<?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-5002928371877483824</id><updated>2012-01-01T16:23:50.828-08:00</updated><category term='religion'/><category term='sleep issues'/><category term='childhood questions'/><category term='birds and bees'/><category term='circumcision'/><category term='Megan'/><category term='Breastfeeding'/><category term='depression'/><category term='work'/><category term='secondary infertility'/><category term='homeschooling'/><category term='money'/><title type='text'>Mental status- unknown</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>46</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-5289989085934655944</id><published>2011-11-19T12:48:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-19T13:14:02.089-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Made to Trade</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZcUZsatFbDQ/TsgXX1RylTI/AAAAAAAAAdY/A3EywdUoQeg/s1600/1119110924.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZcUZsatFbDQ/TsgXX1RylTI/AAAAAAAAAdY/A3EywdUoQeg/s320/1119110924.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676813028506637618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So Today I went to a totally awesome trade/swap.  I've never done a swap thing before, but I heard about it and thought it would be fun.  Maybe get SOME Christmas shopping done.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nothing was done as "this is what it's worth on the open Market," it was more or less sold for cost, and it was trade.  In my case, there was no money exchanged, anywhere.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&amp;lt;- those are bens cars that he made.  The one blue/yellow/red together is a train.  He's pretty talented!!  (Yes Emily, that is the picture from your blog of the animal cars, it's even laminated to make it look all pretty.). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I had some Jam and applesauce that I made.  And honestly, we did great!  The barter thing was nice, and everybody played nice.  Ben owes about 9 cars to people.  (He's talented!).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then check this out!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uiaoLCH-U0M/TsgWbfqI3TI/AAAAAAAAAc0/g_oE6ks4SGU/s1600/1119111336.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uiaoLCH-U0M/TsgWbfqI3TI/AAAAAAAAAc0/g_oE6ks4SGU/s320/1119111336.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676811991911030066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A list would bore you, but I have problems finding highlights, therefore, I get to bore anybody who finds the time to read this!  I ended up with (some pictured, some not because I have to pick it up later - I made a nice excel document for organizing what I owe and what I need to get still).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 4 flats of nine mini cheesecakes (heaven!!) (I have two, the other two I will pick up later)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 2 jars of homemade pickles.  One spicy, one regular garlic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- one lemon sugar scrub&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 1 scripture case (with john Deere tractors!!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 3 fabric roll out crayon holders, perfect for church!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 1 leather thingy that goes around a cowboy hat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 4 leather keychains&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 2 books (the body battles a cavity, and the body battles a skinned knee) - VERY informative and awesome.  Cute illustrations too.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 4 hair bows for Megan (really darling!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 3 containers of fudge - half pound each&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 2 pink crocheted hats for Megan&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 1 blue warm rice pack for the kids&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 1 even cuter large rice pack for ME&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 2 kitchen scrubbers&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- a belt for my nephew with his name on it (getting later)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- a stuffed dog for Brandon - a cute Yorkie &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- a cape with Incredibles on one side and superman on the other &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- homemade laundry soap (3 gallons!!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- a set of mittens for me &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;- 2 pant clips and 2 mitten clips (&lt;a href="http://www.chrystalblu.com/category_13/Paci-Catchers.htm"&gt;http://www.chrystalblu.com&lt;/a&gt;) &amp;lt;- check this gals website, they are darling.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All in all, it was one awesome swap.  I can't wait until next Year!!  the best part, CHEAP.  There was no money involved for most people, it was just trading things that they make for things we make.  (Or Ben makes ... one of us is talented anyway, although I did trade some of my jam).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-5289989085934655944?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/5289989085934655944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2011/11/made-to-trade.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/5289989085934655944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/5289989085934655944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2011/11/made-to-trade.html' title='Made to Trade'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZcUZsatFbDQ/TsgXX1RylTI/AAAAAAAAAdY/A3EywdUoQeg/s72-c/1119110924.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-765458880560678181</id><published>2011-06-17T09:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-17T09:33:43.882-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='depression'/><title type='text'>Terrible, horrible, no good very bad day</title><content type='html'>Dang roller coaster.  Up and down, bad days, good days.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yesterday, bad day.  Today?  Better.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ben found my depression meds, and realized how many days I've missed in the last three Months (it was a 3 month subscription).  I got some jam made, and visited dad in the hospital, (rotator cuff surgery, he's out of commission for a while.)  Long while.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;today I picked up my depression meds, so I'm back on them, (temporarily? - I even got a 7 day pill minder, so I can remember whether or not I've taken them)!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My best friend down the road (who keeps me sane) is out of town ... we'll have to plan a girls night when she gets back so we can collect sanity!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-765458880560678181?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/765458880560678181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2011/06/terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/765458880560678181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/765458880560678181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2011/06/terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-day.html' title='Terrible, horrible, no good very bad day'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-7177563493085055514</id><published>2011-06-15T07:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-15T08:04:28.628-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Speechless in motherhood</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; "&gt;[at grocery store]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;div&gt;Jacob: mom … she only has one arm!!!  ….. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mom … and you have two arms.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jacob:  But mom, that looks weird!!!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[speechless]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[to primary teacher the week after we stayed home cause I was sick] &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We didn’t go to church last week cause mom was too busy killing zombies on the computer …. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;… &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[to Megan while she’s coloring]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: what do you do with legs?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Megan: walk&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: what do you do with noses?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Megan: color them!!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: what else do you do with noses?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Megan: bite them!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Ben; you're a dork. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Megan: You're a dork. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ben: Laura, look what you're teaching her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: I'm sorry daddy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Megan: [looking at me] you're not sorry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ben: [laughing]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[kids playing, suddenly they start an insult war]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Brandon: you’re a bubblenose!!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jacob:  Mommy, he called me a bubblenose!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jacob: mommy, I’m sweeping the roof for you!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me:  Is it dirty?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jacob:  Someday walked on it with muddy feet!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: … OK?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jacob:  Mommy … can we watch “Casper the holy ghost?”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: who lost their underwear in the box of pears?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ben:  It fell out of the clean laundry as I was taking it out of the dryer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Making decisions; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;me- what do you think? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;ben- it's up to you. me- no, it's up to you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;jacob in backseat- no guys. it's up to BOTH of you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;raining today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; jacob said "mother, can you find something to clean the windshield so i can see?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;i turned on the wipers "good thinking mother!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ah, the life of a mother.  :-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-7177563493085055514?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/7177563493085055514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2011/06/speechless-in-motherhood.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7177563493085055514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7177563493085055514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2011/06/speechless-in-motherhood.html' title='Speechless in motherhood'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-8541116835526136323</id><published>2011-06-06T10:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-06T10:27:27.416-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Salt Flats, salt lake, and a few wrong directions</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rk5NdnBJipc/Te0NbWnAgMI/AAAAAAAAAV0/L35Je5JWrO8/s1600/Capture.PNG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 162px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rk5NdnBJipc/Te0NbWnAgMI/AAAAAAAAAV0/L35Je5JWrO8/s400/Capture.PNG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615159073977696450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;This weekend we went to Provo for family pictures.  Somehow after filling up with gas in Salt lake,we took a wrong turn ... &lt;div&gt;A - Salt lake, the freeway, where we meant to get back on I-15. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; B, Delle, where we turned around ... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: the border of Utah/Nevada, just in case you wonder how lost we really were!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;D: the key .... we were WAY out of our way.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;E: the great salt lake.  I have never seen such a beautiful view.  I never realized the lake was so BIG.  How is it I've never been there?  We will definitely have to go there sometime soon!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;F: part of the salt flats, I've never seen those either.  Wow!!!!  Salt in every direction!  It was gorgeous!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So yes, we went an hour each direction out of our way.  Yes, it was not good.  But I saw more scenery than I knew Utah possessed!!  It was amazing!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-8541116835526136323?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/8541116835526136323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2011/06/salt-flats-salt-lake-and-few-wrong.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/8541116835526136323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/8541116835526136323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2011/06/salt-flats-salt-lake-and-few-wrong.html' title='Salt Flats, salt lake, and a few wrong directions'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rk5NdnBJipc/Te0NbWnAgMI/AAAAAAAAAV0/L35Je5JWrO8/s72-c/Capture.PNG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-1571039252479297080</id><published>2011-02-16T09:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-16T10:31:37.315-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The crash of 2010: the aftermath</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F30it5R61xM/TVwXCWE8ZNI/AAAAAAAAAUw/-Q4iJ5WtMGw/s1600/f11233864.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F30it5R61xM/TVwXCWE8ZNI/AAAAAAAAAUw/-Q4iJ5WtMGw/s200/f11233864.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574355767831323858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;In late December, my computer crashed. The week I was due to do my yearly "picture backup." .. during a defragment, I got the blue screen and total frying of the hard drive/motherboard. .. a friend was somehow able to retrieve some info off of it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Due to ... whatever ... there was an insane amount of picture files on that computer. My two Theories:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1 - because the computer was in a defragment cycle, the pictures were randomly lumped.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2 - google chrome saves images of everything. ... everything. Everything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was handed a beautiful file of 70,000 pictures. (No, I'm not kidding.). Of such, intermingled randomly are the pictures of my children taken the past year or so .... very randomly. Its' like a trip down memory lane!! It has pictures of everything. Pictures from every blog I've looked at,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; facebook photos I've seen, ads that I didn't notice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's a very random sampling.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-geK3ePb7JTs/TVwWjILONbI/AAAAAAAAAUo/-BO8xTX7aZA/s1600/f54394216.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-geK3ePb7JTs/TVwWjILONbI/AAAAAAAAAUo/-BO8xTX7aZA/s200/f54394216.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574355231523616178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I remember seeing this one on Cake wrecks.  (Cakewrecks.com &lt;- AWESOME site.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fHDSZDl8tzY/TVwWjHERjmI/AAAAAAAAAUg/2na2avdoLwA/s1600/f54422208.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 135px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fHDSZDl8tzY/TVwWjHERjmI/AAAAAAAAAUg/2na2avdoLwA/s200/f54422208.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574355231226039906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;must have been a news article ... some natural disaster I bet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hmYTOX6YPVc/TVwWYZ1UfGI/AAAAAAAAAUY/gYHI3i5r5_o/s1600/f54379136.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 122px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hmYTOX6YPVc/TVwWYZ1UfGI/AAAAAAAAAUY/gYHI3i5r5_o/s200/f54379136.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574355047285029986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;looking up pillow pets when Jacob was begging for one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iP5jMj3-9NY/TVwWYfl9qwI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/ZUejxa8mf0A/s1600/f49287072.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 75px; height: 75px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iP5jMj3-9NY/TVwWYfl9qwI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/ZUejxa8mf0A/s200/f49287072.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574355048831232770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;uh ... listened to this one?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tRbUxOPiSC0/TVwWYGIfWuI/AAAAAAAAAUI/DkvXIIO0s9A/s1600/f49231688.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 40px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tRbUxOPiSC0/TVwWYGIfWuI/AAAAAAAAAUI/DkvXIIO0s9A/s200/f49231688.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574355041996724962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;a game!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-068iDHU_jmg/TVwWYElFpbI/AAAAAAAAAUA/3VnZCRMRFM4/s1600/f50481952.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 92px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-068iDHU_jmg/TVwWYElFpbI/AAAAAAAAAUA/3VnZCRMRFM4/s200/f50481952.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574355041579804082" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;absolutely no idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d8YT4Ola67A/TVwWXz7qHAI/AAAAAAAAAT4/6sKvmSh0TDg/s1600/f52770528.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d8YT4Ola67A/TVwWXz7qHAI/AAAAAAAAAT4/6sKvmSh0TDg/s200/f52770528.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574355037111065602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;good times ... this involved a weird husband and Mcdonalds.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ztI56VAdsp8/TVwXLRcd1OI/AAAAAAAAAU4/nnlz-5bsM50/s200/f26605352.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574355921206629602" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;and here and there I find pictures like this one, and the one at the top ... the pictures I was looking for in the first place.  This is Megan and Ben at Dad's fiftieth birthday party.  So I will keep looking for pictures ... Started with 70,000 items. .. 47,385 items to go!!!    and I have found 2,061 pictures I actually wanted.  (Although I'm sure some of those are duplicates ..)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-1571039252479297080?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/1571039252479297080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2011/02/crash-of-2010-aftermath.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1571039252479297080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1571039252479297080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2011/02/crash-of-2010-aftermath.html' title='The crash of 2010: the aftermath'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F30it5R61xM/TVwXCWE8ZNI/AAAAAAAAAUw/-Q4iJ5WtMGw/s72-c/f11233864.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-4270509578795506895</id><published>2010-12-06T08:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-06T10:14:54.587-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Checkup.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://waynejoseph.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/flu-vaccine.jpg?w=150&amp;amp;h=112" alt="flu vaccine" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;it's a needle, how dangerous can it be?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So my boys went in Friday for their well child checks.  I cheat and schedule them both for the same time and day (because their birthdays are so close).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Before we even got there, Jacob started crying, "I don't want a shot!  