<?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-9011487031210176467</id><updated>2011-09-12T17:17:18.728-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Called Guilt</title><subtitle type='html'>a journey through motherhood</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>173</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4730868360737591981</id><published>2010-04-18T21:01:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-18T21:05:43.123-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Final One</title><content type='html'>They say all good things must come to an end.  I don't know if I can say this blog has been "good" or not, but nevertheless - it's time for the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to all who have followed my crazy adventures, shared in the laughter, and giggled at the tears.  I appreciate all the comments and encouragement. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so to close yearbook-style: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Have a great summer!    &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You're the best!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Don't ever change!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Love,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Vanessa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4730868360737591981?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4730868360737591981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4730868360737591981' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4730868360737591981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4730868360737591981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2010/04/final-one.html' title='The Final One'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-7715823946074075951</id><published>2010-04-01T20:59:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-01T21:00:43.106-04:00</updated><title type='text'>On Staying Silent....</title><content type='html'>My mother told me,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-7715823946074075951?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/7715823946074075951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=7715823946074075951' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7715823946074075951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7715823946074075951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2010/04/on-staying-silent.html' title='On Staying Silent....'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-7889392524507000516</id><published>2010-02-20T08:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-20T09:02:52.474-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Curse Has Been REVERSED!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://baby.lovetoknow.com/wiki/images/Baby/8/87/Potty3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 340px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 255px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://baby.lovetoknow.com/wiki/images/Baby/8/87/Potty3.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It must have been our recent trip to North Carolina (where they got a foot of snow the day after we landed!). We got to see the ones who had originally &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/curse-of-bambinoin-diapers.html"&gt;cursed &lt;/a&gt;us in the first place - but now, we can finally say - it's over baby! Our little guy has been using the potty on his own for 6 days now! Mommy is thrilled beyond belief! Only thing is, he wants a "surprise" every day for going. Daddy commented this morning - "Potty training is getting very expensive!" My thought? I'd rather pay him five bucks a day for going than &lt;em&gt;ever&lt;/em&gt; have to change another diaper again!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-7889392524507000516?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/7889392524507000516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=7889392524507000516' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7889392524507000516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7889392524507000516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2010/02/curse-has-been-reversed.html' title='The Curse Has Been REVERSED!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4101068360087463428</id><published>2010-02-16T16:27:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-16T16:28:25.951-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Day in the Life</title><content type='html'>I sit to write this and my baby girl wakes with a cry.  We'll have to try again soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4101068360087463428?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4101068360087463428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4101068360087463428' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4101068360087463428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4101068360087463428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2010/02/day-in-life.html' title='A Day in the Life'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4267652460973778344</id><published>2010-02-09T14:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-09T14:42:40.171-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe We'll Win the Lottery...</title><content type='html'>I started a "Buy a New House" Fund.  It currently has 86 cents in it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this rate, I may be 429 before I'm able to buy a new house, but at least I can say I have money set aside!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4267652460973778344?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4267652460973778344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4267652460973778344' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4267652460973778344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4267652460973778344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2010/02/maybe-well-win-lottery.html' title='Maybe We&apos;ll Win the Lottery...'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8430975927947017340</id><published>2009-12-10T22:07:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T22:17:33.493-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Paradise (Really) Lost</title><content type='html'>Remember the story of Adam &amp;amp; Eve? It goes something like this: God says to Adam, "Adam, look over here! Look at this cool tree! See that fruit? It's for you! Eat that fruit! Oh, and over here - look over here! This one is pretty! Eat this fruit! Yeah! But that tree over there...that one's yucky. Blah! Don't eat from that one. But you can eat from &lt;em&gt;ANY OTHER TREE&lt;/em&gt; in the whole garden, okay? ... Adam? ... Adam are you listening to me??"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413812100819259570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 164px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SyG5bA4LELI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/gjXOIDNz6Jw/s200/bully.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward a few thousand years and you get our version: "Munchkin, look over here! Look at this cool toy! See this one? It's for you! Use this one! Oh, and over here - look over here! This one is fun! Play with this one? Yeah! But that toy over there...that one you don't need.... You can play with &lt;em&gt;ANY OTHER TOY&lt;/em&gt; in the whole house! You don't need the one your sister is using! Okay? ... Munchkin? ... Munchkin are you listening to me??"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8430975927947017340?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8430975927947017340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8430975927947017340' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8430975927947017340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8430975927947017340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/12/paradise-really-lost.html' title='Paradise (Really) Lost'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SyG5bA4LELI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/gjXOIDNz6Jw/s72-c/bully.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-3352368053153417216</id><published>2009-12-01T23:41:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T23:48:28.006-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy December!</title><content type='html'>It's December.  I don't have to post today.  But I have gotten into the habit of sitting down at the computer during the 11 o'clock hour.  I thought about continuing with the daily blogs - I especially like December's challenge - give something to someone everyday and then blog about it.  Fun idea, but I think my brain needs a rest.  And you probably want a break so you can focus on the holidays.  On the other hand, if you want to comment everyday in December - feel free!  In fact, I dare you!  If nothing else, drop &lt;a href="http://www.acesoneights.blogspot.com/"&gt;my hubby&lt;/a&gt; a line and congratulate him on his job promotion!  Enjoy December!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-3352368053153417216?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/3352368053153417216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=3352368053153417216' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3352368053153417216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3352368053153417216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/12/happy-december.html' title='Happy December!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2045445588814098770</id><published>2009-11-30T22:45:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T23:20:02.915-05:00</updated><title type='text'>End of the Tunnel</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.nablopomo.com/"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410109324048428802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SxSRxCfvbwI/AAAAAAAAAFI/iNLdceyczgM/s200/nablopomo+complete.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Hooray! Hooray! I did it! 30 posts in 30 days! They weren't always interesting. They weren't always clever. But I have such a hard time finishing &lt;em&gt;anything&lt;/em&gt; these days - it was nice to complete this!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite post: &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/useless-information.html"&gt;Useless Information&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Worst post: &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/writers-block.html"&gt;Writer's Block&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Longest post: &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/ill-be-at-target-if-you-need-me.html"&gt;I'll be at Target if You Need Me!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shortest post: &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/halfway.html"&gt;Halfway&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funniest post: &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/little-mans-random-quote-of-day.html"&gt;Little Man's Random Quote of the Day&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Post with most comments: &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/theres-no-place-like-home.html"&gt;There's No Place Like Home...?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tear-jerker: &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-dad.html"&gt;My Dad&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Top commenters:  &lt;a href="http://www.blueberryeyesdesign.etsy.com/"&gt;BlueberryEyesDesign&lt;/a&gt;, Nonna, Heidi, &lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06597890131914182560"&gt;Lynn-nore&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#330099;"&gt;Come back tomorrow to see what's in store! And thanks to everyone who commented this month - I appreciate your support!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2045445588814098770?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2045445588814098770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2045445588814098770' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2045445588814098770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2045445588814098770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/end-of-tunnel.html' title='End of the Tunnel'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SxSRxCfvbwI/AAAAAAAAAFI/iNLdceyczgM/s72-c/nablopomo+complete.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8285816188624139052</id><published>2009-11-29T23:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T01:32:29.978-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Answering Your Questions</title><content type='html'>Okay - it's the end of the month and I haven't answered the questions/ideas suggested &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/november-is-almost-here.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.  So, here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Homeschooling:&lt;/span&gt;  I was a first grade teacher.  I had a couple of homeschool kids who would come into my classroom a few days each week.  It was madness.  The kids were quirky and some had a very difficult time adjusting to the classroom setting.  My favorite memory of this was when I told one kid to take a seat and he let me know that he already had a chair at his desk.  Yeah.  I think homeschooling is a decent option IF you have a good network.  Get connected, teach each other's kids, do a bunch of social things together.  If you can't - skip it!  As for me, I have no current plans to homeschool, but when I say "never," it's like I'm testing fate.  So I guess I'll leave it at 'it's not my plan!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Movies:&lt;/span&gt;  Some favorites - &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Gone With the Wind&lt;/span&gt;.  It's classic.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.  &lt;/span&gt;Isn't Dopey so cute?  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A Christmas Story&lt;/span&gt;.  It cracks me up.  Uhh, I don't know.  I never liked this question.  There are movies I could watch a million times.  Some because I need a good cry (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Steel Magnolias, Fried Green Tomatoes&lt;/span&gt;), some because I want to laugh (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World&lt;/span&gt;).  If you ask me the same question tomorrow, I might actually have a decent list.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Trinkets:&lt;/span&gt;  I used to save everything.  Then I cut down to things I would scrapbook someday.  Now I toss it all.  Well, okay not all.  There are a few things stashed in the babybooks, a pile of cards from hubby that need to go into our shoebox. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Inspiration:&lt;/span&gt;  great question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Prague Wedding:&lt;/span&gt;  was awesome.  I had a blast.  I was even able to introduce the idea of tapping the champagne glasses to get the couple to kiss!  One thing they did that was different from here - after the ceremony, someone broke a plate that the couple had to sweep up.  It's the first work they do together as a married couple.  Congrats again Ada &amp;amp; Petr!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.emiworld.org"&gt;eMi&lt;/a&gt;:  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="index"&gt;"Engineering Ministries International (EMI) is a non-profit Christian development organization made up of architects, engineers and design professionals who donate their skills to help children and families around the world step out of poverty and into a world of hope&lt;/span&gt;."  My baby sister Alicia is an Interior Designer.  She's been working for an architectural firm for the past few years and recently started feeling that God was calling her to use her talents to serve the poor.  She will be working with eMi out of their Colorado headquarters starting in January.  This is a five-month commitment, and she needs to raise approximately $6000.  During her time with eMi, she will travel to Africa to begin work on a project.  If you are interested in helping to support her, please check out the &lt;a href="http://emiworld.org/donate_staff.html"&gt;eMi website&lt;/a&gt;.  Every little bit helps!  Thank you in advance!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay.  So there's some answers. If you have more questions, let me know!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And remember - tomorrow is day #30!  Thanks for following along!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8285816188624139052?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8285816188624139052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8285816188624139052' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8285816188624139052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8285816188624139052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/answering-your-questions.html' title='Answering Your Questions'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-3192594950353628616</id><published>2009-11-28T23:02:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-28T23:48:30.018-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Exercise in Futility</title><content type='html'>We got three diapers changed.  Put on 6 socks and shoes.  Struggled with hats, coats, and mittens for three toddlers.  Tried to keep the smaller two from climbing the stairs.  It was crazy, but we finally got out the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Out the door and over to the car.  Then it was keeping an eye on three kids who were fascinated with the street and the door's locks, while trying to fit two more carseats into the backseat.  We pushed.  We pulled.  There was just no way to make it work.  And that's when the screams began.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first was from my son.  The second was mine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just another reason why I am totally happy with two.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-3192594950353628616?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/3192594950353628616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=3192594950353628616' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3192594950353628616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3192594950353628616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/another-exercise-in-futility.html' title='Another Exercise in Futility'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2643067619076084501</id><published>2009-11-27T23:47:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-27T23:57:51.574-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Curse of the Bambino...in Diapers</title><content type='html'>I was cursed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I blame it all on a friend who shall remain nameless (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;but whose initials are MEL&lt;/span&gt;).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I started potty training my son almost 2 years ago, I thought it was going to be just another thing he picked up easily.  He had such a teachable spirit and was so eager to please!  But then this &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;friend &lt;/span&gt;mentioned that she had spoken to her sister about potty training, and that this sister had said that smart boys take a long time with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm sure she meant it as a compliment.  But my friend got &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;someone's&lt;/span&gt; attention when she replied - "Your little guy's so smart, I'm sure it'll take him forever to be potty trained!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.  Thanks.  That was two years ago.  GO AHEAD AND LIFT THE CURSE ALREADY!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2643067619076084501?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2643067619076084501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2643067619076084501' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2643067619076084501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2643067619076084501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/curse-of-bambinoin-diapers.html' title='The Curse of the Bambino...in Diapers'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-7751207959940816666</id><published>2009-11-26T14:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-27T00:41:18.122-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Thanksgiving!</title><content type='html'>My mom always loved the tradition of going around the table during Thanksgiving dinner and saying what we're thankful for.  I am so glad she's not hosting anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not that I'm not thankful.  It's not that I don't have a zillion things to be thankful for.  It's just...well, it's just that it's such a sappy tradition!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-7751207959940816666?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/7751207959940816666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=7751207959940816666' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7751207959940816666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7751207959940816666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/happy-thanksgiving.html' title='Happy Thanksgiving!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4517019243142528872</id><published>2009-11-25T23:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-25T23:05:44.465-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Turkey Time!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Stressed-out parents + overstuffed relatives + overtired and over-stimulated kids = one great holiday!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4517019243142528872?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4517019243142528872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4517019243142528872' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4517019243142528872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4517019243142528872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/its-turkey-time.html' title='It&apos;s Turkey Time!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-7051438257974442647</id><published>2009-11-24T23:24:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-25T00:06:12.797-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a Mystery</title><content type='html'>There have been days when I didn't brush my teeth until just before my husband came home from work.  Days when showering happened while my kids were taking their afternoon naps.  Make-up was put on as Daddy was walking in the door.  Clothes were thrown on when I heard the car door close.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I traveled to my sister's for the Thanksgiving holiday.  We were cleaning and putting up Christmas decorations (don't ask - just read her comment from two days ago!) when the call came in that her husband was on his way home.  In 25 minutes we had the place spic-and-span clean, babies fed, and dinner on the table.  It was amazing.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And he will never know.&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My &lt;/span&gt;husband on the other hand, unfortunately never gets that treatment.  It's just too hard.  And let's be honest.  My house at its cleanest STILL isn't as clean as my sister's at its worst!  Oh well.  Maybe someday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;Answer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt; to my quiz:  As a teenager, I sang on occasion, but NEVER wanted to be a singer!&lt;/span&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/9011487031210176467-7051438257974442647?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/7051438257974442647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=7051438257974442647' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7051438257974442647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7051438257974442647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/its-mystery.html' title='It&apos;s a Mystery'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-7516942869652555630</id><published>2009-11-23T22:17:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-23T23:09:34.376-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The View From Up Here</title><content type='html'>My son is a cautious child.  He wants to scope things out before he can relax and enjoy.  My daughter doesn't see to have this issue.  I found her standing on top of the train table today, looking incredibly pleased with herself.  Oh boy.  If this is 1, what will the teen years hold?