<?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-5079213181382525144</id><updated>2011-11-27T19:11:16.614-06:00</updated><category term='A picture of the belly bandit.'/><category term='http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEFE3B0Rje0'/><title type='text'>Zoobalu</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>28</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-4153047126958066126</id><published>2009-10-19T07:57:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-20T13:06:09.676-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Back</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/S4AydhgbwDI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Cl0zeuiohm0/s1600-h/DSC09972_2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 125px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/S4AydhgbwDI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Cl0zeuiohm0/s200/DSC09972_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440403832655560754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;After my short maternity leave (sort of), I am back and ready to write.  I am officially the mother of 4 kids now - 1 boy and 3 girls.  Oh no, I can't believe I have 3 girls.  It's crazy, completely insane, although, I know the difficulty of it all has not even begun.  Give me 7 years.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;My newest addition is so sweet.  She looks just like my 4 year old, but hopefully not as naughty.  The labor was great, just as my neighbor, Mel,  had promised.  I got induced so there was truly no drama.  I arrived all showered with makeup on, they gave me the petocin, I got my epidural, the doctor broke my water, and 6 hours later I had a darling little girl.  I highly recommend induction.  Anyway, with the craziness at my house, I'm not quite sure how often I'll be writing.  I'm going to try:)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-4153047126958066126?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/4153047126958066126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/10/im-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4153047126958066126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4153047126958066126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/10/im-back.html' title='I&apos;m Back'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/S4AydhgbwDI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Cl0zeuiohm0/s72-c/DSC09972_2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-1115138506073990631</id><published>2009-09-29T08:47:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-29T08:58:57.873-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Big Day!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SsISiz34UcI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/LFFne2d8iqc/s1600-h/big+sis+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 190px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SsISiz34UcI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/LFFne2d8iqc/s200/big+sis+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386888493537972674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Ready or not, here she comes.  I am having my 4th baby tomorrow - Yahoo!  I will be induced sometime around 6 AM.  My neighbor laughed at me the other day because I keep talking about how great it will be to be done being pregnant.  She pointed out that I have neglected to mention that I am excited to actually see, hold, love (etc.) the baby.  Well, I am actually thrilled to see the baby, I'm just a little consumed with the discomforts of weighing 37 more pounds than normal and having a 43 inch waist.  As I pass the time, waiting for my trip to the hospital, I have been sewing and making all sorts of goodies.  I included a picture of my latest creation that I made for my 3 year old, the one I'm sure will have the hardest time with the intruder in our house.  I'm hoping for the best!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-1115138506073990631?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/1115138506073990631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/big-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/1115138506073990631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/1115138506073990631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/big-day.html' title='The Big Day!'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SsISiz34UcI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/LFFne2d8iqc/s72-c/big+sis+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-8771592913503830650</id><published>2009-09-25T08:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-25T08:49:43.558-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Honest Truth</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Yesterday after school I was driving our carpool home.  The carpool consists of my 3 kids along with my sons first love, Megan, (he would die if he read this) and her 11 year old brother, Ethan.  We have been carpooling since the kids began preschool 5 years ago and so Megan and Ethan are pretty comfortable with me.  I casually mentioned to them, "Hey, I saw your mom running this morning.  She was running with your dog."  The dog is a new addition to the family, a black lab named Chalmers that was rescued from a shelter.  Megan proceeded to get out of the car, but not before adding, "Uh, oh, that's not good for the dog.  He's not supposed to be running."  Of course I had to ask why.  Her response was, "Because he just had his balls removed."&lt;div&gt;I love it!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-8771592913503830650?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/8771592913503830650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/honest-truth.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/8771592913503830650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/8771592913503830650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/honest-truth.html' title='The Honest Truth'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-5028089527271163284</id><published>2009-09-24T08:15:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T08:29:38.334-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The 19 Pound Baby</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SrtzsM0YW5I/AAAAAAAAAEI/0oLyoUGCwGU/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 191px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SrtzsM0YW5I/AAAAAAAAAEI/0oLyoUGCwGU/s200/Picture+2.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385024982643923858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I have an apology to make.  I have been away from my blog with the countdown of my 4th baby arriving, running around, getting things done like a mad woman.  Will it ever all be done?  She could be here any day, although I am guaranteed to be induced on September 30.  Yahoo!  I am huge and miserable and soooooo ready to get this baby out.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;As I have written in previous blog posts, complete strangers have loved to make comments about my size.  My stomach is enormous, much bigger than it ever was with the other 3 kids.  This morning I logged onto my computer and the first thing a saw was terrifying - every pregnant woman's nightmare.  It was a story from the Today show about a baby born in Indonesia that was 19 pounds.  The pictures say it all - Yikes! He is practically a man.  The poor mom.  Too bad they didn't show pictures of her or her stomach.  Maybe they could have started a fund to collect money for the tummy tuck she will need after carrying her man-child.  Poor lady, at least she had a c-section.  All I have to say is HURRY, get my baby out.  It's gaining weight everyday!  Check this out: &lt;a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/32999190#32999190"&gt;http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/32999190#&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-5028089527271163284?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/5028089527271163284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/19-pound-baby.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/5028089527271163284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/5028089527271163284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/19-pound-baby.html' title='The 19 Pound Baby'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SrtzsM0YW5I/AAAAAAAAAEI/0oLyoUGCwGU/s72-c/Picture+2.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-2751094699484030279</id><published>2009-09-08T18:49:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-09T09:47:05.449-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Cultural Experience</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Warning:  This post contains foul language, not my own, but it's still not nice .   .   .   .  About 14 years ago when my husband and I started dating I was living in an old rental house with 3 other college girlfriends.  One of my roommates was fairly demanding of our landlord, Jerry.  I can remember when the refrigerator broke, she insisted that Jerry buy us a new one. We were all pretty excited for the new one to arrive because our old one was really run down and noisy.  I remember getting home from work the day the refrigerator was delivered and being shocked that our definition of new and Jerry's definition of new were quite different. He had bought a very old &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;avocado&lt;/span&gt; green refrigerator to replace the previous one.  It was new to us, but not brand new, fresh off the assembly line.   It was probably 2 years newer than the one that was taken away, but it leaked so we had to keep a towel on the ground that quickly became wet and smelly. &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;My husband (boyfriend at the time) and I thought it was hilarious how Jerry had passed off this horrible contraption as a "new" refrigerator.    We were also a little shocked about being given a gross, used appliance.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Fast forward&lt;/span&gt; 14 years .   .   .   .   . I am now the proud owner and landlord of a 100 year old house that has been converted to a triplex.  Over the past 6 years I have discovered the benefit of buying used appliances.   