<?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-4335961084997861239</id><updated>2012-02-16T18:01:52.956-08:00</updated><category term='NICU life'/><category term='pictures'/><category term='adventures in breastfeeding'/><category term='allergies'/><category term='naps'/><category term='flood'/><category term='Disney'/><category term='news'/><category term='overheard'/><category term='baby updates'/><category term='intro'/><title type='text'>Mama REALLY needs a nap...</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>106</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-8538399731641242080</id><published>2010-04-19T13:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-19T13:22:22.533-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This day....</title><content type='html'>This day is just screaming to be documented.  Thank Goodness, last night was the first night in weeks that I have gotten a decent night of sleep.  I woke up after 7 to a house with no kids out of bed.  Awesomeness.  It’s all downhill from there, though.  Nat REFUSED to simply take six consecutive breaths from her inhaler/spacer.  She just stood there and didn’t inhale (or did inhale so slowly that it was impossible to tell.)  She does this often and it really sets me off.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Breakfast = mama the short-order-cook.  “I want a cream cheese bagel!” “I want cream cheese TOAST!” “I want rice cheerios!” “I want cheese toast!” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only have 2 kids!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the outings came.  I went to beautybrands to spend a birthday gift card on some much-needed beauty supplies, and after no more than 5 minutes, the kids were running wild.  To check out, I had to make them SIT on the floor next to me because they would not stand.  I realize that this is not atypical 2- and 5- year old behavior, but it is way out of normal for my kids.  They are just not rowdy kids.  I left with $40 left on my gift card because it was obvious we needed to leave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The grocery store was uneventful (read: the shopping carts allow you to fasten your children into them,) but Isaac did manage to sneak a package of hamburger buns into the “car” part of the cart where he was sitting and stomp the heck out of them while I was trying to find a bread with less wheat than our current whitewheat bread that did not contain milk.  Yes, I bought the buns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got home, my husband and I had a brief conversation with a sidebar that went something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: Whew!  Somebody is stinky!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby: Guessing that’s Isaac&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: Well, with the day we are having, I’m half expecting Natalie to poop in her pants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey Internets!  Guess what just happened!  So...a couple of hours after that phone call, Isaac is napping and Natalie is having quiet time.  I walk out of my room to get the next load of laundry and find Natalie standing at the toilet with poop all over her bum and a wad of flushable wipes in her undies trying to pull up her pants.  Further inspection reveals a toilet absolutely full of more wipes.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama:  Wha????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat:  I didn’t want to go poopie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: Wha?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat:  I was playing and I didn’t want to get up to go poopie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: (pointing at wipes wad in undies) Wha?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: I thought I could get the poopie out of there with those.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: Why didn’t you call me for help?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: (very thoughtful face) ummm....I didn’t want you to get poopie on your hands or on your clothes...?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: Wha?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: Next time I’ll come get you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2010/04/19/funny-pictures-are-its-monday/"&gt;&lt;img title="funny-pictures-it-is-monday" src="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2010/04/funny-pictures-it-is-monday.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;see more &lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com"&gt;Lolcats and funny pictures&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-8538399731641242080?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/8538399731641242080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=8538399731641242080' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8538399731641242080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8538399731641242080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2010/04/this-day.html' title='This day....'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4970654568850294591</id><published>2010-04-15T10:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-15T10:20:47.578-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='overheard'/><title type='text'>I'm still alive</title><content type='html'>Just a quickie - &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day we were driving home in the car and Nat told us - very tentatively and with clear anxiety on her face - that she had a bad dream the night before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: Oh no, honey!  Can you tell me about it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: It's too scary.  And I've had it lots of times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama:  Do you want to talk to us about it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: Well....I was in the bathroom.  (dramatic pause)  And there was someone there with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: Who was there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: Was it someone scary? (At this point my mama alarms are going off big time - some mystery stranger is scary in the bathroom?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: No, that wasn't scary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: OK....what happened then?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat:  Then we heard A SOUND!  A scaaaaary sound.  (High drama voice)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: What sound was it?  What was it like?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: I don't know what it was.  It was like...(huge pause, anxious face, obvious FEAR of the sound)....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: It was like...?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: like this (more pause)  DU DU DU DUUUUUUHHHHHHH.  DU DU DU DUUUUUUUUUU. (Think dramtic organ music)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: And then?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat:  I WOKE UP!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-4970654568850294591?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4970654568850294591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4970654568850294591' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4970654568850294591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4970654568850294591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2010/04/im-still-alive.html' title='I&apos;m still alive'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-8847599413486080232</id><published>2009-12-10T07:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T08:00:08.010-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='news'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='allergies'/><title type='text'>Milk is the Enemy</title><content type='html'>Jumping right back into things here...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In late October, my little NatterPrincess was not feeling good.  The usual doses of asthma- and allergy-related medications were not controlling her coughing and wheezing, so we made an appointment with an asthma-allergy-pediatric specialist.  On the 30th, Nat went in for the dreaded skin-prick allergy test.  They tested her for 24 common  allergens, and she was allergic to no less than 18 of them.  There were some non-surprises like cats, dogs, dust mites, and grass.  There also some big surprises, namely milk, wheat, and egg whites.  There were also some “Huhs?!” (hamsters – why do they test for that?) and some “Good to knows,” (goose down, shellfish.)  Mercifully, she is not allergic to soy, pine trees, peanuts, or tree nuts, so she can eat something and go outside in Texas.  Also, she has been exposed to everything on the list at least once, so we know there are no anaphylactic reactions.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/01/26/funny-pictures-achoo/"&gt;&lt;img class="mine_3061854" title="funny-pictures-polite-cat-sneezes-into-a-tissue" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/01/funny-pictures-polite-cat-sneezes-into-a-tissue.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;see more &lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com"&gt;Lolcats and funny pictures&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whole thing left me very confused and conflicted.  Natalie has eaten milk, cheese, and yogurt not only every day of her life, but quite possibly at every meal of her life for five years now.  How serious can an allergy be if she has been exposed that much without us knowing?  According to the test, her reactions were on the high end of the scale.  She has never had eczema, chronic ear infections, or tummy troubles.  On the other hand, I breastfed Natalie exclusively for the first year of her life, and I consume very little milk.  Hindsight being 20/20, the introduction of cheese and yogurt probably DID coincide with her oxygen-tent-hospitalization episode around 10-months old, and she has had asthma-related issues off and on since then.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So do I feel guilty that I have been poisoning my kid into a life of chronic wheeziness?  Or do I get angry that her pediatrician took this long to recommend allergy testing?  We heard “Give her more Xopenex!” from the doc so many times that it became a household joke.  Undeniably, the chest and sinus x-rays ordered by the allergist showed “very significant” inflammation and infection, most likely caused by all these allergies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie is now on a strict milk-free, shellfish-free diet supplemented with daily allergy medication.  We cut back on wheat at a reasonable level (no wheat crackers, lower-wheat bread, etc.,) but we have not eliminated wheat completely.  The allergist said there was no need to get rid of our cat as long as we keep her out of Natalie’s room – which kind of blows my mind.  Then again, she can put her face in the cat’s fur and pet and snuggle her with no itchy nose or watery eyes.  Apparently I don’t really understand allergies.   I’m still looking for good literature on the subject that is not focused on how milk and wheat elimination cures autism.  We have just completed 40 days on antibiotics, and the follow-up sinus x-rays show significant improvement.  Natalie hasn’t needed a tissue in weeks, except for the day she played in the snow (yes, snow – more on that later.)  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I am overwhelmed with the task of handling a 5-year old who can’t eat any of her favorite foods, I am thankful that we have found a way to make our baby girl feel better that is simple and non-invasive.  I’m just hoping that the path forward becomes a little clearer, because right now I feel like I am flying kind of blind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-8847599413486080232?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/8847599413486080232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=8847599413486080232' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8847599413486080232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8847599413486080232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/12/milk-is-enemy.html' title='Milk is the Enemy'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-8265775034205192893</id><published>2009-10-01T07:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-01T07:15:18.432-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flood'/><title type='text'>Day 56309 or Something Like That</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Brief summary of the continuing saga of our house and &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/05/evolution.html"&gt;the flood of aught nine&lt;/a&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1- The house is done, but we still need to repair the garage door opener that was blown up in the power surge and get some blinds on the new window that has replaced our former fake back door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2- About two weeks ago, the FEMA people denied our supplemental claim. They said that, although we had to tear out our lower cabinets, the walls behind them, and the backsplash, the fact that our countertops did not come out in one piece that could be re-installed was “within our control” and therefore not reimbursable. They also denied our claim for our oven, which was just plain flooded out, simply because it was filed with the counter tops. Our adjuster advised us to protest the decision and re-file the oven separately, so my husband is doing that. I am just DONE with this part of the process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3- Our MUD board did a big study on the drainage in our neighborhood. Despite the fact that they have pictures of flooding at my house showing water nearly three feet over the top of curb (which they actually put elevations on based on their own survey,) they contend that that their study – which shows that the water would only get about 1.5 feet above the curb in such a storm- is correct and complete. They have said that they think any money spent on helping our area drain properly is a waste. At the same time, they say they are going to the county to ask for money and we should not go to the county on our own because it will reduce their chances of success. They also won’t give us a timeline for their appeal to the county. I might dedicate a whole post to these shady, shady people in the future, but right now I can feel my blood pressure rising just thinking about them. On my own, I have spoken to someone at FEMA who wants to help, but based on the existing study we don’t qualify for help. And I can’t actually apply for such help as an individual –the MUD or county has to apply for the help.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yet there are some sunny spots, and they are these:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387634899486663154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SsS5ZWtmYfI/AAAAAAAAAR0/O3eMtPFqf3A/s400/peek+a+boo.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387634778729268290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SsS5SU2yxEI/AAAAAAAAARs/Qmpzp7lFDqE/s400/IMG_1294.JPG" border="0" /&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/4335961084997861239-8265775034205192893?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/8265775034205192893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=8265775034205192893' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8265775034205192893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8265775034205192893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/10/day-56309-or-something-like-that.html' title='Day 56309 or Something Like That'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SsS5ZWtmYfI/AAAAAAAAAR0/O3eMtPFqf3A/s72-c/peek+a+boo.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-7711597149633609167</id><published>2009-09-30T09:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T09:50:47.431-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Backyard Buggy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;You were just a buggy-wuggy, buggy wuggy, buggy guy...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SsOMRvirvZI/AAAAAAAAARk/h4JO4uMBf-w/s400/IMG_1290.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387303815712849298" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Now you are so beautiful, you turned into a butterfly!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SsOMKZyhtSI/AAAAAAAAARc/Wk_RuOYKxQE/s400/IMG_1272.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387303689614636322" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-7711597149633609167?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/7711597149633609167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=7711597149633609167' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7711597149633609167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7711597149633609167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/09/backyard-buggy.html' title='Backyard Buggy'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SsOMRvirvZI/AAAAAAAAARk/h4JO4uMBf-w/s72-c/IMG_1290.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-8857446702689946987</id><published>2009-09-05T21:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-05T21:06:32.697-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gig Em</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SqM1Q29FRpI/AAAAAAAAARU/8BujpQz5JOI/s1600-h/nat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SqM1Q29FRpI/AAAAAAAAARU/8BujpQz5JOI/s400/nat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378200943756396178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-8857446702689946987?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/8857446702689946987/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=8857446702689946987' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8857446702689946987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8857446702689946987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/09/gig-em.html' title='Gig Em'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SqM1Q29FRpI/AAAAAAAAARU/8BujpQz5JOI/s72-c/nat.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4549380589466195804</id><published>2009-08-14T09:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T06:35:59.993-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pork Chops like Grandma Used to Make</title><content type='html'>I really have nothing to say. Work is work. The kids are in one of those rare, fleeting periods of semi-static behavior. The house is finally done. That should have been a post in itself, really. My camera is missing, so that line of posting is also on hiatus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In lieu of something deep, here is something that might be more interesting to some you: My grandmother's pork chop method. I call it a method rather than a recipe because the process is more important than the ingredients. I have modified it to make it a little less guilt-inducing, but I'll give it to you both ways here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ingredients:&lt;br /&gt;Pork Chops - Grandma liked the bone-in kind because she liked to chew on the bones. I like the thicker boneless type.&lt;br /&gt;Flour - about a cup&lt;br /&gt;oil - Grandma probably used some kind of fat she saved from cooking some other meat. I use olive. Canola gives you a little extra breathing room with the temperature because it has a higher steam point.&lt;br /&gt;Seasoning - whatever you like. Grandma used salt and pepper. I add garlic powder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Technique:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Put the flour into a large plastic bag. Add the seasonings. For me, it's a couple pinches of salt, 3 or four shakes of pepper, and 5 or 6 shakes of garlic powder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Place chops in the bag, one at a time, and shake to coat evenly with powder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href='http://cheezburger.com/View.aspx?aid=2533598976'&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/8/14/128947435054703829.jpg" id="_r_a_2533598976" title="INVISIBUL SHAKE N BAKE-  I HELPED!" alt="INVISIBUL SHAKE N BAKE-  I HELPED!" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;moar &lt;a href='http://icanhascheezburger.com'&gt;funny pictures&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next, coat the bottom of a frying pan with about a quarter inch of oil and heat to medium-high heat. Place chops into pan and increase heat to about 85% of the maximum heat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cook chops on this high heat for 4-5 minutes, then flip and repeat on the other side. This will result in a crispy coating that makes the chops what they are. Once this is done, you have a choice to make - your taste buds or your arteries. Grandma would turn the heat down to very low and continue to fry the pork chops in the oil for about an hour, covered, flipping them every ten minutes or so. I prefer to take them out of the oil at this point and bake them in the oven for 45 minutes at 350. Either way, you get a juicy on the inside, crispy on the outside result. If you go with the long term frying, don't use olive oil because it will burn. You probably need to be a little more generous with the oil at the beginning, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband likes these served over rice with cream of mushroom soup. I prefer something a little fancier, but I have to admit that his way is tasty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize this is a really basic recipe, but it is one of those traditional things that I hope my own kids enjoy cooking some day, and it is one meal my family is always glad to see on the menu.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-4549380589466195804?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4549380589466195804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4549380589466195804' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4549380589466195804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4549380589466195804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/08/pork-chops-like-grandma-used-to-make.html' title='Pork Chops like Grandma Used to Make'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4912208521287999368</id><published>2009-07-29T06:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-29T11:24:22.737-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wednesday with a Few Words</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Sm8xEgc7miI/AAAAAAAAARM/eewssHnKI3Q/s1600-h/natflowers.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363559634722069026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 301px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Sm8xEgc7miI/AAAAAAAAARM/eewssHnKI3Q/s400/natflowers.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I didn't get this posted back in May when Natalie had her recital, but I really should have. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-4912208521287999368?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4912208521287999368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4912208521287999368' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4912208521287999368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4912208521287999368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/07/wednesday-with-few-words.html' title='Wednesday with a Few Words'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Sm8xEgc7miI/AAAAAAAAARM/eewssHnKI3Q/s72-c/natflowers.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4104445434802348428</id><published>2009-07-24T07:27:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-24T07:46:55.679-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Whole Lotta Nuthin Goin On</title><content type='html'>We are in exactly the same place we were a week ago.  Fortunately, it's not a bad place...but it's not a "done" place either.  Now we are back in the normal routine of life, the familiar.  We are doing all the things we did in the "before," but they are different somehow.  We're like the three little bears coming home to find our stuff not quite how we left it.  Stupid Goldilocks - you're wearing me out.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Still, things are always changing anyway, and I think the new normal will become just the normal before we even realize what we have done.  One thing hasn't changed.  My kids still seem to consider sleep (or at least my sleep) overrated.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/07/23/funny-pictures-i-will-nap/"&gt;&lt;img class="mine_4685788" title="funny-pictures-cat-will-nap-here" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/07/funny-pictures-cat-will-nap-here.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;see more &lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com"&gt;Lolcats and funny pictures&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-4104445434802348428?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4104445434802348428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4104445434802348428' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4104445434802348428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4104445434802348428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/07/whole-lotta-nuthin-goin-on.html' title='A Whole Lotta Nuthin Goin On'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-8917601331356679471</id><published>2009-07-16T05:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-16T06:02:19.950-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flood'/><title type='text'>Day 72 - The End is Near</title><content type='html'>I have been purposely, superstitiously, ridiculously refusing to blog since I got some excellent news on June 30.   I have been terrified that if I wrote about it here, it would be somehow cursed and wouldn’t happen.  Now it has happened- it is done- and I feel like I can finally come up for air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On June 21st, we called in our request for the dreaded final inspection.  After the allotted five business days, I still had not been contacted by the inspector, so I followed the written procedure for such an occurrence, which is to call the inspection company directly and write horrible run-on sentences about it.  They told me that my second inspection had been cancelled due to “duplicate request.”  They said it exactly like that – as in, “No, we don’t have any record of who did the cancelling or why other than that it was duplicate request.”  It sounded like “duplicate request” was some kind of virus that must be eradicated from their system.  Of course, the only way to fix this problem was to have Chase re-initiate the process and go through all the mandatory waiting stuff again.  I reluctantly called Chase and explained the problem.  Of course, they did not understand what I was telling them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Ma’am, the request for an inspection is still active in our system.  You don’t need to request it again.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I just talked to the inspection company.  They have cancelled it.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“That’s not how it works, ma’am.  We have to cancel it.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yes, but they did.  They said you had to re-initiate the request.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Ma’am, the request for an inspection is still active in our system.  There is no reason to start a new one.  You already had one inspection, you know.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yes, yes I do know.  Thank you so much.  May I please speak to your supervisor?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went through the supervisor and her manager before I finally got someone who was not intent on locking me into the ninth circle of loss draft hell.  This wonderful, helpful, angel of a woman put me on hold and called the inspection company.  It turned out that they DID cancel my inspection and Chase DID need to start the process with all the waiting periods again.  It turned out that I am &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; actually a masochistic moron and I do comprehend the English fairly well.  I asked her if there was any way she could expedite the process, and she said she couldn’t but then looked into my file.  