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-7516942869652555630?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/7516942869652555630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=7516942869652555630' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7516942869652555630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7516942869652555630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/view-from-up-here.html' title='The View From Up Here'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5330849701297763372</id><published>2009-11-22T23:50:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-23T01:02:20.815-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Writer's Block</title><content type='html'>Okay - I've been sitting here for an hour and I still can't come up with anything.  So, I've decided to invite  &lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;  into this blog post!  Here's your chance to sound off, give an opinion, list what you're thankful for, ask a question, recommend a Christmas present, predict what the New Year will hold, or complain about the Swine Flu. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Ready?  Go!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5330849701297763372?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5330849701297763372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5330849701297763372' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5330849701297763372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5330849701297763372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/writers-block.html' title='Writer&apos;s Block'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-3135479479163810460</id><published>2009-11-21T23:47:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-22T00:55:51.303-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Little Mole</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SwjQj4VnRgI/AAAAAAAAAEw/_mtmDw31v5w/s1600/krtecek2.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406800667495319042" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 183px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 185px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SwjQj4VnRgI/AAAAAAAAAEw/_mtmDw31v5w/s200/krtecek2.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Allow me to introduce you to the Little Mole - Krtek from the Czech Republic!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My little ones love the figurine I brought home, and my son has named him "Funny Blue Guy." Of course, Krtek is black and grey, so I'm not sure where the blue came in...anyway, enjoy this video called "Krtek a Rybka" - Krtek and the Fish!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-ba7f2449b1201535" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v8.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Dba7f2449b1201535%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330300936%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D1A5779992C29946FF83517B66619D803262D56DA.D8FE6FF9D56D7B62615921B9021EB68AA29E0C2%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dba7f2449b1201535%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3Dh-A4DxIjh04f-3JUXKN_6VX2Rus&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v8.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Dba7f2449b1201535%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330300936%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D1A5779992C29946FF83517B66619D803262D56DA.D8FE6FF9D56D7B62615921B9021EB68AA29E0C2%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dba7f2449b1201535%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3Dh-A4DxIjh04f-3JUXKN_6VX2Rus&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-3135479479163810460?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/3135479479163810460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=3135479479163810460' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3135479479163810460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3135479479163810460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/little-mole.html' title='The Little Mole'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SwjQj4VnRgI/AAAAAAAAAEw/_mtmDw31v5w/s72-c/krtecek2.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5672331159542211207</id><published>2009-11-20T23:27:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T00:54:30.416-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Game Time</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Two Truths and a Lie&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;1. As a child, I wanted to become a doctor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;2. As a teenager, I wanted to become a singer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;3. As an adult, I wanted to become a childbirth instructor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Give it your best shot! Answer posted Monday!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5672331159542211207?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5672331159542211207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5672331159542211207' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5672331159542211207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5672331159542211207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/game-time.html' title='Game Time'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2517130693439338022</id><published>2009-11-19T23:11:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-20T00:30:13.491-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Only Thing We Have to Fear Is...</title><content type='html'>Our Little Man has recently displayed a fear of monsters.  I have no idea where this came from.  We don't talk about monsters - we don't read about monsters.  I think he's only been exposed to Elmo, Grover, and Cookie Monster, and while he doesn't like the blue ones, he certainly has never been &lt;em&gt;this&lt;/em&gt; afraid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what am I afraid of?  I remember playing a game in high school and answering that question with "giving birth."  Well, I never want to do it again, but it's no longer on my list.  In college my answer was "living a life without passion."  Unfortunately, I think I may be there....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some things I'm afraid of:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-big dogs&lt;br /&gt;-cats who just stare at you&lt;br /&gt;-drinking the last sip of anything my kids have shared with me&lt;br /&gt;-finding someone I love dead&lt;br /&gt;-heights&lt;br /&gt;-diving&lt;br /&gt;-the dark when I'm home alone&lt;br /&gt;-psychological thrillers (my brain can go to some &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; crazy places)&lt;br /&gt;-having someone drop by when my house looks like, well, how it usually looks&lt;br /&gt;-bad things happening to my kids&lt;br /&gt;-having to live in this house FOREVER&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure there's more.  But that's just a little peek into my crazy, twisted mind!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2517130693439338022?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2517130693439338022/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2517130693439338022' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2517130693439338022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2517130693439338022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/only-thing-we-have-to-fear-is.html' title='The Only Thing We Have to Fear Is...'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-1999103508893760833</id><published>2009-11-18T23:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T01:35:29.063-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Umm...Thanks??</title><content type='html'>I called the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gastroenterology"&gt;gastroenterologist &lt;/a&gt;we've been seeing for Little Miss. We discussed her continuing trouble gaining weight, and the GI doc said we should make an appointment to come in soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh good!" she said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I paused, unsure of how to respond. She continued.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I mean, &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt; probably don't think it's good to have to come in, but I'm so happy I'll get to see her! She's just so cute!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-1999103508893760833?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/1999103508893760833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=1999103508893760833' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/1999103508893760833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/1999103508893760833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/ummthanks.html' title='Umm...Thanks??'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-9111716941964379806</id><published>2009-11-17T20:59:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T21:17:54.544-05:00</updated><title type='text'>This Just In:  I'M MOVING!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SwNYrggAInI/AAAAAAAAAEo/4EK_Sf8NX4U/s1600/moving.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405261482256507506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 180px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SwNYrggAInI/AAAAAAAAAEo/4EK_Sf8NX4U/s200/moving.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Finally! I've found the perfect spot - TURKEY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's right - I'm moving to Turkey. My husband doesn't know this yet - but he will soon!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I met a woman from Turkey and she told me about some of the differences in our respective cultures. One thing she really misses about life there, is apartment (or "flat") life. Evidently, in a group of 8 or 9 flats, the families would all pay a certain amount of money that would go towards the salary of someone who lived on the bottom floor. That man would buy their groceries and keep things in order. The wife would come everyday to clean your flat. You could call them at any time and they would run errands for you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sounds nice, huh? So that's it. I figure it's the least I could do for my family. If &lt;em&gt;I&lt;/em&gt; can't do it all - I might as well hire someone else to! And my mom already has a job.... So, it's off to Turkey I go! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-9111716941964379806?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/9111716941964379806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=9111716941964379806' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/9111716941964379806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/9111716941964379806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/this-just-in-im-moving.html' title='This Just In:  I&apos;M MOVING!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SwNYrggAInI/AAAAAAAAAEo/4EK_Sf8NX4U/s72-c/moving.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-7167051019395613629</id><published>2009-11-16T21:32:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T21:38:25.148-05:00</updated><title type='text'>First Grade</title><content type='html'>In my former life, I was a first-grade teacher. This is one of my funniest memories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day the kids were playing with manipulatives - basically these interlocking blocks. All of the boys made some sort of weapon. There were guns, swords, and lightsabers all over the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One boy turned to another with his 'lightsaber' and said "Luke! I am your father!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luke looked at him incredulously and said "No you're not!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first boy paused, then replied, "Luke, I am your UNCLE!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-7167051019395613629?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/7167051019395613629/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=7167051019395613629' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7167051019395613629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7167051019395613629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/first-grade.html' title='First Grade'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-6194562704394183902</id><published>2009-11-15T22:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T22:14:53.662-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Halfway</title><content type='html'>15 days completed.  This is getting hard!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-6194562704394183902?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/6194562704394183902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=6194562704394183902' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6194562704394183902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6194562704394183902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/halfway.html' title='Halfway'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8201741887937956593</id><published>2009-11-14T22:51:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-14T23:18:39.268-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Dad</title><content type='html'>I didn't understand my dad until I was an adult.  That's when I realized he loved me all along. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a child, my dad never seemed to be around much.  But that's what happens when you work 6 days a week to support your wife and 4 kids.  I remember praying that he'd have a "5-day work week."  I didn't really know what that meant, but I prayed it every night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The childhood memories I have of my dad include the time he took my sisters and me on a nature walk.  The time my baby sister fell off the top of the bleachers and he prayed out loud that God would save her.  I remember my dad taking us for a canoe ride and being afraid my sister would tip us all over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As an adolescent, my dad and I finally shared an interest: basketball.  He poured into me like never before and I was so thankful for the attention.  When my point guard days were over, I thought his interest in me was as well.  He was still around, but it wasn't the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I first moved 'away' to college [20 minutes from home], my parents would call me all the time.  Just to check in, just to say hello.  I remember how awkward those phone conversations were.  They reminded me of how little I knew my own father.  I never knew what to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first Christmas after I got married, my husband and I spent Christmas Eve at my parents' home.  My dad made sure we were all set for the night and then left the room.  I pointed out to my husband that it was the first time my father had shut one of his daughters in a room with a guy - and he had to be okay with it (even though he probably wasn't!). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since then, I've come to realize how my dad shows love.  He's a huge gift-giver.  He loves finding things that he knows we'll love.  He's always on the lookout for something that will make us happy.  My dad is happiest when he's surrounded by his kids and grandkids.  And he shows that happiness by puttering around his garden.  Every time we leave, he shoves $20 at us for gas - no matter what we say to dissuade him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my dad.  He coached my mom on the day I was born.  He coached me in sports.  He taught me how to work hard for those you love, even if you don't love what you do.  He and my mom have been married for 35 years - and I am so blessed because of that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dad makes dumb jokes and we groan.  But I married a man who does the same thing.  I've told my husband I wish he was more like my dad around the house.  When my mom asks for something, my dad gets up and takes care of it.  Hubby tends to want to wait til a commercial.  Or the next day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dad - I love you.  Thank you for loving me and loving my family.  I'm so thankful for the hard choices you made and the harder work that you did.  I hope I've made you proud.  You are an inspiration to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8201741887937956593?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8201741887937956593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8201741887937956593' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8201741887937956593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8201741887937956593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-dad.html' title='My Dad'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-7462397162779973680</id><published>2009-11-13T17:22:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-13T17:28:27.190-05:00</updated><title type='text'>To B. and A.</title><content type='html'>I've been thinking a lot about our conversation on Wednesday night.  I just wanted to make sure I wasn't misrepresenting the joys of motherhood!  Having kids is fantastic.  They light up your world like no one else can.  You can get very angry at your spouse, but with your kids, there's something about putting them to bed at the end of the day - it's like it doesn't matter what they did that day to annoy you, you love them with an all-encompassing kind of love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you do make sacrifices.  I would love to sleep in on a Saturday.  To snuggle up with my husband on a rainy afternoon and just talk (without little ones climbing into our laps!).  I wish we could go to a restaurant and not have to rush through our food.  Or go to a movie!  [Our son] was born 4 years into our marriage and the timing was great for us.  We waited long enough to be established in who we were, but not so long that it was too difficult to adjust to having kids around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kids totally change everything.  Some days you love that, and some days it's really hard.  [Hubby] will say to me sometimes, "only 17 more years...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I just wanted to write and say all the stuff you've heard a million times over - just to make sure I said it.  &lt;strong&gt;I love my kids&lt;/strong&gt;.  There is no comparison to teaching or baby-sitting or nannying.  They cry for you and it's fantastic - but sometimes they cry for you and you just want to cry too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, my advice is like anyone else's - take your time.  Enjoy being a married couple first.  Get to know your husband in a myriad of ways.  Do all those crazy things with him - like watch football or whatever it is he's into.  Get to know yourself as a wife.  Enjoy that role for all it's worth.  Remember that your best friend decided to put up with all your crap and loves you in spite of it all.  He's looking for your admiration and pride.  He wants to be your knight-in-shining armor.  Enjoy being his queen - a little princess may come along someday and you will love watching how he treats her.  But enjoy him all to yourself for awhile!  It's so important to cultivate your own marriage first.  You hear so many terrible stories of couples married 20, 25, 30 years and wind up divorcing once the house is empty.  They don't know each other any more. This relationship needs more love and nurturing than your kids ever will.  Oh hey, and I bet you still remember things.  That goes away when you get pregnant, and &lt;em&gt;you never get it&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;back!&lt;/em&gt;  I used to be smart once....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway - soapbox away.  Sorry to sound preachy or whatever.  I guess I just wanted to say - yeah, wait.  And know that when kids come it WILL be awesome - and it WILL be tiring.  It's the hardest job you'll ever love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-7462397162779973680?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/7462397162779973680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=7462397162779973680' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7462397162779973680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7462397162779973680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/to-b-and.html' title='To B. and A.'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4431210635434803098</id><published>2009-11-12T08:17:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T08:34:43.401-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ma and God</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;a poem by &lt;a href="http://www.shelsilverstein.com/"&gt;Shel &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Silverstein&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt;God gave us fingers--Ma says, "Use your fork."&lt;br /&gt;God gave us voices--Ma says, "Don't scream."&lt;br /&gt;Ma says eat broccoli, cereal and carrots.&lt;br /&gt;But God gave us &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;tasteys&lt;/span&gt; for maple ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God gave us fingers--Ma says, "Use your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;hanky&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;God gave us puddles--Ma says, "Don't splash."&lt;br /&gt;Ma says, "Be quiet, your father is sleeping."&lt;br /&gt;But God gave us garbage can covers to crash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God gave us fingers--Ma says, "Put your gloves on."&lt;br /&gt;God gave us raindrops--Ma says, "Don't get wet."&lt;br /&gt;Ma says be careful, and don't get too near to&lt;br /&gt;Those strange lovely dogs that God gave us to pet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God gave us fingers--Ma says, "Go wash 'em."&lt;br /&gt;But God gave us coal bins and nice dirty bodies.&lt;br /&gt;And I ain't too smart, but there's one thing for certain --&lt;br /&gt;Either Ma's wrong or else God is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4431210635434803098?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4431210635434803098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4431210635434803098' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4431210635434803098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4431210635434803098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/ma-and-god.html' title='&lt;i&gt;Ma and God&lt;/i&gt;'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-6475480491493834292</id><published>2009-11-11T23:03:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T01:05:58.168-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ouch!</title><content type='html'>Today I held down my daughter while they took pint after pint (okay, vial after vial) of her blood.  She screamed bloody murder - and I could do nothing but hold her, tell her it was okay, and that it was almost over.  I probably &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;could've&lt;/span&gt; cried too.  Is that what Dads feel when they watch their wife go through labor?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-6475480491493834292?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/6475480491493834292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=6475480491493834292' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6475480491493834292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6475480491493834292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/ouch.html' title='Ouch!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4380732759054579354</id><published>2009-11-10T23:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T00:13:47.389-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Perfect</title><content type='html'>I'm a firstborn. I believe that tells you more about me than just about anything else. I love praise - live for it actually. I like things to be "just so." I like black and white - gray areas drive me crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking at my son, I can see all those firstborn tendencies. He wants things how he wants them. He corrects his little sister because he knows she isn't doing the right thing. He even tells her he's going to put her in time-out. He wants to be right and he wants to be affirmed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's that desire to be right...that pull towards perfectionism that gets us in trouble. We are our own worst critic. We long to be truly great and are crushed to learn we're just mediocre. We hate having to admit we're not who we want to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to be the perfect mom. I want to be the perfect [fill in the blank]. It's hard to know I'm not and never will be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm struggling with postpartum depression. It's just one of the many gray areas I have to admit does exist.