They are not quite the same as Jerry's used appliances, but they are not new.  I can find a $200 name brand, refurbished appliance with a warranty (that really does look almost new) and save about $200.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;This week I needed a "new" range for one of my units.  I headed down to my trusty used appliance store, Glenn's. You can almost always be assured at Glenn's that there will be many workers milling around, eating, talking, and not doing much working as well as several random children &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;occasionally&lt;/span&gt; appearing from the bowels of the store.  The store is filled with smoke, like a bar at 2AM and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Nascar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; signs decorate the walls.  I have never been nervous about going to the store, but it is in a rougher part of town.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;On this particular day there were only 2 employees working.  It was Labor Day so the store was pretty quiet.  When I entered, I was immediately greeted by tons of fresh cigarette smoke and a man, we'll call him &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Multipersonality&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, eating some Taco Bell.  Glenn was nowhere in sight.  I told him I was looking for a gas range and he pointed the way.  We chatted a bit and I quickly selected one that looked much newer and tons nicer than the current one we had.  It was time for the employee to ring me up.  When I told him I was going to use my credit card, he immediately called the only other employee in the store for help.  We'll call him Biker Dude.  He was extremely skinny, smelled of smoke, had long graying hair that was pulled into a ponytail, several tattoos, and wore a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;bandanna&lt;/span&gt; on his head - very Willy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Nelsonesque&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.  He claimed he also didn't know how to work the credit card machine.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt; Biker Dude suggested, "Call Glenn."  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Multipersonality&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; got on the phone and suddenly the atmosphere turned from late-night bar winding down calm to screaming and fist-fighting angry.  The conversation between Glenn and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Multipersonality&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; went something like this (of course I'm only hearing one side), "I don't know how to work the f. . .&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;ing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; credit card machine.  How am I supposed to know how to work this f. . .&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;ing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; machine.  I don't f. . .&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; work in the front.  This is all your f. . .&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;ing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; fault because of your f. . . &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;ing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; dog.  What the f. . .!"  Biker Dude stood totally &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;unfazed&lt;/span&gt;.  I tried to as well.  Then my mind began to wander.  What if this guy does something crazy.  He's really mad.  Should I run?  I really need that range.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I can hear the headlines on the evening news now - What looked like a Giant Hippo fleeing from Glenn's Appliance Store today in Kansas City, Kansas actually turned out to be a tremendously large pregnant lady.  She was running for her life and the life of her unborn child as a routine appliance sale turned ugly.  The cause of the raucous, the inability to work a credit card machine. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Well, in the end I made it out alive and I managed to purchase a "new" range. It was a cultural experience indeed - until next time!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-2751094699484030279?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/2751094699484030279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/cultural-experience.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/2751094699484030279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/2751094699484030279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/cultural-experience.html' title='A Cultural Experience'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-7651009895595799802</id><published>2009-09-07T11:23:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T11:35:17.125-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You Don't Want to Miss "Paint Over"!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SqU1u0syTHI/AAAAAAAAAEA/wH9kyq-jZQQ/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 147px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SqU1u0syTHI/AAAAAAAAAEA/wH9kyq-jZQQ/s200/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378764408500669554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; Calling all HGTV lovers. . . &lt;/span&gt;There is a new show, only 5 episodes long (at this point), that will be airing on HGTV this week.  A friend of mine, Jennifer Bertrand, who went to the University of Kansas with me and was the Design Star season 3 winner, will be the host.  If the show is a big hit, it could be extended.  So friends, set your DVRs and prepare to watch her show.  Here is a direct quote from Jen about her show, "&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 19px; font-family:arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-family:Arial;color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-  font-family:Arial;color:initial;"&gt;The premise is that I get to help families in big life moments such as life after cancer, a kidney transplant, divorce, etc. and I do two room makeovers in their home.  I so appreciate all of your support!!!!!"  I have attached a link that will take you to more information about Jen and her show.  Tune in and let's make this show a hit.  Thanks!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-family:Arial;color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-   font-family:Arial;font-size:10pt;color:initial;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- color:initial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" line-height: 16px;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.hgtv.com/jennifer-bertrand/bio/index.html"&gt;http://www.hgtv.com/jennifer-bertrand/bio/index.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  line-height: 15px; font-family:arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;blockquote type="cite"  style="margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 40px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 40px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- display: block; color:initial;"&gt;&lt;div class="hmmessage"  style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- color:initial;"&gt;&lt;p class="EC_MsoNormal"  style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- display: block; color:initial;"&gt;&lt;b  style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-weight: bold;   font-family:Arial;font-size:14pt;color:initial;"&gt;“Paint Over” on HGTV&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="EC_MsoNormal"  style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- display: block; color:initial;"&gt;&lt;b  style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-weight: bold;   font-family:Arial;font-size:14pt;color:initial;"&gt;3 pm Central/ 4 Eastern &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="EC_MsoNormal"  style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- display: block; color:initial;"&gt;&lt;b  style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-weight: bold;   font-family:Arial;font-size:14pt;color:initial;"&gt;Monday-Friday  Sept 7-11&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="EC_MsoNormal"  style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- display: block; color:initial;"&gt;&lt;b  style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-weight: bold;   font-family:Arial;font-size:14pt;color:initial;"&gt;One week only (5 new episodes)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div  style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline- font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;color:initial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-   font-family:Arial;font-size:14pt;color:initial;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-7651009895595799802?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/7651009895595799802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/you-dont-want-to-miss-paint-over.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/7651009895595799802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/7651009895595799802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/you-dont-want-to-miss-paint-over.html' title='You Don&apos;t Want to Miss &quot;Paint Over&quot;!'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SqU1u0syTHI/AAAAAAAAAEA/wH9kyq-jZQQ/s72-c/Picture+1.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-6983278999852023543</id><published>2009-09-04T08:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-04T09:03:39.567-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Confidence Booster</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;As you can imagine, I am feeling quite huge right now.  I have 3 weeks until I will have baby number 4.  In the last 3 weeks I have suddenly developed too much amniotic fluid.  A typical pregnant woman has about 3 pounds of fluid.  I have 6 - Yippee!  The only good side to this, is once the baby comes out, so does the fluid, an automatic 6 pound loss.  You can't beat that!  It doesn't feel great to be carrying around all these extra pounds and I feel more like a science experiment everyday.  