She noted that my 50% inspection report had come back 85% complete, and decided that she could request that Chase waive the final inspection and just send me the rest of my money right away.  Wonder of Wonders, really – and she did just that.  She called me back that evening to tell me that the request had been approved and they would be sending my checks via overnight mail after July 6. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, it couldn’t be that easy.  The next day I got a voice mail informing me that my “request for deviation” had been declined, and I needed to request a 90% inspection to get my final draw.  When I called back, I spoke to person after person trying to find out what had changed.  After a solid 40 minutes on the phone, someone finally figured out that there was an error in their system or something and everything was fine.  I was actually going to get my money without the final inspection. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day I got a voice mail informing me that someone had erroneously called me to tell me that my deviation had been declined when it had, in fact, been approved.  Hey, Right Hand!  It’s me, Lefty!  Perhaps this process has made me a little edgy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On July 7, I received the second third of our money as promised.  On July13th, I had not heard anything about the final check and decided to call and make sure we were all still moving along.  They confirmed that the check had been processed on July 10th and would be sent via overnight mail…in 2-3 business days.  On July 14th, I missed the FedEx guy.  Ironically, although this is the smallest of the three checks, this one will require a signature.  I think the FedEx guy is secretly a Chase call center employee, though, because he checked every single box on the “we missed you” form and then wrote that the next delivery attempt would be the day prior to the day he was there. Yesterday, I obsessively watched the tracking online and waited in the house all day for the delivery.  At 2:45 p.m., the Chase Loss Draft Nightmare of 2009 was officially over.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, if they could just finish with the house…more on that later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-8917601331356679471?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/8917601331356679471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=8917601331356679471' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8917601331356679471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8917601331356679471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/07/day-72-end-is-near.html' title='Day 72 - The End is Near'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-8692645042572265945</id><published>2009-06-25T08:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-25T08:47:18.898-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flood'/><title type='text'>Day 51- So close, yet so far away</title><content type='html'>We have floors!  They are putting in a nice, wood-look ceramic tile all over our house.  This was a major concession on my part because I loved my hardwood floors. Loved.  I did not, however, love seeing them in a dumpster, and I don't think my heart could take it one more time.  Ceramic makes sense for our lifestlye and for our repeat flood risk.  I'll get some pictures up once they are complete.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, my house looks mostly like a real house instead of a construction site.  Pay no attention to the dumpster in the driveway.  This is both comforting and frustrating because it looks so nice, but it is really just a shell.  There are still no appliances (except the fridge in the playroom), no functioning sinks, and no connections for the satellite dish and phone downstairs.  It looks pretty, but it is still not usable.  I have a promise from the contractor to have our appliances in on Friday, but I am not scheduling my life on that promise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the finance front, we did recieve the first "draw" on our insurance check from Chase.  The bank put a 10 business day hold on the deposit, and the first $4000 that comes free will go to the &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/05/evolution.html"&gt;demo dudes &lt;/a&gt;who have been waiting on their payment for about 50 days now.   Although we completed the required "50%" inspection on Saturday, I have no hope of seeing the second check for at least 2 weeks, and the final draw will not even get started until we have a final inspection of repairs.  After an inspection, the inspector has 10 business days to file his report, and then Chase has some allotted time to process the report and send the promised funds.  Also, while the first draw is supposedly sent immediately upon reciept of the check (try 12 days later), the second and third draws are dependant upon successful submission of all the &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/06/chase-what-matters-after-allowing-2-3.html"&gt;crazy paperwork&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-8692645042572265945?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/8692645042572265945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=8692645042572265945' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8692645042572265945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8692645042572265945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/06/day-51-so-close-yet-so-far-away.html' title='Day 51- So close, yet so far away'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-7727306138635479584</id><published>2009-06-17T07:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T07:07:47.509-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wordless Wednesday - Smiles</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Sjj4quwt5LI/AAAAAAAAARE/8nD9OBNFmHc/s1600-h/isaac.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348297970493023410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 348px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Sjj4quwt5LI/AAAAAAAAARE/8nD9OBNFmHc/s400/isaac.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/4335961084997861239-7727306138635479584?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/7727306138635479584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=7727306138635479584' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7727306138635479584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7727306138635479584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/06/wordless-wednesday-smiles.html' title='Wordless Wednesday - Smiles'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Sjj4quwt5LI/AAAAAAAAARE/8nD9OBNFmHc/s72-c/isaac.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-801511796380013472</id><published>2009-06-16T06:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-16T06:54:31.108-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flood'/><title type='text'>Chase What Matters (after allowing 2-3 business days for processing)</title><content type='html'>Friday, June 5: Received check from insurance company and called Chase to find out how to get their signature.  The process includes many, many forms that have to be faxed to me to fill out.  Faxing forms takes, apparently, 3-5 business days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday, June 8: Received forms and 12 pages of instructions via fax.  Read and followed all instructions to complete forms.  Made several phone calls to Chase for clarification on how to fill out forms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wednesday, June 10:  Mailed forms, signed and notarized, along with check via overnight certified mail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thursday, June 11: Called to confirm receipt and acceptance of forms and to request mandatory 50% Completion Inspection.  I was informed that Chase has 2 business days to contact the inspector.  Then he has 3 business days to contact me to schedule the inspection.  My forms were not in the system, but they allowed me to go ahead and order the inspection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday, June 12: Called Chase again to confirm receipt of paperwork.  The unhelpful person on the phone informed me that I needed to write the specific words “self-contracting” in a blank on each of two forms instead of the very similar phrase that I wrote.  NOTE: This is not in the instructions.  The only way to make this change is to correct and re-fax the forms, allowing 2 business days for them to be processed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tuesday, June 16: Called Chase again to confirm receipt of corrected paperwork.  The unhelpful person on the phone said that I need to write a “brief description of what happened to my home” in the blank for “…the undersigned hereby agrees to release and/or waive any and all claims of lien of labor and materials described as_,” rather than a description of labor and materials.  I immediately request a supervisor.  She is very sorry, but the forms must be correct.  Today, I will correct the form and fax it once again, allowing 2 business days for processing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-801511796380013472?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/801511796380013472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=801511796380013472' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/801511796380013472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/801511796380013472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/06/chase-what-matters-after-allowing-2-3.html' title='Chase What Matters (after allowing 2-3 business days for processing)'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-3714468026658232603</id><published>2009-06-12T18:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T18:18:39.844-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Progress</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SjL-ZNEysvI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/9gUElqmNfxQ/s1600-h/living1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SjL-ZNEysvI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/9gUElqmNfxQ/s400/living1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346615416602145522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SjL-TVg23-I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/Fi3WTS1VV5I/s1600-h/living+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SjL-TVg23-I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/Fi3WTS1VV5I/s400/living+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346615315788128226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SjL-K5HpPzI/AAAAAAAAAQs/MnqAOma7_wI/s1600-h/living+3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SjL-K5HpPzI/AAAAAAAAAQs/MnqAOma7_wI/s400/living+3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346615170727231282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-3714468026658232603?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/3714468026658232603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=3714468026658232603' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3714468026658232603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3714468026658232603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/06/progress.html' title='Progress'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SjL-ZNEysvI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/9gUElqmNfxQ/s72-c/living1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-180056392880783800</id><published>2009-06-11T06:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T06:08:47.073-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flood'/><title type='text'>Day 44 - Cabinets, Crises, and Cash Flow</title><content type='html'>Things are moving along ever so slowly at our place these days.  The moldy wood floor has been removed.  The base, chair rail, and wainscot have been replaced and primed.  The frames for our kitchen cabinets have been built.  We are at a stall until the cabinet doors are complete, but then we will have a flurry of painting and staining.  Once all of that is done, I will have my kitchen back and life will be much more like normal.&lt;br /&gt;We hit a roadblock shortly after my last post when our house was taken over by a poltergeist.  It was either that or the neutral wire from our house to the transformer failed from water plus time.   Lights in part of our house were barely lit while others were too bright to look at directly.  Circuits and bulbs blew, and all things electrical quit working.  There was this crazy fluxing thing that happened when the refrigerator kicked on.  I had to pay some guy with all kinds of meters and gadgetry who spoke to me through an intermediary a ton of money to fix it all.  I say all signs indicate poltergeist, personally.  The repairs were expensive and probably not covered under our policy, but our electric company and the electricians/ghost busters really came through and got us back to normal as quickly as possible.&lt;br /&gt;We received our payment from the insurance company on Friday.  The “contents” part of the check was made out to us, so we opened a new checking account to make the accounting easier and deposited the money there.  Then we went on a shopping spree and purchased our new dryer, oven, and dishwasher, as well as a new vacuum cleaner.  Everything has been delivered now and will be installed as the cabinets are completed.  New everything is a definite silver lining of this process.&lt;br /&gt;The “dwelling” part of the check is more complicated.  It is made out to the mortgage company and has to be sent to them for endorsement.  They require inspections and all sorts of rigmarole to give us the money back.  I googled “Chase Loss Draft Department” in search of forms, and found out that the first twenty websites are all just people complaining about how terrible this process is.  I am super excited.  After filling out an insane amount of paperwork, including a document (notarized, no kidding) that I will not take a lien out against myself if I don’t pay my construction bill, I mailed the check to them yesterday morning.  I’m just going to pretend that this will go well until they prove me wrong, because I really can’t take another battle right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-180056392880783800?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/180056392880783800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=180056392880783800' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/180056392880783800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/180056392880783800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/06/day-44-cabinets-crises-and-cash-flow.html' title='Day 44 - Cabinets, Crises, and Cash Flow'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2517730740919440505</id><published>2009-05-28T07:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-28T07:29:07.300-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flood'/><title type='text'>Day 30 - We have walls!</title><content type='html'>We finally have walls!  Friday, the contractors put in insulation.  Then they took the holiday weekend off, and so did we.  Tuesday was drywall installation day, and yesterday they finished that up with tape and float.  Aside from a very hot return home on Tuesday night when they had inexplicably decided to turn off the A/C, everything has been pleasantly non-eventful on the construction front.  Our adjuster “finished” our claim documents, and sent them our way, but he forgot to include the kitchen appliances that needed repair and the countertops that had to be torn out to replace the lower cabinets. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, we had a great weekend escape to Galveston Island for Memorial Day weekend.  Most of the island has been at least cleaned up, if not quite repaired, in the months since Hurricane Ike blasted through.  There are things that are still damaged and things that are different, but the spirit of the people there is good.  There are billboards that say things like, “Tough times don’t last, but tough Texans do!”  I’m not sure who spent the money to put those up, but it has this feeling like the town is hella determined to pull itself up out of the muck my its bootstraps. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was great to be in one place for 4 days straight and to cook my own food.  These are the things I miss most.  I hauled my commercial grade Belgian waffle maker down with us and made waffles for breakfast.  We grilled and baked and napped and played Wii games – the little things we have not been able to do at home for several weeks.  It was all very restorative.  Our friends and family have been cooking for us and hosting us in their homes, and we have wanted for almost nothing through this time.  Still, it felt awesome to be able to do some things for ourselves, even if they were “vacation versions” of real life.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was also oddly cathartic to see the damage that was still hanging around and the evidence of how bad things really were after the storm.  I’m not sure why – misery loves company, maybe?  The whole weekend just felt like the beginning of a turn back to normal life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2517730740919440505?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2517730740919440505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2517730740919440505' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2517730740919440505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2517730740919440505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/05/day-30-we-have-walls.html' title='Day 30 - We have walls!'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-5085099677592193345</id><published>2009-05-27T05:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-27T05:55:53.361-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wordless Wednesday - Beach Escape Weekend</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Sh04Uut7nzI/AAAAAAAAAQI/nn0r5jg4_GY/s1600-h/IMG_2996.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Sh04Uut7nzI/AAAAAAAAAQI/nn0r5jg4_GY/s400/IMG_2996.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340486661920497458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-5085099677592193345?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/5085099677592193345/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=5085099677592193345' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5085099677592193345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5085099677592193345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/05/wordless-wednesday-beach-escape-weekend.html' title='Wordless Wednesday - Beach Escape Weekend'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Sh04Uut7nzI/AAAAAAAAAQI/nn0r5jg4_GY/s72-c/IMG_2996.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6866755158857645862</id><published>2009-05-21T13:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T13:13:15.355-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flood'/><title type='text'>Day 23</title><content type='html'>It doesn’t feel like it’s been 3 weeks, but I guess it has.  Yesterday, the adjuster said he was actually going to start working on our claim today, so that is great news.&lt;br /&gt;On Tuesday night, our neighbors all gathered at a homeowners’ association meeting.  We established that everyone is really mad and agrees that the new retention pond is inadequate, but we aren’t sure what to do beyond letting the proper authorities understand how mad we are.  We have gotten drawings of the drainage project from the developer.  Basically, it revealed that they replaced the 54” lines that used to drain our subdivision into the creek with slightly smaller lines draining into the retention pond.  The thing people are targeting is that the lines out of the pond into the creek are even smaller and have some baffles and grates for debris.  Obviously, that means that less water can ultimately get from our neighborhood to the creek in a given time period.  I think that’s why they call it a “retention” pond, though – it holds the water for a slow drain into the main arteries.  The real issues, in my opinion, are twofold:&lt;br /&gt;1 – The retention pond is ridiculously small for the way it actually rains in Houston.  When it rains here, it pours.  There is no slow accumulation.  We left our house around dinner time the evening before the flood.  There was no water standing in our street at that time, but the pond was completely full.  Then we got 8 more inches of rain. &lt;br /&gt;2 – Our neighborhood used to drain into the creek via a large, empty field.  The field held some water as it slowly drained into the creek.  The developers built a little office park on a small part of that field and dug the aforementioned retention pond.  Then they used the material removed from the pond to compact and grade the field to drain into the retention pond as well.  Now, instead of additional drainage area, the field is effectively a dirt parking lot sharing drainage space with our neighborhood and the office park.&lt;br /&gt;Some people from the MUD district seem to agree, but they are dumping responsibility on the developer and the county (even though the MUD owns 50% of the retention pond.)  They asked the county to re-investigate and report to them at their next meeting, which is in June.   It is also in the middle of the day on a Thursday, about an hour’s drive from our homes in traffic.  I guess they don’t like to have residents present.  &lt;br /&gt;On the construction front, we got a new back door installed yesterday.  This is kind of cool because the old one had obviously been chewed by a dog some time in its history, and the new one is all pretty.  We also got new, highly water resistant material to replace the gypsum board that was removed from between our stud framing and the brick outside.  This is really cool because now bugs can’t fly into my house through the open weep holes.  &lt;br /&gt;All around, it’s been a good few days on the reconstruction front.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-6866755158857645862?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6866755158857645862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6866755158857645862' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6866755158857645862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6866755158857645862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/05/day-23.html' title='Day 23'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2429688383017642394</id><published>2009-05-19T17:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T17:38:03.687-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flood'/><title type='text'>itteh bitteh kitteh luvs</title><content type='html'>They didn't really do anything at my house today.  We are waiting on replacement doors and a window that had to be ordered.  Meanwhile, someone at icanhascheezburger has love for me and is looking out for my mental health.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href='http://mine.icanhascheezburger.com/view.aspx?ciid=4060339' &gt;&lt;img src='http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/4/29/128855038524089502.jpg' alt='funny pictures' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;moar &lt;a href='http://icanhascheezburger.com'&gt;funny pictures&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I must say that I know some of the most generous and caring people in the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2429688383017642394?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2429688383017642394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2429688383017642394' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2429688383017642394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2429688383017642394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/05/itteh-bitteh-kitteh-luvs.html' title='itteh bitteh kitteh luvs'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-3798975718747424339</id><published>2009-05-18T12:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T12:54:13.785-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flood'/><title type='text'>The Evolution</title><content type='html'>I've decided to blog this process of rebuilding my house.  There are two reasons for this:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;#1 - This is something I want to remember.  When the time comes for us to move out of this place and I become sad and burdened with nostalgia, I want to be able to look back and know what I am escaping. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;#2 - I'm kind of tired of telling the story over and over.  I don't resent anyone for asking - I'm glad you all care - but it has become one of those things that I can't escape. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; "Is your house back together yet?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; "How is the house coming along?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's like when someone close to you dies and everyone you meet feels awkward and asks "How are you doing?" and you have the choice of lying and saying "Fine!" or telling them more than they want to hear.  Of course, some people really want to know how you are doing, but when you are broken, playing the social games that sort all that out is downright insufferable.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I get that no one died.   This is not a tragedy.  But I do find myself worn out by trying to figure out what to say.  It wears me out to see someone who expected to hear "Great!" get a look of shock when I say "Well, they are almost done with the demo.  We have no walls."  It bites at me to inventory the details over and over in my head - to hide my emotion when I get to the parts I don't want to share and they don't want to hear, like throwing away the foosball table that we got for a wedding gift from hubby's best friends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here's part 1:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It rained.  It rained on Monday night and almost came in our back door.  We went to bed with the forecasters saying the worst was passed.  Around 4 a.m., the storm woke up my husband.  He went downstairs and was back up in a flash saying "It's getting in."  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The water was coming in the front and back by then.  He worked really hard to save what he could.  I tried to help, but I was really pretty useless this time.  Isaac woke up screaming, and I went to comfort him.  We prayed.  I finally got him back to sleep, but by then, the water was up 6" inside.  We took some pictures, realized that there were electrical strips under the water, and went back to bed.  We had gotten around 10" of rain in 15 hours.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Around 6:00, the water had gone down enough that we could open the doors and start getting it out of our house.  We used brooms and shop vacs and towels to get things as dry as we could. By 10:00 or so, the street was passable and friends came to help us move out furniture and start cleaning what we could.  Almost everything was wet and went to the garage, which was also flooded.  I took the kids to daycare so they could have a more normal day.  The water damage guys (demo dudes) showed up around 3:00 and started opening up walls to dry out the insulation and framing.  Some friends had us over for dinner, but hubby had to stay home with the demo dudes.  They finished around 10:00 p.m.  We went to bed amidst the dull roar of fans, dehumidifiers, and HEPA filters at 10:30., and so ended Day One.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ShG7KCjGi9I/AAAAAAAAAQA/8ka_xI9PWNE/s320/door.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337252814567934930" /&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ShG7J-K6Z9I/AAAAAAAAAP4/XH8vcuYq4k8/s320/playroom.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337252813392734162" /&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ShG7JltBYnI/AAAAAAAAAPw/l4_PO_QV5zg/s320/street.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337252806824911474" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-3798975718747424339?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/3798975718747424339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=3798975718747424339' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3798975718747424339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3798975718747424339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/05/evolution.html' title='The Evolution'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ShG7KCjGi9I/AAAAAAAAAQA/8ka_xI9PWNE/s72-c/door.