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4380732759054579354?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4380732759054579354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4380732759054579354' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4380732759054579354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4380732759054579354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/its-perfect.html' title='It&apos;s Perfect'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8179062626180248954</id><published>2009-11-09T15:38:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T16:04:16.428-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll be at Target if You Need Me!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SviDrtb_wII/AAAAAAAAAEY/HYvcnCmzQB0/s1600-h/target_frame.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402212539985543298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 144px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SviDrtb_wII/AAAAAAAAAEY/HYvcnCmzQB0/s200/target_frame.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When Target first opened, I remember thinking they were just like Wal*Mart, only more expensive. Little did I know....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm now a Target-fanatic. Friends and family are constantly amazed at how much I save there (and hubby is dismayed by how much I spend there). A few secrets I've learned along the way:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, Target marks their items down just 15% at first. Soon they're at 30% off, then 50, 75 next and 90 if there's anything left. Where do you find all the clearance items? Start at the end-caps.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I head into Target, I always do a quick peek at the Dollar Spot. If there's something I love, I grab it. I once got a ton of hair elastics (name brand too!) in this section and knew it was best to buy them right away. If you can wait, you might as well, stuff gets marked down to 50% all the time. There's big turnover in this section.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next I head towards the back of the store. Your best bet is to walk the perimeter of the store, then the "inside" end aisles. You'll spend more time this way, but grab some great bargains! Don't be afraid to price-check! Things are marked 30% off when they're really 75% off! That's the best. I've gotten a bunch of Playmobil toys this way! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Looking for candy after Halloween? It'll be 50% off right away - so grab your favorites while you still can! Costumes and accessories are also marked down pretty quickly. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Christmas is my favorite. If there's something you really need or absolutely adore, grab it after Christmas at 30% off. If you can wait, hold off through the 50% off sale until things hit 75% off. There's nothing like getting $10 items for $2.50...unless of course you can get them for a dollar! This is the hardest thing to do - hit the after Christmas 90% off sale. It's one morning only - and I promise, stuff flies. The one year I managed to hit it just right, a Target employee was heading to the back room and pulling out things that never even made it onto the floor. He just stood there handing it out to all of us drooling shoppers. It was fabulous. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Toys are a different matter. There are two big toy sales in the year. The after-Christmas sale and the Christmas-in-July sale. This is a great way to stock up. When you notice toys starting to get marked down and moved around, you know the sale is right around the corner. Grab what you love at 30 and 50% off, then fight off friend and foe for the 75% off sale. All it takes is a few hours and the shelves will be cleared! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Your best bet for anything at Target is to wait and watch. Keep an eye on sales. Feel free to call ahead and ask what the sale percentage is that day. Know that even though it's a national chain, each store manager gets to decide the details. This can mean paying less at one Target than another. Try to pay with your debit card or the same credit card every time. Target's return policy is lousy, but you can do a price look-up if you have the correct card. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you have to spend money, you might as well enjoy it! Happy shopping!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8179062626180248954?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8179062626180248954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8179062626180248954' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8179062626180248954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8179062626180248954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/ill-be-at-target-if-you-need-me.html' title='I&apos;ll be at Target if You Need Me!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SviDrtb_wII/AAAAAAAAAEY/HYvcnCmzQB0/s72-c/target_frame.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2879622523448017518</id><published>2009-11-08T23:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T00:29:00.453-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I Missed</title><content type='html'>I tell everyone I was in a coma during the 80s.  I might as well have been.  Friends talk about the things they remember and I just sit there, clueless.  It's almost like I'm an alien observing what Earthlings experienced as children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;-Thundercats&lt;/em&gt; - this seems to be a favorite.  I still couldn't tell you the name of any of them.&lt;br /&gt;-Michael Jackson - a childhood friend had his poster in her room.  It gave me nightmares.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;-Snorks&lt;/em&gt; - they lived underwater and were blue.  Or was that the &lt;em&gt;Smurfs&lt;/em&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;-The Goonies&lt;/em&gt; - evidently a cult classic movie.  I still haven't seen it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;-Transformers&lt;/em&gt; - "robots in disguise"  That's all I know. &lt;br /&gt;-HeMan and SheRa - She was the "princess of power."  I only know that because someone gave me a toothbrush holder that told me that every time I brushed.&lt;br /&gt;-Garbage Pail Kids - I only remember the packages of trading cards in the convenience store.  Why ruin something as cute as Cabbage Patch Kids?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;-PeeWee's Playhouse&lt;/em&gt; - this one gave my sister nightmares&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;-The A Team&lt;/em&gt;?  &lt;em&gt;Knight Rider&lt;/em&gt;? Debbie Gibson?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I know is, we looked stupid [we don't say that word Mommy] back then, and I can't believe they're pushing those styles once again!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2879622523448017518?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2879622523448017518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2879622523448017518' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2879622523448017518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2879622523448017518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/things-i-missed.html' title='Things I Missed'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2688566320417388162</id><published>2009-11-07T23:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T04:29:51.249-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Saturdays</title><content type='html'>You'd think Saturdays would be days we all loved.  And to some extent, we do.  Daddy is home.  The day takes on a different feel.  But for a couple of kids who are accustomed to a certain flow of their days, Saturdays can often throw them for a loop.  Add to the mix that they aren't feeling well and bam!  You get today.  Two whiny kids.  Two frustrated parents.  Not a lot accomplished.  Including a decent blog post.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2688566320417388162?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2688566320417388162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2688566320417388162' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2688566320417388162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2688566320417388162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/saturdays.html' title='Saturdays'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-6211549657381606259</id><published>2009-11-06T14:43:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T14:44:26.548-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Man's Random Quote of the Day</title><content type='html'>[Mommy] "Hey!  Please don't cough on my cheesecake!"&lt;br /&gt;[Little Man] "I will because I'm rude!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-6211549657381606259?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/6211549657381606259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=6211549657381606259' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6211549657381606259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6211549657381606259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/little-mans-random-quote-of-day.html' title='Little Man&apos;s Random Quote of the Day'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-1739371081942794391</id><published>2009-11-06T13:28:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T13:30:11.823-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mommy's Random Quote of the Day</title><content type='html'>"God bless you all the way to Amsterdam!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-1739371081942794391?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/1739371081942794391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=1739371081942794391' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/1739371081942794391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/1739371081942794391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/mommys-random-quote-of-day.html' title='Mommy&apos;s Random Quote of the Day'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4962871169917615618</id><published>2009-11-05T23:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T00:45:29.039-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Free!</title><content type='html'>After 96 hours of being &lt;strike&gt;held prisoner&lt;/strike&gt; cooped up in the house, I got to go out tonight. With a &lt;em&gt;friend&lt;/em&gt;. To a &lt;em&gt;restaurant&lt;/em&gt;. It was fantastic. And the cheesecake was the icing on the cake. Here's the difference between dining with kids, and without:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;With kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Fumble with highchair and booster seat while giving apologetic looks to everyone around us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Without kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Sit down at table and begin looking at menu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;With kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Try to determine which ridiculously overpriced meal will be acceptable to fussy toddler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Without kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Choose food you can eat slowly, with both hands all to yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;With kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Entertain children until food arrives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Without kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Actually finish a conversation and begin another one!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;With kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Cut food into tiny pieces, beg them to eat more, kick self for spending so much on mac &amp;amp; cheese they won't eat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Without kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Eat entire meal without having to share with anyone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;With kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Baby's cranky - time to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Without kids&lt;/strong&gt;: I guess we should pay the bill now...but let's finish this conversation first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;With kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Get everyone into carseats and head home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Without kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Talk for another hour about all the things not talked about over dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;With kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Put kids to bed and fall onto couch, exhausted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Without kids&lt;/strong&gt;: Come home to kids already in bed and feel totally rejuvenated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should definitely do this more often!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4962871169917615618?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4962871169917615618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4962871169917615618' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4962871169917615618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4962871169917615618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/free_05.html' title='Free!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-1691232353179556245</id><published>2009-11-04T23:15:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T23:36:42.393-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Today I Opted for Brain Damage</title><content type='html'>&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400473253841564386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 154px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SvJVz7o5cuI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/_T06Z-GJlxs/s200/child-watching-television-silhouette.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We've been sick for days. I think I slept an hour straight last night. There's nothing worse than watching your baby struggle for a decent breath and knowing you can't do a thing about it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been in the house since Sunday night. My head hurts. My body aches. I'm hot - then freezing - and back. &lt;a href="http://www.acesoneights.blogspot.com/"&gt;Daddy&lt;/a&gt; is totally fine of course. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When Baby Girl went down for her morning nap today, I immediately turned to my Little Man and asked if he wanted to watch Sesame Street. The suggestion was met with much excitement. It was 10:30 - perfect. The Elmo segment. Quick half hour nap should do it. I had on a sweatshirt zipped all the way up - hood covering most of my face - and mummified myself in blankets. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next thing I knew it was almost noon and we were watching Word World. Oops. "Time to turn the TV off!" I sang. No response. I'm not sure he even flinched. "Hello! Let's turn this off now Buddy!" Nothing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Great.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, today's question of the day was - which is more important? Mommy feeling rested and healthy, or avoiding irreversible brain damage? Today the choice was way too easy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-1691232353179556245?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/1691232353179556245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=1691232353179556245' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/1691232353179556245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/1691232353179556245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/today-i-opted-for-brain-damage.html' title='Today I Opted for Brain Damage'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SvJVz7o5cuI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/_T06Z-GJlxs/s72-c/child-watching-television-silhouette.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2549502230566482865</id><published>2009-11-03T20:35:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T21:14:17.071-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Useless Information</title><content type='html'>My son can tell you the names of all of &lt;a href="http://www.thomasandfriends.com/usa/sir_topham_hatt.asp"&gt;Sir Topham Hatt's&lt;/a&gt; trains. He can glance at a picture and know exactly which one it is. Edward. Percy. Toby. Sir Handel. Skarloey. This boggles my mind. I have to study the pictures and still sometimes get it wrong! It's bizarre to me - but of course, totally fits in with his little world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I, on the other hand, seem to have collected so much useless information over time, that my brain is jam-packed and can't handle having anything else put in there! I know lyrics to songs that haven't been on the radio in 15 years (or more). I know why pelicans turn pink. I can recognize the &lt;strike&gt;stench&lt;/strike&gt; smell of ladybugs from &lt;strike&gt;a mile&lt;/strike&gt; 10 feet away.  I remember the phone number of my best friend from second grade. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember where I put the pacifier.  I couldn't tell you what I did with that sticky note.  I have gone to the store for 5 items and forgotten 2 of them by the time I get there.  I walk from one room to the next and don't remember what I went in there for.  I'll be in the shower and suddenly can't recall if I've already shampooed my hair!  It's terrible!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do I empty my brain of all the useless stuff so there's room for the important stuff?  My brain is a sieve.  I need to drain the junk, then plug up the holes and start again!  Goodbye &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiffany_(singer)"&gt;Tiffany&lt;/a&gt; lyrics, hello kids' social security numbers!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2549502230566482865?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2549502230566482865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2549502230566482865' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2549502230566482865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2549502230566482865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/useless-information.html' title='Useless Information'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-143024959382254093</id><published>2009-11-02T20:22:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T22:04:08.716-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hide and Seek</title><content type='html'>My husband has story after story about playing outside.  Night games, baseball, trick-or-treating - he did it all.  My stories include never climbing a tree, and the summer my parents had to kick me out of the house so I'd go out and play (I was too busy reading!).  It seems odd then, that we recently picked up a new family activity that sends us deep into the woods and parks all around us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's called &lt;a href="http://www.atlasquest.com/"&gt;Letterboxing&lt;/a&gt;.  You may be familiar with &lt;a href="http://www.geocaching.com/"&gt;Geocaching&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;a href="http://www.letterboxing.org/"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; is somewhat similar.  Basically, letterboxers go out, hide small containers in all kinds of crazy places, then leave clues so others can find them.  Inside the container is a stamp (often hand-made) and a logbook.  When you find a letterbox, you stamp your own personal stamp into the logbook, then use the box's stamp to record your find in your own logbook. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been a blast.  We began on Father's Day with a series called "The Island of Sodor."  Our Little Man &lt;em&gt;loved &lt;/em&gt;it.  Well, as soon as he was reassured there were no tigers in the woods he loved it!  We've been to all kinds of places we never would have otherwise.  We even wound up in a cemetery and stumbled upon hubby's grandparents' grave site!  How can you beat it?  It's free - except for the cost of a stamp, some ink, and a journal/logbook.  It's part treasure hunt, part secret detective! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traditional letterboxes are only one of several kinds of boxes.  Virtual letterboxes are another kind.  Here's today's challenge.  The first person to correctly gain &lt;a href="http://www.atlasquest.com/showinfo.html?gBoxId=131490"&gt;this letterbox&lt;/a&gt; wins!  Have fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;If you're interested in learning more about letterboxing, be sure to check out &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.atlastquest.com/"&gt;www.atlastquest.com&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.letterboxing.org/"&gt;www.letterboxing.org&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;for more information!  There are FAQs, tips, rules, and more!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-143024959382254093?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/143024959382254093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=143024959382254093' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/143024959382254093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/143024959382254093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/hide-and-seek.html' title='Hide and Seek'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4267045450980226668</id><published>2009-11-01T23:54:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T01:08:07.576-05:00</updated><title type='text'>There's No Place Like Home...?</title><content type='html'>The day we returned home from the hospital after having our son, there was a message on our answering machine. Our landlord was selling the house. Eight days postpartum, we had strangers trampling through our apartment, past our sleeping infant. It was awful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We searched high and low for another apartment. We literally looked at a dozen apartments or more, but nothing fit. Rent was too high, there was lead paint in the walls, cats were not allowed...there was always a reason why it didn't work out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only one door remained open. My mother-in-law continued to ask us to move into the house she rented - and we continued to say no. I told numerous people that I would rather live in my &lt;em&gt;car&lt;/em&gt; than move into that home. It wasn't the house itself. I had never even seen it! It was just that I couldn't imagine paying rent to my M-I-L and, let's be honest, live so close to her!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three years later, I can tell you that it's not gotten much easier. We moved into this house when our Little Man was just 4 months old. I knew it was the right decision, even though I had only seen photos of the place I would call home. I figured God must have big plans in store - but clearly this could only be a stepping stone to something - anything! - else, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got pregnant again, I told my husband we were "not supposed to have a baby here!" How could it be possible we've now been here for over 3 years? Guess it was a bigger stepping stone than I once thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate having people over the house. In fact, if you've been in my house, you're one of only a handful. I've put so little of &lt;em&gt;myself&lt;/em&gt; into my home. Since the beginning, it's never felt like "mine." It doesn't belong to me, I can't do what I want with it (no matter what hubby says!). It can be stifling at times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've begun looking at houses for sale. It's an exciting, although definitely scary, prospect. For the first time, we'd be able to make all the decisions. If we wanted a brick red room with peach polka dots, we could do it! I mean, we never &lt;em&gt;would&lt;/em&gt;, but we could! I get almost dizzy with excitement just thinking about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My living room doesn't even have curtains! What would we do with a place that was &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; ours?