As I mentioned in previous blog posts, I am getting lots of comments from strangers about my size.  I think the greatest (or should I categorize it as the worst?) one came on Monday.  I was waddling into the grocery store with all three of my kids.  I heard a car stop behind me and an old man (probably about 70) rolled down his window and said, "Miss, you think you've been eating enough food.  You better slow down."  Then he proceeded to laugh hysterically as he drove off.  Ha! Ha! was all I could think.  The other shoppers around me were completely shocked and telling me how great I looked.  All I could think was, "It's almost over!"  I don't think anything phases me anymore.  Bring it on!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-6983278999852023543?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/6983278999852023543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/another-confidence-booster.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/6983278999852023543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/6983278999852023543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/another-confidence-booster.html' title='Another Confidence Booster'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-7385694061477850090</id><published>2009-09-01T08:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T19:53:06.901-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Doll Saga</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sp3B2jDVOxI/AAAAAAAAAD4/koKUx82i0IA/s1600-h/Sophie%27s+doll.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sp3B2jDVOxI/AAAAAAAAAD4/koKUx82i0IA/s200/Sophie%27s+doll.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376666673016552210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Recently, my two girls were playing so nicely in my 3 year &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;old's&lt;/span&gt; bedroom.  She has a great basket full of baby doll accessories since her favorite "game" is playing "babies".  They had invited our neighbor over who is 4.  The playing was going smoothly, everyone was happy when suddenly I heard screams.  They were shrill and I knew they could only come from the mouth of my six year old.  I am certain that one day she could win a screaming contest where she breaks the most glass bottles with her piercing scream.  I went to investigate, trying not to act too rattled by the situation.  "The girls don't want to play with me anymore," she pouted.  I could only imagine that since she was the oldest, she started telling the girls what they had to do and how they had to play and they were fed up.  "Why don't you go ask one of the other girls in the neighborhood to play,"  I responded and then returned to my sewing.  It was suddenly quiet, but my daughter never left to go play with someone else. &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ahhh&lt;/span&gt;, silence.  All were happy and my sewing resumed at it's previous pace.  About 40 minutes later I went to check on everyone.  As I ascended the stairs, I started to notice little pieces of fluff, the cotton type that is used to fill kids toys, littering the floor.  Weird!  As I walked towards the bathroom, there was more fluff, until I arrived at the kitchen table. Resting sadly on the table, as if something out of a horror flick, one of my 3 year &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;old's&lt;/span&gt; baby dolls was lying completely mutilated on the table.  Her soft middle had been severed in half and all of her insides were missing.  The little voice box that used to say things like, "feed me" and "I love my mommy" was dangling from a half cut cord out of her body.  Her plastic arms and legs lay limp at her sides.  She was naked.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Hmmm&lt;/span&gt;, I thought.   I wasn't exactly excited about what the girls had chosen to do to occupy their time, but everyone was happy and quiet and they were playing so nicely.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt; I remember as a child being fascinated with my dolls and loving to cut off their hair just to see what would happen.  "Maybe they would come alive, like in Toy Story, and regrow their hair", I would think.  I could see this act of violence being similar to my childhood obsession of cutting my doll's hair.  I let it go while they were playing.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Afterall&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;noone&lt;/span&gt; was crying, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;noone&lt;/span&gt; was fighting, everyone seemed happy.  About 25 minutes later the girls came in and requested a snack.  As I fixed them cheese and crackers I thought this would be a nice teachable moment, "Girls, that's really sad that you decided to cut up that doll.  I know it's going to be really missed.  Now you don't have it to play with anymore," and I picked it up and dramatically dumped it in the trash can.  Suddenly it was revealed that my 6 year old had done it.  She wasn't playing with the other girls at all.  She was seeking revenge on her sister for not including her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She had maliciously mutilated the doll.  I was furious.  Of course I wanted to know why she had done such a thing.  My daughter really couldn't explain her actions, she only hung her head in embarrassment.  I'm sure it felt really good while she did it, getting revenge on her sister, but then having to admit that she did such a savage thing didn't feel so good. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt; "This was a very sad and mean thing to do.  You chose a very expensive doll to destroy.  You know you will have to buy her a new one,"  I informed her.  I could tell she felt badly about ruining the doll.  "That's okay if I have to buy her a new one, I have lots of money in my wallet" she said.  "Yeah, but it will take all of the money in your wallet to buy a new one, " I responded.  Suddenly her eyes looked sad and her head was spinning.  She wouldn't have leftovers to buy herself something.  Ruining her sister's doll wasn't such a good idea &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;afterall&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;The next week we made the trip to the store to find the perfect doll.  All 3 kids went along since we needed to do some other errands as well.  My 6 year old kept trying to convince my 3 year old that she didn't actually want a doll.  A small toy would be better (and cheaper).  "Oh no, we are here to replace a doll, and you are going to buy a doll.  It's going to be just like the one you ruined," I kept telling her.  I was on to her and she knew it.  There truly wouldn't be any money left in her wallet.  After examining all of the dolls, we found a great doll for my 3 year old.  She couldn't wait to get it out of the box.  We made our way to the cash register.  The cashier was a friendly lady and my son immediately said, "My sister has to buy this doll.  She cut the head off of my little sister's doll."  The cashier started laughing.  I shot her a look as if to say, "Hey, you're ruining this situation.  There are lessons to be learned.  This is not funny."  Her face immediately turned somber.  She looked at my daughter and said,"Oh, that's really sad that you hurt your sister's doll.  I bet she was really upset."  My 6 year old was embarrassed.  I chimed in,"Yeah, and she has to use all of the money in her wallet to replace it.  It's very sad."  We continued to go back and forth about how terrible the situation was.  In the end, my daughter got the point that what she had done was wrong.  My 3 year old is the proud owner of a new doll and everyone seems happier again (maybe a little poor, but happy again). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-7385694061477850090?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/7385694061477850090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/doll-saga.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/7385694061477850090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/7385694061477850090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/09/doll-saga.html' title='The Doll Saga'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sp3B2jDVOxI/AAAAAAAAAD4/koKUx82i0IA/s72-c/Sophie%27s+doll.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-7791810274741329506</id><published>2009-08-25T07:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T07:36:45.667-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Wise Son</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SpNa_GxmluI/AAAAAAAAADw/pJtSeuElCoU/s1600-h/DSC09344.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SpNa_GxmluI/AAAAAAAAADw/pJtSeuElCoU/s200/DSC09344.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373738820580054754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;The other day my 8 year old and I decided to run a quick errand.  I was completely exhausted, but we just needed 1 thing.  My sons ears perked up when I invited him to go with me to Target.  He quickly ran and got his wallet.  He loves shopping at Target and never leaves without finding some new toy to buy.  It was about 6 PM.  Upon arriving, I quickly got my shopping done.  My son was ready to do his.  He wanted to go to the toys and then he wanted to circle the complete store because he couldn't find the Halloween display.  I explained that I was tired and that surely the Halloween stuff wasn't out yet.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;He kept begging, "Please, let's just go around one more time."  Oh, I new I couldn't do it.  Everything hurt.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I said, "Look bud, imagine if I strapped two gallons of milk on the front of you and you couldn't take them off.  You had to wear them everyday, everywhere you went, even to bed." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;He looked up at me and responded, "Well, if you and dad would quit going all the way, you wouldn't be in this mess."  I was completely shocked, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;afterall,&lt;/span&gt; he's only 8.  What was I going to say?  I composed myself, surely he didn't know what he was talking about. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I said, "What does, 'Go all the way' mean anyway?"  