I don't want a shot!"  .... who told him he'd be getting a shot?  We told Brandon he'd probably be getting some .. (kindergarten shots)....  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He calmed down, and we went in.  The first thing they do, instead of weighing them, is give us a cup and point to Jacob, "he needs to pee in the cup" .. the child in question claimed he didn't need to pee.  But ben took him anyway and convinced him he could try.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While we were waiting for the boys (Brandon decided he had to go too), Megan and I sat in the lab and they gave her a cute little Tinkerbell sticker.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They came out (the cup nearly overflowing - I thought he didn't need to pee!!!  Thank heavens for lids), and Brandon realizes Megan has a Tinkerbell sticker, and he doesn't.  I tell him he'll get a sticker if he's good, and we go to the exam room.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Both boys have to take their shoes off and get weighed.  Somehow between leaving home and getting there, they had both lost their socks .... so it looks like I didn't put socks on them.  *sigh*  When they took off their shoes, I gave them a look, "where's your socks?"  Neither claimed knowledge of socks .... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Weighing the boys was easy enough ... until Megan fixed her beady eyes on the nurse and gave her a puppy dog look.  "Me next?"  So she very patiently weighed Megan, just so she wasn't left out.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Weighing is naturally the easy part ... the Dr came in, with a student, so Jacob had to question her and figure out why she was there.  he examined Brandon, had him jump, walk, and asked him questions to determine if he was talking better.  Then he pointed at a slight indent, like a scar, and asked if we'd discussed that before ... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He explained calmly it's just a third nipple, not a scar, and it won't get any breast tissue, .... my 4 year old has a third nipple and I didn't know it?  Cool!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thankfully, other than that the physicals went calmly.  But he said he'd send somebody in to test the hearing on both boys, and the vision for Jacob.  But first, the flu shots!  He offered the "flu mist," because it's easier and the boys haven't needed the nebulizer for a couple years.  Crisis averted!  Then the nurse came in and explained, .... "we don't have any more flu mist .... they'll have to have the shots . . ."  Crap.  Meltdown mode .... Brandon didn't end up getting the kindergarten shots, because they've updated what is needed so he needed two catchup shots.  (That were added ....).  The nurse came in and said, "oldest first!"  Naturally, the oldest is the least likely to be a problem.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We put Brandon first instead, who was great (because he'd get ice cream after), then the first needle went in and he went hysterical.  Jacob wasn't better.  Megan cried for about fifteen seconds, then she was fine.  (Girls are stronger!!!).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While the boys howled, the nurse came in to test their hearing, they had to raise their hand when they heard the noise .... yeah right.  I was able to get Brandon settled down enough to listen, and he did fine.  Then Jacob was still sniffing, and missed a few.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The eye test?  She tried to use the shapes, but I told her he could handle the letters.  Even upset, he's more likely to get letters right than "dinosaur, triangle ..."  But he said them so quiet that I had to repeat what he said.  I think she thought I was cheating ... but she didn't say anything.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then the boys started crying because there were no more Tinkerbell stickers ... and by the time we walked out, (Jacob limping because his leg hurt SO bad ..) I'm sure they were glad to see us go.  Funny, I was glad to be out too.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-4270509578795506895?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/4270509578795506895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/12/checkup.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4270509578795506895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4270509578795506895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/12/checkup.html' title='The Checkup.'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-1213365053583935214</id><published>2010-11-05T11:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-05T11:31:02.621-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The pillow Pet: Version 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TNRL05rrKgI/AAAAAAAAASg/hpblVlMZkYU/s1600/1103101803.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TNRL05rrKgI/AAAAAAAAASg/hpblVlMZkYU/s200/1103101803.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536133214154467842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;A few short weeks after Jacob earned his, (and their mother has been AWOL from blogging) ... Brandon earned his pillow pet!!!!!  We gave him the last two dollars in change for his birthday to earn "his half" of the money. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He was so proud!  This time we were prepared, and ben called ahead to find a store that actually CARRIED the pillow pet he wanted.  The bumblebee.  ironically, this one had recently gotten a shipment and had the ladybugs that we had spent so long finding for Jacob.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TNRL0iKF1cI/AAAAAAAAASY/3nEYafwzZIk/s1600/1103101805.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TNRL0iKF1cI/AAAAAAAAASY/3nEYafwzZIk/s200/1103101805.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536133207839593922" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;he was so happy when he saw it!  He grabbed it, and his piggy bank slipped out of his hand.  Oops.  Well, ... that was one way to get the money out of it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TNRL0VhYAjI/AAAAAAAAASQ/EuR48cA05rI/s1600/1103101805a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TNRL0VhYAjI/AAAAAAAAASQ/EuR48cA05rI/s200/1103101805a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536133204447593010" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;we picked up the money, summoned a worker and apologized profusely for our mess!  Then picked up the big pieces and guarded the mess until somebody was able to sweep it up.  (Ceramic hurts ... Jacob has an old scar on his leg proving that). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TNRL0W4WhtI/AAAAAAAAASI/qBAezL3EQpY/s1600/1103101809.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TNRL0W4WhtI/AAAAAAAAASI/qBAezL3EQpY/s200/1103101809.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536133204812400338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One more Pillow pet in the family.  His name is "peekaboo" ... and I have never seen Brandon so happy!  He earned it himself.  although we did take the smaller coins and combine them to replace with all quarters.  Just to be nicer to the check out lady who doesn't deserve to have to count lots of small coins.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Coming soon; episode 3!  Megan is getting really close to her 7.50 (we decided she didn't need half, ... we gave her a little break on account of her being younger.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Peekaboo joined "Michael the ladybug" and the boys are content.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On a side note; the ladybug now has a hat ... Jacob had an old hat he asked Ben to cut holes in the head so it would fit the ladybug.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-1213365053583935214?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/1213365053583935214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/11/pillow-pet-version-2.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1213365053583935214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1213365053583935214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/11/pillow-pet-version-2.html' title='The pillow Pet: Version 2'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TNRL05rrKgI/AAAAAAAAASg/hpblVlMZkYU/s72-c/1103101803.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-4395594963282006068</id><published>2010-10-11T12:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-11T12:30:16.590-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Pillow Pet</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TLNjuMtRakI/AAAAAAAAARo/zkJZ2ApI-fQ/s200/1009101433.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526870813049973314" /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;A few weeks ago Jacob decided he wanted a pillow pet.  Not just a "Pillow pet", but the "ladybug pillow pet."  These are an unnatural hybrid between pillows and stuffed animals.  And apparently they're popular.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;He saw a commercial and decided this is what he wanted more than anything.  As a mom, my original opinion was "NO."  But I thought about it, as he asked again and again, and finally came to a decision.  I gave him a piggy bank, and said when he had earned, by himself, enough for half the pillow pet, he could buy it with his own money.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;He worked, and worked, and worked and worked.  (and lost his first tooth, which netted him two dollars, mostly because it's the first.  The going rate for second and beyond is not nearly that high).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;On Saturday he did his last job, (picking up the living room), ... and his piggy bank net reached 10.13.  He was so proud!  So we went to the store ... and apparently ladybug pillow pets are the most popular.  It took 3 stores (and a few phone calls), to net one.  They put it aside, and we walked in and he paid with his change.  (Thanks to a very patient cashier).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TLNj3diGnWI/AAAAAAAAARw/5R9sY7aheEY/s200/1009101549.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526870972185353570" /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;This is Jacob walking out of the store, very proud .... and I think his new Pillow Pet means so much more to him because begging didn't get it for him.  Good hard work did.  He even held dad move boxes when we moved!  He named the ladybug Michael, I'm not sure why.  I asked and his beautiful answer was, "because it's a ladybug pillow pet."  ... can't argue with that logic!  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TLNj3gylRZI/AAAAAAAAAR4/cOsMtBjjOqY/s1600/1009101551.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TLNj3gylRZI/AAAAAAAAAR4/cOsMtBjjOqY/s1600/1009101551.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TLNj3gylRZI/AAAAAAAAAR4/cOsMtBjjOqY/s200/1009101551.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526870973059777938" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;The Pillow Pet is the newest member of the family, and Brandon is now saving up for HIS.  But he wants a bumblebee . . . at least they didn't choose really expensive things for their first "save up for" item!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&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/5002928371877483824-4395594963282006068?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/4395594963282006068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/10/pillow-pet.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4395594963282006068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4395594963282006068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/10/pillow-pet.html' title='The Pillow Pet'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TLNjuMtRakI/AAAAAAAAARo/zkJZ2ApI-fQ/s72-c/1009101433.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-7343001232139908890</id><published>2010-09-30T08:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-30T08:23:58.643-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Farm Vehicles have Names</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TKSrf_xqnwI/AAAAAAAAARg/36dl_3KzVVU/s1600/0813081004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TKSrf_xqnwI/AAAAAAAAARg/36dl_3KzVVU/s200/0813081004.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522727609247112962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Have you noticed that most farm vehicles have a name?&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Now always normal names either … lets explain what I mean.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;This morning I ended up driving Deathtrap, because Aaron had to take Courtney.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Courtney got her name because she’s supposed to be a “courtin vehicle.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Deathtrap – or rattletrap as some people call him – is pretty much explanatory.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He’s got no rearview mirror, no handle on the inside of the driver door (shutting the door is a pain).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The windows don’t roll down, and the only seatbelts that work are the drivers belt, and one of them in the back.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Add to that, the windshield reflects really badly when the sun hits it just right.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Therefore; she earned her name.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;A farmer doesn’t do what a lot of other people do.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Although using “mom’s car”, and “dad’s car”, works to a point … it doesn’t work so well all the way down.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There’s trucks, cars, tractors, and so on.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So they get names, or “designations” … depending on the imagination of the user.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;A new pickup is bought, and it’s called, at first, “the red truck.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;After a while, it becomes “The Red Truck”, even if other red trucks are bought, it remains, “The Red Truck”, and all the others will have other names.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aaron found a pickup he wants, and it comes with a name, that’s half the charm.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The pickup is named “Chuck Norris.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’ll probably keep its name for the life of the vehicle.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;when I was in college, I drove “Charlie” … who was an old car that used to belong to my great grandparents – but they named her Charlie, so she kept the name.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;If somebody gets a new truck … the names have to evolve.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;For example, “grandpa’s truck” is replaced by “grandpas new truck” … for at least two years these will be the designations.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Eventually “Grandpas New Truck” will become “Grandpa’s Truck”, and the old Grandpas truck will get a new name, dependent on personality, color, or some physical aspect.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Sometimes names are a little more boring than the colors; …. “The Chevy”, “The Malibu”, “The Pinto” …. Yeah, but it works, and everybody knows which car/truck/ whatever is meant.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;As such, there’s “The Green Truck” (don’t forget, “The” is part of the name … it can’t be left out.).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There’s “Little Red” (a cute little red tractor).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“The 10 wheeler” … yeah … imaginative.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Even if the farm gets other ten wheelers, that will always be “The 10 Wheeler.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then there’s “The White Truck”, I remember a vehicle called “Rollover” (need I say more?) and a myriad of other names that are entertaining.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(we used to have an old station wagon dubbed, “The Green Thing”.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;All in all, I’ve decided I like it when cars have names, it gives them personality!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&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/5002928371877483824-7343001232139908890?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/7343001232139908890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/09/why-farm-vehicles-have-names.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7343001232139908890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7343001232139908890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/09/why-farm-vehicles-have-names.html' title='Why Farm Vehicles have Names'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TKSrf_xqnwI/AAAAAAAAARg/36dl_3KzVVU/s72-c/0813081004.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-3220207433861421117</id><published>2010-09-10T14:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-10T14:15:31.797-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Remembering Eternity</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TIqf6kIPIdI/AAAAAAAAARI/NgBkgHlBWN4/s1600/DSC_6916.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TIqf6kIPIdI/AAAAAAAAARI/NgBkgHlBWN4/s200/DSC_6916.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515396522148045266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Along with my new work schedule came a Friday class - preparing for eternal marriage.  It's full of singles and engaged couples.  A whole lot of people with eternity to look forward to.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The teacher said he wants each of his engaged students to reflect on the moment they knew that he/she was "the one."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had to start thinking.  Its' been so long, but it feels like it was not so long ago.  I knew my husband for many years, since we were little 14 year olds, young and immature.  He claims he knew from the first that I was perfect for him.  I wasn't so fast.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The years flew by, and in high school I'd avoid the corner he and his friends hung out during lunch, because for some reason, I felt embarrassed when he saw me with another boys arm around my waist.  He was just a friend!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We graduated high school, and went to a 3 day stake youth conference.  Looking back, I think that's where things started to change.  We spent hours talking, we went together for the Y hike (hiking to the Y near BYU campus), and I grew very fond of him.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That Christmas he gave me a pair of moccasins.  He'd convinced my sister to get my foot size, and he made me leather moccasins, which I wore a lot.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He left on his mission in July, 2001, and I put the moccasins, and a few remnants from that youth conference, and the program from his farewell, in a box and sealed it.  Along with it I tried to seal his memory.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it didn't work.  We wrote back and forth.  He wrote me a short one page letter every week.  I think he missed 3 weeks his entire mission.  He told me how things were going there, and sent pictures.  And I wrote ... not as faithfully.  Sometimes a month would go between letters, but when I felt like writing, I'd write.  And I'd write whatever was on my mind.  I soon learned to keep the letters to 5 pages, (or 3 pages and one picture), because any more than that took another stamp.  But there were days I'd send a five page letter, only to put another in the mail the next day.  Rumor has it that he got teased for that on his mission.  But what missionary doesn't appreciate long letters from home.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About a year after he left, I missed those moccasins so badly I pulled them out of storage and started wearing them again.  They reminded me of him, but they were so comfortable.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next spring, near valentines his sister got engaged.  They hadn't told him yet, so I didn't mention anything in my letters.  Conference weekend I met the fiance, and I happened to mention it in a letter to him.  After all, she'd been engaged for two months!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oops ... they hadn't told him.  They wanted to wait for mothers day.  Just a month before the wedding.  So I accidentally broke the news ... the letter I got back was something like, "are you sure she's getting married?"  