&lt;br /&gt;Curtains are just a beginning. Ultimately, my dream is to have a place that I feel comfortable in - a place I feel comfortable inviting &lt;em&gt;others&lt;/em&gt; into, because it's an expression of who I am, and who our family is. Someday, I hope to feel free enough to say - drop by anytime! - and really, truly mean it. I want a place we can all call "home."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Don't forget to check out &lt;a href="http://www.dawnomite.wordpress.com/"&gt;Dawn's blog&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;another one crazy enough to attempt 30 posts in 30 days!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4267045450980226668?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4267045450980226668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4267045450980226668' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4267045450980226668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4267045450980226668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/11/theres-no-place-like-home.html' title='There&apos;s No Place Like Home...?'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-6178438978130451848</id><published>2009-10-30T00:25:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-30T00:26:19.514-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Calling All Readers!</title><content type='html'>Okay, &lt;em&gt;I'm&lt;/em&gt;  committing to blogging everyday for a month.  The least you could do is pledge to comment at least once, right?  Thank you!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-6178438978130451848?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/6178438978130451848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=6178438978130451848' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6178438978130451848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6178438978130451848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/calling-all-readers.html' title='Calling All Readers!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4305265774827241642</id><published>2009-10-26T16:01:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T16:19:44.377-04:00</updated><title type='text'>November is Almost Here...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.nablopomo.com/"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397005584582016306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 120px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 90px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SuYD_A_PfTI/AAAAAAAAADw/dVzWqUR71ZE/s200/nablo1109_120x90.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009_06_01_archive.html"&gt;June &lt;/a&gt;was my practice run. This time it's for real! November is the official National Blog Posting Month (or &lt;a href="http://www.nablopomo.com/"&gt;NaBloPoMo&lt;/a&gt;). I'll (hopefully!) be posting everyday during the month of November and could use any ideas, tips, suggestions, encouragement that you have to offer! Want to hear about something in particular? Got a question or need an opinion? Let me know - I'm making up my November list now! Oh, and thanks again to &lt;a href="http://dawnomite.wordpress.com/"&gt;Dawn &lt;/a&gt;for sharing this fun idea! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4305265774827241642?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4305265774827241642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4305265774827241642' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4305265774827241642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4305265774827241642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/november-is-almost-here.html' title='November is Almost Here...'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SuYD_A_PfTI/AAAAAAAAADw/dVzWqUR71ZE/s72-c/nablo1109_120x90.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-3959667431595804821</id><published>2009-10-26T14:56:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T15:11:51.298-04:00</updated><title type='text'>To My Love</title><content type='html'>In seven years, a number of things have changed.  There's now a restaurant in the once-secluded park where you proposed.  My body bears the stretchmarks and scars of pregnancy, childbirth, and a removed appendix.  We live in a place we swore we never would.  We have two of the world's most amazing children.  We've lost old friends and welcomed new ones.  My childhood home is being rented out.  You're working in a field you never dreamed would become your nine-to-five.  We've gone through way too many vehicles together.  Seven years have taken us to all kinds of strange and glorious places.  But through it all, some things have not changed.  You've not stopped showing me how much you cherish me.  I've not stopped being thankful that you are my lover and friend.  I love you.  Happy Anniversary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-3959667431595804821?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/3959667431595804821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=3959667431595804821' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3959667431595804821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3959667431595804821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/to-my-love.html' title='To My Love'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-1679883686704659375</id><published>2009-10-23T17:41:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T14:45:33.408-04:00</updated><title type='text'>So THAT'S What You Do!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SuIjfw3lAnI/AAAAAAAAADo/r_ZnHg7Grlo/s1600-h/DSCF2731.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395914332144206450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SuIjfw3lAnI/AAAAAAAAADo/r_ZnHg7Grlo/s200/DSCF2731.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Yes - I'm just a stupid ["we don't say that word Mommy!"] American tourist who can't figure out the toilet paper!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-1679883686704659375?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/1679883686704659375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=1679883686704659375' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/1679883686704659375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/1679883686704659375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/so-thats-what-you-do.html' title='So &lt;i&gt;THAT&apos;S&lt;/i&gt; What You Do!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SuIjfw3lAnI/AAAAAAAAADo/r_ZnHg7Grlo/s72-c/DSCF2731.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5628643526661975337</id><published>2009-10-20T15:51:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T16:18:26.438-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Life As a Female (vol.1)</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Stage 1:&lt;/strong&gt; Don't notice body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Stage 2:&lt;/strong&gt; Want to display body for all to see, preferably in high heels, lipstick, and with a fairy wand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Stage 3:&lt;/strong&gt; Self-conscious about body.  Mask self-consciousness by displaying body for all to see, preferably in high heels, lipstick, and with a set of car keys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Stage 4:&lt;/strong&gt; Hate body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Stage 5:&lt;/strong&gt; Pregnant - love body!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Stage 6:&lt;/strong&gt; Want &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-baby body back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Stage 7:&lt;/strong&gt;  Made peace with body.  Just glad the compliments roll in for the beautiful kids!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5628643526661975337?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5628643526661975337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5628643526661975337' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5628643526661975337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5628643526661975337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/life-as-female-vol1.html' title='Life As a Female &lt;i&gt;(vol.1)&lt;/i&gt;'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-3288192583812582084</id><published>2009-10-20T15:48:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T15:49:53.148-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pop Quiz Answer Will Be Revealed on Friday - Keep Those Guesses Coming!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-3288192583812582084?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/3288192583812582084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=3288192583812582084' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3288192583812582084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3288192583812582084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/pop-quiz-answer-will-be-revealed-on.html' title='Pop Quiz Answer Will Be Revealed on Friday - Keep Those Guesses Coming!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-460769072579856243</id><published>2009-10-16T14:24:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T14:34:22.064-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pop Quiz!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I found myself in Europe, facing the following dilemma: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393267495357040530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/Sti8Nldqx5I/AAAAAAAAADg/jCvOpSSDSQQ/s200/DSCF2732.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What would you have done?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-460769072579856243?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/460769072579856243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=460769072579856243' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/460769072579856243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/460769072579856243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/pop-quiz.html' title='Pop Quiz!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/Sti8Nldqx5I/AAAAAAAAADg/jCvOpSSDSQQ/s72-c/DSCF2732.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4268444316539880494</id><published>2009-10-12T14:04:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T14:11:42.443-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (plus a bus!)</title><content type='html'>After &lt;em&gt;waaay&lt;/em&gt; too many hours of travel, I am home once again.  It was a bit of reverse culture shock to come home to kids who need diaper changes and food &lt;em&gt;all the time&lt;/em&gt;, but it's good to be back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If only there were a way to combine it all - the glory of independence, the beauty of travel, the fun in friendship, and the responsibilities of family.  Then I'd truly have it all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4268444316539880494?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4268444316539880494/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4268444316539880494' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4268444316539880494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4268444316539880494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/planes-trains-and-automobiles-plus-bus.html' title='Planes, Trains, and Automobiles &lt;br&gt;&lt;i&gt;(plus a bus!)&lt;/i&gt;'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2823913869322236639</id><published>2009-10-08T20:17:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T20:21:29.252-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Picture This...</title><content type='html'>I have a fabulous set of pictures that I will post once I am home.  Be prepared for a pop quiz!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But in the meantime, a quick story from my time at JFK airport. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I checked my luggage and we decided to go for lunch.  This of course meant changing terminals and traveling all around the airport.  My sweet little 3-year-old son decided that he would pull my carry-on luggage all through the airport.  It was the most amazing thing to watch this tiny little boy doing everything he could to help his Mommy.  We kept asking him if he wanted or needed help, but he kept telling us he wanted to pull it.  My heart melted.  I miss him so much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2823913869322236639?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2823913869322236639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2823913869322236639' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2823913869322236639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2823913869322236639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/picture-this.html' title='Picture This...'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8196953933854522769</id><published>2009-10-07T17:13:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T05:36:54.416-04:00</updated><title type='text'>In Praha</title><content type='html'>I have arrived - safe and sound, and with all my luggage!  This makes it the second time I can say that (even though I've been here 4 times now)!  Travel went well - all my flights arrived early and the food wasn't terrible.  I cried (like a baby) waving good-bye to my family.  The security guard saw me composed as I handed him my passport and ticket, then weeping as he handed them back.  Poor guy didn't know what to do.  I'm staying in an absolutely beautiful home and I've seen "the girls" for dinner already.  Tomorrow we'll head to the city center and I'll soak in all the sights I've loved and missed.  Keeping busy keeps my mind off my kids.  I miss them, but it's good to have a break.  A million thanks to hubby who is staying with them and keeping&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://acesoneights.blogspot.com"&gt;a log of his own adventures&lt;/a&gt;!  At least I know they're alive!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8196953933854522769?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8196953933854522769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8196953933854522769' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8196953933854522769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8196953933854522769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/in-praha.html' title='In Praha'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-516433601463382967</id><published>2009-10-03T22:29:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T22:35:42.077-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaving Soon</title><content type='html'>Passport photos.....$5.99&lt;br /&gt;Expedited passport.....$148&lt;br /&gt;Parking ticket for spending too long at passport agency.....$25&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being able to visit the people and places that haunt my dreams....PRICELESS!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-516433601463382967?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/516433601463382967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=516433601463382967' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/516433601463382967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/516433601463382967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/10/leaving-soon.html' title='Leaving Soon'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4455791799442476028</id><published>2009-09-24T11:01:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T11:02:28.994-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Umm...Thank God for Epidurals!</title><content type='html'>Check out &lt;a href="http://www.lemondrop.com/2009/09/24/indonesian-woman-births-19-2-pound-jumbo-baby/?icid=mainmaindl6link6http%3A%2F%2Fwww.lemondrop.com%2F2009%2F09%2F24%2Findonesian-woman-births-19-2-pound-jumbo-baby%2F"&gt;this story &lt;/a&gt;- and keep in mind that my darling little soon-to-be-1-year-old is only about 17 lbs.  Yikes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.lemondrop.com/2009/09/24/indonesian-woman-births-19-2-pound-jumbo-baby/?icid=mainmaindl6link6http%3A%2F%2Fwww.lemondrop.com%2F2009%2F09%2F24%2Findonesian-woman-births-19-2-pound-jumbo-baby%2F"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4455791799442476028?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4455791799442476028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4455791799442476028' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4455791799442476028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4455791799442476028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/09/ummthank-god-for-epidurals.html' title='Umm...Thank God for Epidurals!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-418374317297511087</id><published>2009-09-24T08:55:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T09:13:22.504-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Caught in the Act!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://cache1.asset-cache.net/xc/78458071.jpg?v=1&amp;amp;c=NewsMaker&amp;amp;k=2&amp;amp;d=B76A55A3BFD3C6A05899B9017E849A5BE30A760B0D811297"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 190px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 260px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://cache1.asset-cache.net/xc/78458071.jpg?v=1&amp;amp;c=NewsMaker&amp;amp;k=2&amp;amp;d=B76A55A3BFD3C6A05899B9017E849A5BE30A760B0D811297" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last night our little guy woke up and caught us...watching TV! You should've seen the look on his face. It was like he was realizing there was this whole other world he wasn't privy to, but he wasn't quite sure why! There was Mommy and Daddy, watching TV and eating Chinese food - the world as he knew it would never be the same again....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-418374317297511087?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/418374317297511087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=418374317297511087' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/418374317297511087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/418374317297511087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/09/caught-in-act.html' title='Caught in the Act!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2566192993677343118</id><published>2009-09-23T13:07:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T13:11:57.432-04:00</updated><title type='text'>To the Horrified Mom at the Restaurant</title><content type='html'>Rest assured.  It was raspberry lemonade.  I know it came in a tall, fancy glass and all - but it was lunchtime and I was alone with my kids.  &lt;em&gt;Sounds&lt;/em&gt; like the perfect time for some alcohol, but I promise you it wasn't.  Just so you know, I've been breastfeeding and/or pregnant for what seems like forever, but is really only about 4 years.  So yeah, a drink is in order.  But not today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;The equally-horrified mom who couldn't believe how you were shoveling food into your kid!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2566192993677343118?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2566192993677343118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2566192993677343118' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2566192993677343118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2566192993677343118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/09/to-horrified-mom-at-restaurant.html' title='To the Horrified Mom at the Restaurant'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5606918483627399739</id><published>2009-09-19T07:09:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T14:56:45.921-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mommy's Trip</title><content type='html'>Most Americans can tell you exactly where they were on Sept. 11, 2001. I am among them. I was in Prague, capital of the Czech Republic, teaching English. That day I taught as usual - Tuesday being my easiest day - then went with my roommate to drop off film and mail a few letters. I commented to her that it was amazing that those two things were the biggest events of our day. We'd been in the country only 2 short weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called a friend who was teaching in Hungary later in the afternoon. It was her birthday. When I wished her much happiness, she replied, "You don't have a TV, do you?". She was right. She proceeded to tell me what had occurred on the other side of the ocean. I was baffled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The feeling spilled over into the next day, where I taught non-stop with only a quick break for lunch. My last class of the day was a group of 15 freshmen. This was to be my first class with them. They had been on a class trip, so this was our first meeting. I was a mess. I introduced myself, probably babbled some nonsense, then asked if they wanted to discuss the previous day's events. I think I took their silence as a yes, because I launched into a diatribe that lasted the entire class period. Poor kids. I'll never forget their wide-eyed expressions. Not because I'm an eloquent speaker. No, I was their first native-English speaking teacher. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, with that crazy start, we began our year. They quickly became my favorite class. Over time, I began to get to know a handful of them outside of the classroom. These five girls were the scarecrow in my own version of "The Wizard of Oz." [You know - "I think I'll miss you the most."]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eight years later, I am still in contact with them. We've written letters and emails over the years. Sent photos and best wishes. I've seen them twice since then. The last time was when they graduated high school. Now, one of them is about to get married.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I broke the cardinal rules of weddings and invited myself. I couldn't help it. I was so excited to have an excuse to go back to that beautiful city and see these wonderful young women again. And so, it is with great excitement and anticipation, as well as some fear and trembling, that I look forward to a journey to Bohemia - BY MYSELF - at the beginning of October.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's right. Baby girl will only have Daddy to soothe her. Little Man will have to make do without Mommy. Hubby will be on his own with two little ones for the better part of six days. And Mommy? She'll probably cry herself to Europe. But then, for the first time in more than a year - she'll sleep through the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahh. Heaven. I can't wait!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5606918483627399739?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5606918483627399739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5606918483627399739' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5606918483627399739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5606918483627399739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/09/mommys-trip.html' title='Mommy&apos;s Trip'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5072434267653990632</id><published>2009-09-18T21:46:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T22:09:37.439-04:00</updated><title type='text'>To the Mean Lady at IKEA</title><content type='html'>Dear Mean Lady,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You hit my kid.  In the head.  With a door. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In your rush to get to the bathroom 'in time,' you knocked over a 30-lb toddler who was minding his own business, waiting for Mommy to wash up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next time you go barrelling into a room, be sure there are no small children behind the door.  Oh, and if there IS one, and you DO knock into him, please be sure to APOLOGIZE.  It's only polite. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For good measure, if he's screaming and crying, and his mom is trying to calm him down on one side and holding a baby girl on the other side, do the mom a favor and OFFER SOME HELP!  Even if it's only to go get someone else!  Yeah, you asked if he was bleeding.  And when I assured you he was not, you ran away, clearly glad there was no lawsuit in the wings. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're mean.  I just wanted you to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;The Quietly-Seething Mommy who now wishes she'd bitten your head off when she had the chance!