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6392402057998778638</id><published>2009-05-17T11:49:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T12:21:52.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Even When the Rain Falls</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ShBjwNKF7qI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/dR4CY9p_Jy8/s1600-h/katy%27s+camera+110.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336875238250901154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ShBjwNKF7qI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/dR4CY9p_Jy8/s400/katy%27s+camera+110.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even when the rain falls,&lt;br /&gt;Even when the flood starts rising,&lt;br /&gt;Even when the storm comes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am washed by the water...or so the song goes. I really love &lt;a href="http://www.tangle.com/view_video.php?viewkey=5187dc31ba51ad9df078"&gt;that song&lt;/a&gt;. It's not really about a literal rain storm or flood, but for me the figurative flood is not so much a metaphor as just a whole lot of water. In my house. From rain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It made my house (and my couch, my oven, my cabinets, etc.)really dirty, moldy, and gross. It made my kids sick with unending coughs and sneezes. It brought earthworms and mosquitos into my dining room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a dumpster in my driveway, a refrigerator in my office, nothing whatsoever in my kitchen - not even the sink - and (oh yes!) a colony of carpenter bees making a new home in my garage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The downstairs half of my house is stripped to its foundation - nothing remains but brick and studs. The whole house smells like a mixture of muggy outdoor air and the chemical treatment that is keeping the house's framing from growing mold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So while &lt;em&gt;washed &lt;/em&gt;may not be the exact right word to describe what is happening, I think &lt;em&gt;cleansed &lt;/em&gt;definitely applies. It's not just my house. Watching the demolition crews tear out the beautiful new trimming from our walls and dumping precious thing after precious, now moldy thing into the trash has had a way of stripping me down to my foundation, too. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Somehow, I feel like I needed to be laid bare- to be&lt;em&gt; cleansed&lt;/em&gt; that deep - to be reminded that my foundation is not my house or my stuff. The core of me is not this depression and anxiety that have been so huge in my life lately. It's not the nice, controlled daily routine that my kids and I have come to follow each day that requires, among other things now missing, a kitchen sink and table. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Take it away. I want to be the part of me that is flexible enough to deal with change. I want the part that is strong enough to move furniture - or mountains. I want the part that isn't tied up in couches and crown moulding our the daily routine. I want the me that is really alive.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-6392402057998778638?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6392402057998778638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6392402057998778638' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6392402057998778638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6392402057998778638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/05/even-when-rain-falls_17.html' title='Even When the Rain Falls'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ShBjwNKF7qI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/dR4CY9p_Jy8/s72-c/katy%27s+camera+110.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-918443769355827634</id><published>2009-05-13T07:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T07:42:25.961-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wordless Wednesday - Goosenstien</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href='http://mine.icanhascheezburger.com/view.aspx?ciid=4169977' &gt;&lt;img src='http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/5/13/128866992843661255.jpg' alt='funny pictures' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;moar &lt;a href='http://icanhascheezburger.com'&gt;funny pictures&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-918443769355827634?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/918443769355827634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=918443769355827634' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/918443769355827634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/918443769355827634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/05/wordless-wednesday-goosenstien.html' title='Wordless Wednesday - Goosenstien'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1787773828004934526</id><published>2009-05-12T05:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T06:14:07.850-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baby updates'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='overheard'/><title type='text'>Boys, Boys, Boys</title><content type='html'>My son is different from my daughter in every way imaginable.  The two kids have exactly two things in common:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 - Neither one has any idea what the word "shy" means or what purpose such an attribute might serve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 - They both obsess over shoes.  I've discussed Natalie's fetishes before.  Isaac is almost worse.  The first thing he does in the morning is get his shoes and bring them to me, saying "toos!  toos!" and trying to hold out a foot.  Then he goes and finds a pair that belongs to someone else and tries to put them on, too.  Once we ventured down a shoe isle at Wal-Mart, and the little guy was so excited there were tears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy child never stops moving.  He climbs on things only to jump off, and he goes down the stairs just to go back up them.  He throws things just to make them hit the ground, and he takes things apart just to see the insides out.  He loves his kitty ("ki-kee,") but somehow the kitty does not recognize all-out-mounting a show of affection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy child falls asleep in the middle of the floor on his belly.  He just keeps running at full speed until he crashes.  He enjoys his bath until he realizes you want to wash him.  He waves at every car that passes when we walk through a parking lot, but it is rare for him to wave at a person no matter how much that person waves at him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy child does not speak in any language the average observer could understand -  he is much too busy figuring out how everything else works to worry about his own body.  It takes him exactly one time observing someone "working" something for him to figure out how to do it himself.  This goes for making things vanish into the diaper champ, undoing various baby-proofing tools, and disassembling all manner of things that should not be disassembled by a baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy child gives his mama his best snot-nose kisses and wants nothing to do with daddy at bedtime.  He is very careful to make sure mama is hand-fed several goldfish and some cheese each day.  He always makes sure mama is wearing her best "toos" and always makes her melt when he points at her face and whispers "pitty" (pretty.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I'm glad that this boy child has come into my life, although he has changed it so dramatically. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter is also thankful for the boys in her life these days.  Yesterday, walking out of the doctor's office:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: Mama, there is a handsome boy behind us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: (gaping, speechless mouth)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat: Isaac's doctor is a little handsome, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: uh-huh.  (still kind of gapey)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nat:  Mama, when I am as old as a princess, I'm going to start looking for a husband.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1787773828004934526?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1787773828004934526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1787773828004934526' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1787773828004934526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1787773828004934526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/05/boys-boys-boys.html' title='Boys, Boys, Boys'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-5696994821035789081</id><published>2009-04-30T06:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T06:26:17.629-07:00</updated><title type='text'>County of Residence: Save My House; NBC: Save My Chuck</title><content type='html'>Here's the deal:  On Tuesday, there was nothing seven of my neighbors and I could do about &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-raining-its-pouring.html"&gt;the water.&lt;/a&gt;  We got more than 6 inches inside our house for over an hour.  Everything is wet.  Thank God we have flood insurance.  If you are one who prays, please pray for the majority of my nieghbors who did not have it.  My computer was damaged, so there won't be much blogging - but you all are used to that by now anyway, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One nice thing about flooding is that I get to have my giant living room t.v. in my upstairs bedroom instead of the 20" t.v. we normally have there.  It makes me feel very glamorous.  (I don't have much to go on right now, so just give me this, OK?)  Yesterday, I watched the season finale of Chuck.  I have nothing to say except this: Awesome.  I've only been watching the show for about 6 weeks, but I have gone back and watched most of season one on Hulu and will catch up soon.  It is already my favorite thing on TV.  How is this show in danger of cancellation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it for now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-5696994821035789081?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/5696994821035789081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=5696994821035789081' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5696994821035789081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5696994821035789081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/04/county-of-residence-save-my-house-nbc.html' title='County of Residence: Save My House; NBC: Save My Chuck'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4156227282112203374</id><published>2009-04-18T12:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-18T12:16:25.179-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Raining, It's Pouring</title><content type='html'>About &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/04/storms.html"&gt;that whole "maybe we fixed it" thing&lt;/a&gt;?  Not so much.  &lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SeomH9gR2MI/AAAAAAAAAPA/jLcwoc4B3nc/s400/IMG_1087.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326111427529922754" /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;It hasn't made it in the house, but it was less than 1/8" away, and we were doing everything we could to divert the water away from the house.  Once the water covers the drain outlet at the street in front, all bets are off for the improved drainage in the back, and we seem to have some trouble with the storm drains in the street.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SeomYrT7kBI/AAAAAAAAAPI/fTauYUyaIpk/s400/IMG_1091.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326111714704068626" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-4156227282112203374?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4156227282112203374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4156227282112203374' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4156227282112203374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4156227282112203374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-raining-its-pouring.html' title='It&apos;s Raining, It&apos;s Pouring'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SeomH9gR2MI/AAAAAAAAAPA/jLcwoc4B3nc/s72-c/IMG_1087.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6410836506337966129</id><published>2009-04-17T09:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T09:49:46.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Storms</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I used to love storms.  They are, after all, the best time for a nap.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Once upon a time, the main sewer line going out from my house broke, my house flooded with sewage, and we had to replace the whole downstairs.  We had to change some things in our back yard after that, and the result was that every heavy rain brought water into our back door unless we took an active role in keeping it out.  Then, about 2 years later, this little hurricane named Ike came through and we had to replace everything again.  Now, when it rains, my husband and I enter a state of low-grade panic.  We have visions of water coming in under the walls.  We remember what the bare slab looks like in our living room.  We do not sleep through storms around here anymore.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After getting our home all fixed up after Ike, we started talking about moving.  Then the whole economic meltdown thing happened and we decided that we really needed to wait.  So we are waiting.  And today it is storming.  We have done some re-grading in the back, added a ditch to hold water when the drains are at capacity, and we have learned how to open up a drain from our porch into the sewer lines for emergency added drainage.  We had the city come out and inspect the sewers in the front for blockages.   The rain we are expecting here over the next 24 hours should put all that to the test.  If we make it through and stay dry, maybe I will be able to sleep through storms again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here is something I hope I never see again.  The water actually got up to the bottom of the mailbox before it started going down.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SeiyaQ--FTI/AAAAAAAAAO4/IxLoLScRbN4/s400/IMG_656.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325702723671037234" /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And for cuteness sake, here is an old picture of Isaac helping us get ready for Ike last year:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SeiyCyOKYQI/AAAAAAAAAOw/k9i_hFUy6zc/s400/IMG_628.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325702320276267266" /&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/4335961084997861239-6410836506337966129?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6410836506337966129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6410836506337966129' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6410836506337966129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6410836506337966129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/04/storms.html' title='Storms'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SeiyaQ--FTI/AAAAAAAAAO4/IxLoLScRbN4/s72-c/IMG_656.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-8832562531717462307</id><published>2009-04-13T11:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T16:59:50.655-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Enough</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SeOIaFyw9VI/AAAAAAAAAOo/_N2cO5CStWA/s1600-h/yes_we_are_swimming_in_april.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SeOIaFyw9VI/AAAAAAAAAOo/_N2cO5CStWA/s400/yes_we_are_swimming_in_april.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324249166295135570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Do I love them enough?  Do I make every minute count &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;enough&lt;/span&gt;?  Is it even possible to do that?  These are the questions that come to mind when I read about the &lt;a href="http://remembermaddie.com/2009/04/madeline-alice-spohr/"&gt;wind of tragedies&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.gorillabuns.typepad.com/"&gt;sweeping through&lt;/a&gt; the &lt;a href="http://alphagirls.blogspot.com/2009/04/gifts-of-life.html"&gt;parent blogging community&lt;/a&gt; these past few days.  When I read about these families, what kills me is how normal their lives were just days - just hours sometimes - before they were turned upside down.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You know, I get that life it fragile.  I do.  This stuff makes me full of this crazy panic to turn up the intensity - to somehow squeeze more &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;something &lt;/span&gt;out of me that would make me able to soak up every minute.  It makes me seethe inside at the memories of the times I have been angry or harsh, and pine over the hours lost when I was just too tired or too empty to be really &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;with&lt;/span&gt; them even though we were sharing space.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What really gets me, what wedges this lump in my throat so solid that I want to spit rather than swallow it down, is knowing that some day in the near future, these feelings will fade and I will be back to life as usual.  I will be back to squandering the moments and bruising the precious times with my own short-sighted nonsense. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-8832562531717462307?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/8832562531717462307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=8832562531717462307' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8832562531717462307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8832562531717462307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/04/do-i-love-them-enough-do-i-make-every.html' title='Enough'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SeOIaFyw9VI/AAAAAAAAAOo/_N2cO5CStWA/s72-c/yes_we_are_swimming_in_april.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-5045735745062010771</id><published>2009-04-11T12:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T12:20:05.612-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Easter</title><content type='html'>Easter is my favorite holiday because: &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;#1 - I love Spring.  I hate all the pollen and the weather changes, but the all the flowers and the green coming back to the trees brighten my spirits so much that it outweighs the downside.  Spring means that Summer is coming, and soon we will be escaping to the beach every weekend that we can and spending our Friday evenings in the pool.  It means that winter and all the heavy clothes, runny noses, and hiding out from the weather is past.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;#2 - Easter embodies everything that is hope and victory.  To a Christian, Easter is the day to celebrate that Jesus conquered death, rose from the grave, and gave humanity the hope of life.   This is the day that the Lord reconciled his people to himself ... the day that reminds me that He has the power to make all things new, on earth and in heaven.  Every day I need that hope, that promise and power.  I love the way things bloom at this time of year - as if nature can no longer contain its glory and is unfolding to reveal the beauty of His creation in honor of His finished work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;#3 - I really dig the candy.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2007/09/08/o-deer-peepz-i-rigret-wut-eye-mahst-dew-nexd/"&gt;&lt;img src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2007/09/128298125379532500odeerpeepzi.jpg" alt="128298125379532500odeerpeepzi.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;see more &lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com"&gt;Lolcats and funny pictures&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-5045735745062010771?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/5045735745062010771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=5045735745062010771' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5045735745062010771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5045735745062010771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/04/happy-easter.html' title='Happy Easter'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1655229957267842517</id><published>2009-04-01T08:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T08:00:13.008-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wordless Wednesday - Eggie Edition</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SdE5GyTr_AI/AAAAAAAAAOg/xdkEFdSmRps/s1600-h/IMG_1026.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SdE5GyTr_AI/AAAAAAAAAOg/xdkEFdSmRps/s400/IMG_1026.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319095423647611906" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SdE5A2o_0AI/AAAAAAAAAOY/yoZH6O4HnBI/s1600-h/IMG_1000.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SdE5A2o_0AI/AAAAAAAAAOY/yoZH6O4HnBI/s400/IMG_1000.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319095321731518466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1655229957267842517?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1655229957267842517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1655229957267842517' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1655229957267842517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1655229957267842517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/04/wordless-wednesday-eggie-edition.html' title='Wordless Wednesday - Eggie Edition'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SdE5GyTr_AI/AAAAAAAAAOg/xdkEFdSmRps/s72-c/IMG_1026.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-5248255925773345258</id><published>2009-03-30T12:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T12:19:24.355-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In the Middle</title><content type='html'>There I was, lying on the floor in my office/playroom, resting my head on a stuffed frog.  I was wearing my work clothes - skirt and heels - and the baby was making blow farts on the back of my knees while Natalie was busy bouncing on &lt;a href="http://www.jumpingballs.com/rody_pony_horse_s/2.htm&amp;amp;Click=10905?gclid=CPPrp7uqy5kCFSMeDQodXypwuA"&gt;Rody&lt;/a&gt;.  I was just thinking, “Why on earth am I here?”  It’s not so much the existential crisis as just the musing about the chain of events that lead me to this place where I’m half-doing it all and not quite keeping up with anything.  I never imagined when I &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/03/just-quick-update.html"&gt;went back to work &lt;/a&gt;part time just over a year ago that I would still be doing that today.  I always saw it as a temporary situation, expecting that the day would come when I would be forced to choose a side, so to speak, and commit to being either a full-time employee or a full-time SAHM.  Now the economy is what it is and the oil industry is at a crawl.  My company is more than happy to have a no-benefits part-timer who does as much work as they can throw at me in as little time as I can manage.  My husband’s job is secure, but not so secure that I can be as cavalier as I once was about my need to maintain employment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I am, getting the best of both worlds for an extended run.  &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/03/im-b-im-lover-im-child-im-mother.html"&gt;I always knew that you can’t get the best of both without getting the worst along with it,&lt;/a&gt; but somehow it has taken me this long to figure out that I can’t be all things to both worlds.  I have this crazy double life where the line between the office and the playroom is so blurry that there are matchbox cars behind my keyboard and sometimes my high heels get thrown in with my daughter’s.  As I type this, I am on speakerphone for a meeting, listening to the single barely twenty-somethings at my office discuss the merits of feeding goldfish crackers to their pets while they wait for the boss to show up.  In the other ear I am listening to the baby snore as he takes his nap on the Shaggy Bag in the corner.  One foot is resting on my portable file cabinet and the other has slipped off into the kids’ ball basket, which lives under my computer desk.  Any minute now, the meeting will start and I will pray that everyone stays asleep long enough that I can make it through the meeting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this a dream situation?  It feels more like one of those weird dreams where you know you need to do something but you can’t figure out what, and you know that the bad guy is coming to get you but you don’t really know who the bad guy is...and you think maybe you could fix it all by just waking the heck up but you really just want to get a few more minutes of sleep before you face the real world again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-5248255925773345258?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/5248255925773345258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=5248255925773345258' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5248255925773345258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5248255925773345258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/03/in-middle.html' title='In the Middle'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-5289905648036877563</id><published>2009-03-23T12:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T12:38:22.143-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Disney'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pictures'/><title type='text'>Disney Pics</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I still haven't found that camera cord, but here are some pics by others.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The elusive Snow White - totally worth it all just for this priceless shot:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ScfkzNs6UNI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/l-C_F656RL4/s1600-h/Image51.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ScfkzNs6UNI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/l-C_F656RL4/s320/Image51.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316469453636653266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you, mister Magic Kingdom Balloon Man, for making this little moment possible:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ScfkzNXJEQI/AAAAAAAAAOI/1LVlG_1FWiY/s1600-h/Image46.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 190px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ScfkzNXJEQI/AAAAAAAAAOI/1LVlG_1FWiY/s320/Image46.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316469453545345282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Aladdin was the only "Prince" available for meet and greet.  These two were really impressive in their roles, and Natalie was so excited that she literally couldn't stop jumping for a full 5 minutes after she got her turn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ScfkD956LMI/AAAAAAAAAOA/buZn3tU4HoM/s320/Image28.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316468641942351042" /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Isaac actually really loved the characters.  Here is Mama's family with The Mouse Himself at Animal Kingdom:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Scfi3wlDfeI/AAAAAAAAAN4/nbBLaemhAXI/s320/Image17.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316467332695162338" /&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/4335961084997861239-5289905648036877563?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/5289905648036877563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=5289905648036877563' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5289905648036877563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5289905648036877563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/03/disney-pics.html' title='Disney Pics'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/ScfkzNs6UNI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/l-C_F656RL4/s72-c/Image51.