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;He responded, "I don't know, but I do know that that's how babies are made."  Wow, how wonderful to have my 8 year old son solve my problems.  I will have to keep him in mind when I need advise in the future.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-7791810274741329506?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/7791810274741329506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-wise-son.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/7791810274741329506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/7791810274741329506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-wise-son.html' title='My Wise Son'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SpNa_GxmluI/AAAAAAAAADw/pJtSeuElCoU/s72-c/DSC09344.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-5466067697009935114</id><published>2009-08-24T21:51:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T22:15:36.841-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Huge Mistake</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ahhhh&lt;/span&gt;!  So last night while I was having my standoff with my 3 year old because she wouldn't, or couldn't, go to bed (read last nights blog for the complete story), I made a terrible mistake.  I was trying to kill time, just waiting for her to fall asleep.  First I began to sew, which I do quite often.  At this point, I had my tape measure draped around my neck (and proceeded to leave there throughout our little standoff).  I got antsy so I got onto the computer and updated my blog.  I saw an ad for &lt;a href="http://www.monster.com/"&gt;Monster.com&lt;/a&gt; and decided to search for jobs.  Yeah, totally crazy since I'm getting ready to have my fourth child, as if four kids isn't a job.  It's a pretty cool site and I could see how job seekers could have a lot of success.  Some of the jobs sounded fun and profitable.  Maybe I'll quit my current job.  My husband would love that.  "Honey, I've decided to quit.  You'll have to find someone else to take care of the kids."  Anyway, my eyes were getting tired (too bad it was about 12 AM and my daughter was not also getting tired).  The tape measure was still around my neck.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Hmmm&lt;/span&gt;.  My waist looked huge at 8 months pregnant.  It is bigger than it ever was with any of the other kids.  A little devil on my shoulder chanted, "Measure it!  Measure it!  Measure it!"  I did the dreaded.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Ahhhhhhh&lt;/span&gt;!  I measured it.  43.5 inches.  Holy cow.  I looked online and that is the equivalent of an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;XXXXL&lt;/span&gt;.  I've never even seen an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;XXXXL&lt;/span&gt;.  Wow, all those people who have been making comments about my size the last couple of weeks were right.  I was completely depressed.  I was completely huge!  However, I had just won the standoff.  It was 12:30 AM.  My daughter had fallen asleep.  Good night!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-5466067697009935114?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/5466067697009935114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-huge-mistake.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/5466067697009935114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/5466067697009935114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-huge-mistake.html' title='My Huge Mistake'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-5523863610187091192</id><published>2009-08-23T21:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-23T21:53:18.001-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bedtime Wars</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Yes, my 3 year old is still awake (10 PM) and it has turned into an all out war.  She is wide awake because my husband decided to take a nap with her today.  "Oh she was just so exhausted when you went to run errands," he said.  Which really translates into, "I partied too hard at the lake and so I needed to take a nap.  The only way I could take a nap is if my sweet little daughter slept with me."  Well now, I am paying the price.  We have gone to the bathroom twice, gotten water twice, crawled out of bed about 10 times.  What next?  If only my children had on/off switches.  Maybe I will invent that.  Is it ethical?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-5523863610187091192?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/5523863610187091192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/bedtime-wars.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/5523863610187091192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/5523863610187091192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/bedtime-wars.html' title='Bedtime Wars'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-3375368191511925427</id><published>2009-08-19T17:00:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-19T22:37:20.363-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Innocence of Babes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Okay, so before I tell you a little story about my 3 year old I have to say that my entries on my blog have been a little sporadic lately.  As the birth of my 4&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; child gets closer, things seem to be getting really hectic, so my time on the computer is very limited and random.  I will try and steal time away and write as much as possible.&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Anyway, now for the fun stuff.  My 2 older children started school today, 3rd and 1st grade.  They go to a local Catholic school. As you might imagine, being a Catholic school, there are religious symbols and statues throughout the building.  On the first day my husband and I always walk the kids in and drop them off at their classrooms.  My 3 year old went with us today and quietly watched as we said goodbye to her older siblings.  Once we left school, we had to run an errand before heading home.  My daughter was very quiet in the car and then said, "Mom, why is the Jesus at sissy's school black?"  (I have to say that I was a little shocked at the question because we do not describe people by the color of their skin in our household.)  I thought about it for a minute.  Throughout my life I have seen Jesus portrayed as various &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ethnicities&lt;/span&gt;, and never really given it much thought.  I hadn't ever noticed the particular statue that my daughter was talking about, but I imagine that it had dark skin, not like any that she had seen before.  I said to her, "Jesus can look many different ways.  Each person has their own thoughts about what Jesus looks like."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;If you remember from previous blog posts, my daughter has repeatedly gotten into my makeup and other beauty products.  In her little 3 year old mind she had the perfect explanation to describe his appearance,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No mommy, Jesus got into his mommies makeup.  He was real bad.  I bet he's in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;trooouuuble&lt;/span&gt;!"  Oh the wisdom of a 3 year old mind!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-3375368191511925427?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/3375368191511925427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/innocence-of-babes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/3375368191511925427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/3375368191511925427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/innocence-of-babes.html' title='The Innocence of Babes'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-4204849516314811147</id><published>2009-08-14T10:03:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T10:11:19.164-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Screeeeeech!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SoV-gkWhxkI/AAAAAAAAADo/SvtG3-RCKfM/s1600-h/kid+beach+pic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SoV-gkWhxkI/AAAAAAAAADo/SvtG3-RCKfM/s200/kid+beach+pic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369837228688262722" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh there's a new sound in my house :(  It's that screeching &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;hault&lt;/span&gt; sound that makes you grab your ears and go, "Ugh!"  I just heard it and it was the sound of my lovely, wonderful, peaceful &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;staycation&lt;/span&gt; away from my kids coming to a sudden &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;hault&lt;/span&gt;.  The kids are back from their vacation and the peace has left the house.  It will all be okay.  We will have a little last minute summer fun at the pool and then school starts next week.  Yahoo!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-4204849516314811147?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/4204849516314811147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/screeeeeech.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4204849516314811147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4204849516314811147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/screeeeeech.html' title='Screeeeeech!'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SoV-gkWhxkI/AAAAAAAAADo/SvtG3-RCKfM/s72-c/kid+beach+pic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-5680632993141782955</id><published>2009-08-10T10:47:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T10:56:30.807-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Balloon, A Chicken or a Pregnant Lady!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;In recent days, my pregnant body has spurred people to compare me to non-human things.  Two days ago, an older gentleman described me as a balloon saying, "you're so big, you looked like you're going to pop!"  Yesterday I was enjoying  a leisurely float in the pool (you see, I am still on my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;staycation&lt;/span&gt; and my kids do not return for another 3 days:).  Another older man said, "When are you due?"  