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5072434267653990632?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5072434267653990632/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5072434267653990632' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5072434267653990632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5072434267653990632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/09/to-mean-lady-at-ikea.html' title='To the Mean Lady at IKEA'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8145339942774220710</id><published>2009-09-10T23:37:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T23:43:16.273-04:00</updated><title type='text'>She's Back!</title><content type='html'>So, yeah.  I DID fall off the face of the earth!  And it was not a beautiful view.  Oh well.  I'm back on solid ground once again and have lots to share.  Let me know what you want to hear about! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Little Man's first train ride&lt;br /&gt;-our gift upon returning home from vacation&lt;br /&gt;-our family's new sport&lt;br /&gt;-finding ancestors&lt;br /&gt;-the milk challenge&lt;br /&gt;-Mommy's trip&lt;br /&gt;-car breakdown&lt;br /&gt;-mean old lady at IKEA&lt;br /&gt;-thoughts on Baby Girl turning one&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me apologize for not being available for your chuckling pleasure.  It must have been hard to head to this blog day after day, not knowing when I'd return, only to find...nothing new.  Fear not!  I will once again be filling your frivolous time with witty rants about the joys and guilts of motherhood.  Til next time....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8145339942774220710?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8145339942774220710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8145339942774220710' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8145339942774220710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8145339942774220710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/09/shes-back.html' title='She&apos;s Back!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-3489805796098374050</id><published>2009-08-21T22:57:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T23:02:22.800-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Status Report</title><content type='html'>I wish I could report that it was terrible.  That I ate it and it tasted disgusting and that I was sick all night.  I &lt;em&gt;did&lt;/em&gt; have a headache the next day, and felt a bit of nausea, but it's a sacrifice I could make...for cheesecake.  Baby girl had a rough night, but it's hard to know for sure if it was the milk, or the humidity, or maybe just her teeth.  Either way, I'm not ready to jump back into a dairy-filled life.  It'll be interesting to see what happens with her test on Wednesday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-3489805796098374050?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/3489805796098374050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=3489805796098374050' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3489805796098374050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3489805796098374050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/08/status-report.html' title='Status Report'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4199878931066082230</id><published>2009-08-19T21:55:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T23:03:24.555-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It All Ended With Cheesecake</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.strawberryhillconfections.com/CB%20Brownie-Bottom.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 325px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 445px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.strawberryhillconfections.com/CB%20Brownie-Bottom.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I knew it would. After 8 months, 4 days, 21 hours, 43 minutes, and 4 seconds, I had my first taste of dairy &amp;amp; soy - in a mouth-watering piece (okay, &lt;em&gt;pieces&lt;/em&gt;) of brownie fudge cheesecake. I kept telling my husband how disgusting it was, but he couldn't understand me with my mouth stuffed full. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next week they want to do a milk-challenge test on our little girl. With whole milk. It kinda freaks me out, so I decided to go ahead and see what milk would do to &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; body after this long. Likewise, it'll go through my system to hers, and she'll have a chance to ingest it moderately. We'll let you know how it goes!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4199878931066082230?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4199878931066082230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4199878931066082230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4199878931066082230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4199878931066082230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/08/it-all-ended-with-cheesecake.html' title='It All Ended With Cheesecake'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-6483033483863554218</id><published>2009-08-17T21:17:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T21:18:18.678-04:00</updated><title type='text'>You Know It's Been A Long Time Since You Did The Laundry...</title><content type='html'>when your children have outgrown the clothes you're washing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-6483033483863554218?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/6483033483863554218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=6483033483863554218' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6483033483863554218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6483033483863554218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/08/you-know-its-been-long-time-since-you.html' title='You Know It&apos;s Been A Long Time Since You Did The Laundry...'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8162588416581786144</id><published>2009-08-14T15:56:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T16:09:17.858-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Five Hours</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I'm supposed to get 5 straight hours of sleep each night. Doctor's orders. I haven't slept through the night for over a year. Sleep deprivation - it does things to ya.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 426px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 282px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.naturaworld.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/out-of-order.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last night was attempt number one. Baby girl was super gassy and didn't fall asleep until 10:20p. No joke. Mommy fell asleep shortly after that. On the couch. Little Man awoke saying he "just wanted to get out of bed!" at 1:30a. After settling him down, I climbed into bed. At 3:30a, Miss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Muffet&lt;/span&gt; figured it was time to nurse. 5:30a and she was up again. Little Man was calling to us that it was "light out!" at 6:30a. And the Little Miss was up-and-at-'em at 7:30a. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So much for night number one. Longest stretch - approximately 3 hours.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8162588416581786144?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8162588416581786144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8162588416581786144' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8162588416581786144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8162588416581786144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/08/five-hours.html' title='Five Hours'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4159795860652804024</id><published>2009-08-06T21:32:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T21:32:59.694-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Since You Asked...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/44967000/jpg/_44967602_7cc62753-2e0e-4b6f-9da8-00bf563c0a53.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 466px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/44967000/jpg/_44967602_7cc62753-2e0e-4b6f-9da8-00bf563c0a53.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4159795860652804024?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4159795860652804024/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4159795860652804024' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4159795860652804024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4159795860652804024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/08/since-you-asked.html' title='Since You Asked...'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4031262407419544263</id><published>2009-08-04T15:29:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T17:25:41.452-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What's in YOUR Wallet?</title><content type='html'>Contents of my diaper bag (in no particular order):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;digital camera&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;empty packaging for Sir Topham Hatt's car&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;pink stuffed bunny rabbit&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;overstuffed wallet&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;2 empty baggies&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Lollie Lamb" book - copyright 1949&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;baggie with remains of trail mix snack&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;jar of Gerber squash&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;jar of Gerber sweet potatoes&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;package of pacifier wipes&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;thin navy blue headband&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;pink waffle headband with white flower&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;5 size three Pampers diapers&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;1 size six Pampers diaper&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;mini Fisher Price Doodle-Pro&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;2 packages of Hershey's Kissables&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;plastic spoon in wrapper&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;2 plastic spoons out of wrappers&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;pair of pink Robeez shoes&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;toddler spork&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;JJ Cole pacifier holder&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;pair of baby leggings (handmade by &lt;em&gt;moi&lt;/em&gt; from Gymboree socks!)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;2 toddler spoons&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;3 noise makers from the inside of old toys&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;toddler-size plastic ring&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;figure-eight teether&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;baggie with toddler fork and knife&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;cell phone&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;artwork done by son during church&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;$10 Stop&amp;amp;Shop gift card&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;2 fake coins &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;directions to friends' house with blog ideas listed on back&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;2 sticks of melted gum&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;2 dried-out baby wipes&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;odd assortment of receipts&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;old shopping list&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Vacation Bible School registration form &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;7 &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;1/2&lt;/span&gt; loose Cheerios&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;ladybug sticker&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;miniature golf score card&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;handful of Blueberry Eyes Design business cards&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Bath &amp;amp; Body Works Orange Ginger travel-size body lotion&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;roll of stamps (unopened)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;camera memory card case (empty)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;pad of post-it notes&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;blank Ready Post address label&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;orange spinning top&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;egg shaker&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;1 pink sock (note - not one &lt;em&gt;pair&lt;/em&gt;)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;box of 4 crayons from California Pizza Kitchen&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Safety 1st baby hairbrush&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;korker bow&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;itty-bitty pink bow&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Baby Orajel, Nighttime Formula&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;4 (likely dead) Energizer batteries&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;sermon notes from June 14&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;"application for a US Passport by Mail"&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;10 1-cent stamps&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Stamps Delivered to your Mailbox" brochure&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;4 thank-you cards for son's birthday party (over a month ago!) - sorry!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;list of dairy- and soy-free items available at Stop&amp;amp;Shop&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;4 pads&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;6 tampons&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Daddy's sunglasses&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;toddler sunglasses&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Mommy's (previously assumed lost) sunglasses&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;3 pens&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;1 pencil&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;4 loose mini-markers&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;infant toothbrush (unknown history - ew!)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;5 infant spoons&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;baggie of Cheerios&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;2 &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;1/2&lt;/span&gt; pieces of Hubba Bubba bubblegum, still in package&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;blue race car&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;I'm clearly prepared for anything. Especially if it requires utensils!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4031262407419544263?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4031262407419544263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4031262407419544263' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4031262407419544263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4031262407419544263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/08/whats-in-your-wallet.html' title='What&apos;s in YOUR Wallet?'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2944953245353606950</id><published>2009-07-11T13:10:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-11T13:11:00.833-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Going Away!</title><content type='html'>Yup!  You can be jealous!  It's off the the White Mountains for the next week or so!  Back soon!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2944953245353606950?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2944953245353606950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2944953245353606950' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2944953245353606950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2944953245353606950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/07/going-away.html' title='Going Away!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5319394516929012670</id><published>2009-07-07T15:46:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T15:57:52.260-04:00</updated><title type='text'>In My World</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I bought a book a little while ago that I was excited to read. Unfortunately, I misplaced it and only just found it a few days ago. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The book?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Real-Simple-Organized-Editors-Magazine/dp/1932273565"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 357px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://img4.realsimple.com/images/books/rs-org-home_300.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5319394516929012670?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5319394516929012670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5319394516929012670' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5319394516929012670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5319394516929012670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/07/in-my-world.html' title='In My World'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-3361868475726244086</id><published>2009-07-04T07:38:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-04T07:43:05.511-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy 4th!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.sailblogs.com/member/libertyschooner/images/liberty2-fireworks.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 369px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.sailblogs.com/member/libertyschooner/images/liberty2-fireworks.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-3361868475726244086?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/3361868475726244086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=3361868475726244086' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3361868475726244086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3361868475726244086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/07/happy-4th.html' title='Happy 4th!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2532659471773746332</id><published>2009-07-02T04:35:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T19:54:38.089-04:00</updated><title type='text'>V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N</title><content type='html'>Okay, so we're getting ready to go on vacation in a couple of weeks and I'm looking for volunteers (don't make me volunteer you!). If you would be interested in doing a guest post during the week of July 13th, please leave a comment and let me know. The topic is up to you - or I can give you a few ideas. I KNOW there are some writers lurking out there, so here's your chance! I triple dog dare you!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2532659471773746332?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2532659471773746332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2532659471773746332' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2532659471773746332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2532659471773746332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/07/v-c-t-i-o-n.html' title='V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2219644136621800669</id><published>2009-07-01T16:18:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T16:24:03.268-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey June</title><content type='html'>Well, June is over.  I attempted to post everyday during the month of June, but was unable to do so.  Here's what I learned in the process:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  &lt;a href="http://dawnomite.wordpress.com/"&gt;Dawn &lt;/a&gt;was right.  I should have made a list before I started out.  That would've helped as I began to run out of ideas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  I like being able to have a few days to mull over my thoughts before publishing them to the world.  You may have noticed some posts were a bit...wanting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  Posting everyday should mean just that - day.  I often posted late at night when my brain function was at its lowest.  In fact, several times I fell asleep at the computer!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  Once I missed a day, it made it easier to miss other days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  I'd like to try this again sometime, but I think my brain needs a rest!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2219644136621800669?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2219644136621800669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2219644136621800669' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2219644136621800669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2219644136621800669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/07/hey-june.html' title='Hey June'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-7745701063343068038</id><published>2009-06-28T23:53:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T00:13:08.092-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Just Their Heads!</title><content type='html'>Walking around with a baby gets you lots of attention.  If I were an extrovert, I might be tempted to have a few more just to continue to get random strangers to come over and talk to me!  Most people want to know how old my sweet girl is.  When I offer her age (nine months, currently), I often hear, "Wow!  She's big!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never know how to reply.  Usually I just say, "um, yeah."  But what I want to say is, "no really - she's not.  It's just her head."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My babies have big heads.  At six months, they were both in the 25&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; percentile for weight, 50&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; for length, and 90&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; for head circumference!  Our Little Miss recently had her 9-month check-up.  Turns out she's dropped to the 5&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; percentile for weight (!), and 25&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; for length...but her head is still on that perfect 90&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; curve!  So clearly, she's not a big baby.  She just has a big head.&lt;br /&gt;And if that means she'll be short, but smart, that's okay with me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-7745701063343068038?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/7745701063343068038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=7745701063343068038' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7745701063343068038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7745701063343068038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/its-just-their-heads.html' title='It&apos;s Just Their Heads!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-3480792648280656169</id><published>2009-06-27T07:21:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-27T07:40:16.550-04:00</updated><title type='text'>And The Winner Is...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;LYNN-NORE!&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Congratulations!  You correctly answered that Guilty Mom's degree is in &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Communications and Theatre!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;New contest coming soon!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-3480792648280656169?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/3480792648280656169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=3480792648280656169' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3480792648280656169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3480792648280656169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/and-winner-is_27.html' title='And The Winner Is...'