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2382669123787039581</id><published>2009-03-17T14:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T14:31:09.880-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Disney'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='news'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='adventures in breastfeeding'/><title type='text'>Of Mice and Princesses - Part One of a Bunch</title><content type='html'>We just got back from a wonderful vacation to the happiest place on earth.  Hubby and I had been before, but this was our first trip as parents.  Although I spent more time walking around with a sleeping baby in the stroller than most anything else, this trip was amazing.  The most wonderful thing was that the kids really thought everything was real and amazing.  I misplaced the cord that connects my camera to the computer, but rest assured that photos are coming.  In the meantime, here are my tips for doing Disney with a preschooler and a baby:&lt;br /&gt;1 – I read a lot of advice before we left, and the most common recommendation was to stay in the park.   We stayed outside the park in a time share, saved a bunch of money, and didn’t really see the disadvantages.   We could barely make it to the park by 9:00 a.m., and the kids were ready to go by 7 p.m., so the “extra magic hours” would have been lost on us.   We found the parking to be convenient, and with Epcot, Animal Kingdom, and MGM, it was only a short (5 min) tram ride from the car to the gate.  We did not go home for afternoon naps, but that is just the way of my kids.  The older one skipped her nap and the younger one is young enough to nap in the stroller.&lt;br /&gt;2 – Bring your own stroller if you can.   The rentals are crazy expensive and no child could sleep in them.  They also don’t offer much in the way of sun/rain protection.  Tie something colorful to your stroller handle so you can find it in the sea of stroller parking.  They move them around constantly to make things more organized, so you can’t count on just remembering the exact spot where you left it.&lt;br /&gt;3 – Bring snacks.  Just do it.  Every bag inspector looked at our bags of goldfish, cheese, grapes, cheerios, etc., and not one said a thing about them.&lt;br /&gt;4 – The height charts on the website did not line up with the height charts in the park.  The park requirements were generally less strict than the website indicated.&lt;br /&gt;5 – Learn to use the FastPass system.  Less waiting = Good things&lt;br /&gt;6 – If you have a little girl, autograph books are the big thing now.  They make all kinds of books, and all the princesses and other characters can sign the books.  Buy a big fatty pen so the characters with giant foam hands can actually use it.  We got one with spaces for photos next to the autographs.  My daughter loved getting the autographs, and it has become one of my personal favorite souvenirs (and probably the cheapest.)&lt;br /&gt;7 – Make lunch and dinner reservations as far ahead as possible.  We made some as we arrived at the parks (Tony’s) and some a couple months ahead (Cinderella’s dream dinner).  For any meal that you plan to eat sitting down at a table, you can make a reservation.  It wasn’t that crowded when we were there, but the waits for tables without reservations were 45 minutes plus, while our reservations got us in in 5-10 minutes.  Also, Tony’s in the Magic Kingdom is the only place where my kids actually ate the food.  It is a cute little restaurant made up to look like the spaghetti place in Lady &amp;amp; the Tramp.  Best food in the park – Cinderella’s castle (also most expensive, but included a personal meeting with Cinderella documented with 8x10 color glossies.)&lt;br /&gt;8 – Baby Care Stations.  Learn about them and whether they are for you.  They have little rooms with little kid-sized tables and chairs, public-use microwaves and bottle warming stuff, high chairs, and a t.v. showing Playhouse Disney stuff to keep the older ones occupied while parents feed and diaper the little ones.  They also sell diapers and other baby care stuff and are attended by helpful cast members weirdly dressed up like nurse maids or something.  These rooms are also billed as breastfeeding spots, but I beg to differ.  If being in an approved location is what you need to feel good about nursing at Disney, then this is for you.  If you need to not be touching the person next to you, to have an armrest, or to not be stared at by the kids or daddies who are standing around waiting for the mommies to finish whatever else they are doing, then you are better off finding a secluded park bench and hiding behind your family and stroller.  Seriously- the “breastfeeding” area consisted of a row of wooden, armless chairs lined up along the back wall.  Women were using it, but not comfortably.&lt;br /&gt;9 – First Aid Stations.  Bring your own.  There is one per park, located next to the Baby Care Station, which is inevitably at the opposite end of the park from the kids’ playgrounds and the splash pads.&lt;br /&gt;10 – You have to be a little persistent to catch the princesses.  They come out for photos and autographs and immediately get a line.  They really take their time with each kid- never saw anyone rushed- so a line of 10 kids is easily a 30 minute wait.  BUT- the princesses have to go away before the parades and shows to keep up the space time continuum and all that, plus they do get potty breaks, so they have handlers.  The handlers will close out their lines when they estimate that it is too long so that no one waits in line and gets turned away.  This is all good, but what it means to you, mother of small star-struck girl, is that the line to see Snow White will be closed within 15 minutes of her appearance, even if she is going to be out for an hour.  What you have to do is ask the line handler when she will be coming back and steak out your spot.  It seriously took us 4 days, 6 encounters, and my husband lurking on Main Street for 20 minutes to get a meeting with Snow White.  Photos will be up soon, and I’m sure you will agree that it was worth it.&lt;br /&gt;*BONUS – ask to ride with the driver on the monorail.  They will say yes, and it is way more fun that you would think.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2382669123787039581?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2382669123787039581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2382669123787039581' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2382669123787039581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2382669123787039581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/03/of-mice-and-princesses-part-one-of.html' title='Of Mice and Princesses - Part One of a Bunch'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-435065283190925518</id><published>2009-02-17T10:54:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-18T13:19:36.204-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Say What? Kitty Butt</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Yesterday morning, I was fixing Princess Natalie’s hair like I always do when the cat came in and jumped up on the sink like she always does. I noticed a string that looked like Easter grass hanging off her back end. I did not think much of this whole situation.&lt;br /&gt;Then I went to brush the string away. It didn’t go away. I grabbed the string with two fingers and tried to pluck it off.&lt;br /&gt;This is when I realized that the string was not hanging off the cat’s butt, it was COMING OUT of the cat’s butt. She had eaten the string. Um-hmmm. It was like that. As I resigned myself to what was about to happen and gave a tug, the innocuous six-inch piece of easter grass became a poopy two-foot long piece of bad-dream-come-true that was making the cat very angry and mama very unhappy. That pretty much sums up my day.In case you need that image out of your head (I know I do,) here’s a little cute for the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SZx7SuozqaI/AAAAAAAAANs/7kYhn_CdlO4/s320/IMG_0886.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304250022822652322" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-435065283190925518?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/435065283190925518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=435065283190925518' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/435065283190925518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/435065283190925518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/02/say-what-kitty-butt.html' title='Say What? Kitty Butt'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SZx7SuozqaI/AAAAAAAAANs/7kYhn_CdlO4/s72-c/IMG_0886.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2690347107228404572</id><published>2009-02-12T09:16:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-12T11:45:48.035-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='naps'/><title type='text'>They're Coming to Take Me Away (UPDATED)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I know I have been a little...&lt;em&gt;anxious&lt;/em&gt; these days, but it turns out that The Internets are out to get me. First, I get an e-mail/chain letter telling me that I need to go to msn whitepages and make sure that strangers can't just look me up and find out all about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, I actually GO THERE, thinking I will find nothing and prove that it is all a big conspiracy theory - and it turns out that you CAN just put in my name and find all sorts of information about me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THEN!!!! I go to request to have my name removed and this is what I get (note the word verification):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301995794279678962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 174px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SZR5FW6nw_I/AAAAAAAAANc/t9YvEWyN9Pw/s320/untitled.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as if that wasn't bad enough, when I did the form, it kept insisting that my code word was wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why me, Internets?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know there is a LOLcat out there that is perfect for this post, but I am a little afraid to leave the safety of my blogger dashboard right now. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;UPDATED: Now they are just laughing at me&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301999408921402578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 198px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SZR8XwgXXNI/AAAAAAAAANk/dHqaoqpeCks/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2690347107228404572?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2690347107228404572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2690347107228404572' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2690347107228404572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2690347107228404572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/02/theyre-coming-to-take-me-away.html' title='They&apos;re Coming to Take Me Away (UPDATED)'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SZR5FW6nw_I/AAAAAAAAANc/t9YvEWyN9Pw/s72-c/untitled.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-9127652252354899649</id><published>2009-01-30T06:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T06:38:48.150-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Meme Luv</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://dietcokeanddaisies.blogspot.com"&gt;Suzy&lt;/a&gt; tagged me (technically on Facebook) for a “25 Facts about Me” meme, so here it comes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  I didn’t actually know that you could get tagged with a meme on Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  I have no idea how to write a meme or tag someone on Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  I really have nothing better to write about this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  Entries 1-3 are the main reasons that you are getting this meme on my blog today.  Don’t you feel lucky?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I think that I am cheating at this meme, but I have had a quarter of a bag of chocolate chips since I got home from work an hour ago and now I'm feeling spunky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I don’t consume any caffeine other than chocolate simply because I really can’t handle it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Too much chocolate (like more than a regular Hershey bar) makes me jittery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. The few people who have seen me after a coke think I’m much more fun that way than after a few glasses of wine, although that doesn’t keep me from the wine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Once I had a Vodka and Red Bull (before anybody had heard of Red Bull) at a club in Brussels and didn’t sleep for almost 40 hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  I also had some mussels that time in Brussels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  I love the art of Rene Magritte, who also happened to live in Brussels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. When I am not enjoying intellectual modern art that challenges the conventions of language and human perception, I really love the movie “Dude, Where’s My Car.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href='http://mine.icanhascheezburger.com/view.aspx?ciid=705370' &gt;&lt;img src='http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/3/5/werzurcardud128492229600742500.jpg' alt='funny pictures' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;moar &lt;a href='http://icanhascheezburger.com'&gt;funny pictures&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12.  I can’t even think about Big Mouth Billy Bass without laughing hysterically.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13.  I am totally cracking up RIGHT NOW.  [Taaaake me to the Riv-ER!]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SF6C74pE1do&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SF6C74pE1do&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14.You would never guess this from my blog, but I also love LOLcats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. My real cat’s name is Shadow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. In the future, I am determined to have a pair of some kind of pet and name them &lt;a href="http://seuss.wikia.com/wiki/Zanzibar_Buck_Buck_McFate"&gt;Oliver Boliver Butt and Zanzibar Buck Buck McFate&lt;/a&gt;.  Hopefully soon, or it will be too late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. I can recite about 40% of everything Dr. Suess has written from memory. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18.  I don’t have a special fondness for Dr. Suess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19.  I do tend to remember things I hear like they are recordings - especially things that rhyme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.I find it almost impossible to memorize maps or diagrams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. The worst grade I got in high school was in geography.  Go figure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23.  I majored in kinesiology in college, but switched to engineering after attempting to take physiology and organic chemistry because there was no way I was going to be able to memorize all that information.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24.  On the third day of undergrad physiology at my college, they give you a toolbox filled with bones from a dog skeleton that you are supposed to carry around with you and study.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25.  I really don’t regret changing my major to engineering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m really not the sort to “tag” anyone so here’s the deal:  I tag you.  Leave me a comment with a link to your post, and I promise to come read it and comment back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-9127652252354899649?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/9127652252354899649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=9127652252354899649' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/9127652252354899649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/9127652252354899649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/01/meme-luv.html' title='Meme Luv'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2434170789199596649</id><published>2009-01-21T14:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T15:11:45.908-08:00</updated><title type='text'>*Sob* Little Boy</title><content type='html'>Isaac went in for his first haircut today.  I had put this off way too long.  At the last birthday party we went to, people kept calling him "her," even though he was wearing a green shirt with a pirate on it that says "argh."  I was having a little infatuation with his golden-blonde locks, and I was not ready to see them go, even today.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Before:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SXelngg-nfI/AAAAAAAAAM4/MnIY0-qd9D0/s320/IMG_0847.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293881985159044594" /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SXerU-CjoxI/AAAAAAAAANA/IDle8eYVJtU/s320/IMG_0868.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293888263736763154" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2434170789199596649?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2434170789199596649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2434170789199596649' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2434170789199596649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2434170789199596649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/01/sob-little-boy.html' title='*Sob* Little Boy'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SXelngg-nfI/AAAAAAAAAM4/MnIY0-qd9D0/s72-c/IMG_0847.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6285411585933784593</id><published>2009-01-06T17:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T15:32:44.410-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pictures'/><title type='text'>Princess or President?</title><content type='html'>This is not a post about Caroline Kennedy trying to get into the Senate.  I just want to save you googlers some time.  You're Welcome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This Christmas was the Year of the Princess for my 4-year old daughter.  Her gifts were a Disney Princess bicycle, princess Barbie-style dolls, and a craft kit with gemstones and tulle to turn her bed into a princess bed.  In her stocking, she got a Cinderella DVD and a 6-pack of princess underwear.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She is obsessed with all things princess and with looking pretty.  She is so concerned with how she looks that she often fights wearing a jacket because she wants everyone to see her clothes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Where did this little girl come from?  I am about as far from "girly" as any girl can be.  When she tells me how she wants to be a princess when she grows up, I have to fight the urge to argue with her, "Why not a scientist, or an astronaut, or an artist, or the President?  How about a ballerina?  (I would totally take ballerina over 'princess' these days) Don't you know you can be &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;anything&lt;/span&gt;?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I try to keep my defensive reflex responses in check, though.  While I do think it's important to teach her that "beauty" is about more than her dresses and hair, I also want her to know that she really is beautiful.  "Princess" is her ideal right now, and I don't think I can argue that out of her.  I have faith that this, too, shall pass.  As long as it does last, I have resolved that I don't want to somehow give her the idea that she is less than qualified to be a princess, whatever that means to her, so I choose my words carefully.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And put up with enough plastic high-heels, crowns, and necklaces to provide the wardrobe for our own production of &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Victor! Victoria!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 184px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SW5F2KC7ROI/AAAAAAAAAMY/Ik5zGOMOWUQ/s320/IMG_0617.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291243408918791394" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-6285411585933784593?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6285411585933784593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6285411585933784593' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6285411585933784593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6285411585933784593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/01/princess-or-president.html' title='Princess or President?'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/SW5F2KC7ROI/AAAAAAAAAMY/Ik5zGOMOWUQ/s72-c/IMG_0617.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-70307137972024643</id><published>2009-01-06T05:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T05:22:08.456-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Year's Resolutions</title><content type='html'>I don't do Resolutions,(OK, I just did in the last entry, but not normally) but to these I say AMEN!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wsJYrW9Ylb0&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wsJYrW9Ylb0&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-70307137972024643?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/70307137972024643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=70307137972024643' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/70307137972024643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/70307137972024643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-years-resolutions.html' title='New Year&apos;s Resolutions'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-412576700169718590</id><published>2008-12-30T12:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T14:11:52.919-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='news'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baby updates'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='naps'/><title type='text'>A Year in Review</title><content type='html'>I’ve read that there is this blogging tradition of going back over your year at New Years’ time and linking to all the big stories of the year. Since I didn’t blog most of this year, I guess you will be saved a bunch of links to stories you probably skimmed the first time while I catch up on my need to share life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here it is: Mama’s 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;January: Mama adjusted to life with a new &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/01/day-in-life.html"&gt;baby and toddler&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/01/feeding-machine.html"&gt;Breastfeeding&lt;/a&gt; did not go as well this time around and Mama turned into a one-woman dairy farm, and my firstborn got glasses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama reluctantly decided in favor of an IUD. Let me just say this: If taking The Pill makes you an insane, raging lunatic to the point that your husband would rather face the prospect of never having sex again than share the unstable air that surrounds your hormone-ravaged self, ignore your doctor when he tells you that the level of hormones in an IUD is so much lower that “You’ll be fine.” You won’t be fine. You will find yourself locked in your bathroom to avoid screaming at your already terrified children while you beg the nurse on the phone to GET THIS THING OUT OF MY BODY. NOW. I can has Prozac?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;February: After removal of the Foreign Offender, and some chemical assistance from a very remorseful obstetrician, the &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/02/baby-love.html"&gt;clouds began to part&lt;/a&gt; and I finally began the process of bonding with my precious baby. I can has The Love!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;March: Mama went back to work. Mama also grew &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008_03_01_archive.html"&gt;giant asparagus&lt;/a&gt;. I can has giant bowl of hollandaise?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;April: Mama began a long, slow march back into the depths of depression. I still don’t know if this is about hormones, loss, or something else, but yeah, I’m going to go ahead and use the D word. I can has no jokes about this one, people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May: Mama started a &lt;a href="http://helpthoumineunbelief.blogspot.com/"&gt;new blog&lt;/a&gt;, but it turns out that I wasn’t any more consistent over there than I am here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;June-July-August: We learned that Isaac had had what the doctor later called a “neurological reaction” to the DtAP vaccine, or at least to the “P” part. Mama and family made the tough decision to discontinue the Pertussis series, and we continue to learn what that means for us and for him. Hubby had a birthday, which will be recorded in history as The Birthday in Which the Wii Changed Our Lives. Mostly, we enjoyed the Galveston beaches and the summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September: Hurricane Ike left both our home and my parents cabin on the beach (The West End, for locals and compulsive news-watchers) miraculously untouched. We even had our power back on in a matter of hours, most likely because we live on the same grid as a major hospital. Unfortunately, the cold front that blew in the next night proved to be the straw that broke our municipal sewer system's back, and we woke up to several inches of water in our house. I can has a new wet-vac?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October: God is just good, people. Despite having 18” of drywall cut from the bottom of every wall in our house and losing all our downstairs flooring, the whole flood thing really brought mostly blessings into our home. We got a new front door out of deal, and we realized that we can count on our friends and family more that we could have imagined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November: Did I leave out the part where Isaac stopped sleeping at night and stopped gaining weight around six months ago? As it turns out, my 75th Percentile Preemie hit twenty pounds at six months old and didn’t gain more than a couple of ounces by his first birthday. Between not wanting to eat anything that wasn’t served a-la-boob and raging ear infections that kept him on diarrhea-inducing antibiotics for most of the second half of his life thus far, no one was totally shocked. But we were concerned all the same. We decided to get tubes put in his ears, but the we missed the first scheduled surgery because he had The Croup. I can has Amoxicillin?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December: Isaac got the tubes in. The doctor told us he was in the Top Ten of all the babies he’s ever “tubed,” meaning there was more gunk in there than anyone had realized…and within 2 weeks he has another ear infection and has actually started sleeping less. So we’ve come full-circle and here I am back at the blog. I can has naptime? PLEEEZ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Year’s Resolution: Sleep more, feel better, enjoy my kids – I think it has to be in that order, but I’ll take it how I can get it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-412576700169718590?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/412576700169718590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=412576700169718590' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/412576700169718590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/412576700169718590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/12/year-in-review.html' title='A Year in Review'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6079807011469494368</id><published>2008-05-01T07:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-01T07:57:20.972-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How do I say Goodbye?</title><content type='html'>I’ve loved doing this blog, and I’m not deleting it.  