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;June came, and he came home.  He was still "just a friend," I never thought of him as more than that.  He was just a friend, and always had been.  we hung out a little bit, and talked a lot.  2 weeks after he came home was his "not a homecoming" talk in church.  I was listening to him talk, and I realized something ... I loved this man.  Not sort of, I really loved this man.  And I couldn't imagine forever with anybody else.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As tears leaked from my eyes, I realized I'd loved him for a long time, and I just hadn't admitted it to myself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A week later we were engaged, July 2nd, I was driving him home, as we'd gone on a walk that morning.  We sat in the front seat of the car talking for the longest time and he asked about my plans to go on a mission.  Then asked what I'd think if he asked me to marry him.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Six months to the day later, we got married in the Idaho falls temple.  We have our disagreements on occasion.  But I love him, and always will.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;and after we got engaged, I did ask him to patch the holes I'd worn in my moccasins.  He's replaced the soles 3 times since then.  Even now, occasionally when I look at him, my heart skips a beat, and I remember how lucky I am to be married to this man.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-3220207433861421117?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/3220207433861421117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/09/remembering-eternity.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/3220207433861421117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/3220207433861421117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/09/remembering-eternity.html' title='Remembering Eternity'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TIqf6kIPIdI/AAAAAAAAARI/NgBkgHlBWN4/s72-c/DSC_6916.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-2515450062738204857</id><published>2010-09-03T08:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-03T09:06:09.833-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lazy UPS man. . . .</title><content type='html'>So the other day my son ran inside telling us that there was a man outside.  Jen goes outside to see a very lost looking UPS man .... &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Is this where {my grandfather} lives?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No .. that direction, second house on the left." About a half mile ... literally!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Can I leave the package here for him?  I'm in a hurry."  Umm ... it's two houses ... just down the road ... how hard can that be?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So he walks to his car and brings the box to us.  Leaving it for us to deliver to grandpa, two houses away, because he couldn't take the time to do his job and deliver it two houses away.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Umm .... I think I prefer FedEx... they deliver things where they belong!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This bothered me Because: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A:  He didn't "have time" to do his job?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;B:  He dropped off a package for somebody else, knowing it was the wrong house.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C:  He expected us to do the delivering.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wasn't sure if it was UPS or FedEx at first, but I know they both have distinctive trucks.  So I googled "Fedex Image" and "UPS image" and found pictures of both their trucks.  The brown truck wins!  (Or loses, as the case may be), because I know what the idiot was driving.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next time, hire somebody that can do their job!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-2515450062738204857?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/2515450062738204857/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/09/lazy-ups-man.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/2515450062738204857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/2515450062738204857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/09/lazy-ups-man.html' title='Lazy UPS man. . . .'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-3991211716974832466</id><published>2010-08-12T08:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-12T09:05:38.427-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pancake Deprivation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TGQbrmKNztI/AAAAAAAAAQY/n8Wis2pzf1g/s1600/0823081851.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TGQbrmKNztI/AAAAAAAAAQY/n8Wis2pzf1g/s200/0823081851.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504555080345308882" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Above is a totally irrelevant image.  Just cause it's pretty. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;So today I was babysitting 3 of my nephews.  All 6 kids were playing happily downstairs before breakfast.  I called them up, and only 3 came up (2 of mine and 1 of the nephews).  I asked if they wanted pancakes or cereal.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ten minutes later I called that breakfast was ready and six kids came running.  Those that came before got breakfast, and I sweetly told the others I didn't know they were hungry, and I didn't make enough.  So after the first 3, and me, were finished, I would make them more pancakes.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This caused 3 unhappy children, one of whom I'm sure is going to tattle to his mommy and grandma on me, but I feel it was fair.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I did feed the others, about twenty minutes after the first three got food.  But one claimed he was so hungry by then he couldn't even carry his plate!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next time; I have a sneaking suspicion they will come the first time I call.  Not the last!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-3991211716974832466?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/3991211716974832466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/08/pancake-deprivation.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/3991211716974832466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/3991211716974832466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/08/pancake-deprivation.html' title='Pancake Deprivation'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TGQbrmKNztI/AAAAAAAAAQY/n8Wis2pzf1g/s72-c/0823081851.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-4929372547899171990</id><published>2010-07-22T05:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-22T06:03:48.588-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I'm a big kid now"</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I really don't like potty training.  Last night I slept through my 3 a.m. alarm .... so did Ben ... and the results are disastrous.  Jacob is not a child who is annoyed when he wets his bed.  He gets downright hysterical.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He cries, he can't stand being wet ... and it's really not good.  So when he wet his bed at 4 ... his crying woke me up.  I feel like a bad mom for missing his wake up call.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When Brandon started waking up dry, after a week we agreed to let him move to no pullups at night.  His older brother wanted to follow suit, so we agreed, if he's ok with 3 a.m. potty trips until he can wake himself up to use the bathroom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I sleep through his potty trip, and accidents happen.  I think about moving him back to pullups at night, ... but he's so good if we take him, and something about being a "big boy" just means so much to him.  He wants to be a big boy.  Not a baby.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway; this wraps up the semester, we're heading for my 7 week break; and no more days of this.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TEhBVOoMFdI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/A6KA9OI2Vwk/s200/0621100626.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496715178165409234" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is me on the way to school.  My adapter plugged in, with the surge protector, and both computers, and usually my phone too.  :-)  Thankfully I don't do this often, but it makes my car look like the borg are taking over.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-4929372547899171990?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/4929372547899171990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/07/im-big-kid-now.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4929372547899171990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4929372547899171990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/07/im-big-kid-now.html' title='&quot;I&apos;m a big kid now&quot;'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TEhBVOoMFdI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/A6KA9OI2Vwk/s72-c/0621100626.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-3147591670253280319</id><published>2010-06-21T10:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T10:58:26.907-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Eyes on the prize, or the children.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#0000EE;"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TB-mxgZZYOI/AAAAAAAAAPA/t_3gLY6iJo8/s1600/0620101441.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TB-mxgZZYOI/AAAAAAAAAPA/t_3gLY6iJo8/s200/0620101441.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485286240600809698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ever wonder what happens when somebody is watching kids outside and you blink?  Thankfully, the joy of living in the middle of nowhere means that the road isn't quite as dangerous ... but don't let that fool you.  Kids will be kids!  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My two youngest, and two of their cohorts in crime (other ways known as cousins), discovered the four wheeler unattended and .... put rocks in the gas tank.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[disclaimer: I wasn't the one outside who let four children 4 and under out of eyesight]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;so two hours of fathers day was spent with grandpa and uncle taking off the gas tank, emptying it, and cleaning it.  With four kids watching part of it apologetically (realizing they did bad), following which they all got time out and lost outside privileges for somewhere between the day and the week, depending on how they behave.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Speaking of 4-wheelers, the men are going up to round up cows today.  May I present the modern rednecks horse trailer!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TB-oDKLWhHI/AAAAAAAAAPI/z1QCfBH_nPI/s200/mms95picture.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-3147591670253280319?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/3147591670253280319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/06/eyes-on-prize-or-children.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/3147591670253280319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/3147591670253280319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/06/eyes-on-prize-or-children.html' title='Eyes on the prize, or the children.'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TB-mxgZZYOI/AAAAAAAAAPA/t_3gLY6iJo8/s72-c/0620101441.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-6340262315195597515</id><published>2010-06-19T07:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-19T07:32:58.575-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='birds and bees'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='childhood questions'/><title type='text'>Mommy, where did you get me?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TBzQoNxxK6I/AAAAAAAAAO4/zSzZtDo03nM/s1600/stork.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 195px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TBzQoNxxK6I/AAAAAAAAAO4/zSzZtDo03nM/s200/stork.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484487835542170530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We were driving home the other day, just like any other, when a series of questions headed a direction that I was not quite ready to go.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Mommy, where did you get me?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Um ..... I explained that just like his cousin Ily was in her mommy's tummy once, and Paul was in his mommy's tummy, a long time ago he was in my tummy.   We discussed that a long time ago his brother and his sister were also in my tummy.  (Not at the same time, of course).  Thankfully he didn't go on to ask how he got there in the first place.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Brandon insisted he didn't come out of mommy's tummy.  According to the sweet logic of a three year old; he came from daddy's tummy.  His brother and sister came from mommy's tummy.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If I were lucky, the conversation would be over right there.  But I'm not.  And it wasn't.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"So when I grow up I can get married like you and daddy and I can have babies?  And then you'll be their grandma!  "  He went through this process for about five minutes, how he would marry a girl, and they could have babies so I could be their grandma and his grandma would be their great grandma.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"So you really want four kids?"  I explained no.  I have decided I'm perfectly happy with my three children.  I want my three kids and I love my family just the way it is.  He insisted I wanted four kids and I tried to understand why he decided I wanted four kids.  The truth finally came out "because you have four car seats mom.  You can't have more car seats than you have kids!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ah, the simplicity of life when you are five.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now I know that he wants to make me old by having children and making me a grandma, and he will never have a spare booster seat just in case.  Someday the conversation will have to continue, but I'm satisfied with a simple "from mommy's tummy", at least for now.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-6340262315195597515?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/6340262315195597515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/06/mommy-where-did-you-get-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6340262315195597515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6340262315195597515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/06/mommy-where-did-you-get-me.html' title='Mommy, where did you get me?'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TBzQoNxxK6I/AAAAAAAAAO4/zSzZtDo03nM/s72-c/stork.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-6104057936249497493</id><published>2010-06-16T10:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-16T10:45:14.927-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Unrolled toilet paper terrorizing the house</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ArfX9QvkVPWLUM:http://blog.timesunion.com/kristi/files/2010/04/toilet-paper-holder.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;This is where you start to wonder what in the world toilet paper has to do with anything halfway interesting ... if you have kids, you probably aren't wondering.  :-)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;So; ... lately we have had an influx of unrolled toilet paper in the bathroom.  The logical culprit is the 2 year old female; ... that's' about the right age.  But upon investigation, it appears there was never any unrolled paper when she was around.  If anything, she likes it on the roll better.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The 3 year old?  Nope.  That implies he wants to use the potty, and he'll use it, but he's still pretending he can't figure out the roll.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The adults are out ... so that leaves the 5 year old.  Yes, Jacob has been randomly terrorizing the house by unrolling toilet paper in the bathroom.  Daily.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;It turns out he has issues with toilet paper.  If it's crooked, wrinkled (or torn wrong), he can't use it.  So he unrolls it until he finds somewhere that he can find four perfect squares together.  Because if it's not perfect, it can't be used for it's purpose.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;It turns out that when somebody has OCD, it releases something in the brain that makes them seriously anxious.  So for whatever reason, he "can't" use messed up TP ... and I have no idea what to do with it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Mystery solved!  However, now we have to figure out how to explain that it's ok to use MORE than 4 squares of toilet paper.  You don't have to call an adult to help when your 4 squares are used!  (I didn't teach him the four square rule!!!  It's an even number that folds to an even number ... )&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;{sigh} ... how fun.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-6104057936249497493?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/6104057936249497493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/06/unrolled-toilet-paper-terrorizing-house.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6104057936249497493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6104057936249497493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/06/unrolled-toilet-paper-terrorizing-house.html' title='Unrolled toilet paper terrorizing the house'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-2441532308316627760</id><published>2010-06-11T10:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T10:40:49.167-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Babywearing conference</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TBJ1CvX6TkI/AAAAAAAAAOw/smBHtpiGhvo/s1600/picture.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 115px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TBJ1CvX6TkI/AAAAAAAAAOw/smBHtpiGhvo/s200/picture.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481572386400259650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Yes, that really is Jacob.  The first time I put on a baby wrap, WAY back when. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;This week I’ve been able to get to the IBC conference in Rigby.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;IBC stands for International babywearing conference.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(Although, IBC conference means it’s conference conference, which is way redundant).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have no idea how it ended up in Rigby, the last one was in Chicago.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;In essence, that’s hundreds of moms who are pro-babywearing, in a tiny place, from all over the world. To make this Easy: Baby-wearing is the act of using a wrap, sling, carrier, pouch, or other method to attach baby to mama and wear them around.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Ironically, I have rarely seen 2 of the same method this week, and where I have, it’s usually a wrap or a sling, and they use it slightly differently.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The point is simple; it’s to do what is best for baby.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;You do get the eccentrics, (always), but for the most part, it’s really cool and informative!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Yesterday I hit a class on babywearing safety, and if I’m lucky, today we’ll make it over to the museum in Rigby.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They have this awesome exhibit that is babywearing through the ages.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Which means 200 years of whatever the popular carrying technique was through the years.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Really awesome!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(If I’m lucky I’ll get over there).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I heard somebody mention that near the exhibit is an old Idaho exhibit that includes some native Americans, one with a baby in a backboard!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I also went on the baby walk yesterday morning, which was awesome too.