ready or not.  some of my decisions were bad.  i know that now, but i can't go back and change them.  i can only move forward and not make the same mistake twice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;and i am moving forward from here one more time.  things have been tough around here lately.  i am starting to think i have some sort of 8 year curse.  every 8 years i am doomed to a year or so hell.  but the i look back to 8 years ago, and i realize things aren't so bad this time.  i have just gotten a little softer.  i should be thankful for that.  and i am convinced i have some BAD joo joo following me around.  and the only way to shake it, is to stop looking for it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;so this morning when i walked  upstairs, i didn't get mad over the pile of shoes, jackets, and bags laying by the door.  instead i was thankful my kids are able to walk up those stairs, and go to school, and not be afraid to be careless with their things.  children in this country sleep with shoes on, because they fear someone will steal them.  that isn't my family, and i am thankful for that.  my children will never know the trauma i knew, they will not have to worry if they can make ends meet at 20.  and decide which food item they don't need so they can buy diapers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my husband and i worry that we are doing our kids an injustice by not giving them more responsibility.  but then we remember how much that  responsibility sucks when you  finally do have it, and instead we are proud we have acheived a status in life to have a chance to spoil our kids.  and let them be the poeple we weren't at 22, the people they should be.  and thats a good thing too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116385072976674491?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116385072976674491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116385072976674491' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116385072976674491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116385072976674491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/11/state-of-me.html' title='state of me'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116376908935966187</id><published>2006-11-17T07:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-17T08:11:29.380-05:00</updated><title type='text'>do you think tom-kat wil have these problems?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;You know that scene from Princess Bride....this elegant wedding, dramatic music and the regally  dressed priest opens his mouth and out comes  "Mawwiage".  that is one of the funniest scenes from a movie i have ever seen.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;anyway winter is upon us and my marriage turns to mawwiage.  when the saying Opposites Attract was created, hubs and i  thought we would prove it.  now that some of the attratct  is gone (cmon its been 16 years), the opposite is still going strong.  never is that more obvious than in the winter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;during the rest of the year he is busy with work, so it rears it's little head every once in awhile.  the air conditioner debate that will never die, the "I don't care how little the car is it is more comfortable than taking your mommy SUV"  lie that he continues to live by.  and my favorite,  the "But the lady at the bank said we had that much money in the checking account" theory.  I have solved that one, I opened another account and put money into it as soon as checks go out, then he can zero us out with no fear.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;but now it is winter, that lovely time of year when there is no work, just the 2 of us sitting around ALL freakin day, looking at each other.  and it gets UGLY.  he is a night owl, i am in bed by 10.   he is an internet x box 360 junkie, i prefer a good book.  he goes to bed every. damn .night .and leaves the tv up so loud that i wake up at 5 am and think sigourney weaver is sitting next to me fighting aliens.  i HATE that.  he is eagerly awaiting enough snow to break out the snowmobile.  i am wishing it would be 70 and sunny every day, just for once.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;and there is nothing to separate us...he NEEDS company every second of the day.  my dream is to be deserted on an island for 6 months with nothing but books and water for 100 square miles around.  it isn't all bad though, there will come a time mid Jan or so when our hours will never mesh, he will be up until 5 am or so and snooze the day away.  wake at 3 play x box with the kids for a bit and head out on his sled (God willing, ok maybe i do wnat some snow), returning at 2 am, at which point i will hopefully be able to sleep through his internet browsing and tv watching.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;is it March yet?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116376908935966187?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116376908935966187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116376908935966187' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116376908935966187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116376908935966187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/11/do-you-think-tom-kat-wil-have-these.html' title='do you think tom-kat wil have these problems?'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116343447982706140</id><published>2006-11-13T11:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-13T11:14:39.843-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i have been on the road ALOT the last week or so, in my travels i overheard this while scanning on the radio....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"The Lord gives us mountains so we may learn to climb"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Lord, thanks for all the climbing lessons, can I learn to sail now?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/320/sail.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116343447982706140?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116343447982706140/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116343447982706140' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116343447982706140'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116343447982706140'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/11/i-have-been-on-road-alot-last-week-or.html' title=''/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116283026460200975</id><published>2006-11-06T11:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-06T11:24:24.616-05:00</updated><title type='text'>hail</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i am a redskins fan.  sometimes it isn't very pretty.  some days it seems like it may not be one of the better years.  however yesterday's sweet victory was magnified even more by the fact that my husband is a cowboys fan.  the look on his face when the  flag was thrown for the facemask penalty was priceless.  my screams of victory could be heard for miles around .....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/1600/redskins_31449471PG.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/200/redskins_31449471PG.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;the blocked field goal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/200/facemasjk.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;the facemask&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/200/redskins_31449509PG.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;sweet victory&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116283026460200975?