Mama still really needs a nap, and I’m hoping that in time, I will find the balance that I need to come back to this blog and make it the thing that I want it to be. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bottom line is that I can’t do that right now.  Yes- I need to take time to write, to reflect, and to have something that is mine, but I need to take my focus a few degrees off of me.  For now, you can find me &lt;a href="http://helpthoumineunbelief.blogspot.com/"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you all and I will miss you…but I’ll still be hangin’ out on your blogs, I promise!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.  If you have kids under 2, you need to read The Vaccine Book, by Robert Sears.  When you are done, you just might know more than your doctor knows about vaccines. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~Mama&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-6079807011469494368?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6079807011469494368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6079807011469494368' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6079807011469494368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6079807011469494368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/05/how-do-i-say-goodbye.html' title='How do I say Goodbye?'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-3740777708698354097</id><published>2008-04-24T13:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-01T07:58:04.420-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Things that I worry about</title><content type='html'>Every. Single. Day. It’s stressful being mama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-My daughter being hit by a car. This might be an every hour item, really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Getting kidney stones from drinking water out of water fountains. I didn’t say these things made any sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Whether I unplugged/turned off the flat iron. The sad thing about this one is that I only straighten my hair 2 or 3 days a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-The cat getting out of the house and being hit by a car. Yes, I have a thing about cars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-People staring at my eyebrows because they are too thick. This is why I sometimes have gaps in my eyebrows – I pull on them unconsciously. In my saner moments, I understand that the gaps are much more conspicuous than the thickness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-My son not developing his baby skills on time. This is universal among parents of infants, I’m sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-That I am working outside the home too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-That I am not doing enough at my outside-the-home work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Roaches taking over my kitchen. This is not as crazy as it sounds – the roaches really are on the offensive at my house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- David Cook losing American Idol because in the finale, they are going to make him sing some corny song and it will sound terrible. This one is a short-term issue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Getting a traffic ticket. Every time I see a police car, I start having conversations in my head explaining to the officer why I did whatever I imagine he is going to ticket me for doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Whether anyone will hang around to read my blog after another day with no posts / after reading the post I wrote today. Then I convince myself that it really doesn’t matter if anyone reads it anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-3740777708698354097?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/3740777708698354097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=3740777708698354097' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3740777708698354097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3740777708698354097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/04/things-that-i-worry-about.html' title='Things that I worry about'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2346863036216522684</id><published>2008-04-24T12:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T12:29:31.618-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Something that we do</title><content type='html'>Consistent blogging.  Yeah.  I’m not getting there.  Now we have addressed the obvious, so let’s move on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These days I just don’t feel like myself.  Is it post-partum depression?  I don’t think so, but my OB/GYN does.  I think it is something more like grief, more like struggling to accept with my heart a decision that I’ve already made in my in head.  Most people who read this blog can probably guess what that’s all about, but for the rest, I don’t mean to be vague but I just can’t see it in writing yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love being a mother and I love my babies, but the fallout of being gloomy and exhausted is that I don’t always feel that affectionate towards them – or anyone else for that matter.  These days, about a third of the times my daughter wraps her arms around my neck for a hug or smashes her face into my cheek for a kiss, my internal reaction is “please oh please just back off,” and not the rush of warm fuzzies that I am accustomed to feeling.  I am careful to smile at her and give her a squeeze, but she knows something is not right.  In case my heart was not broken enough at not being able to embrace her affection, she seems to have drawn the conclusion that if she hugs me more, I will feel better. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have our good days, good times, happy moments.  She still falls asleep in my arms at naptime and runs to be scooped off her feet when I pick her up from preschool.  Yet I realize that even though it may be years away, the day is coming when she won’t want every hug I have to offer and every minute of my time I find to give.  Realizing that my time to hold her is limited, I know that love needs to be something that we do rather than something that we feel.  I know that I need to kiss away every tear and smile after every temper tantrum, read the same story a thousand times and pretend to be Daisy Duck until Micky Mouse Clubhouse is no longer in style.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, I can’t enjoy the goodness that is so fleeting and every moment I miss just makes the need to get better more desperate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**If this post made you teary, don’t go listen to &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4B1XM9jWiLI"&gt;this song&lt;/a&gt;**&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2346863036216522684?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2346863036216522684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2346863036216522684' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2346863036216522684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2346863036216522684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/04/something-that-we-do.html' title='Something that we do'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1462727227211948760</id><published>2008-04-02T13:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T13:10:51.997-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Short of it</title><content type='html'>I’ll spare you the long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past 3 months, I have been collecting my thoughts and feelings in an attempt to tell the story of everything that happened around Isaac’s birth.  The result was a little epic for a blog, but in writing the long version out, I made sense of it for myself.  The heart of the story is what follows here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Saturday, November 24, I started bleeding- like A LOT.  Hubby took me to the hospital in a panic, and I was quickly seen by my doctor and the ultrasound team.   Baby was fine, but it appeared that my placenta had started to separate.   There was a bunch of confusion around the ultrasound specialist’s report, but after a few hours, everyone seemed to agree that the abruption was “stable” and that I needed to stay in the hospital on a fetal monitor and full bed rest.  I still wasn’t allowed food for awhile in case I needed emergency surgery.  At the time, my doctor thought we would have to deliver the baby in a couple of days.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything started to look good, and I was unhooked from most of my attachments and allowed to move around the room a little bit.  My doctor talked about keeping me for a week and then possibly sending me home on bed rest.   On Tuesday, I started having labor, and the whole thing changed.  They put me on a magnesium sulfate IV and tried to stop the contractions.  I had a couple of injections of something that was a “smooth muscle relaxant” that made my heart race, and they got things back under control.  My doctor called me a time bomb and said that the goal was to get to Monday (35 weeks) and then deliver the baby.  Over the rest of the week, I had a few more scares and a few more shots of the heart-racey stuff.  I lost count of shots, IV pokes, and blood draws around 25.  My husband took care of Natalie all by himself, and he and my parents worked to make sure she got to come see me every day.  It was all a blur to me because of the magnesium.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point, a very sweet friend from church who is an RN came to visit and was alarmed by my mental state.  I didn’t really know what was going on at the time, but she apparently had the nurses check my magnesium levels, and found out they had gotten too high.  They fixed that, but then I had to have more of the heart racey shots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I remember most about that time is being confused about whether I was making good decisions.  I couldn’t differentiate between what was good for the baby and what was a risk for him but better for me.  It was all very confusing, and I am thankful for my doctor coming to see me every day and helping me stay calm about it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Early in the morning on Monday, December 3, I was prepped for c-section delivery.  It was very different than what I remembered with Natalie, and I was scared.   I just didn’t know what to expect little baby Isaac to be like.  I didn’t know whether I would see him and hold him right away, whether I would hear him cry, or whether he would be whisked away by the army of pediatric specialists in attendance.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he was born, it took about 15 seconds for him to let out a terrific cry.  They did take him away to the next room and put him on oxygen, but we could all hear him wailing the whole time.   I just cried and cried in relief that his lungs really were working.  It wasn’t long before my husband got to hold him and show him to me, which was great.  I remember mostly thinking how different he looked from Natalie.  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Soon, he went to the NICU and I went to my room.  I was sick from the morhine in my spinal anesthesia, and he was getting fed by IV and under an oxygen hood.  It took him about a day and a half to get the magnesium out of his system.  I did get to go see him Monday night, and I also got to hold him.  I could go see him every 3 hours.  The nurses had gotten a little attached to me since they don’t usually have any patients longer than two days and I had been there nearly two weeks, so they were happy to wheel me down to the nursery whenever I could go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We didn’t know then how long Isaac would have to stay in the NICU, but most of the staff thought it would be about a week.  I was just in shock at not being pregnant and having this baby that I couldn’t bring home.  I had spent most of pregnancy in fear of preeclampsia, and now it was done and I was left with more questions than answers.  My doctor said we would probably never know what caused the abruption.   Although preeclampsia can cause this to happen, I did not have high blood pressure or protein “spilling” this time.  I did have several of the other symptoms of pre-e (unusual amount of swelling, pinwheel spots in my vision, and pain in my rib cage) that I had while pregnant with Natalie in the weeks before my blood pressure got out of control, but it’s just not a complete picture.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my heart, I believe the complications of both pregnancies are related, but I’m not sure exactly how the pieces fit together.  I’m not sure there is a way to answer the questions or whether it would make any difference, but I do know that I am blessed to have two beautiful, healthy babies and the rest of my life to enjoy them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1462727227211948760?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1462727227211948760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1462727227211948760' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1462727227211948760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1462727227211948760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/04/short-of-it.html' title='The Short of it'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4947760106594720706</id><published>2008-03-27T15:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-27T15:59:57.886-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where did I go?</title><content type='html'>The routine used to be:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 - sit down at the computer for blog time&lt;br /&gt;2 - visit the sites on the blogroll...try to make interesting comments&lt;br /&gt;3 - check the news&lt;br /&gt;4 - make a cursory check of my work e-mail and maybe reply to one or two messages that needed my attention&lt;br /&gt;5 - focus on the blog&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I have been in the office a couple of days a week, people have caught on that I am available to do their work for them.  Now the routine is this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 - sit down at the computer for blog time&lt;br /&gt;2 - check voicemail while the computer is starting up&lt;br /&gt;3- return gazillion phone calls while making sure my favorite bloggers are still around&lt;br /&gt;4 - pull up work e-mail and freak out that there are 20 e-mails: 3 with those little exclamation points that let you know the sender thinks you won't read his e-mail unless he puts his important pants on, 2 with the word "urgent" in the subject line, and 7 that are forwards with only "fyi" addded on top of a string where my co-workers said things to each other that should never be put in writing&lt;br /&gt;5- frantically attempt to answer e-mails while feeding the baby and stalling Natalie until I finally give up and shut down my computer to go take care of family&lt;br /&gt;6 - avoid computer remainder of day&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-4947760106594720706?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4947760106594720706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4947760106594720706' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4947760106594720706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4947760106594720706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/03/where-did-i-go.html' title='Where did I go?'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-5182534560772243994</id><published>2008-03-16T14:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-16T14:05:21.862-07:00</updated><title type='text'>March of the Whys</title><content type='html'>These days, almost every request made of Natalie is met with a “but” or a “not right now,” or most often, a “why.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: Natalie, don’t stand on your book please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie: Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: because it will break&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie: Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: because it’s not made for that&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie: Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: because people don’t want to pay for books that are strong enough to be stood upon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie: Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;This is not going my way, is it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: because they have budgets&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;What?  Budgets?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie: Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: because we have to feed our families and pay our bills&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I need a new strategy here…&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie: Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama:  Ninjas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie: (laughter)  No, mama!  Try again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dang.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post is dedicated to Russell – you would’ve had so much fun with this girl, man.  Happy Birthday.  We miss you so much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-5182534560772243994?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/5182534560772243994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=5182534560772243994' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5182534560772243994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5182534560772243994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/03/march-of-whys.html' title='March of the Whys'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4572951865189114144</id><published>2008-03-10T12:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T12:29:39.040-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='naps'/><title type='text'>I'm a b@#$%, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother</title><content type='html'>And I’m fond of using song lyrics for my post titles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week I wrote a post complaining about going back to work.  About an hour after I wrote it, I began feeling guilty.  How can I complain about having a job that pays me well for my skills and is even flexible enough to accommodate part-time work?  How much of a spoiled little brat am I that I can bitch and moan about 2 days a week in an air conditioned office where people respect me and my work?  There are millions of single moms out there working 2 or more dead-end, minimum wage jobs just to put food on the table, and even more who would give their right eye for even one minimum wage job – not to mention the dual-parent families struggling to make ends meet.  I have what they are all dreaming about, and here I am complaining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, having said that, and meaning it 100%, let me say it one more time with my tongue planted firmly in my cheek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a spoiled little brat for complaining about having a really great job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s hypocrisy to pretend that I am so empathetic that I can die to my own self-pity just because I know in my head that I’m not that bad off.  I wish that I was able to do that, but I’m not.   Instead I’m here in the duality of being honest about how I feel without giving myself license to wallow in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is always someone worse off.  I recognize that what I am going through is not suffering.  It’s really not anything like suffering.  It’s unhappiness, and it’s a valid emotion.  I don’t need to feel bad for feeling bad when others are feeling worse, but I do need to keep my own situation in perspective and use that to pull myself up and keep going.  I do need to appreciate the good in what I have, even when I don’t feel good about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have something in common with those single moms, too.  We are all feeling the same pull to be more – more of a provider, more of a lover, more of a playmate, more of a teacher, more of soft spot for our kids in a hard world – all at one time.  We tell ourselves that we can choose, and we call it “prioritizing,” but so often the choices feel like they are being made for us.  We have words thrown at us like “working mom” and “full-time mom,” as if there is some kind of part time mom or not working mom.  Then we beat ourselves up for being in one category or another when we really want to be everything at once.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this, none of us is alone.  It drags us down and it pulls us back up onto our feet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if it wasn’t there, the word “mother” wouldn’t mean as much as it does, so I guess I wouldn’t want it any other way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-4572951865189114144?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4572951865189114144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4572951865189114144' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4572951865189114144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4572951865189114144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/03/im-b-im-lover-im-child-im-mother.html' title='I&apos;m a b@#$%, I&apos;m a lover, I&apos;m a child, I&apos;m a mother'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4793389091132961430</id><published>2008-03-08T18:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-08T18:54:59.630-08:00</updated><title type='text'>He knows what he likes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R9NRcbTErhI/AAAAAAAAAHw/81aewlpj-SQ/s1600-h/lols.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5175569945584774674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R9NRcbTErhI/AAAAAAAAAHw/81aewlpj-SQ/s320/lols.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/4335961084997861239-4793389091132961430?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4793389091132961430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4793389091132961430' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4793389091132961430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4793389091132961430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/03/he-knows-what-he-likes.html' title='He knows what he likes'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R9NRcbTErhI/AAAAAAAAAHw/81aewlpj-SQ/s72-c/lols.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-8951766712635185970</id><published>2008-03-07T13:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T13:57:45.014-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Just a quick update</title><content type='html'>Well, I went back to work this week.  It was not fun on several levels -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 - Isaac won't take a bottle from his sweet nanny, so he ate absolutely nothing the first day and about 3 oz. the second.  We will spend the weekend trying out different bottles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 - I was at work about an hour before the parade of people eager to tell me about how miserable they are and how stressful the workplace has been began.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3 - I was at work 2 days (TWO DAYS) before my boss asked me to start working more hours than what we had agreed on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 - The difference between getting up at 5:30 a.m. and my usual 7:00 a.m. after a short sleepless night is bigger than I expected.  Today I took a 2 hour nap with the kiddoes and the laundry sits unfolded upstairs this afternoon.  Unimportant, I know, but it still makes me feel out of control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a silver lining, and I will find it.  Not today, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, the &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/03/or-maybe-i-really-am-crazy.html"&gt;asparagus &lt;/a&gt;are not photoshopped.  Actually, it is a banana tree that thought it could take on my husband in Battle Royale.  My husband is a big cheater and brought a chain saw.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-8951766712635185970?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/8951766712635185970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=8951766712635185970' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8951766712635185970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8951766712635185970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/03/just-quick-update.html' title='Just a quick update'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-301740222087207913</id><published>2008-03-05T12:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-05T13:29:15.891-08:00</updated><title type='text'>That is my name too!</title><content type='html'>According to the internet,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="COLOR: #000"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: white; TEXT-ALIGN: center" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="1" width="350" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="FONT: 16px/1.1 Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; COLOR: white; BACKGROUND-COLOR: #0066b3"&gt;HowManyOfMe.com&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="BORDER-RIGHT: black 1px solid; BORDER-TOP: black 1px solid; BORDER-LEFT: black 1px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: black 1px solid"&gt;&lt;table style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: white; TEXT-ALIGN: center" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="100%" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="PADDING-TOP: 2px" width="120"&gt;&lt;a style="TEXT-DECORATION: none" href="http://howmanyofme.com/"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: black 1px; BORDER-TOP: black 1px; BORDER-LEFT: black 1px; BORDER-BOTTOM: black 1px" height="100" alt="Logo" src="http://extimg.howmanyofme.com/extimages/howmany-logo.png" width="100" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="FONT: 16px/1.1 Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#000;" &gt;There are&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold;color:red;" &gt;36&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;people with my name&lt;br /&gt;in the U.S.A.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;a style="FONT: bold 16px/1.8 Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; COLOR: #0066b3; TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="http://howmanyofme.com/"&gt;How many have your name?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="COLOR: #000"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="COLOR: #000"&gt;I'm not sure it's true, because the site also says there are 0 people with my husband's name. I knew you were special, honey!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="COLOR: #000"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="COLOR: #000"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="COLOR: #000"&gt;In other Internets news, apparently the &lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/celebrity-face-recognition"&gt;celebrity that I most closely resemble &lt;/a&gt;is &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wen_Jiabao"&gt;Wen Jiabao&lt;/a&gt;.  If I force the darn thing to believe I am not a man, then it thinks I look like &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geri_halliwell"&gt;Geri Halliwell&lt;/a&gt;.  So....Ginger Spice, or the 69 year old communist premier of China?  Really?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="COLOR: #000"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="COLOR: #000"&gt;I had to do some research on this, so when I upload Wen's photo, it does match it to him, but the female he most closely resembles in Marion Jones.  Ginger Spice matched &lt;a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&amp;amp;q=agam+rudberg"&gt;Agam Rudberg&lt;/a&gt; (who seems to be some kind of internet pinup girl) and Meatloaf, but not Geri Halliwell.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="COLOR: #000"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="COLOR: #000"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-301740222087207913?