When I responded, 7 weeks I thought his eyes would pop out of his face.  Then he proceeded to refer to me as some sort of chicken and say, "You're huge, you're going to hatch any day.  There's no way you will make it another 7 weeks."  I think I'm ready to return to my humanly body, but I guess I've got to wait a little longer.  I'll be out running errands today.  We'll see what other ego building comments I get today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-5680632993141782955?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/5680632993141782955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/balloon-chicken-or-pregnant-lady.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/5680632993141782955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/5680632993141782955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/balloon-chicken-or-pregnant-lady.html' title='A Balloon, A Chicken or a Pregnant Lady!'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-291998124805511381</id><published>2009-08-08T18:47:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T18:57:36.562-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Huge Pregnant Lady!</title><content type='html'>It's official, I am huge!  I have had enough people ask me if I am having twins in the last week to no longer be able to deny that my belly has gotten enormous.  I still have 7 weeks and I can't imagine getting any bigger.  I feel like a science experiment at this point.  In the days leading up to my delivery, I think I will keep a tally of how many people comment on how giant I am.  We will see where this leads.  When my husband returns with the camera, maybe I will get brave and take a picture.  Stay tuned . . . .!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-291998124805511381?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/291998124805511381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/huge-pregnant-lady.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/291998124805511381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/291998124805511381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/huge-pregnant-lady.html' title='Huge Pregnant Lady!'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-8201420917804153015</id><published>2009-08-04T10:35:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T10:45:42.143-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Husband of the Year</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Good Morning!  Do you hear that sound?  Oh, yeah, there is no sound.  I am the only one at my house right now because my super wonderful husband decided to take all 3 of our children on a 17 hour drive to visit his parents.  For eight days my husband and kids will be seeing the wonders of Myrtle Beach and Charlotte, North Carolina and for eight days I will have peace and quite and the ability to get my house organized with no interruptions.  I'm sure you are wondering why I didn't go, well I am now eight months pregnant and feeling somewhat like a small elephant.  My doctor highly recommended that I don't make the trip and I agreed since our baby is almost here and we've done nothing to prepare (poor 4&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; child).  This is actually a win/win situation for all of us.  My husband gets a much needed break from work and he gets to see his parents.  The kids get to see their grandparents and go to the beach (always a favorite vacation). I get tons of rest, relaxation, and time to prepare before the baby arrives.  Well, I must be going.  I think I'll read the paper now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-8201420917804153015?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/8201420917804153015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/husband-of-year.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/8201420917804153015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/8201420917804153015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/husband-of-year.html' title='Husband of the Year'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-7891089361186460133</id><published>2009-08-01T21:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-01T21:12:58.750-05:00</updated><title type='text'>THE 5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE CAKE FOR ONE PERSON.......</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 7.5pt; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; display: block; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 19px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;. . . . .&lt;/b&gt;Ohhh the yumminess of this cake.  I think I am in big trouble late night when my husband is out of town.  Maybe I will just throw away the BMI calculator that is attached to the fridge and say what the heck.  Check it out!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 7.5pt; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; display: block; "&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:black;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 10pt; color: black; font-family: Arial; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 19px;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img id="_x0000_i1036" height="300" src="http://f503.mail.yahoo.com/ya/download?mid=1%5f1592%5fANYnvs4AADNUSlPvuA2e0h4iMcc&amp;amp;pid=2.2&amp;amp;fid=Marcelle&amp;amp;inline=1" width="400" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; " /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="_x0000_i1037" height="300" src="http://f503.mail.yahoo.com/ya/download?mid=1%5f1592%5fANYnvs4AADNUSlPvuA2e0h4iMcc&amp;amp;pid=2.3&amp;amp;fid=Marcelle&amp;amp;inline=1" width="400" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; " /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="_x0000_i1038" height="300" src="http://f503.mail.yahoo.com/ya/download?mid=1%5f1592%5fANYnvs4AADNUSlPvuA2e0h4iMcc&amp;amp;pid=2.4&amp;amp;fid=Marcelle&amp;amp;inline=1" width="400" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 7.5pt; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; display: block; "&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:black;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 10pt; color: black; font-family: Arial; "&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;table class="MsoNormalTable" cellpadding="0" align="left" border="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; font-size: inherit; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; display: table; "&gt;&lt;tbody style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; "&gt;&lt;tr style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; display: table-row; vertical-align: inherit; "&gt;&lt;td valign="top" style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; display: table-cell; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; padding-right: 0.75pt; padding-left: 0.75pt; padding-bottom: 0.75pt; padding-top: 0.75pt; "&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; display: block; "&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial; "&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; "&gt;&lt;u style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; "&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family:Arial;font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: bold; font-size: 18pt; font-family: Arial; "&gt;&lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1249178917_2" style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer; "&gt;5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family: Arial; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 tablespoons flour &lt;br /&gt;4 tablespoons sugar &lt;br /&gt;2 tablespoons cocoa &lt;br /&gt;1 egg &lt;br /&gt;3 tablespoons milk &lt;br /&gt;3 tablespoons oil &lt;br /&gt;3 tablespoons &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1249178917_3" style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; "&gt;chocolate chips&lt;/span&gt; (optional) &lt;br /&gt;A small splash of vanilla extract &lt;br /&gt;1 large &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1249178917_4" style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; "&gt;coffee mug&lt;/span&gt; (MicroSafe)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well.  Add the egg and mix thoroughly. &lt;br /&gt; Pour in the milk and oil and mix well. &lt;br /&gt;Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again. &lt;br /&gt;Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts. &lt;br /&gt;The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed! &lt;br /&gt;Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.&lt;br /&gt;EAT ! (this can serve 2 if you want to feel slightly more virtuous).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; display: block; "&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; "&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;color:navy;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-weight: bold; font-size: 13.5pt; color: navy; font-family: Arial; "&gt;And why is this the most dangerous &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1249178917_5" style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer; "&gt;cake recipe&lt;/span&gt; in the world?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family: Arial; "&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Because now we are all only 5 minutes away from chocolate cake &lt;br /&gt;at any time of the day or night!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; display: block; "&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:navy;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 1.2em; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 10pt; color: navy; font-family: Arial; "&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-7891089361186460133?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/7891089361186460133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/5-minute-chocolate-cake-for-one-person.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/7891089361186460133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/7891089361186460133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/08/5-minute-chocolate-cake-for-one-person.html' title='THE 5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE CAKE FOR ONE PERSON.......'