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116283026460200975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116283026460200975' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116283026460200975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116283026460200975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/11/hail.html' title='hail'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116256512212534637</id><published>2006-11-03T09:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-03T09:45:22.146-05:00</updated><title type='text'>conspiracy theory</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/1600/lego.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/200/lego.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;this morning on the news, it was reported that Lego expects a shortage of their hottest sets this Christmas season. I don't need to tell any toddler mom how in freaking possible it is to find that Elmo everyone wants this year. I myself fell victim to the XBox 360 craze of last year, umm so why did i feel my kids would simply &lt;em&gt;die&lt;/em&gt; if it wasn't under the tree? not sure,  but i had people in 3 states looking for it, my sister even almost grabbed one out of someone else cart. ultimately i failed because i could not see paying 3 times over retail on Ebay for the damn thing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;here's what i have to wonder.....who do these toy companies think they are fooling?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i mean it's not like Christmas jumps up and surprises them. hmm nope it's Dec 25th again this year.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;nothing pisses me off more than when they do this, i remember my mom, myself and one of her friends, lining up at 5 am one Saturday in Dec 1984 or so, for Cabbage Patch. and women fighting over them at toys r us. i was scarred for a long time over that one. we walked out with one, and paid some guy in the parking lot $75 for another one. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;and I swear they do it on purpose, "let's not release enough for demand, and tell everyone we expect a shortage. woohoo they'll sell like hotcakes until Easter" meanwhile some poor inventory clerk is falling over Elmos somewhere.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;attn toy people I AM ON TO YOU&lt;/span&gt; &lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/200/power.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I myself only fell victim one other year, Power Rangers back in 93 or so, my oldest LOVED the power rangers. i was "new" to Christmas and got suckered. this was &lt;em&gt;before&lt;/em&gt; Ebay ( gar was there ever such a time?)&lt;em&gt;.&lt;/em&gt; i was forced to wait and pray and hope, and i got lucky..i hit up an Ames one morning and hit the motherload. i felt like i had won the lottery. Ames will forever hold a special place in my heart for that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;but i gotta go for now...i need to buy some Legos.....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116256512212534637?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116256512212534637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116256512212534637' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116256512212534637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116256512212534637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/11/conspiracy-theory.html' title='conspiracy theory'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116250066628155695</id><published>2006-11-02T15:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-02T15:51:06.296-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the game</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;we have a winter ritual around this house.  unfortunately it seems to be starting early this year.  i like to call this  the "You Cannot Touch the Thermostat Without Me Knowing"  game.  Ok so the name kinda sucks, but I never said i was creative.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my house, being the structural and architectual wonder that is, is actually a mobile home (shoot it's a double wide!) place atop a foundation.  we have un upstairs and a downstairs, &lt;em&gt;we&lt;/em&gt; just thought it would be cheaper to buy the top half..( an untruth my hubs will hear about until the end of his days)&lt;em&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;  so here's what he did, he built this foundation with the plan of using it for a bedroom and a playroom with a foyer heading into the garage.  so far so good, then it came time to bust a hole in the upstairs and put in some stairs, directly under the thermostat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;aannddd  the garage is still "not quite finished".  does anyone else see where this is going?  i mean HELLO??!! we live in the  effn frozen tundra.  it's COLD here in the winter, and our garage gets cold, and the cold seeps into the house through the door and wanders up the stairs to (you knew all along) The Thermostat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;so the game begins, i, being ever frugal, keep that thermostat down low.  if i didn't the heat would kick on incessantly, what with the gale force wind blowing up the stairs.   the oldest and my husband seem to feel it needs to be at least 100 degrees in the house at all times, and noone should ever be expected to you know, maybe PUT SOME DAMN CLOTHES ON, i mean it is winter, we all should wander around in shorts and t shirts.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i just can't do it, i  can't just run the heat all the time.  plus for as much as i like the warm weather, i can't stand when it's hot from the heat.  if it's 80 in here in the summer, it's all good.  but that is a natural heat, i don't like that icky fake heat.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;anyway after i go to bed, without fail, someone will turn the heat up.  and at some point in the night, i will wake up, realize the heat is running and come upstairs to turn it down.  same thing during the day, if the heat kicks on, i go over and turn it down.  it really is a never ending cycle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;but i chuckle at their determination, silly boys will never learn.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116250066628155695?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116250066628155695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116250066628155695' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116250066628155695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116250066628155695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/11/game.html' title='the game'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116243073042255951</id><published>2006-11-01T20:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-01T20:25:30.436-05:00</updated><title type='text'>she's a looker</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;because our government tells me that after jan 1, i need to have a passport to go to the bathroom, we took the kids today to get pics done so we can apply for passports.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;promise me here and now, if i am ever lost or captured, or whatever it is that happens to nice mommies who , in an effort to remain sane wander off in some strange place in search of quiet, you will NOT let them use the passport pic for the news.