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/301740222087207913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=301740222087207913' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/301740222087207913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/301740222087207913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/03/that-is-my-name-too.html' title='That is my name too!'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-7154871420284784114</id><published>2008-03-03T09:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-03T10:12:51.749-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Or Maybe I Really am Crazy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I really love spring. My family is fortunate enough to have bought a house that someone else spent the time and money to landscape, so this is the time of year when we get to enjoy all the beautiful flowers that we would have killed if they required any maintenance on our part. My husband did the trimming this weekend, and I decided that today would be a good day to take pictures of all the things that are blooming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We have irises (my favorite):&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173578496022997410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R8w-OzkM6aI/AAAAAAAAAHI/WDjM4RgAQ-0/s320/IMG_0217.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Texas classic – azaleas:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173578736541166002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R8w-czkM6bI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/uo-BQbkNDYc/s320/IMG_0215.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even the oleander is trying to wake up for Spring: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173579166037895618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R8w-1zkM6cI/AAAAAAAAAHY/Hfvthsa-OhY/s320/IMG_0216.JPG" border="0" /&gt; This is where I started to question my sanity: &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173579535405083090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R8w_LTkM6dI/AAAAAAAAAHg/1DAiSk_kLhw/s400/IMG_0214.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are asparagus supposed to get that big?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-7154871420284784114?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/7154871420284784114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=7154871420284784114' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7154871420284784114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7154871420284784114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/03/or-maybe-i-really-am-crazy.html' title='Or Maybe I Really am Crazy'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R8w-OzkM6aI/AAAAAAAAAHI/WDjM4RgAQ-0/s72-c/IMG_0217.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-7266646126867863981</id><published>2008-02-28T12:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T12:47:16.042-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Call Me Crazy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;So…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing I heard this morning (excluding the 4:00 a.m. feeding and hubby getting up at 5:30) was my daughter telling me that it wasn’t dark anymore so it was time to get up. It was true – the first whispers of sunshine were creeping in through my bedroom blinds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reluctantly, I got up, got dressed, brushed my teeth, put on my glasses, and came back to my room to find my daughter asleep in my spot on the bed.&lt;br /&gt;I also drove about 30 miles criss-crossed around town looking for a cheap swing at a resale shop since in my time of unemployment, the cost of a new swing seems unjustified.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We didn’t find one, but we did find a really cool playground – where my daughter spotted a child of a different race than us and shouted (totally within earshot of the other child’s dad,) “Look Mama! I like &lt;em&gt;those&lt;/em&gt; kind of kids!” At least she was complimentary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that afternoon, I had accumulated enough laundry in the last 6 hours that was soiled with poop, potty, and vomit to do a whole load. I had to set the volume on the washer to “Large.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard a plastic toy sing “&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/B00006SHRQ/sr=1-2/qid=1204230816/ref=dp_otherviews_1/104-6484715-5921501?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=toys-and-games&amp;amp;img=1&amp;amp;qid=1204230816&amp;amp;sr=1-2"&gt;Back Pack – Back Pack&lt;/a&gt;” more times than I can count.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took almost two hours from the time we decided to go to bed before I actually shut my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next week I am going back to work (part time). Call me crazy, but I am totally depressed about all the time at home with my babies that I am going to be missing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172134256490327154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R8cctAC8LHI/AAAAAAAAAHA/KIO6HgWdrjk/s200/hugs.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a separate but related note, TLC has a new show called &lt;em&gt;The Secret Life of Soccer Moms&lt;/em&gt;. I don’t know why, but I find it very offensive.  I think it's great to give women a chance to make a career after their kids grow up, but I get the feeling that they are subtly implying that the women should feel regret for their choices.  I'll have to watch and see. &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-7266646126867863981?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/7266646126867863981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=7266646126867863981' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7266646126867863981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7266646126867863981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/02/call-me-crazy.html' title='Call Me Crazy'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R8cctAC8LHI/AAAAAAAAAHA/KIO6HgWdrjk/s72-c/hugs.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-505849294535105101</id><published>2008-02-21T12:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T12:36:25.874-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Love</title><content type='html'>Sweet Isaac,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ll be the first to admit, you and I got off to a bit of a rough start.&lt;br /&gt;Love at first sight? Yes.&lt;br /&gt;Instant bonding? No.&lt;br /&gt;There were the chemical-hormonal affects of not being able to hold you when you were born and the emotional affects of having to leave you alone in a plastic box in the NICU six to eight times a day for your first eleven days. I had to put up some walls to deal with that, and I’m sorry for what they took away from our relationship in that first month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now, my sweet baby, I know you and you know me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have learned that you like to be bundled up and warm, &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169533610842926146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R73fbgC8LEI/AAAAAAAAAGo/q2h-wkhhQio/s200/IMG_0197.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and toys that vibrate make you cry. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169534100469197906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R73f4AC8LFI/AAAAAAAAAGw/xeq-JzfO6iM/s200/tearssm.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve learned that you have really big feet, but tickling them is only amusing to me. As far as I can tell, your favorite activity is putting my nose, chin, cheeks, or pretty much any part of my face in your mouth. Do you know that I love it, too?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You also love your sister. Your eyes light up when you see her, and she delights in your chuckles like they are little precious gems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve learned that when you crank your arm around like a ribbon dancer, you’re not trying to make me laugh – you just need to burp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve learned that you make all kinds of squeaks and grunts in your sleep, but when you are about to wake up, you get quiet and still and pop your eyes open to look around before you let us know about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve learned that you have a little spot near your temple that feels like velvet. It is warm under my kisses in a way that makes me think of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven just long enough to eat, when the chips are still all melty. Its smell is all baby – milk, powder, and new skin. You close your eyes a little tighter when I touch you there and then get a soft little grin. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169534937987820642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R73gowC8LGI/AAAAAAAAAG4/C5gZRX-NWxA/s200/sleepy.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Precious son – I love you so much. I can barely wait to see the new little bits of you that are emerging every day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-505849294535105101?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/505849294535105101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=505849294535105101' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/505849294535105101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/505849294535105101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/02/baby-love.html' title='Baby Love'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R73fbgC8LEI/AAAAAAAAAGo/q2h-wkhhQio/s72-c/IMG_0197.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-3145817809823694596</id><published>2008-02-19T09:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T10:17:52.168-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Belated Valentine</title><content type='html'>Love, in its best wrapper:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-67ec4fd222c68a33" 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://v16.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D67ec4fd222c68a33%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331626247%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D417AF87E5BA4037098B264D0234EDC7D14996D43.14DCABFF7A447793215DE98261CF7BAC0BD0085%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D67ec4fd222c68a33%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DhmPY_fys7qYnzesyMseQxD5HBe8&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://v16.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D67ec4fd222c68a33%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1331626247%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D417AF87E5BA4037098B264D0234EDC7D14996D43.14DCABFF7A447793215DE98261CF7BAC0BD0085%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D67ec4fd222c68a33%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DhmPY_fys7qYnzesyMseQxD5HBe8&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&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/4335961084997861239-3145817809823694596?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=67ec4fd222c68a33&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/3145817809823694596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=3145817809823694596' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3145817809823694596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3145817809823694596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/02/belated-valentine.html' title='Belated Valentine'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-8831843693202629724</id><published>2008-02-18T12:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T12:47:37.975-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Turkeys</title><content type='html'>I woke up this morning thinking about how long it’s been since I posted anything and was prepared to go online and announce a hiatus. I was making a mental list of all the reasons that I could use to justify not blogging for a few more weeks. Then I checked my mail and found out that Jen over at &lt;a href="http://alphagirls.blogspot.com/"&gt;Unique But Not Alone&lt;/a&gt; sent me an award:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168424439833701410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R7nupQC8LCI/AAAAAAAAAGU/X5SL5RmsSVw/s200/CandyHearts2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, Jen! She reminded me that all the things that I was thinking of as reasons to take a break were actually reasons that I need to take the time to do this. This is one thing in my life that I do just because I want to. There are many things I do that I enjoy – like playing with the kids, taking naps, hanging out with hubby, trying out new recipes- and on and on, but those are all things that I do at least in part for other people. This is just for me. I need it, and I am thankful for all the other bloggers, like Jen, who provide my Daily Dose of all the other things I need, like &lt;a href="http://thebloggess.com/?p=336"&gt;laughter&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://lauraszoo2.wordpress.com/2008/01/31/three-little-words/"&gt;tears&lt;/a&gt;, and &lt;a href="http://alphagirls.blogspot.com/2007/12/angel-in-disguise.html"&gt;perspective&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, I have really been &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dont-Let-Turkeys-Get-Down/dp/0894800132"&gt;letting the turkeys get me down&lt;/a&gt;. My turkeys aren’t people, but they do have names. Some are common, easily identifiable, easily understood. Medical bills. Post-Partum Hormones. Returning to Work. Sleep Deprivation. Some are a little harder to pin down. Mothering Ability Self-Doubt. Mistake-Making Shame. I-Don’t-Want-to-Make-These-Decisions Avoidance. None of these things have the power to bring down my life or even my day unless I give it to them, so today I am taking the first step and calling myself out for letting them hang around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Actually, Sleep Deprivation packs a pretty good punch all on its own, but nothing a good nap can’t fix…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to the business of passing on the Daily Dose award: I’m giving this one to &lt;a href="http://blogs.chron.com/mamadrama/"&gt;MamaDrama’s&lt;/a&gt; Jenny and Min, because they make me smile every single day with their unique way of seeing the beauty and humor in the ordinary things of life.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-8831843693202629724?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/8831843693202629724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=8831843693202629724' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8831843693202629724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8831843693202629724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/02/turkeys.html' title='Turkeys'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R7nupQC8LCI/AAAAAAAAAGU/X5SL5RmsSVw/s72-c/CandyHearts2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-7197603164516250595</id><published>2008-01-28T12:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T13:06:48.025-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='news'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pictures'/><title type='text'>Honey for Children's Cough - A Test</title><content type='html'>Now the &lt;a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21376717/"&gt;FDA&lt;/a&gt; says no cold medicine for kids up to age six. Natalie is 3 and has a cold. Again. So… &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The latest news claims that researchers concluded that &lt;a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22085901/"&gt;honey&lt;/a&gt; is just as effective as OTC cold medicine in treating cold symptoms. Since honey is not recommended for children under one due to botulism, I’d say this is a step back from the previous recommendation of &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/chicken-soup-for-infant-cold.html"&gt;chicken soup&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie did some research on Poppy’s new iPhone and decided that there was some support for this theory and that we should give it a go. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160633864508535714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R55BKFXh86I/AAAAAAAAAFs/Zfxvt6O1gZ8/s200/IMG_0061.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The basic idea was that we should give a teaspoon of honey, but it does not specify how it should be done. Since honey is basically sweet, I though we would just go with a teaspoon and call it a special treat. Natalie took one small lick and spit it out, saying “I don’t like honey.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the next attempt, I told her we were having tea. I mixed the teaspoon of honey and water in the most exciting mug I could find in our house and nuked it for one minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160634929660425138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R55CIFXh87I/AAAAAAAAAF0/7ab1agIfDrc/s200/cupsm.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The resulting mix tasted like lukewarm sugar water, which I was sure would not be popular. I thought about adding some lemon juice, but I didn’t have any lemons. I did have a lime. I don’t recommend using lime. That cup got poured down the drain, and the next one got a few squirts of this stuff – although I’m not really sure what it actually is and I am totally sure that the holistic medicine people would frown upon using it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160634933955392450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R55CIVXh88I/AAAAAAAAAF8/1it3BufpL-k/s200/lemonsm.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That version tasted pretty good, so I offered it up to Nat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: &lt;em&gt;Here’s some tea for your cough&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie: &lt;em&gt;Well, I only drink pretend tea. Real tea is for mommies and daddies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: [Dang, she listens well.] &lt;em&gt;Actually, this is just pretend tea&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie: [ No words actually came out of her mouth, but her eyes were totally saying “&lt;em&gt;If you think I’m going to drink that, you haven’t been paying attention the last 3 years&lt;/em&gt;.”] &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160634964020163538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R55CKFXh89I/AAAAAAAAAGE/rhq5SrKHDdE/s200/sm.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take 3 – I filled the syringe that came with her last round of antibiotics with honey and told Natalie it was her cough medicine. She took it without complaint, and &lt;em&gt;then&lt;/em&gt; decided she needed to drink the “tea.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The results&lt;/strong&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;She got the honey at about 10:30. It controlled the coughing well until about 1:00. I gave her another dose at 1:30, which held up through her nap – although she was too jazzed up to actually sleep. She started coughing again around 4. I gave her another dose, but the coughing persisted. At bedtime, I gave her some children’s Triaminic, which kept the cough away for about 4 hours. For the record, we were using unfiltered Texas Wildflower honey, which is a very dark variety.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Personally, I think I will stick to drugs at night time so that everyone can get some sleep, but I have to say that I was surprised at how well the honey worked during the day.&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/4335961084997861239-7197603164516250595?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/7197603164516250595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=7197603164516250595' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7197603164516250595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7197603164516250595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/01/honey-for-childrens-cough-test.html' title='Honey for Children&apos;s Cough - A Test'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R55BKFXh86I/AAAAAAAAAFs/Zfxvt6O1gZ8/s72-c/IMG_0061.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-3201357249499738773</id><published>2008-01-23T08:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T08:21:53.153-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Inspiration</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://inthetrenchesofmotherhood.com/"&gt;This &lt;/a&gt;woman is my new idol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are frustrated with having toys all over your house, &lt;a href="http://inthetrenchesofmotherhood.com/?p=106#comments"&gt;this &lt;/a&gt;post has some excellent tips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both kids are coughing and unhappy today.  Mama took some steps yesterday toward not being pregnant for awhile and is not feeling so peachy either.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-3201357249499738773?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/3201357249499738773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=3201357249499738773' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3201357249499738773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3201357249499738773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/01/inspiration.html' title='Inspiration'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1833793583497754866</id><published>2008-01-21T10:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T10:51:02.094-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You're Lucky You're Pretty, Brett</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://mine.icanhascheezburger.com/View.aspx?cheezhedkitteh128454148231406250.jpg"&gt;&lt;img alt="funny pictures" src="http://mine.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/1/21/cheezhedkitteh128454148231406250.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;moar &lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/"&gt;funny pictures&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama is not too happy either after the Packer's brutal loss to that other team who the Patriots will be destroying handily in just under 2 weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See y'all next year, Pack.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1833793583497754866?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1833793583497754866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1833793583497754866' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1833793583497754866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1833793583497754866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/01/youre-lucky-youre-pretty-brett.html' title='You&apos;re Lucky You&apos;re Pretty, Brett'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4794941073163387941</id><published>2008-01-17T15:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-18T06:40:56.592-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Day in the Life</title><content type='html'>Now that I am home all day with my two kids, I find myself wondering, “What the heck to people do with two kids all day long?”  Honestly – I want to know what other people do.  I guess I have a compulsive need to find out if I am “normal.”  My biggest problem right now is the baby who wants to have a 30 minute snack every 90 minutes or so, but I still find myself wondering if I am overshceduling, underscheduling, or just plain lying to myself that my schedule is relevant at all.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is our “yesterday:”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:00 Daughter comes into bedroom and wakes up Mama.  Mama says, “OK Honey – go play in your room a few minutes while I get dressed and then we’ll go downstairs for breakfast.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:15 Mama wakes up again (that 90 minute feeding schedule is 24-hour.)  Daughter is playing with loud truck toy in the bedroom.  Mama hauls out of bed and brushes teeth, but skips the get dressed part out of guilt for having fallen back asleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:30 Mama is still upstairs getting kids dressed.  Now baby needs to eat.  Daughter plays with cat, who is in the crib and obliging daughter’s  fantasy that Cat is a baby, for another 30 minutes while Mama is a full-service restaurant complete with rocking chair. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9:00 Daughter is eating Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  Yes, I said eating.  They make a cereal, and Wal-Mart “thoughtfully” places it on the second shelf from the ground, right above the Cheerios, so that when you ask your kid to grab a box of reasonable cereal, your child will inevitably smash her face right into the Mickey Mouse sugar puffs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9:30 People from work call right as Daughter is finishing breakfast and needing to find something else to do.  Co-worker is treated to Daughter singing “potty-potty-potty-potty…..POTTY” from the bathroom.  Daughter stays in bathroom for 10 minutes because she knows I can’t rush her while I’m on the phone and comes out with red ring around tushie from kiddie potty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:00 Mama gets daughter started playing with a Littlest PetShop toy.  Mama starts a load of baby’s laundry, takes out the Diaper Champ trash, and goes through some mail with baby strapped in the Bjorn.  Mama thinks this would be a good time for Baby to eat, but Baby disagrees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:30 Baby needs to eat again.  Mama sits down to feed him and Petshop toy becomes soooo boring.  Daughter goes to DVD shelf and selects “Charlie Brown Christmas.”  Mama has mercy because it is raining and this is when we would normally go outside to play or go for a walk, but Mama cannot take another viewing of Charlie Brown Christmas, so we watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse – Mickey Saves Santa – from the DVR while baby eats.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:40 Mama remembers that we were supposed to start playgroup today at 11:00.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:00  Mama frantically packs lunch for playgroup and takes everyone upstairs so that Mama can get dressed.  Baby cooperates this time and stays asleep while put into the carseat.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:30  Family arrives at playgroup.  We are the first ones there, which is my first clue that we might be normal.  Daughter eats lunch.  Playgroup attendees are:&lt;br /&gt; 1 boy, age 6 weeks&lt;br /&gt; 1 boy, age 15 months&lt;br /&gt; 1 girl, age 25 months&lt;br /&gt; 1 girl, age 3&lt;br /&gt; 3 girls, ages 27-32&lt;br /&gt;Guess who enjoyed playgroup the most?  Anyway, Daughter found the toys at someone else’s house infinitely more fun than the toys at her house, even though they were basically the same toys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:30 Family arrives home and goes upstairs for naptime.  Baby ate twice at playgroup and is already asleep.  Daughter selects The Barenstain Bears – Mama’s New Job.  I think it is an appropriate choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2:00 Daughter falls asleep and Baby wakes up, hungry again.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3:00 Mama finds herself in the recliner in the bedroom with Baby still eating and the laptop resting precariously on the arm of the chair.  Did I comment on your blog yesterday?  I don’t remember either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4:00 Baby finally settles down after a bout with the reflux because he ate too much at one time and daughter wakes up.  We all head downstairs and start the race toward dinner.  One of my &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/cord-of-3-strands-is-not-easily-broken.html"&gt;super awesome friends&lt;/a&gt; is bringing a meal to us today, so I am off the hook, except that my kitchen looks like a bomb exploded and I would rather not have company see how we really live.  