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-83148090713314787</id><published>2009-07-30T20:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T08:29:49.536-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Age Factor</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sl-H5m4u6EI/AAAAAAAAACA/0KGhP-4gvVI/s1600-h/marie+and+grannie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 219px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sl-H5m4u6EI/AAAAAAAAACA/0KGhP-4gvVI/s320/marie+and+grannie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359151505354975298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;So I've been wondering a lot lately, "When are you truly considered old?  At what point are you no longer young and do others consider you an old person."  Perhaps this thought has been haunting my brain because many of my friends, and me (I guess) are quickly approaching 40.  &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;When I was a kid, 40 was ancient.  Someone who was 40 probably had a pet dinosaur in their youth.  Sometimes my kids will make the comment that I'm old.   I quickly shoot them the look like, "You better find someone to make you dinner, because I'm sure not doing it."  I even asked my mother recently if she considers herself old.  She said that she still felt like she was really active, but her body was tired.  She thought she acted much more youthful than her mother did at 68.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt; I had just seen probably one of the funniest movies ever, The Hangover (&lt;a href="http://hangovermovie.warnerbros.com/"&gt;http://hangovermovie.warnerbros.com/&lt;/a&gt;).  I laughed so hard throughout the entire film that at certain times I wasn't sure if I had gone into labor.  I even think at one point that I wet my pants a little (which is completely normal when you are pregnant with your 4th, right?)  Well, the next day I called my mom and one of my sisters and told them both to go see the movie.  I knew they'd love it.  My sister couldn't believe I told my mom to see it.  "She won't think it's funny."  I just kept telling myself that there's no way you couldn't think this movie was funny.  Then my mom planned a ladies night out with 2 of her friends to go see the movie.  My sister had me paranoid.  "Oh crap, what if they hated it?"  I would be responsible for ruining their big night out.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I called my mom the next day at 8 AM.  "What did you think of the movie?" I blurted out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"It was okay, I didn't think it was &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; funny.  I mean it was funny in parts."  My sister was right.  My mother was past that point in her life of thinking irresponsible behavior is funny.   A younger person will always think someone that is older has "old person" behaviors.  It goes something like this - 20 is old to a 10 year old.  40 is old to a 30 year old, 80 is old to a 70 year old and so on.  I guess I can't blame my mom for not thinking it wasn't that funny, it's inevitable.  But, at least she tries. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-83148090713314787?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/83148090713314787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/age-factor.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/83148090713314787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/83148090713314787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/age-factor.html' title='The Age Factor'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sl-H5m4u6EI/AAAAAAAAACA/0KGhP-4gvVI/s72-c/marie+and+grannie.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-4763565852763724957</id><published>2009-07-28T08:25:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T08:35:13.850-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Shopping!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sm7-CjVf_oI/AAAAAAAAADY/nGf6t8QjGSg/s1600-h/Picture+6.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 48px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sm7-CjVf_oI/AAAAAAAAADY/nGf6t8QjGSg/s200/Picture+6.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363503526043451010" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a gift for everyone today.  In this bad economy I think we can all use a little savings.  Here's a link for 30% off at Gap, Old Navy, Banana Republic, Athleta, Gap Outlet and Banana Republic outlet from July 30 to August 2.  Pamper yourself. &lt;div&gt; Happy Shopping!   &lt;a href="http://gap.m.delivery.net/w/webView?cid=15789113780&amp;amp;mid=1857185807&amp;amp;pid=770280&amp;amp;vid=13665&amp;amp;email=hillarina%40comcast.net&amp;amp;si=&amp;amp;mv=H&amp;amp;bv=H&amp;amp;oc=N&amp;amp;k=1kicWF"&gt;http://gap.m.delivery.net/w/webView?cid=15789113780&amp;amp;mid=1857185807&amp;amp;pid=770280&amp;amp;vid=13665&amp;amp;email=hillarina%40comcast.net&amp;amp;si=&amp;amp;mv=H&amp;amp;bv=H&amp;amp;oc=N&amp;amp;k=1kicWF&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh, by the way, they will donate 5% of your purchase to your favorite charity too.  &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/5079213181382525144-4763565852763724957?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/4763565852763724957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/happy-shopping.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4763565852763724957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4763565852763724957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/happy-shopping.html' title='Happy Shopping!'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sm7-CjVf_oI/AAAAAAAAADY/nGf6t8QjGSg/s72-c/Picture+6.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-1551683770753359428</id><published>2009-07-27T09:09:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T09:38:14.845-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Annual Block Party</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sm269PJnlqI/AAAAAAAAADQ/eugYrCmcjKk/s1600-h/sam+in+fire+water.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/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sm269PJnlqI/AAAAAAAAADQ/eugYrCmcjKk/s200/sam+in+fire+water.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363148292469790370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sm26xPEnTkI/AAAAAAAAADI/K5HHkU1gDO4/s1600-h/pinata+trauma.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/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sm26xPEnTkI/AAAAAAAAADI/K5HHkU1gDO4/s200/pinata+trauma.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363148086290370114" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sm26oMQHYPI/AAAAAAAAADA/rDEIv-DaPdc/s1600-h/DSC09028.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/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sm26oMQHYPI/AAAAAAAAADA/rDEIv-DaPdc/s200/DSC09028.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363147930914480370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;On Saturday night we had our annual block party.  The night consisted of eating, drinking, and fun for the kids.  We started with a visit from our local fire department.  The highlight was the kids getting to play in water that shoots out from the firetruck hoses.  We rented a bounce house for the first time and it was like hiring a babysitter for the entire night.  The kids jumped until about 11 PM.  We had a Dora pinata that was about 3 feet tall.  The very young kiddos refused to hit it because they were traumatized by "hitting and hurting" Dora.  The older kiddos were thrilled to be able to hit a cartoon character that they were way too cool to be associated with.  Our final planned activity was a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Peppumber&lt;/span&gt; toss.  My husband and I planted our first garden this summer with the kids.  Our cucumbers cross-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;pollinated&lt;/span&gt; with our banana peppers and we grew a totally new vegetable - the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;peppumber&lt;/span&gt;.  Since we had an entire bag of these unusual veggies, we decided to entertain the neighborhood by seeing who could throw them the farthest.  The night was a hit and the kids are already talking about next year's block party.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-1551683770753359428?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/1551683770753359428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/annual-block-party.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/1551683770753359428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/1551683770753359428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/annual-block-party.html' title='Annual Block Party'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/Sm269PJnlqI/AAAAAAAAADQ/eugYrCmcjKk/s72-c/sam+in+fire+water.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-734811043348409093</id><published>2009-07-21T21:55:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T09:22:04.814-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Horrible Threes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SmfPGg3wxpI/AAAAAAAAACY/v2VrwsnhhN4/s1600-h/Diaper+Heads.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 257px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SmfPGg3wxpI/AAAAAAAAACY/v2VrwsnhhN4/s320/Diaper+Heads.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361481592217847442" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SmfOs_8gNAI/AAAAAAAAACQ/8CL_JFd9HmQ/s1600-h/Mascara+Face.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 317px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SmfOs_8gNAI/AAAAAAAAACQ/8CL_JFd9HmQ/s320/Mascara+Face.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361481153882633218" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am convinced the Horrible Threes are the Terrible Twos on steroids.  My daughter has probably wasted a total of $300 in beauty products by rubbing them on her body, into the carpet, on the furniture, or anywhere else they can be rubbed.  Her beauty product of choice today is my mascara.  What a disaster!  You can see in the picture how proud she is of her work.  She has also decided that she no longer needs pull-ups at night.  