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;use my drivers license pic, it's much nicer.  well at least it doesn't make me  look like a very chubby uni bomber..with eddie munster eyebrows.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116243073042255951?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116243073042255951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116243073042255951' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116243073042255951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116243073042255951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/11/shes-looker.html' title='she&apos;s a looker'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116240927270622114</id><published>2006-11-01T14:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-01T14:27:52.720-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My baby sister today, turns 26.  TWENTY SIX, for those of you doing the math, that makes her 10 1/2 years younger than me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I still have a hard time thinking of her as an adult, even though at her age I was a married mom of 2.  I can't think that way.  she, thank God, has gained enough wisdom through my mistakes, to remain both single and child free.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I always feel  a little guilty, when i think of her.  I was horrified when my parents told me she was on the way.  Ugh, my firends were going to know my parents had sex???!!!???   ewwwww   And there were times during her toddler days when I wanted to throw her at any passing adult, just because at 12, thats how you feel sometimes.  But now I'm glad she's around.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I kind of think of her sometimes as my first child, with 3 other kids around, I was her babysitter...constantly.  But I learned early on this was my shot, one of my sibs would be cool as hell.  The girl knew all the members of Duran Duran before she knew the abc's.  And she was my little princess, she wanted the pink fur jacket, and the tea sets, and the pretty dresses.  Unlike my other sister, who spent her tween years pretending she was a boy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;One of my best memories was taking her to see New Kids on The Block.  She was so excited, she screamed through the entire show, and made me proud by not lowering decibels, not even once.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;She amazes me, she has her faults.  We all do, but she turned out pretty damn great considering what her life was like.  She had been through more at 7, than I ever could have imangined at her age.  She never knew the normal family I had when I was her age, and she survived.  My other sister and I had each other.  My brothers and her had a lot of shiznit to deal with, and they all turned out to be so great...I'd like to think I am to thank, but really I'm not.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I am sometimes in awe of her abilities, she is so confident and sure of herself.  I wish I had a 10th of her hutzpah.  I really do.  Whatever that girl attempts, gets DONE, it's amazing.  So Nance..here's to  ya....even if I forget to call you later, because someone has too much homeowrk or something...Happy Birthday, I love you!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116240927270622114?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116240927270622114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116240927270622114' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116240927270622114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116240927270622114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/11/happy-birthday.html' title='Happy Birthday'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116239742122439500</id><published>2006-11-01T11:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-01T11:10:21.280-05:00</updated><title type='text'>1 of 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I have a longer post I want to try to squeeze in later. It is my baby sister's birthday after all. But I just heard a commercial that made me laugh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Because I am a freak, I listen to Hawaiian radio channels &lt;em&gt;sometimes&lt;/em&gt; (i swear only 1 or 2 days a week, SWEAR) on the internet. So anyway, I just heard a commercial for &lt;em&gt;affordable&lt;/em&gt; 3 and 4 bedroom homes starting in the low......&lt;strong&gt;400's&lt;/strong&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Garr, gives me a whole new respect for property values round here....&lt;/span&gt; &lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/320/shack.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116239742122439500?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116239742122439500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116239742122439500' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116239742122439500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116239742122439500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/11/1-of-2.html' title='1 of 2'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116204254401120762</id><published>2006-10-28T09:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-28T09:35:44.030-04:00</updated><title type='text'>the healing begins</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/1600/IMG_2196.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/200/IMG_2196.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;we weren't able to pull out a win, but the game meant more to my son (28) and his friend (55) than anyone really knew.  his friend's regular # is 53, his brother wore 55 when he played.  so he wore his brothers #, and everyone had a 55 on their helmets.  and i cried when they hugged.  and i know that they are helping each other in a way i might never understand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116204254401120762?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116204254401120762/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116204254401120762' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116204254401120762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116204254401120762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/10/healing-begins.html' title='the healing begins'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116191258848796735</id><published>2006-10-26T21:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-26T21:37:01.380-04:00</updated><title type='text'>junk</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ok here is a quick random, in no order whatsoever of what all has been going on. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I got my car back!!!! YEAHH, of course it was done last friday, they called at 3:45 to tell me it was finished. BUT they closed at 4:30 and i couldn't get there until Monday to get it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;on saturday my oldest claims he had "no brakes" , and hit a guardrail, and then had a tire blowout. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;on Sunday my middle guy had the best game of his short football career.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;also on saturday my hub took the kids out to buy "a weight set", they came home with 7 boxes of contraptions that looks like it belongs in an NFL weight room.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;they decided to put it together in the middle of our living area. not exactly the look i am going for.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;we realized our shower has been leaking and now the rug needs to be replaced.