Daughter “helps” sweep with her mini broom and dustpan while Mama tries to clear the area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4:30  Daughter eats snack and watches &lt;a href="http://atv.disney.go.com/playhouse/mmch/index.html"&gt;Mickey Mouse Clubhouse&lt;/a&gt; – Daisy Bo Peep- on the DVR.  Daughter cannot handle the day in which she does not have cheese, chocolate milk, and Mickey sometime between 4 and 6 p.m.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5:00 Mama and Daughter sit at coffee table and look through workbook.  Daughter selects a math sheet and draws dots on it while Mama explains how there are 3 ways to make a number (numeral, letters, dots - she didn't think it was a good lesson either.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5:15 Mama, daughter, and now-awake baby sit on couch and read stories until Daddy comes home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5:30 Daddy comes home.  The parent-child balance in righted and all Dughter's toys become fun again.  Things run smoothly through dinner and evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:00 Mama hands Baby to Daddy, and Daughter immediately NEEDS to sit in Daddy's lap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:05 Cat decides that Daddy's lap is really the place to be.  Mama thinks Daddy is doing a great job and goes upstairs to take a shower....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-4794941073163387941?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4794941073163387941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4794941073163387941' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4794941073163387941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4794941073163387941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/01/day-in-life.html' title='A Day in the Life'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-7625990509208036325</id><published>2008-01-13T16:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-13T16:40:56.114-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeding Machine</title><content type='html'>Isaac is going through his 6-week growth spurt and is eating all the time.   Since he has some problems with reflux, he doesn't like to eat much at once, so all this combines to make me a human milk machine.  It's easier this time around because I know this phase goes quickly, and that's all I'm going to say about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie has to get glasses.  It makes me sadder than I'd like to admit that she'll have to wear them - my beautiful girl should not have anything between her beautiful eyes and the world - but I'm excited to see how it helps her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2008/01/13/funny-pictures-breasfeedin-ur-doin-it-wrong/"&gt;&lt;img src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2008/01/funny-pictures-cat-breastfeeds-baby.jpg" alt="funny pictures" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;moar &lt;a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com"&gt;funny pictures&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-7625990509208036325?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/7625990509208036325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=7625990509208036325' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7625990509208036325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7625990509208036325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/01/feeding-machine.html' title='Feeding Machine'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6203408117077380639</id><published>2008-01-08T14:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T14:41:23.266-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This is Barbaric, People</title><content type='html'>If you had asked the 8 year old me what my favorite show was, I probably would have told you that it was American Gladiators,  (or &lt;a href="http://www.chips-tv.com/"&gt;ChiPS&lt;/a&gt;, but that was just a phase.) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So…you know I was psyched when I heard that &lt;a href="http://www.nbc.com/American_Gladiators/?__source=GGLCAMP027AmericanGladiators_SpecificADGP013Show_SpecificKWRD019american+gladiators&amp;amp;sky=GGLCAMP027AmericanGladiators_SpecificADGP013Show_SpecificKWRD019american+gladiators"&gt;NBC&lt;/a&gt; was bringing back the gladiator glory this week.  Then I realized that it was nostalgia, not love, that was getting me.  Those t.v. hawkers even brought back Hulk Hogan to host the show.  I’m surprised they don’t fight in &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castle_Grayskull"&gt;Castle Grayskull&lt;/a&gt; and have a names like Cheetara and Cobra. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all, the adult me understands that all that spandex is designed to objectify the gladiators and that adults beating each other up for money and glory is a reflection on a society in decay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, I had to watch it- just to confirm that I am as rational and mature as I think I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It turns out that I am still 8 years old and I cannot get enough of this stuff.  Shame on me.  Please don’t tell my old college professor Dr. Stratton, who wrote a virtual treatise on how spectator sports were the true cause of the fall of the Roman Empire and believed we were following their footsteps – and that was before the &lt;a href="http://www.all-xfl.com/xfl/"&gt;XFL&lt;/a&gt;.  The man is probably stocking his underground shelter as I write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can’t help it.  I love it.  I hope it outlives Survivor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-6203408117077380639?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6203408117077380639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6203408117077380639' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6203408117077380639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6203408117077380639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/01/this-is-barbaric-people.html' title='This is Barbaric, People'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-5850076702887667247</id><published>2008-01-06T13:20:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-06T13:38:54.410-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Safety Words</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Warning- Random information to follow...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know how in the movies people always have a "safety word" or some kind of code so that their loved ones can make sure they are really themselves and not a zombie or a clone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, if you ever meet me in a dark alley and you want to be sure it's the real Mama, just ask me, "What is the difference between concrete and cement?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If "I" stare at you like your head is made of jell-o and you are speaking Portugese, then it is not me, it is a zombie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If "I" say "They are the same thing, you fool," and start laughing maniacally, it is NOT me, it is a clone with a taste for world domination - run away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I immediately start waving my arms and talking about "aggregate" and "silicates" and your eyes glaze over and you think maybe I said there are volcanos in Portland, then you have met the real Mama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama REALLY loves concrete.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was in college &lt;a href="http://concretecanoe.org/AboutCCorg/AboutCCorg.htm"&gt;this &lt;/a&gt;is pretty much the only thing that kept me coming to class every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yep, I'm a geek. But how many people do you know that can build a boat out of concrete and race it? Well, now you know at least 1. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152481070215119074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R4FKO_4YwOI/AAAAAAAAAFk/ZkO8CipMmPQ/s200/canoe.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-5850076702887667247?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/5850076702887667247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=5850076702887667247' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5850076702887667247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5850076702887667247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2008/01/safety-words.html' title='Safety Words'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R4FKO_4YwOI/AAAAAAAAAFk/ZkO8CipMmPQ/s72-c/canoe.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6890672504629237769</id><published>2007-12-31T10:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-31T11:19:08.714-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baby updates'/><title type='text'>Things are Good</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Things &lt;em&gt;are&lt;/em&gt; good. I wish I could write more, and I wish I could blame the lack of writing on the holidays or the newborn. The truth is that I am having trouble reconciling the way I feel with the way things are. I feel like I've been through some trauma and I'm not quite done with it yet, but the only traces of anything bad are the almost-healed IV spots on my arms and the hospital bills. Isaac is up to 9 lbs. and eating like a pro. Natalie is loving her new baby brother. We had a great holiday- It was the Christmas in which we learned that the "Mega" in the Dora Mega Tent is not a figure of speach.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;When I try to go any deeper than that, what I say all seems overly sugar coated or so far in the opposite direction that it misses the part where we had a happy ending. I'm workng on writing Isaac's birth story in hope of sorting through it all, and in the meantime I suspect this blog will be limited to cute pictures and links. So enjoy the pictures, make a new year's resolution you have no intention of keeping, and pour yourself an extra glass of whatever you are drinking at midnight tonight for me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150218374069403858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R3lAUv4YwNI/AAAAAAAAAFY/SmVb58q43RI/s320/blues.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-6890672504629237769?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6890672504629237769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6890672504629237769' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6890672504629237769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6890672504629237769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/12/things-are-good.html' title='Things are Good'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R3lAUv4YwNI/AAAAAAAAAFY/SmVb58q43RI/s72-c/blues.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1519314267362297158</id><published>2007-12-19T07:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-19T10:31:48.535-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baby updates'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pictures'/><title type='text'>Homecoming- Wordless Wednesday</title><content type='html'>Because I just don't know what to say...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145752492844826770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R2lioP4YwJI/AAAAAAAAAE0/6Ws9CmkWnig/s320/hospital.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R2ljQv4YwLI/AAAAAAAAAFE/WAxUc-qgQzU/s1600-h/basket.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145753188629528754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R2ljQv4YwLI/AAAAAAAAAFE/WAxUc-qgQzU/s320/basket.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R2li-f4YwKI/AAAAAAAAAE8/MhX0s8Y7p3c/s1600-h/big+sis.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145752875096916130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R2li-f4YwKI/AAAAAAAAAE8/MhX0s8Y7p3c/s320/big+sis.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1519314267362297158?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1519314267362297158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1519314267362297158' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1519314267362297158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1519314267362297158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/12/homecoming-wordless-wednesday.html' title='Homecoming- Wordless Wednesday'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/R2lioP4YwJI/AAAAAAAAAE0/6Ws9CmkWnig/s72-c/hospital.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2632162406978890421</id><published>2007-12-12T12:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-12T12:15:53.874-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='NICU life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baby updates'/><title type='text'>Five Things...</title><content type='html'>…I wish I knew then, or that I didn’t know now…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 - It’s a good idea to ask your pediatrician (while you are pregnant) what level of NICU babies he or she will see, and who she defers to for the higher levels. Then it’s a good idea to find out about/meet that person so you don’t end up with a doctor that you CAN’T STAND.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2- The pediatric community has a love/hate relationship with breastfeeding. They all agree it’s best, but if they can’t weigh, measure and quantify it, they don’t know what to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3- Every nurse has a different idea about how everything should be done with a baby. My hospital has 12 hour shifts, and the nurses work 2 or 3 a week. That means there are 5-7 different nurses every week, assuming that the same nurses take your baby each time they are on duty - which they don’t.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 - It’s important to ask the nurses to do what you want. There are many things they can and will do upon request, but they won’t always offer. Sometimes it is because they just don’t want to do it, but usually it’s because this is every day them and they forget that it’s new to you and you might not know how everything is supposed to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5 - 65 mL looks like a whole lot of milk, but it is possible for a 7 lb baby to suck it down in 15 minutes - when he is ready to do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Also, I added “pumping milk while going through a drive-thru” to my list of lactation experiences today.  I was totally covered up, but the attendant did look a little surprised at the blanket piled up in my lap. Still, this is Houston and it was under 60 degrees today, so I’m sure she just assumed that my heater was broken.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2632162406978890421?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2632162406978890421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2632162406978890421' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2632162406978890421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2632162406978890421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/12/five-things.html' title='Five Things...'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-669814607560864657</id><published>2007-12-04T11:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-04T19:50:32.888-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Isaac is here!</title><content type='html'>Baby Isaac came yesterday at 8:50 a.m. He weighed a remarkable 7lb 4 oz at 35 weeks gestation, and he's doing well. He was on an oxygen hood for half a day or so but is breathing room air now. He has a IV for feeding, and the main problem for now is that I was on magnesium sulfate for almost a week prior to birth to keep him in there. He is having trouble getting it out of his system now, and he can't be fed until that is clear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just miss him now- it was only him and me here in the hospital room for 9 days, and now we are separated. I can see him as much as I want, but I have to be back in my room for all the post-op care etc. and it's just not enough. We don't really have a great idea about when he will be able to go home, but we are hoping for early next week.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-669814607560864657?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/669814607560864657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=669814607560864657' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/669814607560864657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/669814607560864657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/12/isaac-is-here.html' title='Isaac is here!'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1096355086820809481</id><published>2007-11-27T18:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T19:05:10.822-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mama...Interrupted</title><content type='html'>Quick update for now-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday I found myself in the L&amp;amp;D ward at the hospital.  Everything is "fine" right now, before I get started with the story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It turns out that I have had a partial placental abruption that is now stabilized, and I am on hospital bedrest for the duration of the pregnancy, which will be one more week maximum.  Baby's heartrate and movements are good, so all the experts agree that the best thing is to keep him in a little bit longer.  The ultrasounds show him at a good weight, and I had a full course of steroids to help with his lung development, so the outlook is good.  I have read and heard so many stories of women who lost thier precious babies this way, so I feel extremely blessed to be sitting here listening to the swooshing heartbeat on the monitor and feeling his familiar acrobatics in my belly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for all the encouragement sent my way!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1096355086820809481?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1096355086820809481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1096355086820809481' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1096355086820809481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1096355086820809481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/11/mamainterrupted.html' title='Mama...Interrupted'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-3897261018260966276</id><published>2007-11-23T06:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T18:56:47.046-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Passing the Torch</title><content type='html'>Sorry - I'll add the photos in later....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year marked the 10th Thanksgiving that I have spent visiting my husband’s extended family for the holiday dinner. They live all around town, and for holidays, they traditionally gather at one aunt’s house. I remember Thanksgivings with 50 people crowded into the impromptu dining room/hall, with the heads of the families seated at the formal dining table and the rest of us happily squeezed into tables and chairs borrowed from the funeral home where one of the uncles worked. I remember when there was only one “great grandchild” and several great grandparents, and I remember the last year that my husband’s grandad, the true family patriarch, was there. That year all the grandkids (our generation) got to sit at the formal table with him.&lt;br /&gt;For me, this year marked the passage of time more than any of the past years have. This year there were 8 great grandkids plus 3 more from one of the many adopted family branches that have merged in. It was the first year that the last of the great grandparents was not in good enough health to come. It was the second year since the first of our parents’ generation has passed away, but the first that his wife decided not to come alone. The past 12 months were much harder on my generation than any that I can remember, and it showed in the gathering. It was quieter, calmer, and smaller than any holiday I remember celebrating there.&lt;br /&gt;When we were younger, we, the grandkids, would collect around the pool table upstairs after dinner while the older women sat in the hall or around the kitchen and the older men sat in the living room around football or car racing or whatever was on. This year, a few of the guys still found the spirit for pool…&lt;br /&gt;but mostly our generation found ourselves amongst our parents, sharing in the chatter and pie. As though they heard the unspoken call that they were now the grandkids and we were the parents, some of our kids collected around the new game table that “Uncle Sean” put up for them earlier in the afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;Remarkably, all of this did not make me feel old or depressed - it just made me feel right somehow. I am an adult. I have a house, a car, a job, a beautiful family, peace with God. I’ve got my own set of problems and my own ways to handle them. It felt good to know that we are all marching along with time and not being left behind or getting stuck in the past. It was a comfort to witness the unavoidable changes that come in life cast against the backdrop of familiarity- to know that we are charting our own course through life, but there are harbors to return to where we can mark our progress, find security, and know that the tethers of history and family still anchor us together.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-3897261018260966276?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/3897261018260966276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=3897261018260966276' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3897261018260966276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3897261018260966276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/11/passing-torch.html' title='Passing the Torch'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2359289796300473510</id><published>2007-11-19T12:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-19T13:00:42.219-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='baby updates'/><title type='text'>Baby Updates - 6 Weeks to Go</title><content type='html'>I went to the doc today and got all checked out.  My feet are officially too puffy for any normal work-type shoes, but thank goodness for crocs.  Especially &lt;a href="http://shop.crocs.com/pc-440-4-mammoth.aspx?reqid=440&amp;amp;reqProdTypeId=41p&amp;amp;subsectionname=footwear&amp;amp;section=products"&gt;these&lt;/a&gt;, which I am in love with.  They are like puffy clouds for my feet to travel around in.  Natalie even has a pair to match.  My doctor thought it was downright hilarious that I was wearing the same shoes as him, although his were the regular not fuzzy kind.  So…I am as easily distractible in print as I am in real life.  What the heck was I trying to say here?  Diastolic blood pressure was higher than it has been but still in the range of normal, and everything else was on track.  They hooked me up to the maternal-fetal monitor for a mini-&lt;a href="http://www.babycenter.com/viewArticle.htm?page=1&amp;amp;articleId=1272943"&gt;NST&lt;/a&gt; in the office, and baby was cooperative, kicking all over the place so they could get a good reading.  Again, everything looks good.  We are still on track for a Dec 31 delivery.  My doctor scheduled his vacation for the 21-26, so he will be back in time for my day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2359289796300473510?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2359289796300473510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2359289796300473510' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2359289796300473510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2359289796300473510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/11/baby-updates-6-weeks-to-go.html' title='Baby Updates - 6 Weeks to Go'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2252445873028771193</id><published>2007-11-15T07:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T07:09:28.082-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Belly Talk</title><content type='html'>ALL from yesterday 7 a.m. to 5 p.m.:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Wow, look at your ankles”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Haven’t you had that baby yet?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You are never going to make it until December.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Boy, you really are sticking out there.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Haven’t you figured out how that happens?” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And my personal favorite: “At least we don’t look like her”   [after passing two ladies talking about how they were going to eat too much when they try to quit smoking for the &lt;a href="http://www.quitsmoking.com/info/articles/smokeout.htm"&gt;Great American Smoke-out&lt;/a&gt; today]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to be fair, as I was walking to my car in the garage, my new best friend whose name I don’t know told me: “You look so cute, you really handle your pregnancies well.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone, take note – that is what you are supposed to say to a big giant pregnant lady that you don’t know when you bump into her in the garage.  Either that or just run away before she steals your purse looking for food.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2252445873028771193?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2252445873028771193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2252445873028771193' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2252445873028771193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2252445873028771193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/11/belly-talk.html' title='Belly Talk'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-822822498317403831</id><published>2007-11-13T11:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-13T11:20:53.318-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Is this like the Pink Elephants on Parade?</title><content type='html'>This is too much for me.  I need to share.  I am still trying to process the humor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/ent/celebrities/5297221.html"&gt;http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/ent/celebrities/5297221.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-822822498317403831?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/822822498317403831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=822822498317403831' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/822822498317403831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/822822498317403831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/11/is-this-like-pink-elephants-on-parade.html' title='Is this like the Pink Elephants on Parade?'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6720627001789235621</id><published>2007-11-13T05:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-13T05:06:44.400-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Natural Way</title><content type='html'>I just finished reading a highly-recommended (although somewhat out-dated) book called &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Birth-After-Cesarean-Medical-Facts/dp/0671792180/ref=pd_bbs_6/102-9318162-4444108?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;s=books&amp;amp;qid=1194878989&amp;amp;sr=8-6"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Birth After Cesarean&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt; that I expected to convey the medical facts about repeat cesarean vs. VBAC risks and benefits.  Although the summary of the book was up-front in revealing that the author had reached a strong pro-VBAC conclusion, I was surprised to find just how heavily-laced with bias the book really was.  Basically, it compared the risks of infection and surgical complications to the risk of uterine rupture and came to the conclusion that the risk of uterine rupture in VBAC is statistically comparable to the risks associated with cesarean... so it’s not reasonable to consider the risks significant because VBAC is just fundamentally "better."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My thoughts on this book are probably affected by my own emotional bias against VBAC in general after feeling like the unrepresented minority that is run over by this whole debate.  