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Because me and Megan got to chat with other moms.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I know my baby is not baby enough to spend much, if any time in a wrap anymore (unless I’m on a walk because I KNOW she wants to be carried five minutes in and my back can’t carry her.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So for walks, I can still get away with it).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But even without a wearing-size baby, the conference is still interesting.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(And it only happens every two years, and never again so close to home, so how could I skip ALL of it?).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The babywearing safety, awesome!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have learned about different types of wraps and carriers, met lots of moms, and it’s just been fun.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I feel like I’m in my element with other moms who understand how helpful it is to keep baby attached.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I saw a cartoon the other day of a mom with a baby in a wrap, a stranger came up to her, “you know, your child will never learn to walk if you use that thing.”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She looks over with a smile and points to her other child, a few years older, “oh, have you met my daughter?&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Exhibit A?”&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(I’ll try to find the link to that).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I’m not totally nuts saying you have to put your child in a carrier, I’m just totally for it, because honestly, it made my life easier with Jacob.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He was colicky, he screamed for 9 months!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then a friend introduced baby wearing to me.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I had tried a front baby carrier before, but it didn’t work for him, because he was big, so it was hard to get him in, and harder to get him out.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I didn’t realize there were things that were adjustable!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;As soon as that child was in a wrap, he turned … human!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He slept, he was easier to deal with.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And he spent a couple hours a day there.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(I even learned to nurse in it, and make jam with him attached to my back).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then life got better, and I will never give up the wrap.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When my kids get older, I’ll still suggest a carrier for their babies.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t care what type, (well, I do if it’s unsafe and will smother baby, but other than that … anything works).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;My wrap may never get used again, (except as a hammock, it works awesome for that), but it’s still been probably the best baby purchase I ever made!&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &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/5002928371877483824-2441532308316627760?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/2441532308316627760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/06/babywearing-conference.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/2441532308316627760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/2441532308316627760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/06/babywearing-conference.html' title='Babywearing conference'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TBJ1CvX6TkI/AAAAAAAAAOw/smBHtpiGhvo/s72-c/picture.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-6346875018126715114</id><published>2010-06-01T09:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T09:13:47.816-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Expecting!!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TAUwzD0Sy0I/AAAAAAAAAOo/3LtveVKmJmw/s1600/0531101310.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TAUwzD0Sy0I/AAAAAAAAAOo/3LtveVKmJmw/s200/0531101310.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477838175522179906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;First things first; no it's not me!!!!!!  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This weekend we had an awesome family get together with cousins and everything, and it was a whole lot of fun!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My cousin's wife looked slightly expecting, but it was hard to tell, until I saw her daughter, with a very proud "big sister" shirt on!  She's due in November.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The party went on normally until the last relative arrived ... and my sisters brought out these M&amp;amp;M's .... :-).  Half of them say my sisters family, the other half?  "Welcomes the third"!!!!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;... it took a minute ..... they have two kids .... !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, so I have a new niece/nephew, due late this year, and I am so excited!!!!!!  Just had to share.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;By the way; the M&amp;amp;M thing .... the all time cutest method I've EVER seen.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A few years ago my brother announced his wife's pregnancy with an awesome poem.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Followed by the sister with a "big sister T-shirt" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Followed by the same sister with the cool M&amp;amp;M's .... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Look out .... I sense a battle coming!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thankfully, the battle can't last too long, you can only announce so many pregnancies ... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it'll be fun!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-6346875018126715114?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/6346875018126715114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/06/expecting.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6346875018126715114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6346875018126715114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/06/expecting.html' title='Expecting!!!!'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/TAUwzD0Sy0I/AAAAAAAAAOo/3LtveVKmJmw/s72-c/0531101310.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-4426700284492134198</id><published>2010-05-30T17:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-30T17:10:01.108-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Little Mother</title><content type='html'>Sometimes my 5 year old makes me smile ... and I realize he'll be an excellent teacher someday.  (Albeit a slightly bossy one).  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At a library event recently, the 3 year old freaked out at the lifesize Clifford, Curious George and Wild Thing (Wild thing?  Where did they find that costume???).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today, my sons were talking about it, and Jacob told Brandon, "they are just people in costumes.  We don't need to be afraid of them."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In the middle of the night, if Megan wakes up, She'll wake up her brother, who will calm her down and give her hugs.  The 3 kids have always shared a room, but I know where Jacob is 5, the end of room sharing is coming near.  Eventually Megan, the lone girl, will have to sleep alone.  But it's hard, because I put them to sleep separately, and when I go to get the kids in the morning, they are no longer separated.  Typically, I find a big puppy pile of arms, legs, and blankets.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Books we've read a million times for the kids, Jacob will read to Brandon, and to Megan, and they hang on his every word.  (Jacob can't read, he just knows the pictures, and the important information about the books).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My favorite part about Jacob trying to act like a mother?  If he smells something, he'll check his brother and sister and come tell me who is messy.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Actually, he used to ... now there's not much guessing to do.  Brandon is nearly potty trained!  We have had a few accidents here and there, but he's doing so good!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Brandon is the peacemaker.  I guess that's a typical 2nd child trait?  If Jacob is upset because Brandon is in his seat ... often Brandon will move without being asked.  Typically the rule is simple.  If a sibling has something another child wants, they can ask for it.  If whoever has it says yes, great, if no, that's fine too.   It's a working method.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We have a family thing this weekend, and we are driving down to Utah.  Jacob grabbed the church bag (which was still between the seats where he could reach it), pulled out the coloring books, coloring utensils, and so the boys could color, while their sister played with a toy.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I count myself lucky these kids are such good travelers.  Few arguments, few rest stops, and we can make a 4 hour drive in just a little more than 4 hours.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now if only we could get Jacob's bossy nature under control; ... I'm sure the day will come.  :-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-4426700284492134198?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/4426700284492134198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/05/little-mother.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4426700284492134198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4426700284492134198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/05/little-mother.html' title='The Little Mother'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-7363659774507475936</id><published>2010-05-28T12:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-28T12:31:15.976-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I did it!</title><content type='html'>Guess what?  I cleaned out my van!  It took me a while, ... but I've been meaning to do it for a while.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Although the middle-of-nowhere farm summer had something to do with it.  (Note: in farming communities, when mice leave fields, they find somewhere to go,  Namely your warm engine).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I took some time, cleaned out my van, and even vacuumed it.  Although I swear about halfway through the vacuuming I heard the vacuum cry out for mercy.  ("No more!  Let me go!  NOOOOOOO!!!).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I reset the traps, including this years most active one, which has caught a total of two mice.  (Note, they are out of reach of children, one in the glove compartment, and one in the hole where the sliding doors slides in).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ah ... the joys of summer!  :-)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;P.S. ... last week Brandon discovered why mom and dad say "don't touch mousetraps if you find them" ..... poor kid.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-7363659774507475936?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/7363659774507475936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-did-it.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7363659774507475936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7363659774507475936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-did-it.html' title='I did it!'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-6064407975828721177</id><published>2010-05-20T21:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-20T22:00:25.117-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Drain Monster</title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:BkEFxDrTkbWp4M:http://1912bungalow.com/wp-content/uploads/files/2008/11/drain.jpg" alt="See full size image" /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last night we were giving my children baths, and everything appeared to be normal, and seemingly ... innocent!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The last person in the tub was Brandon, (3 years old).  He was chatting with his older brother while I got the older dried off.  I was talking to mom, so I wasn't listening to their conversation.  I flipped the drain and let it start emptying while innocently drying Jacob off.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Suddenly, about a minute later, Brandon shrieks and starts throwing the toys out of the tub as fast as his little hands can carry them.  He's crying hysterically, much like you would if attacked by a snake.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I catch the washcloth as it comes flying out and toss it back in, I don't want to clean water off the floor.  This makes Brandon scream louder, and louder.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then it sunk it ..... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The sweet 5 year old shared some version of some evil drain monster.  Grabbing a towel, I swipe Brandon out as fast as I can and put him, soaking wet, on my lap.  We sat there, letting him cry, for several minutes.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As his sobs subsided, I explained what I thought "could have" happened to my mom.  Jacob had run away to get dressed.  At my (very sweet, I'm sure) request, Jacob came back and apologized to his brother.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Taking a car, grandma went to put it in the tub, to show him it was safe, which set him off into fresh hysterics, certain the car was about to be sucked down.  It appears Jacob was telling him that if anything, or anybody, was in the tub when it emptied, they would be sucked down into whatever world is under there.  (I assume something like flushed away).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In hindsight, it was really funny.  We didn't press our luck again today, but tomorrow we'll try another bath and see if our calm explanations helped at all, or if we have to convince him nobody can go down a drain because they were in the tub when the water went out.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ah ... the age of tales.  Drain monsters .... and sweet brothers who love to entertain with scary stories.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-6064407975828721177?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/6064407975828721177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/05/drain-monster.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6064407975828721177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6064407975828721177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/05/drain-monster.html' title='The Drain Monster'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-2104345813389001346</id><published>2010-05-12T09:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-12T10:19:18.253-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Peace.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;There's been a lot of family around lately.  It's totally different being home!  (Even if it's only for the summer, I'm loving it!  )  Anyway, I had to share this picture .... she's 3 - barely.  Look at all that hair!  It's thick and LONG.  Can you believe that?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S-rdDp96r4I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/ccJq1GHa5NA/s1600/0509101752.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S-rdDp96r4I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/ccJq1GHa5NA/s200/0509101752.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470427752269787010" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The noise was getting to me lately, and I needed a few minutes to myself.  So during a break the other day, I drove down to where we have our family reunions every year. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S-rdDHwIk_I/AAAAAAAAAOI/t9MT_w9Ipwk/s1600/0511101400b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S-rdDHwIk_I/AAAAAAAAAOI/t9MT_w9Ipwk/s200/0511101400b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470427743085171698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Quiet and peaceful.  See the blue dot?  My van is the green dot next to it.  Space ... lots of it.  Alone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S-rdC8ksEiI/AAAAAAAAAOA/b8IOHMRoyFM/s1600/0511101400a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S-rdC8ksEiI/AAAAAAAAAOA/b8IOHMRoyFM/s200/0511101400a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470427740084376098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I got some serious time to think.  Just to walk around and spend a few minutes by myself to recharge.  I think I'll have to make sure I spend time alone every week.  That little "me" time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S-rdCoO0LDI/AAAAAAAAAN4/nbY3lPIc0eM/s1600/0511101403a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S-rdCoO0LDI/AAAAAAAAAN4/nbY3lPIc0eM/s200/0511101403a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470427734623923250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;As spring comes, so is growth and renewal.  Moving back and starting work here has been another fresh start.  Beautiful!  About a half hour alone and I was ready to return to life.  One step further from mental breakdown.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The point?  I remembered that to keep my heart at peace, to keep sane and non-depressive, I need to remember life goes on, and search out quiet on occasion.  It's good for all of us.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-2104345813389001346?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/2104345813389001346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/05/peace.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/2104345813389001346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/2104345813389001346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/05/peace.html' title='Peace.'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S-rdDp96r4I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/ccJq1GHa5NA/s72-c/0509101752.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-7921993824796260924</id><published>2010-04-26T12:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-26T13:07:13.478-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday Surprises</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S9Xw8IxOwVI/AAAAAAAAAMY/N_NjEYl2Qxk/s1600/0425101223.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S9Xw8IxOwVI/AAAAAAAAAMY/N_NjEYl2Qxk/s200/0425101223.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464538638820753746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For my dad's birthday recently, my sister had an awesome idea, to give my dad a "build-a-bear" animal, and outfits.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We all got together, and chose cute little outfits for him, and I hoped more than anything dad would like it.  So when he opened his present (in this awesome cardboard closet my sister also made), it was full of outfits!  He just had to choose what went inside of them.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was an untraditional idea, and dad loved it!  He picked out this cute little monkey, (who is now named "Zip", and this will probably be a very spoiled stuffed animal.  This is Zip in his Air force outfit.  :-)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Zip got a church outfit, cowboy outfit, scrubs, military outfit, and I can't even name everything!  He even got a little sleeping bag and tent.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We went along with him to choose Zip (with some excuse about the kids might enjoy it, but the truth is Ben and I both wanted to go, and couldn't decide who should stay with the kids).  The monkey has a monkey sound in his hand, a beating heart and ... you know those little hearts they let the kid kiss and put inside so he's filled with love?  Zip has two - because my three kids were there.  Jacob kissed the first one and they put it in, but Brandon and Megan wanted their love to go in grandpas monkey too, so they both gave one some love.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was so fun, and he left the shop in his darling church outfit.  However, yesterday morning he was in his Air force outfit, and rumor has it that he'd already tried on his fishing outfit, and two other outfits already that morning.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, here's for untraditional ideas.  .... I think that is probably my favorite present we've ever given my dad for his birthday.  He loves it, and we'll all remember it for a long time.  (And it makes it easier to get something for fathers day - Zip needs a star wars outfit.).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&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/5002928371877483824-7921993824796260924?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/7921993824796260924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/04/birthday-surprises.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7921993824796260924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7921993824796260924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/04/birthday-surprises.html' title='Birthday Surprises'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S9Xw8IxOwVI/AAAAAAAAAMY/N_NjEYl2Qxk/s72-c/0425101223.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-408472571522952154</id><published>2010-04-21T12:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-21T13:12:12.218-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Texting Etiquette for 2010</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S89WNXJBTLI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/mZ9Fm39waVE/s1600/texting.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 116px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S89WNXJBTLI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/mZ9Fm39waVE/s200/texting.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462679660573838514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I've been thinking today, in regards to several major faux pas recently, that I would love to vent on a subject near and dear to my ... hands.  All the time.  Texting.  As texting becomes more and more popular, there are certain rules of etiquette that must be followed.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;1: &lt;b&gt;Know your Audience: &lt;/b&gt;Simple enough.  If you are texting a friend, family member, or acquaintance, it makes a huge difference to know one thing.  "Do they text."  Do they have an unlimited texting plan?  Or are they charged per text?  Although many many people text these days, some do not.  And I remember receiving many texts before I texted, and that extra charge on my bill irked me.  I am careful not to make the same mistake.  When getting a number, ask a simple Question: "do you text?" this should be closely followed by "if I send you random text forwards that are really dumb - will it irritate you?"  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;2: &lt;b&gt;Rule of 160&lt;/b&gt;: a typical text is 160 characters.  If you are within the same network; you can often get longer texts.  However; network to network doesn't work.  If you are lucky, you'll get their first 160 characters; then another text message with the next.  And so on.  (Usually split within a word).  If you Aren't: (like my phone to non [company I use]), they get ONLY the first 160 characters.  In other words; missing a lot!  So please, check what they get.  If it's only the first 160- sent in spurts!  If it's split up, put spaces at the 160 mark.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;3: &lt;b&gt;Watch the clock: &lt;/b&gt;if your friend has children, it's probably best not to text between 9 p.m. and 7 a.m.  If they don't, you can probably text until ten or so, but no later.  If they work night shift, don't text while they are sleeping.  If you don't know when they will be Sleeping: simple rule of Thumb: don't text between 9 and 7!!  Many people use their phone for an alarm these Days: so their phone is on at night.  They don't need to hear you texting at midnight when they'd rather be asleep.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;4: &lt;b&gt;Texting Pictures: &lt;/b&gt;this is much like the texting plan.  Will it go over their data for the month if you send them pictures?  If you have children; we LOVE to see pictures of our nephews, nieces, friends Kids: etc .... but only if it's really cute, and not all the time.  (Like a few times a month).  Don't send one more than once a week.  Don't send your belly pictures.  This is what facebook is for.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Don't get me Wrong: I adore seeing pictures, but not all the time.  I look at them on facebook, smile, and comment.  Along with This: if it's not a spouse, or a really good reason: don't send videos!!!!  Many phones don't accept it, and honestly, I'd rather see it on facebook.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;5: &lt;b&gt;Don't  text and drive - &lt;/b&gt;do I have to explain here?  If it's really important and the person can't talk on the phone, pull over.  Wait until you get to a red stoplight.  I've seen the swerving .... don't text and drive.  I want you to live.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;6: &lt;b&gt;Don't drink and text - &lt;/b&gt;if you are drinking; on medications that make you loopy, or anything like that, don't text.  If you know you'll be out of it, password your phone.  If you don't remember the password, you don't need to be texting.  Your friends love you, but hearing about the purple frog on the ceiling is not a necessity- you'll never live it down.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;7: &lt;b&gt;CAPS IS BAD&lt;/b&gt;- it's like shouting.  And it's harder to read.  Please - one word on rare occasions is fine, but I don't want entire messages in caps, no matter how excited you are.  It's rude; obnoxious, and gives me a headache.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;8. &lt;b&gt;Check your Recipient: &lt;/b&gt;this should be obvious - right?  How many of you have received - (or sent) texts to the wrong person?  Usually it's slightly funny - but if you don't get in the habit, you may send something embarassing to the wrong person.  It could be about that person.  Or my favorite - you could send something to somebody else that was meant for your spouse!  (Does your mom really need to hear what you wanted to tell your spouse that you have planned?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;9: &lt;b&gt;C U l8r Allig8r: &lt;/b&gt;I'm fairly certain that I'm not 12.  Neither are you.  Therefore: unless you are a teenager trying to be "cool" ... textspeak is nothing but bad grammar!  I know that you know how to talk.  Write it out.  Use 2 messages if you Need: but typing "u" because you didn't want to type "you"?  It isn't professional, isn't adult, and honestly, makes no sense.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;(Disclaimer - I'm ok with occasional LOL - that's turned into something like "haha", but please ... no ROFL... or any of that stuff.  LOL = I acknowledge whatever you said is funny.  ":-)" is acceptable too.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Logically I should have ten items, don't all good lists?  But 10 is so cliche; so I'm leaving it with 9.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Do I need to go through these again?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;9: Textspeak- don't.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;8: Recipient - watch &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;7: CAPS - screaming&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;6: Drugged - don't text&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;5: Driving - watch the road &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;4: Pictures - within reason &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;3: Night - for sleep &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;2: Rule of 160 - careful &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;1: your audience - know them &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;So - I love you all!  Have a great Day: and Remember: if you offend me with a text- I won't tell you.  I'll just blog about it.  :-)&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/5002928371877483824-408472571522952154?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/408472571522952154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/04/texting-etiquette-for-2010.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/408472571522952154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/408472571522952154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/04/texting-etiquette-for-2010.html' title='Texting Etiquette for 2010'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S89WNXJBTLI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/mZ9Fm39waVE/s72-c/texting.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-8779586007902025257</id><published>2010-04-14T11:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-14T14:13:10.586-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Breastfeeding'/><title type='text'>A very Squishy issue</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;As most people have learned by the time they are mothers "breast is best" ... but is that always the case?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First: Yes, i believe breastfeeding is very good for baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But sometimes it's not always possible, or even the best option for the child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's some random (sort of made up) scenarios.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy A - baby is having trouble latching on. Mommy is getting discouraged with nursing, and is considering quitting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy B - Had (necessary) surgery on her chest in earlier years. She can produce milk, but it's painful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mommy C - baby appears to be nursing fine, but isn't gaining weight, as mommy isn't producing the milk baby needs to survive.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Most of us will agree that mommy A can work hard and keep nursing. I'd recommend it. But B and C? If it's going to be painful the whole time ... is it really better?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes the fact is simple, sometimes mommy can't nurse baby. Sometimes the child doesn't gain the weight, the mother doesn't have the milk, or the child is adopted. Sometimes there are actual REASONS the mother chose not to breastfed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I nursed my oldest for 9 months, until he completely lost interest. My second I only nursed for a couple months, and the third for only a few months. I know its' better, but it's not possible!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Every situation is different; in my case, I has severe post partum depression. I didn't know it with the oldest, and I suffered for it. To tell the honest truth, I don't know when he first rolled over ... I survived those months, but I didn't enjoy them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With the second, the doctor gave me a simple choice. "I can give you medication for the depression, or you can nurse. But you can't do both, it isn't good for the baby." I chose the medication, and we weaned. Do you know something - I made the right choice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With the third, the Dr. (yes, very pro breastfeeding), said the baby wasn't gaining any weight, and I needed to start her on formula, because my body wasn't giving her nutrients.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't feel that formula feeding separated my child and me, we share a close bond, and always will. In fact, it brought us closer together, because I did what I knew was best for both of us. I've seen both sides of the issue, but sometimes I feel that the world is becoming so pro-breastfeeding that those mothers that choose not to, or can't, feel as if they are harming their child.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The theme is "breast is best." It's nailed into us in the hospital, in the doctor's offices, and through nutritional programs. you've probably heard of WIC (woman, infant children), they help middle income families with things like formula, milk, and things like that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I admit I've had to use WIC, and I know it's best for the children, as they have breastfeeding counselors, and they make sure the kids have milk when they need it most.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was delighted to see their new food packages include baby food, it's so good for baby. But ... the anti-formula prejudice rears it's ugly head. Here is two pictures:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S8YteD-NYYI/AAAAAAAAAMI/5h8fnzBherg/s1600/Formula.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 190px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S8YteD-NYYI/AAAAAAAAAMI/5h8fnzBherg/s200/Formula.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460101592718860674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S8Ytd_rLQdI/AAAAAAAAAMA/2Emwp_yaDzM/s1600/breastfeeding.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 179px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S8Ytd_rLQdI/AAAAAAAAAMA/2Emwp_yaDzM/s200/breastfeeding.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460101591565287890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#0000EE;"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;The first picture shows how much baby food a child will receive each month, at the age  of six months - if they are only formula fed.  The second is what a breastfed baby will receive.  This bothers me.  I understand rewarding breastfeeding mothers with extra food, but this isn't the mother ... this is the &lt;b&gt;child&lt;/b&gt;.  They don't take special cases.  If mommy can't breastfeed because of any reason, surgery, cancer, medication, etc, ... the child is being punished by getting less than half the amount of baby food.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Things are tight these days.  Chances are, baby won't get any more babyfood than that.  A baby who gets some breastfed, and some formula, gets somewhere between the two amounts.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I feel the child is being punished for something beyond the mothers control.  In fact, sometimes purely nursing can be harmful to the child and the mother.  The mother, whose hormones are insane, is unable to leave the baby for any more than an hour at a time, because the baby wants to eat, and often doesn't accept a bottle.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Somebody I know had to have her appendix out while she had a nursing child.  Two days later in the hospital, her breasts were swollen, because the nurses hadn't figured out they needed to get a pump from the maternity wing, and the baby was grouchy and starving under her Aunt's care, because she didn't want a bottle, under any circumstances.  But the mom was unable to nurse while in the hospital - the hospital didn't want a baby there!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;My question is simple; why do we not understand that not all mothers &lt;b&gt;can &lt;/b&gt;nurse their children?  it may be true those nutrients are essential for a child at the beginning ... but can we lay off the mothers who choose to formula feed?  Can we accept that formula has come a long way in the past thirty years, and the baby is getting enough nutrition, even if it's not from mommy?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;As a mommy who has done both, I can't tell you how grateful I was for the opportunity to allow my husband to feed the baby for those 2 A.M. feedings, in fact, it brought daddy closer to baby.  The opportunity to leave the baby with a sitter, and know they would be able to eat, and not be hysterical because my boob was too far away.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;It is, and always will be, a raging issue.  But please, lets remember that a mother is not harming her child by formula feeding.  She's making her decision.  Let her decision be, and don't give her a hard time for making either decision. Each baby is different, each mother is different, let them decide what is best.  Don't force your ideals upon a mother.  It's her life, and if she can't formula feed, being told in a snotty tone that she made the wrong decision, doesn't exactly make her life easier.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-8779586007902025257?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/8779586007902025257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/04/very-squishy-issue.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/8779586007902025257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/8779586007902025257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/04/very-squishy-issue.html' title='A very Squishy issue'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S8YteD-NYYI/AAAAAAAAAMI/5h8fnzBherg/s72-c/Formula.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-7602939937308899174</id><published>2010-04-06T15:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-06T15:19:41.309-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Evil DMV</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S7uvZrD1orI/AAAAAAAAALg/Jb-qu9aGzcE/s1600/drivers+license.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S7uvZrD1orI/AAAAAAAAALg/Jb-qu9aGzcE/s320/drivers+license.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457148229079900850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So today I'm sitting in the drivers license office ... waiting.  I was in line for about an hour ... to get a number.  :-(  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm serious!  Now I have to wait until they call my name, if I don't get my book test done by 430 (as if), then I get to come back tomorrow.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So the great injustice of the system ... wait hours, then come back?  There's a reason I brought the computer.  It has nothing to do with having anything to DO ... and everything to do with the sanity factor.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Good news, I don't have kids with me.  That would make this worse.   I even sat in the back, because I am smart enough to know that if I sit next to a plug, I'll not go quite as insane.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what do I do in my spare time?  (Which this is, because it's definitely not useful time) .... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Check one-mail, catch up on my favorite blogs, be so grateful we lived in logan before, because until I remembered that, they were going to send me away, because I didn't have my marriage certificate!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What blogs and stuff do I read?  I'm so glad you asked!  (Or I'm really that bored).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Cake wrecks: pictures of cakes gone wrong.  Great for a laugh, every-day of the week!  (Cakewrecks.blogspot.com)  Even if I only have a few minutes, this is on my "check" list.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Awkward family Pictures: awkwardfamilyphotos.com.  Not always worth the time, but often interesting, just to see the funny bits in photos.  I'm afraid my favorite will always be the bride touching the window as if looking into the Future: with the roof guys outside the window perfectly arranged so it looks as if she's touching another mans butt.  I spit pop out my nose for that one!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Twitter: yes, I tweet.  And I love it.  Why?  Cause it's fun!  Geordi chats with Data, and there's a history thing going on about winter quarters.  Honestly, it's interesting.  It keeps me up the date with the news, and lots of moms from all over.  (I'm there, @Laura_fahn, if you want to look me up)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Facebook: the best way to keep in touch with friends.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;thinkgeek: because it's awesome!  Where else can you find titanium sporks, Lego cameras, computer stuff, and just about anything to make a geek, or non-geek, drool?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Family Blogs: go to my "family blog" (paulsenmonkeys.blogspot.com), and on the left is a list of places I waste time ... yeah, it's all there.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, they haven't called my number, but I'm gonna run anyway ... and sit here ... for who knows how long .... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ciao!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-7602939937308899174?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/7602939937308899174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/04/evil-dmv.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7602939937308899174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7602939937308899174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/04/evil-dmv.html' title='Evil DMV'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S7uvZrD1orI/AAAAAAAAALg/Jb-qu9aGzcE/s72-c/drivers+license.