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;it is officially winter, 3 days of those neverending snow showers. and nary a day above freezing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;tommorrow for our last football game of the season, they are calling for rain turning to snow. same for saturday, which is our trick or treat night. woo hoo a weekend in the rain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i am taking the month of Novemeber, and getting all those 1/2 projects in my house DONE..once and for all. already got the garage done.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;7 weeks until we leave for Orlando...yeah.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;this also means 8 weeks until Christmas...just what you needed to see.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ah yes, youngest has a spelling test tommorrow that will most likely be disappointing.  not only are the words difficult, but the test is mere minutes before the Halloween party and parade.  that is just asking for disaster.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;why God?  WHY?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;have a good weekend.......&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116191258848796735?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116191258848796735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116191258848796735' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116191258848796735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116191258848796735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/10/junk.html' title='junk'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116178292725699101</id><published>2006-10-25T09:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-25T09:28:47.270-04:00</updated><title type='text'>a break from the maudlin</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/1600/IMG_2120.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/200/IMG_2120.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my youngest is understandably frustrated by being not just the youngest, but the littlest. he longs to be older, stronger and of course...bigger. i have an archway into the kitchen, where i mark the kids growth. until, as was the case with the oldest...i couldn't reach anymore :).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;this morning was probably the 10th day in a row, i have caught the youngest checking himself against his last mark. shoes on, shoes off, hair flat, hair unkempt. he is just too darn cute. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;so i told him this morning to stop being in such a hurry to grow up. and he told me he had to get bigger before the oldest moved out so he could kick his butt. sweet brotherly love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116178292725699101?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116178292725699101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116178292725699101' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116178292725699101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116178292725699101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/10/break-from-maudlin.html' title='a break from the maudlin'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116170365229904997</id><published>2006-10-24T11:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-24T11:27:32.323-04:00</updated><title type='text'>still here</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;actually ALOT has been going on around here lately.  however every time i write something it feels frivolous.  the person who died on saturday was my oldest sons, best friend's, brother.  and my son is having a very hard time dealing with it.  the worst thing is, i don't know how to  make him feel better.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i can give him hugs and tell him it's ok to feel how he feels, but the timeline of events surrounding this persons death are complicated as well, for both my son and his friend.  and my son feels almost guilty sometimes.  not that either of them were in any way involved, it's just too much to put down here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;keep my son in your thoughts, and prayers if you are so inclined, as well as his friend's family.  we have 2 nights of viewings ahead of us and a funeral on thurs.  it's going to be a long week for him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116170365229904997?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116170365229904997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116170365229904997' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116170365229904997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116170365229904997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/10/still-here.html' title='still here'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116146573177592176</id><published>2006-10-21T16:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-21T17:22:11.786-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;a woman i know lost one of her children  early this morning.  he was only 21.  the one thing she keeps saying is she wishes she could tell him one more time how much she loves him.  hug your kids extra hard tonight, give them one extra kiss, read them one more story.  call them and tell them how important they are to you.  you won't regret it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116146573177592176?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116146573177592176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116146573177592176' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116146573177592176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116146573177592176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/10/woman-i-know-lost-one-of-her-children.html' title=''/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26610901.post-116129371205714745</id><published>2006-10-19T17:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-19T17:35:12.073-04:00</updated><title type='text'>he's a man</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/1600/IMG_2117.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/320/IMG_2117.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/1600/trans%20015.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5819/2680/320/trans%20015.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;so to say...my middle guy turns 13 today.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;he is the spitting image of his dad, but the rest is just like his mom. he is my peace between the 2 storms i call oldest and youngest. he is so smart, sometimes he freaks me out. and most importantly he taught me that there was enough love in me to split between all the children i would have.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Happy Birthday!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/26610901-116129371205714745?l=ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/feeds/116129371205714745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=26610901&amp;postID=116129371205714745' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116129371205714745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/26610901/posts/default/116129371205714745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ihavenothingtosay70.blogspot.com/2006/10/hes-man.html' title='he&apos;s a man'/><author><name>me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13071384539518303978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