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-418081784868305472</id><published>2009-06-25T23:11:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-26T14:14:28.176-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Childhood Memories</title><content type='html'>I remember being an itty-bitty thing. My parents were fighting. My mom took my doll and threw it. It never talked again.&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;My parents once told us they had a surprise for us. Outside there was a large bunch of balloons that had floated into our yard from somewhere out there. We were so excited, but that wasn't the surprise. I don't know what the surprise really was.&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;My first sleepover made me nervous. I told them I wanted to go home so they called my parents. But then my friend was so sad that I felt sorry for her and stayed over anyway.&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;I remember throwing my cousins' pajamas into the full bathtub. I must have been one, or maybe two, tops!&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;We used to go to my Dad's parents' home on Christmas Eve. It was packed full with his 9 brothers and sisters, their spouses, and all my cousins. I was on the couch one year, and everyone started singing Christmas carols. It felt like they were all singing to me.&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;When the movie ET came out, my parents took me to a drive-in to see it. I fell asleep instead.&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;My dad raised homing pigeons when I was little. I had one I was allowed to name. I called him "Brownie."&lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Don't forget my contest - ending Friday night!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-418081784868305472?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/418081784868305472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=418081784868305472' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/418081784868305472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/418081784868305472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/random-memories.html' title='Random Childhood Memories'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4461483470034730082</id><published>2009-06-24T19:54:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-24T20:09:55.469-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Crunchy Granola</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;In college, there was a certain group it was just easy to label "crunchy granola." They wore Birkenstock sandals and made a compost pile. They had scarves in their hair and talked about social justice. And this was WAY before our former Vice President scared everybody with global warming. They were green when people associated that color with jealousy. And I was nothing like them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today I'm still not what one would call a "tree-hugger." But I &lt;em&gt;did&lt;/em&gt; have natural childbirths. And then I breastfed my babies. Wore them in slings. Fed them organic foods. Heck, I cut all dairy and soy out of my diet! And now, the final straw - &lt;em&gt;I think I'm about to become a vegan.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://planetsave.com/files/2007/08/treehugger.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For 30 years I've enjoyed meat of all kinds. But this afternoon, I'm sorry, I just couldn't take it anymore. I was having leftover pasta for lunch, and hubby had purchased a new sauce - sausage and garlic. I was shocked that the sausage was something I could eat...and then my brain went a whole new route. When did they bottle that sauce? When was that animal killed?? HOW LONG HAS THAT DEAD ANIMAL CARCASS BEEN SITTING IN THAT SAUCE????&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Disgusting, I know. I'm sorry - truly I am! I'm sure you've all heard vegetarians and vegans spout off their rhetoric about cruelty to animals and all that craziness. It wasn't about any of that for me today. Just that one thought. I was afraid I'd be sick.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, who knows...I like a burger as much as the next guy. But I may have crossed over the imaginary line separating those who think about the meat they (don't) eat, and those who don't. Careful - I might be ordering some Birks just yet!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4461483470034730082?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4461483470034730082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4461483470034730082' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4461483470034730082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4461483470034730082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/crunchy-granola.html' title='Crunchy Granola'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8834183442181821979</id><published>2009-06-23T21:05:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-24T08:53:26.850-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Attention Please!</title><content type='html'>It's time for the next contest! Answer the question correctly, and be entered into a drawing to win this prize:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350757189007231442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SkG1UFokydI/AAAAAAAAADY/L6ykYZQZptk/s320/DSCF0771.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;a bumblebee "pony-o" ~ just right for girls with thick hair, or anyone with hair longer than mine!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Guilty Mom has a degree in:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;a. Early Childhood Education&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;b. Secondary Education with Theatre minor&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;c. Communications&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;d. Communications and Theatre Arts&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;e. Biology&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Rules: One entry per person. Contest ends on Friday, June 26th at 7pm EST. You do NOT have to be a regular contributor to enter this contest. You do NOT need to read this blog on a regular basis. You may have found this blog by searching "blog with $1 million cash prize" - only to realize that's not what you can win here. You may have found this blog because a friend of a friend told you about it. Or you might be my husband. However you found this contest, you are free to put in your guess for a chance to win! Please vote and enjoy the game!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8834183442181821979?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8834183442181821979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8834183442181821979' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8834183442181821979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8834183442181821979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/attention-please.html' title='Attention Please!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SkG1UFokydI/AAAAAAAAADY/L6ykYZQZptk/s72-c/DSCF0771.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-7557545554105711203</id><published>2009-06-21T22:43:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T22:45:46.089-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Father's Day!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Just a quick post to wish hubby and all the other &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Daddies&lt;/span&gt; out there a very happy Father's Day!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-7557545554105711203?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/7557545554105711203/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=7557545554105711203' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7557545554105711203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7557545554105711203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/happy-fathers-day.html' title='Happy Father&apos;s Day!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5195146692295900943</id><published>2009-06-20T23:57:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T00:30:24.254-04:00</updated><title type='text'>But I Don't Want To Share!</title><content type='html'>When I turned 4, my parents gave me a very special present: a new baby sister! Born the day before my fourth birthday, my little sister was a sweet little bundle of joy...for everyone but me. When they brought me (and my other sister) to the hospital to meet the newest addition, I refused to look at her. They told me she looked just like me, but I wanted nothing to do with her. You better believe my mom used THAT one against me for years! &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know what it was. I was only four! But my thought is that I knew that this &lt;em&gt;baby&lt;/em&gt; had taken my mommy away on my special day. And now there was nothing I could do. I was stuck, sharing a birthday, for the rest of my life. I should add here that I have two cousins (also sisters) who were born the same week. So the FOUR of us would have shared birthday parties. Yikes! And to top it all off, everyone felt bad for my &lt;em&gt;other&lt;/em&gt; sister, so they'd get her gifts too! I couldn't win!&lt;a href="http://www.better-behaviour.com/2kids5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 207px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="http://www.better-behaviour.com/2kids5.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast-forward a few years (or more). This year, Mother's Day was the day after hubby's birthday. And Father's Day is just before our Little Man's birthday! Poor Daddy! He's had to share &lt;em&gt;both&lt;/em&gt; this year! It's lousy. And I know all about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what's the big deal with sharing anyway? We tell our kids they have to share. Comments on preschool report cards mention things like "shares well with others." When my son gives something to his little sister, I'm quick to point out "good sharing!" But come on. When do we &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; need to share as an adult? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We work in cubicles. Our space is sectioned off so no one else can come in and mess with our stuff. I drive my car, you drive yours. In churches, people have their "pet pews" and get upset if someone else sits there. We might share a popcorn at the movies when we're dating, but once you're married, &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/this-is-not-competition.html"&gt;it's every man for himself&lt;/a&gt;! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kids are expected to share their favorite toys, their "loveys," even their mommy when a new baby comes along! I'm thinking it's overrated. Yeah, yeah, I'll teach my kids to share. That way they'll have gotten the life lesson we're supposed to teach them. But secretly, when we're at the park, and some little kid takes our ball, just know I'll be thinking, "you give that back little punk...it's MINE!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5195146692295900943?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5195146692295900943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5195146692295900943' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5195146692295900943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5195146692295900943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/but-i-dont-want-to-share.html' title='But I Don&apos;t &lt;i&gt;Want&lt;/i&gt; To Share!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8367688814517118017</id><published>2009-06-19T14:05:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-19T14:18:50.687-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Glory Song</title><content type='html'>This morning, a little birdie started singing at 5:16. He sang happily, using his full range of vocal abilities, giving glory to his Creator. By 5:24, he needed a break. Or maybe his Mommy-bird did. He was quiet until 5:26 when he started up again. &lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 197px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 182px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://wisdomwalking.net/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/bird_singing.jpg" border="0" /&gt;It continued on in this manner until 6:12, when another little birdie decided to join in the happy song. Whether or not any other little birdies followed suit, I'm happy to report I do not know. My own sweet little birdie had finally fallen back to sleep.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8367688814517118017?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8367688814517118017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8367688814517118017' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8367688814517118017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8367688814517118017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/glory-song.html' title='Glory Song'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-757865130194779685</id><published>2009-06-17T23:43:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T00:31:45.809-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I Scream...And I Scream Again!</title><content type='html'>Tonight I had two ice cream cones. TWO! &lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 380px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 380px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/8847788/2/istockphoto_8847788-ice-cream-cones.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've decided this is the best diet &lt;em&gt;ever&lt;/em&gt;! I get to eat a lot when I eat, I can have two ice cream cones at a sitting, and I continue to lose weight! I think the best part though, is that I never even have to exercise! Of course, I'm picking up two kids - often at the same time! - so there's that. I'm also nursing, so I'll burn extra calories that way. But mostly, I can just sit around and &lt;u&gt;not&lt;/u&gt; eat cheesecake, and I'm fine. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As long as I don't think about cheesecake too much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-757865130194779685?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/757865130194779685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=757865130194779685' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/757865130194779685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/757865130194779685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-screamand-i-scream-again.html' title='I Scream...And I Scream Again!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4423800009454332723</id><published>2009-06-16T22:56:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-16T23:13:16.794-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Who, Me?</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I don't want to be the mom.  Sometimes I just want to stay in bed and &lt;em&gt;sleep.&lt;/em&gt;  I want someone to take care of &lt;em&gt;me&lt;/em&gt; all day.  Cook for me.  Clean up after all the random things I decide to take out and dump on the floor.  Make decisions so I don't have to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are days where it just seems strange that I'm a &lt;em&gt;mom.&lt;/em&gt;  Wasn't it just yesterday that I worried about what I would do after high school?  How is it possible that I have two kids of my own?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong - I love them dearly.  It's just that I often wonder where they came from!  And how could my baby boy be turning three??  I think this is why people have mid-life crises.  Not that I'm mid-life (I don't think anyway...) - I just can't believe I'm not a freeloading teenager anymore!  No, you couldn't pay me enough to live through my teen years again.  But I also don't feel like I should slow these years down either.  They're flying - but I can't wait until I can sleep again.  Maybe then I'll get my brain back....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was I saying?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4423800009454332723?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4423800009454332723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4423800009454332723' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4423800009454332723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4423800009454332723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/who-me.html' title='Who, Me?'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4065898065877997255</id><published>2009-06-15T23:47:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-16T01:03:10.014-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Soy and Dairy Free (or, Mommy Got Back!*)</title><content type='html'>It's been 6 months since I've given up all dairy and soy products for the sake of my sweet baby girl.  She was diagnosed with MSPI (Milk/Soy Protein Intolerance) on the morning of December 15th, and since then my diet has radically changed.  Gone is the cheesecake.  Gone is the cheese for that matter.  Milk, butter, most bread, luncheon meat, my favorite cereal, fettuccine alfredo,  Mac &amp;amp; Cheese, raviolis, lasagna, and so much more.  Instead, I eat lots of organic food, and thankfully, ice cream(!) made from coconut milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the last midwife appointment before my daughter was born, I weighed 160 lbs.  Today I weigh in at 106.  I feel great.  I have more energy.  I'm excited about how my body looks - I even think my butt is cute!*  And I've never thought that before - &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;EVER!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what will I do when my daughter is done nursing???  I'm guessing I'll have a night out - hopefully a nice romantic dinner with hubby - I'll order every dairy product I've missed:  alfredo, cheesecake, a tall glass of milk, some kind of cheesy bread, and some serious ice cream.  I'll be sick for days, and then go back to dairy-free living.  I haven't quite decided on the soy yet - it opens up so many options if you can have it.  We'll see.  I'm sure part will depend on whether or not our Little Miss Muffet has outgrown the allergy.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And &lt;/span&gt;on whether or not the pounds start piling back on.  'Cuz lemme tell ya, 106 is so much nicer than 160!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;*I can't believe I'm writing this - it's really stinking late!&lt;/span&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/9011487031210176467-4065898065877997255?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4065898065877997255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4065898065877997255' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4065898065877997255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4065898065877997255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/soy-and-dairy-free-or-mommy-got-back.html' title='Soy and Dairy Free (or, Mommy Got Back!*)'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4277601324550138239</id><published>2009-06-15T08:27:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T08:29:14.457-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Oops</title><content type='html'>Okay.  I missed a day.  And really - this one shouldn't count for today.  It's just a post to say - I was supposed to blog yesterday, but instead I went to bed.  At 8:30.  You can fill in the rest.  Sorry!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4277601324550138239?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4277601324550138239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4277601324550138239' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4277601324550138239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4277601324550138239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/oops.html' title='Oops'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4638085775879177695</id><published>2009-06-13T23:42:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-14T00:03:00.414-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Number 100</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.balloonmaniacs.com/images/100thbirthdayballoon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 480px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 480px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.balloonmaniacs.com/images/100thbirthdayballoon.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;If these posts were birthdays, then today I'd turn 100!  If you've been around since the &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2008/07/joining-mommy-club.html"&gt;beginning&lt;/a&gt;, THANK YOU!  It's been a fun ride!  If you're just joining us - WELCOME!  The road is bumpy at times, but we wouldn't have it any other way&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4638085775879177695?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4638085775879177695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4638085775879177695' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4638085775879177695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4638085775879177695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/number-100.html' title='Number 100'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4377887823488843477</id><published>2009-06-12T23:19:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T23:40:33.028-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Memories</title><content type='html'>I often wonder &lt;em&gt;why&lt;/em&gt; we remember what we remember. What was it about that moment in time that makes it stand out in our minds forever? When I think back to my grade school years, there are just a handful of memories I could share. Which of course is so frustrating to think about as a former first grade teacher!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What will my students remember? A field trip? A special project? The first day of school? Maybe. But more likely they'll remember some stupid offhanded comment I made and thought nothing of ever again. That's the way memories seem to work. At least for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of bore you with crazy stories about all the random things people have said to me, I thought I'd share a somewhat humorous story about digging to China.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a child, I really did think you could dig a hole through the earth and get to the other side. One afternoon I was outside digging with my sister and a 'friend.' [Note: this was my mom's friend's son - and so, by default, my "friend."] We were probably about 4 inches down - maybe not even - when I found a penny. And we all know how exciting that is to an 8-year-old!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 'friend' was the jealous type. He quickly squashed all my excitement. "You can't have that! It's not yours! Don't you know who lives down there&lt;em&gt;? Satan&lt;/em&gt;! And that penny is&lt;em&gt; his&lt;/em&gt;! If you take it, you're stealing from him and he's gonna get you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And at that very moment, it started to rain. No lie. I freaked out, threw the penny back into the hole and ran in the house, totally convinced Satan was trying to get me by making it rain!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a random memory.  But aren't they all?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4377887823488843477?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4377887823488843477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4377887823488843477' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4377887823488843477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4377887823488843477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/memories.html' title='Memories'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5794096230535602750</id><published>2009-06-11T21:44:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T22:30:47.086-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Before Baby</title><content type='html'>My son turns three later this month.  I have no idea how it happened.  It has flown by...but my pre-Mommy life seems like, well, like a lifetime ago!  Before my son was born,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I slept in on Saturdays&lt;br /&gt;-I could finish entire conversations&lt;br /&gt;-I ate my meals when they were ready and still warm&lt;br /&gt;-I only ever went to the bathroom ALL BY MYSELF&lt;br /&gt;-I listened to all kinds of music, and not the same song over and over and over...