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-1244210639723005118</id><published>2010-03-17T10:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T10:51:48.396-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nothing comes from nothing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S6EV5X1hVnI/AAAAAAAAAKw/Z5kBUJsu3cI/s1600-h/0316101900.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S6EV5X1hVnI/AAAAAAAAAKw/Z5kBUJsu3cI/s320/0316101900.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449661099490236018" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Remember watching Sound of music as a Kid?  (Don't lie .. it's one of your favorite movies!  And it still makes you cry, right?)&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, Maria sings a song in there, where she says that nothing comes from nothing, and due to what is happening in her life, she must have done something right in her past.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At moments like these, that's how I feel.  "Somewhere in my youth, or childhood, I must have done something good."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have beautiful children who have their moments, their difficulties, but all in all, they are best friends.  Jacob was helping Megan swing, because she wanted to swing!  They were playing, laughing, and it even involved a "you can't hit me" game.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even though we have our problems, our "developmental delays" or all that other stuff ... they are good kids.  And they love each other, to me ... that means so much.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-1244210639723005118?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/1244210639723005118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/03/nothing-comes-from-nothing.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1244210639723005118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1244210639723005118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/03/nothing-comes-from-nothing.html' title='Nothing comes from nothing'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S6EV5X1hVnI/AAAAAAAAAKw/Z5kBUJsu3cI/s72-c/0316101900.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-6754858120636881921</id><published>2010-03-10T11:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T11:36:24.616-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ouch!</title><content type='html'>Tragedy for the day ... Brandon fell off Jacob's bed.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Actually, it was yesterday, and Jacobs bed is the top bunk.  (Hence why it was a tragedy).  Normal children will fall off the top bed, get a nasty headache and possibly a mild concussion, but not my Brandon!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Instead, as he hit the ground, he bit his lip ... hard.  The tooth went all the way through the lip!  (Seriously, it looks like a cut on the outside, but you can see it goes clear through).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After we cleaned up the blood, and gave him some Tylenol, I joked with Ben that as long as he pierced it for us, we may as well stick a ring in it or something.  Ben didn't think that was quite as funny as I did.  :-).  (No, I'd never really allow my kids to pierce lips, tongues, or anything else like that, especially at 3 years old.).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You should have seen the blood!  It was pretty gross, but he's ok now, and seems to have forgotten all about it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was too busy soothing him to get a good picture, so you can use your imagination.  Sharp incisor on the left hand side ... all the way through.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If we're lucky, it'll heal right back up.  If we're not, it may have a tiny tiny scar.  (But it wasn't bad enough to worry about stitches.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Poor kid!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-6754858120636881921?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/6754858120636881921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/03/ouch.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6754858120636881921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6754858120636881921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/03/ouch.html' title='Ouch!'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-4117392121329471894</id><published>2010-03-07T12:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T12:47:02.282-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Free Dr. Suess books!!!!</title><content type='html'>Hey all!  I ran across this yesterday, downloaded it, and decided today it's worth sharing.  The gap in time before sharing is the "make sure it's decent and worth doing" time.  :-)&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4 free Dr. Suess titles, E-books for the kids to read on your computer!  These are for teachers, parents, homeschoolers, ... or anybody else who loves reading Dr. Suess to younguns!  the books are &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; color: rgb(71, 71, 71); line-height: 22px; "&gt;Hop on Pop, Horton Hears a Who, Green Eggs &amp;amp; Ham, and The Cat in the Hat.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's how it works.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(This site has details &lt;a href="http://kidthing.com/marketing/eblast-20100217-1/"&gt;http://kidthing.com/marketing/eblast-20100217-1/&lt;/a&gt; )&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. go to that site.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. download Kidthing 2 (the player that plays the books.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. once downloaded, go to "store"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. enter &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; color: rgb(71, 71, 71); line-height: 22px; "&gt;&lt;strong style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;KTCODE-NEA5RAA &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: normal;"&gt;into the search box, and hit enter.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; color: rgb(71, 71, 71); line-height: 22px; "&gt;&lt;span style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: normal;"&gt;5. these four books pop up.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. put them in your cart, hit checkout.  It's 4 free books!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Note: they do have a couple already in the player, but the two alphabet books are demo's, and only go a few pages, so you can delete those out of the player.  But mathketball is pretty cool.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also, don't download "Mr. President" ... its' a bunch of kids letters to the president, and will take FOREVER to download.  Yes, it's free, but it's slow!  :-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today we "read" these books.  You can either have it read for you and you turn the pages, or it can do it automatically.  ... or you can turn the sound off and read to the kids!   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My kids loved it, especially Horton Hears a Who, which is actually animated a little bit, which makes it a little funnier.  I am excited to use these to help my 5 year old in his endeavor to sound words out.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, awesome books, highly recommended.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-4117392121329471894?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/4117392121329471894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/03/free-dr-suess-books.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4117392121329471894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4117392121329471894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/03/free-dr-suess-books.html' title='Free Dr. Suess books!!!!'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-4193745905084610022</id><published>2010-03-04T12:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-04T12:34:56.824-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not so graceful</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S5AWsqAE52I/AAAAAAAAAKo/8NNIivG1GzM/s1600-h/pitcher.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 276px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S5AWsqAE52I/AAAAAAAAAKo/8NNIivG1GzM/s320/pitcher.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444876905935595362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I've never been what anybody would call graceful.  I'm actually more like Bella from Twilight, before she became a vampire.  If it can be broken, dropped, or tripped over, I will succeed.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My mornings begin insanely early ... as I have to be to work by 7.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here I am leaving the house at 6:30, yes, that's in the morning.  I stick my bag on the counter while I grab something for lunch.  Out of the corner of my eye I vaguely notice the pitcher is sitting on the corner of the counter.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You can see where this is going.  Corner + Pitcher + elbow = very loud noise.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All the kids woke up, including the 2 year old that was up sick half the night.  And I still have to leave after cleaning up the goal, thereby leaving Ben alone with three screaming children, who all want breakfast.  :-(  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Moral of the story:  Watch the elbows!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-4193745905084610022?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/4193745905084610022/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/03/not-so-graceful.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4193745905084610022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4193745905084610022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/03/not-so-graceful.html' title='Not so graceful'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S5AWsqAE52I/AAAAAAAAAKo/8NNIivG1GzM/s72-c/pitcher.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-3752535298696996415</id><published>2010-03-03T07:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T07:20:35.888-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Workaholic</title><content type='html'>Where am I?  Sometimes I wonder.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I fight my depression with meds (of which I don't remember when I took them last), and with life.  Lately, the sun seems to be coming out, at least during the week.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm a workaholic.  I admit it.  I love working, and it's good for me.  It's time away from the kids, doing something I love, and feeling useful.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As a Mormon mommy, it makes me feel bad, but I'm not meant to stay home with the kids.  I wish I could, but I suck at it!  Nothing gets done, the kids are grouchy, and I lose my mind and end up crying.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I'm working, I'm happy, busy, and I enjoy every moment I get with the kids.  I'm excited to go home, cuddle the kids, and play games with them.  For me, work is therapy, and it's good for me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Right now my hubby is a stay at home, and he gets more done single handedly than I ever could.  The house stays clean, kids are happy and fed, and the laundry actually get done.  I could never do that, (trust me, I tried).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My problem is not getting to involved in my work.  I love it, I admit that.  I'm good at transcribing, and I love getting paid to go to college classes, and not have to do the homework.  I love the occasions where I get the opportunity to beta test a program, (sort of related to work, but not on through work) because nothing gives me more satisfaction then finding bugs in a program, and figuring out how to make it better.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I spend way too much time on the internet during my breaks.  I check my email, twitter, facebook, Mormon mommy blogs, cakewrecks, zooborns, horrible license plates, the news, and the blogs I like to follow.  ... all in all, I'm an internet junkie.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The trick, which I am still trying to figure out, is finding the spot between workaholic (and internetaholic), and mommy.  Spending the time with my kids while I'm home, but keeping up to date on things.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm sure there's a good side to this ... at least it's not World of Warcraft or some addicting internet game?  :-)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tonight I work late, tomorrow, the kids and I go to the park to make up for it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-3752535298696996415?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/3752535298696996415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/03/workaholic.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/3752535298696996415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/3752535298696996415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/03/workaholic.html' title='Workaholic'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-6427466108343366480</id><published>2010-02-28T16:48:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-28T16:58:54.699-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A bad mother reveals the truth.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S4sPVrn6yoI/AAAAAAAAAKg/ozJox-73JXA/s1600-h/0228101624.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S4sPVrn6yoI/AAAAAAAAAKg/ozJox-73JXA/s320/0228101624.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443461439769201282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I am a bad mother.  I have learned this, and I'm ok with it.  Because I am the type of mother I want to be.  I do what I feel is right, and what I feel is best for my kids, regardless of what others think.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is on the way home from a trip to visit family in Idaho this weekend.  And what is she drinking?  Not just pop, (or not just soda, for those from those areas of the country), she's drinking Mountain Dew.  Yeah, the stuff that's not good for her.  But she likes it, and it doesn't really make her hyper.  It was my drink Though! My sister says her child will not be drinking any pop, or have candy, until she's at least 12.  I respect that, but I'm not that type of mother.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A good mother might worry when their children are running outside in the mud, or when they pass within arms length of somebody who "might" be sick.  Not me!  kids get dirty, it's a fact of life, i'm ok with that.  In fact, if my kids will play in the mud and actually get dirty . . . even better!  They usually don't like being dirty.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As for the disease.  It's one of those things I don't worry about.  My kids have had their immunizations, and I know they will probably get colds, flu's, and little things as life goes on, but I can't keep them in a little bitty bubble for the rest of their lives.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;one last thing I know I could do better?  My 2 year old's nose is not always wiped.  She's not sick, it's allergies, .... I keep her nails short, give her Benadryl when her itching gets bad, (we don't know what causes the allergies yet, the doctor wants to wait until she's 5 to test.).  So her nose runs, and I wipe it, I've been keeping it wiped for 2 years now, and sometimes, I don't care.  She can run around outside and I can't keep it perfect.  Oh well.  Its' more important to me that my kids grow up as children, then to have them as mini adults.  They have the rest of their lives to worry about responsibility and being adult, I'll let them be children for now.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-6427466108343366480?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/6427466108343366480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/bad-mother-reveals-truth.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6427466108343366480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6427466108343366480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/bad-mother-reveals-truth.html' title='A bad mother reveals the truth.'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S4sPVrn6yoI/AAAAAAAAAKg/ozJox-73JXA/s72-c/0228101624.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-8079404354187918480</id><published>2010-02-22T13:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T13:13:43.266-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blood tests</title><content type='html'>It's been a week since I've blogged, and I almost feel guilty.  Ok, I really do feel bad about it.  However, I did update the sweet upbeat family blog last week, so at least I did something.  (Paulsenmonkeys.blogspot.com).  Friday was the day I've been dreading for weeks ... the blood test!  :-(  Yeah, it sucked.  Worst part?  I had to be fasting for It! one of the test they did was a fasting blood sugar, so I couldn't eat 12 hours before.  Keep in mind here, I get sick if I skip one meal, so not eating all morning ... killed me.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This week I'll get the results.  It was hormone testing, the whole gamut.  The end Result: since we know my thyroid is fine, it's the whether I have PCOS, or what my problem really is.  They took 8 vials of blood!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Did I learn anything?  Yeah.  Skipping meals makes me sick.  :)  I'll know more later.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was a pride thing.  I haven't wanted to do the full testing, because that's admitting there is something wrong they have to test for.  But for my sake, and for the sake of my children, it was time.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In more upbeat news, my sister in law is being induced this afternoon, and she said she'll probably have the baby tonight.  (Induced at 4 ... so it'll be born .. tomorrow.  )  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So we look forward to her having the baby tomorrow night ... after a typical induction for a first child, long, painful, and miserable.  The best part being that a baby comes out of all the pain!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-8079404354187918480?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/8079404354187918480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/blood-tests.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/8079404354187918480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/8079404354187918480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/blood-tests.html' title='Blood tests'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-7962092608332860905</id><published>2010-02-14T12:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T12:23:11.248-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Is it my fault?</title><content type='html'>In honor of valentines Day, I could write a sappy sweet entry on how much I love my husband, and how much he loves me ... but you know what, love is more than sappy.  It's what we do every day.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Somehow, I've become a hovermommy, I don't know how it happened, or when it happened.  Once upon a time I took my little 18 month old to nursery, smiled, left him, and walked away.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today, I dropped off my 3 year old in sunbeams, heard him screaming, and turned around.  The teacher assured me he'd be fine.  And I was hesitant to leave.  Yeah, I trust he'll be fine, but .... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My mind flashes back to those comments over the years ... is this what turned me into a hovermommy?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"He went hysterical, I had to bring him back to you"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"He was upsetting the other kids"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I'm sorry, but I can't babysit your boys anymore at my house.  They're too rambunctious"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"He wouldn't calm down."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"there is nothing wrong with your children except poor parenting."  (Yes, I actually heard this one)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"We'd stop by, but last time your son taught my son the word no, and we were so careful not to each him that."  (Yeah right, like her 2 year old son had never heard the word no in his life?... )&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This wasn't a rare occurrence, this was ... ok, I admit it, every freakin week from the time my son was old enough for nursery until he was ... nearly 3?  