I'm not sure her wet sheets would agree.  She has found a new use for her pull-ups and her sister is helping with the display!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-734811043348409093?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/734811043348409093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/horrible-threes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/734811043348409093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/734811043348409093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/horrible-threes.html' title='Horrible Threes'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SmfPGg3wxpI/AAAAAAAAACY/v2VrwsnhhN4/s72-c/Diaper+Heads.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-6236293061022218789</id><published>2009-07-21T09:04:00.010-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:03:34.573-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Girls, Girls, Girls</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;My 8 year old son's distress over our family situation began when I was pregnant with our 3rd child.  After having a baby sister, who he thoroughly enjoys torturing on a regular basis, he had high hopes for a baby brother.  His number one plan was naming the baby Obi-Wan &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Kenobi&lt;/span&gt;.   We thought it would be a great experience for him to go to the sonogram and see the baby growing inside of me.  But, when the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;sonographer&lt;/span&gt; announced, "It's a girl!"  Our moment of joy quickly turned somber.  Tears filled my son's eyes.  "I can't name it Obi-Wan."  The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;sonogram &lt;/span&gt;tech comforted him with, "You could name her Princess Leia."  He didn't think that was a good idea.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;When we announced one day 3 years later that we were again having a baby, I saw that familiar sparkle in my son's eyes.  Once again he would have a chance at a baby brother.  He was sure it was a boy.  At this point, he was over his Star Wars fetish, but he couldn't wait to teach his brother all about the importance of being a boy - &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;legos&lt;/span&gt;, swimming, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;nerf&lt;/span&gt; guns.  When 20 weeks gestation rolled around and it was time to get the sonogram to find out the sex of the baby, my son was so excited.  My husband and I decided that we would go alone this time.  It was a good thing because once again, my son was getting another sister.  We decided that my husband would break the news.  As I expected, there were tears.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Although the sadness has worn off, lately I have found him saying, "Mom, you know, doctor's are wrong sometimes.  It could still be a boy."  He has already chosen a friend down the street that he plans to move in with if the situation of 3 sisters is too rough.  I think we might be in trouble because the girls always seem to be changing clothes, which results in a lot of running around naked.  My son keeps complaining about how disgusting it is around our house.  I find myself saying, "You better get used to it, there will be a lot more nakedness once your 3rd sister is here."  I'm pretty sure his bags are already packed!&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/5079213181382525144-6236293061022218789?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/6236293061022218789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/girls-girls-girls.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/6236293061022218789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/6236293061022218789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/girls-girls-girls.html' title='Girls, Girls, Girls'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-1718881935230874885</id><published>2009-07-17T07:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T07:56:24.297-05:00</updated><title type='text'>An Unusual Proposal</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I'm not sure if I think a marriage proposal I saw on the news this morning is creepy or funny.  When my husband proposed about 12 years ago, it was a quiet affair in a small &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;restaurant&lt;/span&gt;.  I realized that day that I didn't like people staring at me.  Throughout the proposal, I was more concerned with whether the diners around me were watching than with the fact that my future husband was asking me to spend the rest of my life with him.  This guy must really love his underwear and his future bride.  Check it out.   What do you think? &lt;a href="http://http://gmy.news.yahoo.com/vid/14547285"&gt;http://gmy.news.yahoo.com/vid/14547285&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-1718881935230874885?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/1718881935230874885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/unusual-proposal.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/1718881935230874885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/1718881935230874885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/unusual-proposal.html' title='An Unusual Proposal'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-4009534796194333384</id><published>2009-07-14T09:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T10:13:43.262-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The T-shirt Trend</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlygVc8lB6I/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tw0CO6Bk3Jw/s1600-h/t-shirt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlygVc8lB6I/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tw0CO6Bk3Jw/s320/t-shirt.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358333947072022434" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a new trend going on in my household.  I think these trends almost always start with the oldest child doing something and all the siblings following because they think it's the new cool thing to do.  Well suddenly my kids are raiding my husband's t-shirt drawer and wearing his t-shirts to bed in place of their nightgowns or boxers.   My son has chosen to rotate between an assortment of my husbands triathlon racing shirts.  My daughter, on the other hand, dug deep into the bowels of the drawer and has selected her favorite shirt.  She thinks it's from a swim shop because the lady on the front is wearing a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;snorkel&lt;/span&gt; and mask.  She doesn't understand why I laughed so hard when she appeared wearing it, but now she is wearing it every night.  When my husband returned from a recent business trip our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt; went like this,&lt;div&gt;T- "Who messed up my t-shirt drawer?"  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;M-"The kids, they are wearing your shirts to bed."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(Weird look on my husbands face.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;M-"The best part is the one your daughter chose, perhaps you should explain it's origin to her."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(Another weird look.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That evening my daughter emerged from her bath wearing her new favorite night garment.  My husband and I laughed.  In reality is was from a certain "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Gentlemen's&lt;/span&gt; Club" called Sammy's that my husband had acquired during college on one of his wild spring break trips to Florida.  My daughter was proud to be wearing her father's shirt.  For now we'd let her keep thinking it was from a swim shop.&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/5079213181382525144-4009534796194333384?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/4009534796194333384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/t-shirt-trend.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4009534796194333384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4009534796194333384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/t-shirt-trend.html' title='The T-shirt Trend'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlygVc8lB6I/AAAAAAAAAB4/Tw0CO6Bk3Jw/s72-c/t-shirt.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-4714431953469443522</id><published>2009-07-12T17:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T10:05:25.846-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Skating Babies</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlplFfJT4iI/AAAAAAAAABw/deWec6YxLWg/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 86px; height: 90px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlplFfJT4iI/AAAAAAAAABw/deWec6YxLWg/s320/Picture+2.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357705851644928546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I finally figured out what this baby is doing in my stomach.  It moves so much that I was a little worried that it has some syndrome or something.  My doctor tried to tell me that after 4 babies growing inside of me that everything is very stretched out and so it's easier to feel movement.  I can now prove her wrong.  Watch this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;youtube&lt;/span&gt; video and see for yourself -&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQcVllWpwGs"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQcVllWpwGs&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&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/5079213181382525144-4714431953469443522?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/4714431953469443522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/skating-babies.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4714431953469443522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4714431953469443522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/skating-babies.html' title='Skating Babies'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlplFfJT4iI/AAAAAAAAABw/deWec6YxLWg/s72-c/Picture+2.