&lt;br /&gt;-I thought nothing about calling a friend and getting together last minute&lt;br /&gt;-my husband and I could have a candlelight dinner and know no one would blow them out&lt;br /&gt;-I could watch TV in the middle of the day&lt;br /&gt;-I knew nothing about &lt;a href="http://www.thomasandfriends.com/"&gt;Thomas the Tank Engine &lt;/a&gt;or any of his Friends&lt;br /&gt;-I finished entire books - and not just the &lt;a href="http://www.sandraboynton.com/"&gt;Sandra Boynton &lt;/a&gt;variety!&lt;br /&gt;-I ran a classroom.  Very effectively, I might add!&lt;br /&gt;-I thought 3-year-olds were so little&lt;br /&gt;-I had no stretch marks!&lt;br /&gt;-I had one set of glasses, and just a few plastic cups&lt;br /&gt;-my brain worked&lt;br /&gt;-spontaneity was a key ingredient in my life&lt;br /&gt;-I didn't know I could love someone so fiercely, &lt;strong&gt;no matter what&lt;/strong&gt; - just because they exist&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5794096230535602750?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5794096230535602750/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5794096230535602750' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5794096230535602750'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5794096230535602750'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/before-baby.html' title='Before Baby'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-773759188386832080</id><published>2009-06-10T21:47:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T22:35:01.937-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Read Me A Story!</title><content type='html'>Our little guy loves his children's Bible.  Daddy reads him a story from it every night and he often asks to read it during the day as well.  Here's what he "read" to me today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Creation Account - &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=genesis+1"&gt;Genesis 1&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And it's about - God said, 'You must go to a light.'  And God sent the the clouds into the sky.  Grandma said there's no clouds in the sky!  Yeah...This one the sun came down .  And some of these [fish].  And he found a frog and the dog is trying to look at him." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Adam and Eve - &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?book_id=1&amp;amp;chapter=3&amp;amp;version=31"&gt;Genesis 3&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And Adam &amp;amp; Eve, well, God said, 'you must not eat the fruit because it's yucky.'  Um, they picked up some fruit and the snake said, 'you must eat some. It's pretty yummy.'  So they ate it.  God said, 'Aaa-dam!  Where ARE you?'  'We're hiding.'  'Did you eat the fruit I said you shouldn't?  Tell me.'   'I did.'  And God said a flame into the thing." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Noah's Ark - &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%206-9;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;Genesis 6-9&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"God is making a boat.  For all the animals....  God told Noah to build a boat for all the animals to get inside....  Well, God made a boat like this and it starts to rain.  And then they all get out."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Tower of Babel - &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%2011:1-8;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;Genesis 11:1-8&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"God said, 'build a tower.'  But they said, 'NO!'  So they stopped making their tower.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Abraham and Lot - &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%2012-13;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;Genesis 12-13&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" 'Bring your animals back to the zoo....'  'Give me your sheep,' and the man said, 'no.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Moses and the Exodus - &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Exodus%203;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;Exodus 3&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You bring the people away Joseph."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pharaoh and the Exodus - &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Exodus%205-11;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;Exodus 5-11&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"God said....and the king said, 'no, no, no, no.'  He said that!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jonah and the Whale - &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Jonah%201-4;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;Jonah 1-4&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"Joseph goes in the fish!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm glad he's enjoying these stories - but it's obvious we've got a lot to clear up!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-773759188386832080?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/773759188386832080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=773759188386832080' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/773759188386832080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/773759188386832080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/read-me-story.html' title='Read Me A Story!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4095477703247052197</id><published>2009-06-09T22:42:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-09T22:59:15.181-04:00</updated><title type='text'>This Is NOT A Competition!</title><content type='html'>My husband is a younger brother. It has shaped who he is. In particular, it has shaped how he views interactions with others: &lt;em&gt;everything is a competition!&lt;/em&gt; When we were first dating, we'd share a package or two of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ramen&lt;/span&gt; noodles and eat them together - straight out of the pot. [Gross, I know. But we had little-to-no money and didn't want to do dishes!] And I remember always feeling like it was a race. So we'd wolf it down and never talk about how we were racing to eat &lt;em&gt;MORE, MORE, MORE! &lt;/em&gt;Yeah. We talk about it now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 342px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 177px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://i.ehow.com/images/GlobalPhoto/Articles/2284237/Figure0-main_Full.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He also enjoys competition with himself. &lt;em&gt;How can he do something better the next time?&lt;/em&gt; So it should come as no surprise then, that this past weekend he let me &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-husband-is-man.html"&gt;sleep in again&lt;/a&gt;. This time he fed the kids, got them dressed, and then started to clean the house. No joke. I told him we've gotta keep this up! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;What'll&lt;/span&gt; it be next time? Breakfast in bed? Laundry and dishes done? You know, a girl could get used to this!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4095477703247052197?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4095477703247052197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4095477703247052197' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4095477703247052197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4095477703247052197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/this-is-not-competition.html' title='This Is &lt;i&gt;NOT&lt;/i&gt; A Competition!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-3536168270257329123</id><published>2009-06-08T23:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-09T01:55:47.858-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Striking a Deal</title><content type='html'>They have an agreement.  Unspoken of course, but an agreement nonetheless.  It seems that my children have realized if they want some time with Mommy all by themselves, they simply need to find some time when the other is asleep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, Mommy is a zombie, longing for bed.  Morning arrives between 5 and 6am, bedtime comes after midnight.  And of course, we might as well wake up a few times in between.  The kids will take turns sleeping and Mommy will make sure not to drive when she's seeing double.  Sounds like a win-win!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-3536168270257329123?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/3536168270257329123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=3536168270257329123' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3536168270257329123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3536168270257329123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/striking-deal.html' title='Striking a Deal'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4449488633221699831</id><published>2009-06-07T23:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T01:25:57.163-04:00</updated><title type='text'>How Do I Get That Job?</title><content type='html'>I want to be a &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voice_actor"&gt;voice&lt;/a&gt;. Seriously. I want to be someone who reads books on tape, or does commercial announcements, or gives the movie trailer. [Hey - this is my dream. Let me live it large!] How did &lt;a href="http://www.donlafontaine.com/DLF2007/Index.html"&gt;the guy who announces &lt;/a&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.donlafontaine.com/DLF2007/Index.html"&gt;everything&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/em&gt;get that job? He'll need a successor someday, right? How 'bout me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or, if I can't have that job, I want the one where you get to &lt;a href="http://www.leaseguide.com/Articles/freecar.htm"&gt;drive around in a shiny new car with some logo all over the sides&lt;/a&gt;. I don't care - a new car so your product gets displayed? Sign me up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the best fit for me overall though, would be one where I could just waltz into a place, observe for a few hours, and then tell them all the things they're doing wrong. I seem to be good at that. And if they want to pay me the big bucks, so be it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4449488633221699831?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4449488633221699831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4449488633221699831' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4449488633221699831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4449488633221699831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/how-do-i-get-that-job.html' title='How Do I Get &lt;i&gt;That&lt;/i&gt; Job?'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-7913525188400300338</id><published>2009-06-06T22:29:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-06T22:52:18.196-04:00</updated><title type='text'>And The Winner Is...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Okay, so, what happens when no one gets the question right??&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent the 2001-2002 school year in the Czech Republic, teaching English in a public high school. Before leaving the US, I trained for the year in California. There I had a roommate who went on to teach in &lt;strong&gt;Hungary&lt;/strong&gt;. During the school year, I was able to visit her and tour Budapest.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I arrived in Prague, it was without a work visa, and I needed to wait for all the necessary documents to be finalized. In the meantime, I had thirty days to stay legally in the country. After that, my tourist visa would expire. A friend and I decided to take a train into &lt;strong&gt;Germany&lt;/strong&gt;, get our passports stamped at the border, and head home. We got out of the train, walked around for about half an hour, and then headed back to Prague. Weird thing is, we saw two or three dogs while we were there and they were all German Shepherds. I am NOT making that up! We also needed to hunt down the customs guy on the train. He was not interested in stamping our passports. We found him in the dining car, smoking a cigarette with a lovely lady. He grunted at us but stamped our passports so we could be 'legal' once again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In February of 2002, I had a special visitor fly in from California to visit me. He proposed on the night of the 25th. We decided to go to Vienna, &lt;strong&gt;Austria&lt;/strong&gt; to celebrate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, even though my grandmother still calls it "Czechoslovakia," the fact of the matter is that &lt;s&gt;I was never there because it doesn't exist, and&lt;/s&gt; I never went to &lt;strong&gt;Slovakia&lt;/strong&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm sorry to report my first contest had no winner. Thankfully my husband DID know the answer to this question, but neither he nor I have hair long enough to use the pony-o. Stay tuned for another contest coming soon! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-7913525188400300338?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/7913525188400300338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=7913525188400300338' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7913525188400300338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/7913525188400300338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/and-winner-is.html' title='And The Winner Is...'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5740184774805145081</id><published>2009-06-05T18:55:00.013-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T21:04:57.306-04:00</updated><title type='text'>When I Became a Mommy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;***Just a reminder that &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/mommy-time.html"&gt;my first contest&lt;/a&gt; will end on June 6th at 8pm EST. You do not need to be a regular commenter to win!***&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find birth stories fascinating. We all come into this world in a unique way, and the story of our beginnings link us, through our mothers, to all our ancestors before us. This chain, this crazy web of stories, is a reminder of the vastness of human history, and the small but significant role we each play in&lt;em&gt; &lt;/em&gt;the eternal drama&lt;em&gt;, The Story of Us.&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My son was not planned, but very much wanted. When I found out I was pregnant, I cried with joy. My husband was not as excited, but believe me, he came along in time. Throughout my pregnancy, I saw an OB-GYN (or, more appropriately, a set of 12 OBs), yet never felt like it was a good "fit." So, around 32 weeks or so, I switched to a team of midwives at a birth center. From the beginning, they were fantastic. Just feeling comfortable with them helped me relax about the upcoming delivery.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was still teaching at the time. School let out just 3 days before my due date - and yes, I was able to finish out the school year! On my due date I was at the school, packing the last of my boxes. One day "post-date" I wandered around my apartment, wondering what to do with myself. The next day I went to the library and took out a bunch of literary classics, figuring I should at least do something productive. But of course, I never touched them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following morning, a Tuesday, I awoke at 3am with a strong contraction. Awake again at 4. By 6am, when my husband should have been getting up to begin his day, I knew this was it and told him to call out. 9am found us walking the neighborhood. Already I needed to stop with each contraction. I remembered what the midwives had said - eat, take a shower, change position, try to sleep - those were the four things they wanted me to do to "make sure" this was it. I did it all. And the contractions kept coming. Shortly after that, I decided I needed my husband's counter-pressure on my back for each and every contraction. Ouch!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the early afternoon, we called the midwives to let them know what was happening. I had reached the 5-1-1 point (contractions 5 minutes apart, lasting 1 minute, for 1 hour), but felt I was okay to continue at home. I soon reached 4-1-1, but wanted to stay where I was. Around 7pm, we decided to head to the birth center. I remember the bumpy car ride, and the fact that my contractions slowed down during the drive. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we arrived, the midwife on call checked to see where I was. "You've barely dilated at all. Maybe half a centimeter. You should head home and try to get some sleep tonight." I probably could've hit her, I was so discouraged. But home we went. And thankfully, my contractions slowed to about every 10-12 minutes ALL NIGHT LONG. My sisters were both at the house, sleeping in the living room. Every other contraction sent me through that room on my way to the bathroom and I just remember apologizing every time I woke them up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't believe I had to go through another day of back labor and being tired. I felt frustrated because we had done everything "right" and waited until 5-1-1 to no avail! What were we supposed to look for now? Pretty quickly that morning (Wednesday now), I reached the 5-1-1 stage, and then 4-1-1. Poor hubby was massaging my back, putting pressure on my back, practically standing on my back, doing everything he could for me! I remember taking a shower and basically just having one long contraction the whole time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5pm we decided to head back to the birth center. Our car wouldn't start. I'm not kidding. We tried and tried but it just didn't want to do it. I remember one of us praying. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was aloud, or maybe not. But thankfully, the car started. I remember my husband saying something about seeing my grandmother drive by.... Thankfully the contractions didn't slow this time. But when I was checked, I was still only at 3cm. They usually send you home if you're not at 5, but the midwife must have known we were going crazy. She let us stay.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shortly thereafter she came in the room to tell me that my grandmother was here and wanted to see me. I looked at her in disbelief. What?? I had told my family that I didn't want them at the birth center. The idea of them being just a room away was too much to handle. Hubby went out and told her I was fine and that we'd call when the baby came. She was hurt, but left. What we didn't realize until later was how upset our families were. For obvious reasons, we didn't communicate with them as much as they'd have liked. Oops. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got into the birthing tub within the hour and spent the better part of the next 7 HOURS lying in the water, swaying back and forth, falling asleep between contractions. I'd get out to go to the bathroom and feel my weight all over again. I couldn't believe how heavy I was! But the water was fantastic. It helped the back pain so much, and allowed my poor husband to take a much-needed break. I'm pretty sure he was falling asleep between contractions too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During transition time, the point where the movies have Mom yelling "I hate you!" and "This is all your fault!" at Dad, I turned to my husband and said "this is &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; hard." [And let me pause here to tell you that I never hated him in all of it. He was my coach and cheerleader and I couldn't have done it without him. He truly was amazing.] &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around midnight I swear the midwife told me to start pushing. My husband swears she never did, I just started pushing. I remember thinking back on our birth classes and the instructions on pushing - breathe once, twice, then push as long as you can, and breathe through the rest of the contraction. It didn't seem to be working for me. I remember saying at one point "I don't know if I'm doing this right." In hindsight, I'd say that I wasn't waiting for the contraction to build to its peak. I was pushing a bit early in the contraction and then trying to breathe through the hardest part.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At 2am (Thursday morning), the midwife said she wanted me to head across the street to the hospital. I had been pushing for 2 hours, but the baby hadn't moved &lt;em&gt;at all&lt;/em&gt;. How depressing. First she tried to give me an IV to see if fluids would help - but she blew out two of my veins before deciding just to head over to the hospital. So there I was - pushing-stage labor, trying to climb onto a stretcher so they could wheel me across the street in the middle of the night. My eyes were closed the whole time. I know only that they banged me into the wall a few times. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once in the hospital I was hooked up to an IV and a bunch of monitors I had been hoping to avoid. It was 2:30. Around 3:45, the midwife said we needed to start thinking about an epidural. She says that I'd been using all these muscles and they were bound to fatigue at some point. She also said that this might wind up a c-section, as the baby still hadn't moved. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that was it. The jump-start my body needed. I felt the difference right away. My son was finally coming! At 4:11am (49 hours after that very first contraction), my sweet little boy was born into this world. His head was turned, revealing to us the reason for the back labor and the 4 hours of pushing. But he was great. He didn't cry right away, just looked around peacefully. When they handed him to me, I wanted to nurse right away, but he wasn't acting interested. I didn't know enough to push the nurse to help me. We took a few pictures, the nurse and midwife left us alone, and my husband promptly fell asleep. I lay there, holding my son in my arms and literally seeing double. I was exhausted and knew only that nothing would ever be the same again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In case you're wondering, I'll save my second birth story for later in the month!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5740184774805145081?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5740184774805145081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5740184774805145081' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5740184774805145081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5740184774805145081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/when-i-became-mommy.html' title='When I Became a Mommy'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5826213183004691842</id><published>2009-06-04T21:07:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-04T21:24:17.652-04:00</updated><title type='text'>No, I'm NOT Sorry!</title><content type='html'>One thing that drives me crazy is feeling like I need to apologize for the choices I've made as a mom.  Well guess what?  It's time for me to own up to what I've decided, and say - for better or worse - &lt;strong&gt;it works for me!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry I had two natural childbirths.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry I decided to breastfeed my children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry I nursed my son for over a year and plan to do the same for my daughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry my son is not circumcised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry my kids share a bedroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry I nurse my babies in bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry I plan on being done having babies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry my kids eat lots of organics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry they will be fully vaccinated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry I like carrying them around in slings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry they won't go to preschool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry they both can't handle cow's milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry we refuse to put our kids in the church nursery on Sunday morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry we're so picky about who watches them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry we sign with our kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry they're not in eight million programs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm NOT sorry I don't like generic diapers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;s&gt;I'm NOT sorry I rock my babies to sleep.