My second son ... until we were called to the nursery, my daughter ... she's barely 2 and just fine when we leave.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But the second son ... he cries when we leave him in primary, but he settles down eventually.  And I feel like a bad mom.  deep inside, I know I'm not ... entirely.  I have things to improve upon, we all do.  But ... is it my fault when my 5 year old tics?  (It's Tourettes, not those icky creatures that suck blood.).  Is it my fault when my son has a meltdown because his seatbelt, or his shoelaces, are crooked?  Is it my fault my 3 year old can't talk right?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The answer . . . yes.  Half their genes came from me.  But, ... no, it's not &lt;i&gt;all &lt;/i&gt;poor parenting.  Some of it, I've learned, the Lord decided to trust me with children that will never be perfectly normal.  It's up to me and my husband to teach them, guide them, lead them, and learn from them.  We will do the best we can, and hope they turn out.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We'll do the best we can, and sometimes, trust the Sunbeam teacher to settle down a hysterical child.  If he gets too bad, she'll bring him to me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;{Dictionary: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Primary: Sunday school for children &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sunbeam: the youngest class in primary, age 3-4.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nursery: Sunday school/playtime for children aged 18 months to 3 yrs. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tic: an involuntary movement: related to tourettes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tick: a gross blood sucking creature.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;End dictionary: }&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-7962092608332860905?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/7962092608332860905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/is-it-my-fault.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7962092608332860905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7962092608332860905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/is-it-my-fault.html' title='Is it my fault?'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-7855466669909826282</id><published>2010-02-08T10:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-08T10:35:44.695-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The tears.</title><content type='html'>I got a text from a friend today.   She's pregnant, again.  &lt;div&gt;My sister in law called last week, she's having a girl.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My sister had a baby last month.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My other sister in law is having a boy any day now.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2 close friends had theirs in the last few weeks too.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Days like this, I rejoice for those I love, for those I care for.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My womb is empty.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Is it my fault?  How can they "accidentally" have a baby?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why are so many babies abandoned, forgotten.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why can those who don't care, get pregnant so easily.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While me, and many like me.  Can't have another?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm luckier than many, I do have children.  Before this all started, before the cysts, the cramps, the tears, I was one of them.  I tried to be sensitive to those around me who couldn't have children, because I knew it wasn't their fault.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I broke the news gently when I got pregnant, again, because I knew it would hurt after I held them as they cried through miscarriages.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now it's my turn.  How can I be so selfish?  Wanting them to care?  Wanting them to realize?    &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My baby, and likely my last, is 2, .... but I feel empty.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There's another baby waiting for me, out there somewhere.  He's still in heaven, watching me.  Telling me "mommy, hang in there.  Someday I'll make it to you."  Even if he can't get here the easy way, I feel certain he'll find me someday.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Until then, there is an empty place at the table, an empty place in my heart.  My family is not complete.  the line, " I'm sure it'll happen someday", doesn't help anymore.  Someday isn't coming.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My body painfully spring cleans, monthly, in the hopes someday another little spirit will move in. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Will someday ever come?  I force myself to enjoy the present, what I have now, my wonderful babies.  Soon I'll have no more kids in diapers, and the "baby" stage of my motherhood, may be over.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-7855466669909826282?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/7855466669909826282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/tears.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7855466669909826282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/7855466669909826282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/tears.html' title='The tears.'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-1808102766408528816</id><published>2010-02-06T22:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-06T23:04:19.452-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Milestones</title><content type='html'>Many years ago, I read a beautiful story about what it's like to have a special needs child.  (If you haven't read it, check here (&lt;a href="http://the-callahans.com/susete/poem3.htm"&gt;http://the-callahans.com/susete/poem3.htm&lt;/a&gt;  ).&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love this story.  A mom expects to take kids to sports, dance, things like that.  She never expects instead to be scheduling IEP meetings, therapists, and rejoicing when a child does something small.  I've been blessed, my children are beautiful and special, but not quite what I expected.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They may not be in wheelchairs, deaf, blind, or anything huge, but it's the little things.  Tourettes, OCD, Developmental delays, speech delays, and who knows what else will come up in the years to come.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I expected to be scheduling swim lessons for my oldest about now, not wondering if I can get him a bath without him totally freaking out because I got his hair wet.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love my kids, and I wouldn't change them for anything.  They are perfect, for me.  I learn from them daily, and because we landed in Holland, instead of Italy, I appreciate the little things more than I probably would have otherwise.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today my baby, my 2 year old, did something I haven't seen at this age.  Daddy got her ready for bed, and she took off her pajamas by Herself! all by Herself! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't help but think, some mothers probably think, "oh, you're heading into a fun stage."  But I don't mind, I really don't.  My 5 year old just learned how to dress himself in the last 6 months.  My 3 year old not only can't dress himself, but he has no idea how to &lt;b&gt;undress&lt;/b&gt; himself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Somehow, my 2 year old, although she originally hung out with the "failure to thrive" and "developmental delay", she's caught herself up, (or close enough), and it's always a shock to hear her give me full sentences.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I have been rewarded greater than I ever would have expected.  My 5 year old gives me these huge hugs and tells me, "you're my favorite mommy ever."  My 3 year old has the most infectious smile, and laugh.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So tonight, as I go to sleep, I'm grateful for the little things.  My baby undressing herself, my oldest climbing to the top bunk by himself.  My 3 year old falling asleep in a bed, (instead of a floor, which is where he prefers).  Tonight, I'm happy just being me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-1808102766408528816?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/1808102766408528816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/milestones.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1808102766408528816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1808102766408528816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/milestones.html' title='Milestones'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-8286943524732895416</id><published>2010-02-05T21:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-05T21:57:25.305-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My babies.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S20C-e6FItI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/lxMz8iyKgzg/s1600-h/DSC_6983.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S20C-e6FItI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/lxMz8iyKgzg/s320/DSC_6983.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435003597777871570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm in the mood for a family thing.  Trust me, my kids don't always look this good.  My Grandma, (the kids great grandma), wanted family pictures for Christmas, so this is part of that!  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;----- that one is Jacob.  He's my oldest.  Very Much a leader, but always getting into something.  He loves bossing around his siblings, preschool, and getting his way.  Woe be unto her who attempts to open her own door when this guy is around.  "Girls can't open doors.  Daddy said so."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jacob loves giving hugs, and notices when people look like they've had a bad day.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S20C92cMlhI/AAAAAAAAAKI/OUO5jP5yNvs/s1600-h/DSC_6969.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S20C92cMlhI/AAAAAAAAAKI/OUO5jP5yNvs/s320/DSC_6969.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435003586915112466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;-- Then we have Brandon.  He talks up a storm, but most people, including his mommy, don't understand him the majority of the time.  always happy and cheerful, but he knows his own mind.  His talent is making people laugh.  He knows he's funny. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S20C9rXqOnI/AAAAAAAAAKA/_0o_8_w6GZY/s1600-h/DSC_6990.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S20C9rXqOnI/AAAAAAAAAKA/_0o_8_w6GZY/s320/DSC_6990.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435003583943293554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last but certainly not least is Megan, my baby girl.  At 2, she talks more than her 3 year old brother, and she has her own mind.  She crawls into bed with me at night when she knows daddy is asleep and not likely to put her back in her own bed.  She loves books, dolls, and Dora the explorer.  Quite the character, she's a little ray of sunshine.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;that's my family.  Smart little monkeys, sometimes I worry how I'm going to survive their childhood.  But ... we've done alright so far!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-8286943524732895416?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/8286943524732895416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/my-babies.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/8286943524732895416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/8286943524732895416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/my-babies.html' title='My babies.'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/S20C-e6FItI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/lxMz8iyKgzg/s72-c/DSC_6983.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-585423059714224287</id><published>2010-02-03T20:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-03T20:39:12.826-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='secondary infertility'/><title type='text'>A true understanding</title><content type='html'>Today I realized how nice it is to have somebody who truly understands.  I was discussing a problem with a friend of mine; my sister-in-law is pregnant, and from the time she was 10 weeks, I've been getting a picture, every week, of her belly.  And told when she hurts, when her belly moves.  This is her first baby, obviously.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My friend listened, and said, I bet that hurts.  That's a little insensitive of her, isn't it?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes, it was.  But I hadn't realized why the pictures bothered me until my friend mentioned it.  I have three beautiful children, but we've been trying for over a year for another one.  Deep inside, I feel there is another child for me.  And it's time to have that child.  Secondary infertility is not like regular infertility.  I've been able to get pregnant, 3 times, now I can't.  Both types of infertile mothers hurt, neither hurts more, neither hurts less.  They hurt different.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been trying to get pregnant, and for 8 months, I've been getting a picture, each week, of her belly.  And hearing everything about this pregnancy.  And it hurts.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My friend understood and talked to me about to it.  She has two children, but couldn't get, and stay, pregnant for nearly 2 years.  Now she's having to visit a specialist every week, to keep the baby in her stomach where he belongs.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She knows what it's like to have children, and not be able to get pregnant again.  To see everybody around you pregnant, and knowing your family isn't complete, and won't be anytime soon.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Will I get pregnant again?  Someday.  I hope.  I feel it's time, it's just ... I haven't.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-585423059714224287?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/585423059714224287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/true-understanding.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/585423059714224287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/585423059714224287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/true-understanding.html' title='A true understanding'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-6284750926275658932</id><published>2010-02-03T07:21:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-03T07:25:17.450-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Megan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleep issues'/><title type='text'>A confession</title><content type='html'>I have a grievous confession to make.  I am probably the worst mother in the world.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My 2 year old climbs in bed with me and my husband.  Not only on bad nights, ... most nights.  she starts in her own bed, but by 1 or 2, she's cuddled between me and my husband.  By 3 or 4, she has my blankets.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How do I deal with this?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A: I could put her back in her own bed.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;B: I could explain to her that mommy's bed is not for toddlers.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: I could keep an extra blanket at the foot of the bed so I don't freeze when she steals my covers.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what do I do?  Yeah.  C.  I'm a bad mom.  I figure once she's past this ear Infection, (the grossest this I've ever seen, by the way; it looked like she blew her nose in her ear), she'll start sleeping alone again.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then again, we moved about a month ago, and that is when the bed climbing started.  She doesn't even cry for us anymore.  She just walks in, climbs in, goes to sleep.  No noise, no comment, nothing.  (Just turned 2 last week.).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I figure eventually she'll start sleeping in her own bed again, after all, this time is precious.  She's so sweet, and doesn't even snore as bad as her daddy does.  so for now, yeah, she can stay with me.  it's just at night.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-6284750926275658932?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/6284750926275658932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/confession.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6284750926275658932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/6284750926275658932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/02/confession.html' title='A confession'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-9172810899815353899</id><published>2010-01-31T22:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-31T22:15:04.358-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oops. Caught drug-free.</title><content type='html'>I was talking to my mother today, and she said I sounded a little down.  She asked if I've had migraines lately ... yes.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So the next question, "you aren't on your meds, are you?"  Oh crap.  Hubby caught me talking to her about it ... yeah.  So we went on a hunt to figure out where my meds disappeared to.  we didn't end up finding them (yeah, I SO need a refill), but we found some of the old stuff that stopped working.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To settle things, I took one (he wouldn't leave until I took one), and promised to get a refill soon.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is the downside of my husband and mother watching out for me.  When I'm on my meds like a good girl, I asked them to help me, because they know me and my moods.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But when I'm caught, I personally think I'm doing fine!  But the two gang up on me.  If I refuse to go in when I need a new med or something, they tell me.  And will make an appointment, find a babysitter, and make darn sure I go in!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So now I've been caught taken one med, (fluoxitine, 40 mg, which is about a year old, that was two medications ago.  It stopped working, like everything else).  But I took something, because it made it appear I care ... which I don't.  Because I'm freakin fine!  Or maybe not.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I'm not grouchy, I'll agree that they know me, and probably know better than I do when I need help.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway.  Yeah, bad mood today.  I'll be fine.  I'm actually on citalopram, also 40 milligrams (20 didn't work), but it's better than nothing.  (Although I went off it because I swear it wasn't working anyway!).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, here's to a new start, and I'm to the last refill of this prescription, so soon enough, a new medication!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-9172810899815353899?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/9172810899815353899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/oops-caught-drug-free.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/9172810899815353899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/9172810899815353899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/oops-caught-drug-free.html' title='Oops. Caught drug-free.'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-5651214413149236846</id><published>2010-01-30T12:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-30T13:05:39.164-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='money'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='homeschooling'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='circumcision'/><title type='text'>How to fail at marriage, before the proposal.</title><content type='html'>There are certain things a couple needs to agree on before they get married, well before!  And especially before they have children.  (which, by the way, also needs to be agreed upon.  If only one wants children, that will be another problem!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've seen many of these mistakes made by friends of mine, and I think every serious couple should delve into these, just to make sure this is a "good match."