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-1394384723515468540</id><published>2009-07-10T09:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T10:06:16.836-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEFE3B0Rje0'/><title type='text'>Mom My Ride</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Recently I was in the car (a minivan, of course) with the kids and my husband was in his car in front of us.  I still don't understand how this happened, but all of a sudden he started backing up, full speed, and crashed into my car.  I sat there in complete &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bewilderment&lt;/span&gt;, wondering how, with sensors in the back of his car that beep when something is behind him, could he hit me?  Well, he did and now I have a saggy front bumper and a headlight that droops (kinda sounds like my body right now).   My front bumper suddenly matches the back because I backed into my neighbor's tree a few years ago when I was turning around to go back and pick up a forgotten &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;sippy&lt;/span&gt; cup.   Well to add to the beauty of my car, I decided to try and squeeze into a parking space that was partly occupied while picking up a pizza at Pizza Hut.  It didn't quite work and I hit the back bumper of the car next to me, further adding decor to my already colorful front bumper.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;My car desperately needs to go to the shop to get fixed.  There is a piece of plastic dangling down and it sounds like an airplane is landing when I stop.  I knew it was bad when a guy driving next to me motioned for me to roll down my window and when I did he said, "You know you have a piece hanging down under your car?"  I let him know that I was on my way home to fix it with duct tape - real classy!  The duct tape isn't working so I guess we will be getting it fixed soon.  In the meantime, I will just have innocent drivers around me terrified that an airplane is making an emergency landing next to them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;All of this car drama reminded me of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Youtube&lt;/span&gt; video that my friend Hillary sent me a couple of years ago.  It's called "Mom My Ride".  It's a must see and will help all husbands understand why their wives cars are completely destroyed by the kids. Check it out - &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEFE3B0Rje0"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEFE3B0Rje0&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&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/5079213181382525144-1394384723515468540?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/1394384723515468540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/mom-my-ride.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/1394384723515468540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/1394384723515468540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/mom-my-ride.html' title='Mom My Ride'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-8486081302752834103</id><published>2009-07-09T08:35:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-18T09:59:15.063-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='A picture of the belly bandit.'/><title type='text'>The Girdle is Back!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlX9OH35SNI/AAAAAAAAABE/NlnueXBXrRE/s1600-h/Picture+24.png"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 123px; height: 83px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlX9OH35SNI/AAAAAAAAABE/NlnueXBXrRE/s200/Picture+24.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356465750900558034" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so I think I have been tagged on yahoo.  I decided that with my fourth pregnancy I was going to take control of my out of control, stretched out stomach after the baby came.  I started doing some research.  First I typed in "belly band after baby" into the search engine.  I was looking for some magic band that you wear around your waist that sucks in all the stretchy skin and makes your stomach go back to it's original shape within weeks.  I came across a site &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.bellybandit.com"&gt;www.bellybandit.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt; which sells just what I was looking for.  Even better, it is endorsed by all kinds of celebs that have worn it and have remarkable bodies in just weeks.  (It couldn't have anything to do with the fact that they have tons of money and can pay for a personal trainer to work out with them for 5 hours a day, 5 days a week, could it?)  After reading about the belly bandit, It sounded great, but a little pricey, $65.95 for the most cozy one which is made from bamboo fiber (I figure I have been pregnant for 36 months of my life and if I'm going to get one, I should be comfortable wearing it, right?).  They also suggest you buy two because when you wash one, you still need to wear one, so now I'd be spending $131.90.  I was pretty much sold, but decided to look into other options on the web.  But, what else do you call these waist &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cinchers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;?  Suddenly it dawned on me, as I remembered back to my childhood, sitting in my mother's bedroom while she got ready to go out, that she would squeeze herself into a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;girdle&lt;/span&gt;.  Whatever happened to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;girdle&lt;/span&gt;?  I never hear of people wearing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;girdles&lt;/span&gt; anymore.  I decided to search for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;girdles&lt;/span&gt;.  They were everywhere, they just aren't called &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;girdles&lt;/span&gt; anymore.  The more PC term for them is "Waist Nipper".   &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;JCPenny&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; sold them.  Target sold them.  Anyone who sold intimate women's apparel offered waist nippers.  I looked into many of the options out there and they seemed similar to the belly bandit in that they all held in the stomach, but there were lots of negative reviews about comfort (comfort is key for me after giving birth).  I've decided to splurge on the belly bandit.  And by the way, when I open my search engine page now, I am bombarded with ads for waist nippers.  Like I said, I've been tagged.  I've officially become my mother.  I will also be wearing a girdle.  I'll let you know how it works!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5079213181382525144-8486081302752834103?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/8486081302752834103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/girdle-is-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/8486081302752834103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/8486081302752834103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/girdle-is-back.html' title='The Girdle is Back!'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlX9OH35SNI/AAAAAAAAABE/NlnueXBXrRE/s72-c/Picture+24.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5079213181382525144.post-4851393896372314908</id><published>2009-07-08T17:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T22:34:48.427-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Trial Run</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlVkfC5SdMI/AAAAAAAAAA8/1qyhJC98SgM/s1600-h/Braces.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlVkfC5SdMI/AAAAAAAAAA8/1qyhJC98SgM/s320/Braces.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356297816342951106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Okay, here I go.  I'm going to write my first blog post.  I'm currently working on my site with my super talented, neighbor.  He's the computer/graphics guy that's going to make it all look really cool.  But until I get together with him, I just thought I'd get started.  In the meantime, I will just write and experiment with the whole blog thing.  I guess my goal with the blog is to talk about everyday life stuff, post cool stuff that I find, and feature various artists who are making really great things that I have bought or hope to buy.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I have 3 kids and one on the way.  My oldest is 8 and he just got braces today.  Oh, I hated braces.  I do not look forward to the morning when he gets up.  That's when the pain really begins.  I just performed surgery with the wax.  All of you past braces wearers, do you remember the wax?  Well, I couldn't get it to stick on the part that is hurting him, so I had to shove a cotton  ball up into his mouth to keep everything dry.  Now he is fully waxed up.  Let's say a prayer that it all stays for a while.   Since he's 8, he's too cool to take a normal pic, but here's one of him with the new braces.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I had a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt; over e-mail earlier with my sister-in-law.  She wanted to send back all of the hand-me-downs that I sent her when I thought I was done having babies.  Now I'm having a fourth and she thinks she needs to send it all back.  I told her not to bother.  Doesn't the fourth just wear a diaper all day?  That's my plan right now.  &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/5079213181382525144-4851393896372314908?l=zoobalu.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/feeds/4851393896372314908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/trial-run.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4851393896372314908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5079213181382525144/posts/default/4851393896372314908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zoobalu.blogspot.com/2009/07/trial-run.html' title='The Trial Run'/><author><name>zoobalu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11112429452156345310</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SliiwIiUXII/AAAAAAAAABQ/bi3-kkbE1ZM/S220/Picture+1.png'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ixLv1XHcXnk/SlVkfC5SdMI/AAAAAAAAAA8/1qyhJC98SgM/s72-c/Braces.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