&lt;/s&gt;  Okay, yes, sometimes I &lt;em&gt;am&lt;/em&gt; sorry about that one!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5826213183004691842?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5826213183004691842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5826213183004691842' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5826213183004691842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5826213183004691842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/no-im-not-sorry.html' title='No, I&apos;m &lt;i&gt;NOT&lt;/i&gt; Sorry!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-1620942234408139252</id><published>2009-06-03T21:50:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T22:21:39.495-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mommy Time</title><content type='html'>I've needed a creative outlet for a long time. And thanks to &lt;a href="http://www.blueberryeyesdesign.etsy.com/"&gt;my sister's new business&lt;/a&gt;, I've found just that! Here's what we were up to last weekend:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Our very first craft fair!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343284834994589874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SicpP1uVkLI/AAAAAAAAADA/4Xkj-b00djo/s200/craft+fair+1.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;We made hair bows, clips, korker bows, bow holders, and more! It was totally crazy. &lt;em&gt;Cuz I've got nothing better to do with my time....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, with that behind us, it's time for a little fun. Here it is - my very first contest! Answer the following question correctly and you'll be entered into a drawing for this prize:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;a handmade "pony-o" (button is 1 1/2 inches),&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;suitable for Mommy's hair, or your little one's thick hair&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343286477409623506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SicqvcMmHdI/AAAAAAAAADI/pxzkA75dzC4/s200/DSCF0204.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Of course, if your hair is short, your daughter/mom/sister-in-law's cousin's hair is too thin, you don't like the color, or you don't want a pony-o, just don't play! Otherwise, answer this question for your chance to win. Contest ends June 6th at 8pm!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#3366ff;"&gt;Guilty Mom has never been to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#3366ff;"&gt;a. Austria&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#3366ff;"&gt;b. Germany&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#3366ff;"&gt;c. Slovakia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;d. Hungary&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:0;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-1620942234408139252?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/1620942234408139252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=1620942234408139252' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/1620942234408139252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/1620942234408139252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/mommy-time.html' title='Mommy Time'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SicpP1uVkLI/AAAAAAAAADA/4Xkj-b00djo/s72-c/craft+fair+1.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-4146074257802694715</id><published>2009-06-02T15:20:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T15:31:58.085-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What Should You Do With A Sleeping Baby?</title><content type='html'>Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating...what her brother dropped on the floor.  In our case, it was a Honey Nut Cheerio.  When I realized something was rolling around in that little mouth I scooped her up and did a quick finger-sweep.  Lovely.  So now I'm thinking 'honey.  Nut.  Great.'  A quick call to the pediatrician revealed that she should be fine, but that we should keep a close eye on her, &lt;em&gt;just in case.&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she took an extra-long nap this morning I started panicking.  Did her throat close up while she was asleep?  Did she have some sort of crazy reaction and now she's...well, you know.  My mind goes to these weird places.  I start hashing out in my brain what I would do if I went in and found something wrong.  Call 911?  Start CPR?  Scream?  Stay calm so as not to up set the Little Man?  Eventually I go in and scrutinize her abdomen, looking for that easy up-and-down movement.  I don't see it.  I put my hand close to her nose - and accidentally swipe her lip.  Oops.  Baby's awake.  And clearly fine.  I can tell by all the crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, yeah.  So far all is well.  It's just too bad Mommy is so morbid!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-4146074257802694715?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/4146074257802694715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=4146074257802694715' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4146074257802694715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/4146074257802694715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/what-should-you-do-with-sleeping-baby.html' title='What Should You Do With A Sleeping Baby?'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-3252708912373474194</id><published>2009-06-01T21:18:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-01T21:28:35.944-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mommy's Weight Loss</title><content type='html'>It's amazing what a little time (and weight) can do.  I weighed this much some number of years ago, and I couldn't stand my body.  I scrutinized it and found every little flaw.  I agonized over a pound gained and would skip a meal or two to make up for it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now, on the other side of childbirth (x2), with all those flaws and a bunch more (including stretch marks and appendix scars!), I am so much more content with the shape I see in the mirror.  Some days I even feel really good about it!  So if you see me strutting my stuff, be a good sport and send a whistle my way.  It'll make my day - but I still won't be wearing a bikini anytime soon!  Sorry to burst &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; bubble honey!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-3252708912373474194?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/3252708912373474194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=3252708912373474194' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3252708912373474194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/3252708912373474194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/mommys-weight-loss.html' title='Mommy&apos;s Weight Loss'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8986727444018343639</id><published>2009-06-01T12:06:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T17:48:33.182-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I've Made a Decision!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.nablomopo.com"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342830744175011650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 120px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SiWMQRmWZ0I/AAAAAAAAAC4/vZUG6FbsjrY/s200/nablo0609_120x200.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I'm probably crazy to think that I'll actually be able to accomplish this with two little ones underfoot (or, in my lap, like at present) - but I figured I'd give it a shot. Bear with me as I attempt the impossible - forming actual cohesive thoughts EVERY DAY for a month!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;[By the way, cheers to &lt;a href="http://dawnomite.wordpress.com/"&gt;Dawn&lt;/a&gt; who has successfully completed this challenge with her own two running around!]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&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/9011487031210176467-8986727444018343639?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8986727444018343639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8986727444018343639' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8986727444018343639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8986727444018343639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/06/ive-made.html' title='I&apos;ve Made a Decision!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SiWMQRmWZ0I/AAAAAAAAAC4/vZUG6FbsjrY/s72-c/nablo0609_120x200.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2371738176788175076</id><published>2009-05-25T19:41:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T19:54:01.009-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Husband is The Man</title><content type='html'>I tell my husband all the time, "Next time around, &lt;em&gt;I&lt;/em&gt; get to be the Dad."  Dads seem to have it so easy!  They sweat through labor with us, hang around at home for a week or so, and then it's back to life-as-normal.  Normal job, normal conversations, normal eating, normal sleep...everything seems to stay so dang NORMAL!  Then there's the Mom.  Crazy new job, goo-goo ga-ga conversations, food on the run, interrupted sleep, and psycho hormones.  Nothing will ever be normal again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know this is an oversimplification.  And I know plenty of Dads who help out all they can.  My hubby is one of them.  But I still think I would be the Dad the next time around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My kids can sit and play contentedly for a good chunk of time, unless of course they realize that I'm trying to get something done.  Then forget it.  They &lt;em&gt;both&lt;/em&gt; clamor to get into my lap and wail if the other reaches it first.  I don't know how to get anything done!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last weekend, Daddy let me go back to bed for awhile.  When I awoke, the kids were both fed and dressed and ready to go.  Huh??  The other night my sister and I left him with two babies and rushed to the store.  When we got back, one was asleep and the other was on her way.  WHAT???  How is it that I can't get us up and dressed and out the door in under an hour-and-a-half, but Daddy does it, no problem?  There go all my good complaints! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You could &lt;em&gt;never&lt;/em&gt; do what I do!"  [sigh]  Turns out, he can.  Fine.  But still, &lt;strong&gt;I get to be the Daddy next time!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2371738176788175076?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2371738176788175076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2371738176788175076' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2371738176788175076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2371738176788175076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-husband-is-man.html' title='My Husband is &lt;i&gt;The Man&lt;/i&gt;'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-2630863432895990780</id><published>2009-05-18T14:03:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T14:11:18.978-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Give Me the Epidural!  (vol. 3)</title><content type='html'>11.  I want an epidural for keeping my house clean.  The living room was clean last night - I &lt;em&gt;swear!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12.  I want an epidural for &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/05/dandelion-whine.html"&gt;picking dandelions&lt;/a&gt;.  They just &lt;em&gt;appear&lt;/em&gt; overnight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13.  I want an epidural for keeping my daughter's socks on her feet.  You can follow the trail of them all over our house!  (back to #11)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14.  I want an epidural for bathing suit shopping.  I told my husband I was getting a bikini this year.  For half a second, he thought I was serious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15.  I want an epidural for getting my daughter to sleep through the night.  I'm so tired!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you missed volume 2, check it out &lt;a href="http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/01/just-give-me-epidural-vol-2.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-2630863432895990780?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/2630863432895990780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=2630863432895990780' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2630863432895990780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/2630863432895990780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/05/just-give-me-epidural-vol-3.html' title='Just Give Me the Epidural!  &lt;i&gt;(vol. 3)&lt;/i&gt;'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8527496198902005493</id><published>2009-05-11T13:11:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T13:35:11.437-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Mother's Day to Me!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I am currently eating my Mother's Day present:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;vanilla bean ice cream&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334620601224087506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 176px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SghhLDtxR9I/AAAAAAAAACY/blo58kY5WU4/s200/PD_Coconut_Milk_VanillaBean2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Duncan Hines brownie&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334616944747397346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 160px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/Sghd2ORywOI/AAAAAAAAACI/sNvuO8ecqng/s200/Duncan-Hines-Brownies.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Ah!laska chocolate sauce&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 215px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 210px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.reallynatural.com/pictures/41Nq6XNeV6L._SS500_.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and Ghiradelli chocolate chips&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334619919366996034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 104px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SghgjXmXwEI/AAAAAAAAACQ/6ffBfHh-3Bg/s200/choc+chips.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;It's HEAVEN!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 499px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 500px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2286/2413110315_6edde2bf98.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8527496198902005493?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8527496198902005493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8527496198902005493' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8527496198902005493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8527496198902005493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/05/happy-mothers-day-to-me.html' title='Happy Mother&apos;s Day to Me!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SghhLDtxR9I/AAAAAAAAACY/blo58kY5WU4/s72-c/PD_Coconut_Milk_VanillaBean2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5150515812160483647</id><published>2009-05-09T10:53:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-09T11:26:28.649-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy, Happy Birthday Baby!</title><content type='html'>To Hubby, with love...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 350px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 271px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://wwwdelivery.superstock.com/WI/223/255/PreviewComp/SuperStock_255-24091.jpg" border="0" /&gt;Don't worry - it's not dairy-free!&lt;br /&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/9011487031210176467-5150515812160483647?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5150515812160483647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5150515812160483647' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5150515812160483647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5150515812160483647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/05/happy-happy-birthday-baby.html' title='Happy, Happy Birthday Baby!'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-5509284177775539242</id><published>2009-05-06T15:16:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T15:25:47.524-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dandelion Whine</title><content type='html'>When I met my MIL (mother-in-law) almost 12 years ago now, she put me to work. I'm not kidding. I couldn't believe it. I was visiting her son on a break from school and she must have figured I should be willing and able to help out with some chores. So, 12 years ago, I met my future MIL ... and picked up rocks in her backyard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3007/2572040059_b5be4a2ea0.jpg?v=0"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 393px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 272px" alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3007/2572040059_b5be4a2ea0.jpg?v=0" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;div&gt;Yup. I picked up rocks so she could mow her 1/2 acre of land. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The crazy thing is, I'm still doing it. Fast-forward almost 12 years, and I'm renting a house she owns, and picking up rocks in the yard. I'm also popping dandelion heads off so the seed doesn't spread. And I've got my little guy out there helping me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I should have run when I had the chance....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-5509284177775539242?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/5509284177775539242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=5509284177775539242' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5509284177775539242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/5509284177775539242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/05/dandelion-whine.html' title='Dandelion Whine'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-6767578461674020985</id><published>2009-05-01T00:11:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T00:13:22.701-04:00</updated><title type='text'>R &amp; R</title><content type='html'>It's time for a much-needed mental-health holiday.  Please feel free to send your good wishes my way as I take the next week off to breathe deeply and enjoy my sweet children.  Til next time....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-6767578461674020985?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/6767578461674020985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=6767578461674020985' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6767578461674020985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/6767578461674020985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/05/r-r.html' title='R &amp; R'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-9037112554496198917</id><published>2009-04-26T17:12:00.011-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-26T18:08:59.653-04:00</updated><title type='text'>As the High Schoolers See It</title><content type='html'>I overheard the following conversation while walking on a boardwalk yesterday. It was 90 degrees and I was at the beach. How glorious!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329125328304812322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SfTbQE0lMSI/AAAAAAAAAB4/rHO2nMp6fi0/s200/DSCF9237-3.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"&gt;And yes, this is my little guy at the beach, throwing rocks into the water!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Female 1&lt;/span&gt;: Did you know Kelly Clarkson says 'Cool beans'?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Female 2&lt;/span&gt;: Really? Weird!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;1&lt;/span&gt;: Yeah, in an interview with the judges she said it! Maybe that's why you say it. Y'know, cuz she was on American Idol when we were little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;2&lt;/span&gt;: [sarcastically] Yeah, we were little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;1&lt;/span&gt;: No, really! She was on in 2002. We were in second grade!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;2:&lt;/span&gt; Oh my gosh, I feel so old!&lt;br /&gt;[Ahem. Allow me to mention here that I got &lt;em&gt;married&lt;/em&gt; in 2002. Who feels old??]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then in church today, one of the teen guys from our youth group saw me come in:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Him&lt;/span&gt;: "Wow, You look...smaller."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Me&lt;/span&gt;: "Smaller?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Him&lt;/span&gt;: "Yeah, a lot smaller."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Me&lt;/span&gt;: "You mean like I shrunk or something??"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;Him&lt;/span&gt;: "Yeah. I mean...um....I don't know. I haven't seen you in a long time I guess...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;At which point, he basically ran away. Um, okay. Thanks?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-9037112554496198917?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/9037112554496198917/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=9037112554496198917' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/9037112554496198917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/9037112554496198917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/04/as-high-schoolers-see-it.html' title='As the High Schoolers See It'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SfTbQE0lMSI/AAAAAAAAAB4/rHO2nMp6fi0/s72-c/DSCF9237-3.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011487031210176467.post-8752090952043847688</id><published>2009-04-23T16:36:00.010-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T19:06:02.682-04:00</updated><title type='text'>In My World</title><content type='html'>Imagine a dusty road in the middle of nowhere. Saloons and hotels line the street. Tumbleweed blows by. To the sound of some &lt;a href="http://spaghettiwesterns.1g.fi/music/Ennio_Morricone_-_The_Good_the_Bad_and_the_Ugly.mp3"&gt;good ole whistling&lt;/a&gt;, come footsteps, complete with spur sounds. Classic western movie scene. I call it "Grandmother Showdown."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SfDzlPOi7zI/AAAAAAAAABI/SZrCK67YLEQ/s1600-h/faceoff1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328026180247547698" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 132px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SfDzlPOi7zI/AAAAAAAAABI/SZrCK67YLEQ/s200/faceoff1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On one side, Maternal Grandmother stands, hand poised over holster. In her favor - travel from out-of-state, staying overnight, helping for one week already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the other side, Paternal Grandmother waits, a cocky grin playing around her mouth. In her favor - quick travel, knowledge of the area, owns the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this epic battle, which played itself out this week, both Grandmothers vie for a place of honor. Shots ring out! And when the dust clears, two small children are watching from the corner. Assured they are loved once again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9011487031210176467-8752090952043847688?l=itscalledguilt.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/feeds/8752090952043847688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9011487031210176467&amp;postID=8752090952043847688' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8752090952043847688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9011487031210176467/posts/default/8752090952043847688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://itscalledguilt.blogspot.com/2009/04/in-my-world.html' title='In My World'/><author><name>Guilty Mom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08394879348271687802</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SUVq95GTHUI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/aZJsdeQMVOw/S220/11021003142.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ASIDY_HaH_E/SfDzlPOi7zI/AAAAAAAAABI/SZrCK67YLEQ/s72-c/faceoff1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