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1: religion.  Seriously people.  If an Jew marries a catholic, which are you going to raise the baby?  If mommy is Mormon, and daddy is Presbyterian, they can go to different churches now, but where will be the babies go, be baptized, and grow up?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lets be fair here.  How will little Susie or baby Frank feel if he's Mormon one week and Presbyterian the other?  He'll be confused his whole life!  Choose one.  Stick with it.  Then if he wants to decide otherwise when he's older, that's great!  But don't make him hate religion because mommy and daddy couldn't agree!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2: homeschooling.  True, why worry about this when the baby isn't even conceived yet?  Well, if mommy wants to homeschool, and public school is awful, and daddy says public school is the only way to go ... what is going to happen to Johnny?  You need to agree here, or at least be willing to compromise!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3: Circumcision.  I'm not saying that the first time a couple goes on a date, they should talk about this over dinner, but it needs to be discussed!  My opinion is strict, like daddy like baby.  It's easier for everybody.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know a couple personally who have been fighting over this since they first got pregnant.  (Thankfully, first baby is a girl, but second, due any day now, is a boy.).  He thinks this needs to be done, it's healthier, and better for the baby, and looks better.  She thinks it's evil and should never ever be done (even though her husband has been circumcised!).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Their compromise?  She says no, he says yes, and the argument continues.  Her mommy has stopped in though, and said she'll stay at the hospital the whole time to make sure he doesn't get the surgery done while mommy is sleeping.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My opinion ... that's how you break up a marriage!  If grandma interferes because they "don't trust daddy", ... this is very very bad.  I look forward to finding out where this discussion ends up!  Poor kid.  And by not making a decision, by default, mommy wins, because it's "not doing anything."  Or maybe, like religion, when the kid is 18, they can ask him, "hey, do you want a potentially painful surgery on your anatomy that will require you to have ice for a week?"  (It's much easier for babies .. post-pubescent males have more trouble).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4: work.  Can mommy have a job?  If mommy is not a stay at home mommy, will there be problems?  Will grandma hate mommy forever because she insists on working part time to keep her sanity intact?  Does daddy think his only job in the family is to bring home the bacon while mommy cooks it and cleans and chases kids 24/7.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know a couple where this is the husband.  His job ends when he gets home.  He won't help.  Mommy's on bed rest with her second, and she has church members coming in to help, to watch her oldest, and the house is a disaster, because he won't do it!  (Not to mention, he complains that she shouldn't need help anyway.  How hard is it to watch a 3 year old?).  And in that family, he thinks mommy should get a job, at a day car so she can take baby with her.  She would prefer to stay at home.  ... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5: money.  One account, 2 accounts, who will pay the bills?  Different things work for different people.  At least have it worked out before you get married!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;These aren't necessary in order of importance, but these are the problems in a marriage.  Work, money, religion, homeschooling, and circumcision.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This doesn't have to be brought up early, but please, before the wedding.  If you want to make a good go at marriage, talk about these five factors, or your arguments may be very interesting, as long as you both shall live.  And beyond.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Please, for a happy marriage ... talk about these first!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-5651214413149236846?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/5651214413149236846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/how-to-fail-at-marriage-before-proposal.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/5651214413149236846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/5651214413149236846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/how-to-fail-at-marriage-before-proposal.html' title='How to fail at marriage, before the proposal.'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-1585131835404025109</id><published>2010-01-21T13:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-21T13:31:08.584-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Apologizing?</title><content type='html'>it's been a rough few days.  I died the other day, figuratively, of course.  I laid down when I put the kids down for a nap, and slept until morning.  Thank heavens for husbands!  He let me sleep and took care of the kids.  18 hour nap?  That's unusual, but it helped me feel a little better.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So yeah, I guess I'd better get on my med's.  I also have an apology to make to an old boss of mine.  I promised I'd do an Internet class, transcribing, and I didn't get it done the majority of the time.  I feel so bad about it, and I finally realized it's time to face my fears and apologize for my stupidity.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;:-)  Ok, I got it done!  An apology for letting my depression take over my life and causing me to be flaky and not getting done what I've promised!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now i feel better about myself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-1585131835404025109?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/1585131835404025109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/apologizing.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1585131835404025109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1585131835404025109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/apologizing.html' title='Apologizing?'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-1597108322271769282</id><published>2010-01-18T12:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T12:24:08.260-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Martin Luther King Jr. Day</title><content type='html'>Today is MLK day, and I thought I'd share some thoughts.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think Martin Luther King was a leader in his time.  Yet he was one of those people who are not appreciated well by his contemporaries.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My grandparents agree with the civil rights movement, yet they still consider MLK a "rabble-rouser."  Grandpa says when he came to town, things were great until he came in, then everybody was unhappy with the way things were.  People that grew through the depression don't seem to appreciate change.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My other grandparents, flat out told us when we were growing up, that if we married a black man, we would be disowned.  Chances are, he's telling the truth.  He would.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A friend of mine growing up (complements of being a military brat), told me that in his high school, he saw discrimination for the first time in his life.  I didn't realize until I was older, that half my kindergarten class, and two of my elementary teachers, were African American.  I didn't know?  I'm sure at that age, I noticed, but it didn't matter to me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In his high school, there were only 2 white people in the entire grade, and 7 in the high school.  This was a southern high school.  He said it really allowed him to see the other side of the situation.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, my grandparents didn't appreciate him, and hopefully, by the time I have grandchildren, the world will know him as somebody who changed America for the better.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My grandparents don't think he should have his own holiday, but I'm all for it.  I've never been to the south, and seen any of the old plantations.  I've never really witnessed discrimination in my life.  But, somehow, my teachers, those I care for, being raised a military brat, have taught me a love for all people.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Everybody deserves a chance, and equal rights.  Men, woman, black, white, old, young, and disabled.  Everybody should have an equal chance for jobs, life, and rights.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My parents taught me well.  And I know, looking at them, that a lot of the change in the world, in our perceptions, our ability to accept everybody not for the color of the skin, but the content of their character, we need to remember to thank our teachers, who have the ability to overcome familial prejudices, and teach our children that's it's ok to change the world.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-1597108322271769282?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/1597108322271769282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/martin-luther-king-jr-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1597108322271769282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/1597108322271769282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/martin-luther-king-jr-day.html' title='Martin Luther King Jr. Day'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-4546819913952123707</id><published>2010-01-17T13:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-17T13:15:48.557-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Family pictures</title><content type='html'>We had family pictures done the week before Christmas, and the Photographer now has the pictures up so we can preview them on her website.  They are AWESOME, except for one little problem ... my oldest.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's sad that difficulties run in the family, because with my tourettes, these kids had no chance.  The Oldest has tourettes - diagnosed, and OCD - undiagnosed, and pretty dang impossible sometimes.  Well .. don't tell me how, but we survived.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My favorite picture of all the cousins is one where they are all lined up against a wall, grinning like Cheshire cats, and my sweet Jacob (5 years old), is sitting about five feet in front of them with his knees to his chest.  With the way he was acting that day, I was shocked to see a decent picture.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She (photography by robin, &lt;a href="http://www.robinspencerphotos.com/"&gt;http://www.robinspencerphotos.com/&lt;/a&gt;) says she has a child a lot like him, who doesn't do well in groups.  Thankfully, she was able to get decent pictures of the entire family.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes I feel guilty that I passed those genes down to him.  My almost 2 year old is easier to understand than my 3 year old, who has some expressive speech issues, (mainly, nobody can understand him.).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;His shoes have to be right, girls can't open doors. (daddy taught him once that a man should open a door for a woman.  Now if a female isn't alone, and she opens the door, he has a complete meltown... go daddy.).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'll post a picture if I can get a release from the photographer.  But they turned out ok.  I'll never know how she did it.  He can be impossible.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-4546819913952123707?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/4546819913952123707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/family-pictures.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4546819913952123707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/4546819913952123707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/family-pictures.html' title='Family pictures'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-2436730175637313990</id><published>2010-01-16T20:41:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-16T20:51:43.582-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A down day.</title><content type='html'>You know the ironic thing here?  With depression comes a severe ... lack of enthusiasm to do anything that requires energy, forethought, or overall ... anything.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And here I am, attempting to start a blog, hoping to update daily when I sometimes lack the energy to get up.  It's like actually forming a meeting of procrastinators anonymous, and trying to get people there.  The meeting will be procrastinated for months.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So anyway ... I tried to find my meds today ... totally didn't succeed, but I did tell my husband I'm off my med's.  Like it's a surprise?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I slept in until 9:30, I made lunch for the kids ... and eventually went with my family to visit one of my husbands friends.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The trick is to force myself to do things, but sometimes I lack the energy to do it.  My husband picks up the slack a lot, which can be a help, but it's easy to depend on him too much.  I know if I don't do the laundry, he'll do it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, I'm going to bed.  I just had to write something today.  It's not great, but it's something.  Once I allow myself to skip one day, I'll never get back to it.  I know me, and I know how hard it is to keep going.  (I think I last updated the family blog three months ago, I totally need to write something else, since last time, we've had two birthdays and we moved three hundred miles!  Totally need to update that.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Goal for tomorrow: update family blog.  And maybe find my depression medication.  It's getting worse!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Weekends can be rough, but it's wonderful to spend time with the kids.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;PS: OCD children make life very interesting.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-2436730175637313990?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/2436730175637313990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/down-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/2436730175637313990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/2436730175637313990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/down-day.html' title='A down day.'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5002928371877483824.post-2927168563800874888</id><published>2010-01-15T13:19:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-15T13:32:54.445-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My past.</title><content type='html'>As an introduction.  I am a mother of 3.  I had severe post partum depression, which has spiraled into depression whether or not I'm pregnant, nursing, or two years away from either of the above.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My children are 5, 3 and almost 2.  My 5 year old is OCD, my 3 year old can't really talk, and my nearly 2 year old is a very normal toddler.  I am not such a great mother.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I try, I really do.  But somehow, I don't have the patience, or the energy, to keep up with them.  Sometimes I wonder if I was really meant to be a mother.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Due to recent events, (namely the economy being what it is), I'm working nearly full time, while my husband stays at home with the children.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The truth is, I don't know how he does it.  I know mommy's are the nurturers, but I'm not!  I can cuddle the kids and give them love, but I can come home from work and find the house clean, dishes done, food on the table, kids happy and bathed.  I can't do that.  I never have been able to.  Either the kid is happy, or the house is sort of picked up.  I can't do both, maybe it's a me thing?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel inadequate.  I was put on depression medication before the birth of my second child.  When the first was born, I spent the next year so depressed I sat home and cried.  Then one day, for whatever reason, it went away.  suddenly I wasn't crying, and I could get things done and enjoy my child.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That was when I realized I had a problem.  And I went on medication.  I've tried so many medications over the years, and eventually, either I stop taking them, or the dosage stops working.  Many times my husband and my mother will tell me I need to get my medication fixed, and they will make sure I do it.  (Once they gang up, I can't fight them).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been on prozac (the generic stuff, whatever it was called).  They doubled the dose, then gave up and tried a different medication.  There was one that worked, but I couldn't afford a hundred dollars a month, no matter what the push to my sanity.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now I'm on something that is on Wal-marts four dollar plan (thankfully!!!).  Or I should be on ... we just moved, and I only have one refill.  Alright, that's an excuse.  I've forgotten to take my medicine since before we moved down here.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's the cycle.  You get on a medicine.  Stay on it for a while, until it starts working and you are ok.  Then I forget it ... get off it ... and I go back down.  Then I start over.  This roller coaster is constant and hazardous to my health.  But for some reason, I can't get off it.  When I do get off the roller coaster, it's at the bottom and I stay depressed until my husband can't handle me any longer and convinces me to take meds again.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ironically enough, my MIL thinks that depression is something you can "snap out of."  A mother should never be on medication, if she's "close to the lord" she'll be fine.  (Heaven help me if my MIL ever reads this).  Through the years, I have not yet succeeded in explaining that it's hormonal.  It's not something I can snap out of or pray out of.  (Yes, I'm religious, but I believe the lord gave doctors brains for a reason, lets trust them!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I get heck for being on medication (though if you look on HER fathers microwave .. there is a bottle of prozac for his problems .. hmmm....).  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I guess it almost makes it harder for me when I am told I'm a rotten mother (again, the MIL), mostly because I "make" my husband stay home with the children while I work.  It's an economic factor, his job doesn't work well now, mine does.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Strangely, when I'm at work like this, I am ok.  I still cry easily, and get upset by the end of a weekend, and have serious issue finding the patience necessary.  But I'm not gone.  I am here enough not to cry all the time.  I can pull myself out of bed in the morning.  I can force myself to keep moving.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Being a stay at home mom is not for the depressed.  I still feel like a rotten mom, but the truth is, I do better when I'm not home 24/7.  I NEED to feel I'm accomplishing something.  I'm not saying raising children isn't wonderful accomplishment, but emotionally, I need out now and then.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I have a hard job to do.  I need to admit to my husband I don't know where my med's are ... and I probably should be taking them.  Wish me luck!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5002928371877483824-2927168563800874888?l=findinginsanity.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/feeds/2927168563800874888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/my-past.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/2927168563800874888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5002928371877483824/posts/default/2927168563800874888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://findinginsanity.blogspot.com/2010/01/my-past.html' title='My past.'/><author><name>Laura, Ben, and family</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_H5LJcRY8jj0/SHZ5ZdxLf7I/AAAAAAAAAAM/eSmLpqT5xPo/S220/kids.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