I can’t even begin to list the times I have been criticized not only for my decision to have a repeat c-section, but for having the first one – mostly by people who had no idea what they were talking about.  Since the extremely high c-section rate is decried in headline after headline, most people understand that VBAC is safe for most mothers and I guess they think they are helping me out by telling me about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn’t have a choice about my fist cesarean.  It didn’t happen because my labor stalled, because my doctors were too impatient to let nature take its course.  Yes, I was induced.  Yes, I labored on pitocin for the better part of a whole day.  Yes, the decision to operate was based on the fact that I was no closer to having a baby at the end of this process than at the beginning.  Unlike the scenarios that are always detailed in these pro-VBAC articles and books, I didn’t have a choice – or at least not what I considered a rational choice.  I had to have the baby then and there or risk my blood pressure going even farther into the zone of life-threatening to me and my child.  There was simply no more time to give.  The induction was my doctor’s best effort at giving me a chance to avoid a c-section, not his desire for a more convenient schedule.  It didn’t work, so the c-section was the next-best choice we had. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are plenty of women out there just like me.  For us, the benefits of “the birthing experience” and the chance to be “an active participant” in labor are not realistic concerns compared to the reality of knowing that our own bodies just didn’t hold up to the demands of pregnancy and labor for reasons beyond our control.  I agree that any surgery should be avoided if possible, and I’m happy for the moms who can weigh these factors and make the decision to go for it.  I’m just not one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bottom line – I am choosing an “elective repeat cesarean” for Baby #2 at the recommendation of a doctor that I trust very much, not at the whim of a broken medical system.  I am choosing this because:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 – 1% risk is too much for me.  Other sources say the risk of rupture is 4/1000.  Either way, I am the person who will spend an hour making sure the carseat is properly installed before driving 3 blocks in the neighborhood.  I am not the person who looks at a 1/250 risk and believes it won’t happen to me.  Also, I remember childbirth and I remember how rarely anyone came to check on me, even though I was high-risk.  I have no illusions that my VBAC would be “closely monitored” for signs of uterine rupture or any other complication. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 – I believe, based on what I have studied and what I know about this pregnancy, that a scheduled c-section gives me the best chance of avoiding a repeat of the somewhat traumatic birth and recovery that I experienced last time.  I have been fearful my entire pregnancy because of the complications of baby #1.  With #1, my blood pressure was so high after delivery that I had to be put on magnesium sulfate, and as a result, I don’t remember the first 24 hours or so after the delivery.  There aren’t any statistics that can change how I feel about having no memory of the first time I held my child. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that cesarean is not 100% safe.  I’m not going into this without an element of fear at undergoing major surgery.  I know the recovery is more difficult.  I am informed.  Sometimes I think I am overly informed, but I can’t shake the feeling that the whole story – the part of it that I fit into - is still not being told.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-6720627001789235621?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6720627001789235621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6720627001789235621' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6720627001789235621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6720627001789235621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/11/natural-way.html' title='The Natural Way'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-5325409200083586384</id><published>2007-11-08T05:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-08T05:59:56.693-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh just play with your food then</title><content type='html'>...at least it's not trying to kill you.  Or maybe it is, but that's for another day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m crazy busy and it’s going to stay that way for at least another week.  I do think that we will get one step closer to having a nursery for baby this weekend, and I’m excited about that.  Still- I did have time to run across this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/11/08/toy.recall/index.html"&gt;http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/11/08/toy.recall/index.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone should be in prison for a long time for this.  In fact, if Martha Stewart has to go to prison for talking about stocks or whatever – admittedly, I don’t understand the market well enough to even talk about this – I think at least 3 or 4 people should be in jail a LONG TIME for selling a toy that contains the date rape drug. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And another topic –&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christina Aguilera is &lt;a href="http://www.cnn.com/2007/SHOWBIZ/Music/11/05/people.christina.aguilera.ap/index.html"&gt;having a baby&lt;/a&gt;, possibly the same day as I am having Isaac.  I just hope she doesn’t name it &lt;a href="http://www.babynamesgarden.com/notable.aspx"&gt;Zolten&lt;/a&gt; or &lt;a href="http://www.babynamesgarden.com/celebrity.aspx"&gt;Princess Tiami,&lt;/a&gt; because then the play-dates will just be akward.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-5325409200083586384?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/5325409200083586384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=5325409200083586384' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5325409200083586384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5325409200083586384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/11/oh-just-play-with-your-food-then.html' title='Oh just play with your food then'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1186745616468632834</id><published>2007-11-05T05:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-05T05:47:44.882-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Party Time</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Natalie’s birthday party was on Saturday, and it was a blast – I think. I managed to get myself stung by a wasp about an hour before the big event. I’ve never been stung by anything flying before, and my mom has the “rush her to the hospital” level of reaction, so I didn’t know what to expect. I did get stung by a poisonous caterpillar once, and the white part of my eyes puffed up over the colored part…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...So I decided to take the biggest recommended dose of benadryl and hope for the best. I figured that me being a groggy medicine head at the party was better than me missing the party for a trip to the urgent care place. I ended up with just a little red blotch where the bite was and nothing more, but I was pretty much out of it for the party. No problem though – there was plenty of fun had by all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was jumping:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129350969648019666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Ry8dh8os-NI/AAAAAAAAAEM/Z9LMtSV73vE/s320/jump.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was swinging:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129351145741678818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Ry8dsMos-OI/AAAAAAAAAEU/TJ2pAePZC-I/s320/swing.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was deeply contemplative regard for the cake:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129351442094422258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Ry8d9cos-PI/AAAAAAAAAEc/_FQEOG-szSg/s320/cake.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The grown-ups even got in on the fun: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129351583828343042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Ry8eFsos-QI/AAAAAAAAAEk/AqLF8sgErkw/s320/uncle+D.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were a couple of un-authorized photos that included giant preggie mom that surely would not have been allowed if I had been in possession of my full mental capacity: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129351884476053778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Ry8eXMos-RI/AAAAAAAAAEs/y92lNCgj8xI/s320/baby+isaac.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie’s evaluation of the day – “I had a party at the gymnastics and I went on the mountain. I was three but now I’m two again and I’m going to have another party at the gymnastics and then I’ll be three.” I think that means she liked it.&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/4335961084997861239-1186745616468632834?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1186745616468632834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1186745616468632834' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1186745616468632834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1186745616468632834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/11/party-time.html' title='Party Time'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Ry8dh8os-NI/AAAAAAAAAEM/Z9LMtSV73vE/s72-c/jump.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1530699681671191173</id><published>2007-11-01T05:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T05:47:59.654-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hallow-humph</title><content type='html'>I am so disappointed by Halloween.  I don't really enjoy the ghouls and spooks, but I love the community feeling of the day and the fun of getting to dress up and pretend to be something extra fun.  I also love that people stop pretending they don't like to eat candy and instead go door to door begging for it - not to mention shamelessly shoveling pounds of it into their shopping carts at the stores to get ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday was just no fun.   Natalie was already hopped up when I picked her up from school from the cupcakes, cookies, and popsicles that they apparently ate continuously from 11:00 on.  As much as I want to have fun on Halloween, I just couldn't bring myself to put any more sugar into my child who was literally smiling at me through clenched teeth while her eyes bugged out of her vibrating head.  I had to be the mean mom that put the candy up until after dinner. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalie is afraid of the Halloween aisle at CVS, so trick or treating was out this year.  I had a commitment with some ladies who have lost children at my church, so I left Nat in the care of hubby, who went with her to Mimi and Poppy's house for dinner and to greet the trick or treaters.  Apparently none of them noticed that Natalie was about to blow up, because they gave her some whoppers - which promptly resulted in her vomiting all over herself, her costume, and the dinner she wasn't eating.  To hear my husband tell the story, she was still trying to get more whoppers into her mouth as they hauled her off to the bathtub.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the time I got home, around 7:45, the teenagers had taken over.  I had to drive through a mass of teens dressed in costumes that covered as little of their bodies as possible, all standing in the middle of the road taking pictures of themselves kissing or climbing on each other.   Then I had to pass the "Scream" guy riding in the back of a convertible, cruising the neighborhood at 10 miles an hour, presumably making sure that any kids who wanted to do any actual trick-or-treating were too intimidated to come out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of this to come home and find that in our absence, someone had smashed our jack-o-lantern to bits and left the top on our doorstep like some kind of mob threat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last year we went through 5 bags of candy before having to turn off our light and go to bed.  We saw all the cute little ones, all the grade-schoolers who were blooming with pride in their cosutumes and filled with the excitement of the night.  I even enjoyed the teens who dressed up and came to the door for candy.  What happened?  I sure miss the old Halloween.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1530699681671191173?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1530699681671191173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1530699681671191173' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1530699681671191173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1530699681671191173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/11/hallow-humph.html' title='Hallow-humph'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6562164667504881995</id><published>2007-10-30T05:59:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-30T06:07:13.573-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='overheard'/><title type='text'>Not Bluetooth Compatible</title><content type='html'>We really do our best talking at bedtime in our house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama- So, it really bothers you that I keep calling baby Isaac "Zacky" in my head?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby- Yes, I hate the name "Zack." His name is not going to be Zack. If you have to call him Zack, then we have to have a new name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama - OK, I can deal with that. How about "zacky poo baby boo?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby- Ha. Ha. I guess there really aren't too many good nicknames for Isaac.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama- Well, we thought that about Natalie, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby- Awww. Our little Natterbeetle. Hey, he can be iBaby!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama - He is not an electronic device!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby- [now ignoring the Mama and talking only to the "iBump"] Hey there little iBaby! It's your daddy! My little iBaby.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not like where this is going, people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-6562164667504881995?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6562164667504881995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6562164667504881995' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6562164667504881995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6562164667504881995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/not-bluetooth-compatible.html' title='Not Bluetooth Compatible'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1060373648175444271</id><published>2007-10-29T12:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T13:00:11.574-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Then &amp; Now</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Natalie’s first fall pictures posted last month &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/09/fear.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;. I can’t get over loving pictures of kids and pumpkins. I really love them.&lt;br /&gt;Last fall at the pumpkin patch:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126849885637507250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RyY6zsos-LI/AAAAAAAAAD8/6DW5D-Ps2mo/s320/06+pmpkin+patch.JPG" border="0" /&gt;This year at the pumpkin patch:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126850388148680898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RyY7Q8os-MI/AAAAAAAAAEE/6kjoZIwoTRc/s320/07+pumpkin+patch.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;It's amazing what 12 months can do with a pumpkin.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1060373648175444271?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1060373648175444271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1060373648175444271' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1060373648175444271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1060373648175444271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/then-now.html' title='Then &amp; Now'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RyY6zsos-LI/AAAAAAAAAD8/6DW5D-Ps2mo/s72-c/06+pmpkin+patch.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1928295645409960540</id><published>2007-10-29T12:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T12:32:14.738-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Einstein</title><content type='html'>As Mama to a preschooler, I have learned that people judge your child continuously. It’s not enough to judge the accomplishments of adults, to &lt;a href="http://blogs.chron.com/mamadrama/archives/2007/10/the_choices_we.html"&gt;make others feel small for their decisions&lt;/a&gt; about what is important in life, to &lt;a href="http://phoenixsaysstuff.blogspot.com/2007/10/dear-ten-year-old-me.html"&gt;convince one another that we aren’t pretty&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://margaretsally.blogspot.com/2007/10/still-on-break.html"&gt;no matter what we look like.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they are unborn babies, children are apparently &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/again-with-fat-comments.html"&gt;judged by how pretty they make their mommies look,&lt;/a&gt; as if they have some control over that. As newborns, it’s all about how well they sleep. As toddlers, babies are called “so smart” and praised for how well they can walk, run, jump, etc. Next, it’s how well they can or can’t speak. I am guessing that when they get to school, the kids who don’t sleep, run, jump, or talk too much are the ones judged “smart.“ I might sound like a bitter mother whose child has been slighted by lack of some ability, but really I’m just a mom who is overly aware of what people say about my kid. Natalie has been called “very smart” most of her life. I always tell her how proud I am of her and that she is my genius, but I confess that I have spent even more time down-playing her achievements to others because of my own aversion to the competitiveness of childhood.&lt;br /&gt;I'm starting to think maybe I have been overcompensating a litte too much, and that I owe her a little more limelite. So, I’m going to put her latest accomplishment right out there for all The Internets to see how proud I really am of my little smartie. Last weekend, she totally surprised us all by writing her name on the sidewalk- proof below: (photo editing by &lt;a href="http://www.picnik.com/"&gt;Picnik&lt;/a&gt;- thanks &lt;a href="http://thebloggess.com/"&gt;Jenny&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126840539788671106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RyYyTsos-II/AAAAAAAAADk/BRaBWqPC6B8/s320/chalk+name.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And wasn’t it nice of her to write in chalk so I could take a digital picture and properly display it, rather than using a sheet of paper that I would inevitably have to shove in her baby “book” (read: shoebox) with the last 18 months of stuff I haven’t gotten around to preserving yet? Smart and considerate. Who could ask for more?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1928295645409960540?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1928295645409960540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1928295645409960540' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1928295645409960540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1928295645409960540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/baby-einstein.html' title='Baby Einstein'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RyYyTsos-II/AAAAAAAAADk/BRaBWqPC6B8/s72-c/chalk+name.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1104831407639004942</id><published>2007-10-23T05:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-23T05:28:55.504-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Update - 10 weeks and counting</title><content type='html'>For those who know me in real life and read this blog for baby updates, and to the pre-ecclampsia survivors who are getting me through this pregnancy with prayer and support – I went to the doctor today and got a little scare.  He was worried from the feel of things in my belly that baby wasn’t growing as he should.  I know this is a common road bump in pregnancy, but I’m a worry wart and it freaked me out.  He re-checked my blood pressure ( 128/ 68 – normal), reviewed the urine test stuff (no protein – excellent), took a good look at my feet and hands (puffy), and sent me for an ultrasound.  After a long wait, the ultrasound revealed that baby is in fact not small at all.  He is actually measuring 2 weeks ahead of schedule.  My doctor isn’t worried about him being too big, so I’m reassured.  The ultrasound tech also pointed out that our little big man has quite a bit of hair on his little big head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isaac - I can't wait to meet you, but please stay in there for a couple more months!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1104831407639004942?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1104831407639004942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1104831407639004942' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1104831407639004942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1104831407639004942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/baby-update-10-weeks-and-counting.html' title='Baby Update - 10 weeks and counting'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1035308383757490545</id><published>2007-10-22T06:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-22T06:15:23.871-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Potter Publicity</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.cnn.com/2007/SHOWBIZ/books/10/22/books.potter.dumbledore.ap/index.html"&gt;http://www.cnn.com/2007/SHOWBIZ/books/10/22/books.potter.dumbledore.ap/index.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to be honest - I do not like this one bit.  To me, it says one thing if you write something like that into the story and create the character that way.  It says something different if you decide to hold a press conference and make a statement that you know is going to stir up folks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know that if she had written that into the story people, there are plenty of people would have thought twice about buying the book - but coming out with it afterward is only going to drum up publicity.   It's just low, in my opinion.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1035308383757490545?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1035308383757490545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1035308383757490545' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1035308383757490545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1035308383757490545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/potter-publicity.html' title='Potter Publicity'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-7958899540531570189</id><published>2007-10-19T10:05:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-19T10:08:15.104-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Now Playing at the Chron.com</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Porn and slasher flicks, apparently.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123095653481988962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RxjkWoAkQ2I/AAAAAAAAAC0/tWmk-CqGbVU/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" /&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is the news?&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/4335961084997861239-7958899540531570189?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/7958899540531570189/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=7958899540531570189' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7958899540531570189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7958899540531570189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/now-playing-at-chroncom.html' title='Now Playing at the Chron.com'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RxjkWoAkQ2I/AAAAAAAAAC0/tWmk-CqGbVU/s72-c/untitled.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-3451829172715464054</id><published>2007-10-18T11:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T11:45:52.713-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A cord of 3 strands is not easily broken</title><content type='html'>Baby Isaac had his baby shower this weekend, and I am just really touched by the girls who gave it for him.  I’ve known all these ladies for about 4 years, and they have been through “it all” with me.  When I met them, they were all struggling quietly and alone with infertility.  I came along as a newly engaged kid, and they welcomed me into their group with open arms.  Eventually, everyone’s private struggles were brought into the light, and we prayed and cried for one another.  After 4 months of marriage, I showed up one night unable to hold back the tears after finding out I was pregnant.  I didn’t want to be pregnant – it’s not that I didn’t want kids, but I wasn’t ready for it.  These loving women who spent so much of their hearts yearning for babies of their own not only bothered to go after my true feelings about my own pregnancy, but they supported and encouraged me through what must have seemed like the most selfish problem a person could have.  When my pregnancy was rougher than expected, they were there with strength that I didn't have and meals Iwould have otherwise just gone without.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ladies, you are awesome, and I can’t contain my joy that we were all able to celebrate Isaac’s coming birth together as mothers.  Yes, they are all mothers now.   Through in-vitro fertilization, overseas adoption, and just plain unexplained miracles, God has given them all children of their own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Melinda – You are the person who knows how to make food into a meal and a house into a home.  When I met you, I was intimidated by your “perfect” housekeeping skills, but now I know that everything you do is not to impress others but to share what you have with them.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jessica – You have the biggest heart of anyone I have ever known.  You might think that you don’t express it that well, but you don’t have to speak to let your heart be known because it is a part of everything you do.  Your faith and your unwillingness to compromise your principles are inspiring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sonia – You are so honest.  I love the way you make us all feel normal for being the way we are.  I love the way you would do anything or go anywhere for a friend.  You are a dear friend and one of the strongest women I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, precious friends, for sharing motherhood and your hearts with me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-3451829172715464054?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/3451829172715464054/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=3451829172715464054' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3451829172715464054'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3451829172715464054'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/cord-of-3-strands-is-not-easily-broken.html' title='A cord of 3 strands is not easily broken'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-7678705108536389124</id><published>2007-10-11T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-20T13:25:22.552-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chicken Soup for the Infant Cold</title><content type='html'>The big headline today on CNN was that drug makers are pulling cold medicines for babies from retail shelves until the medical community can make up its mind about them. Apparently, if you mega-overdose your child on cold medicine, your child can be harmed. What I don’t get is that they are only pulling the ones marketed for infants and leaving the ones that don’t specifically say “Infant” on the packaging. In case you haven’t purchased OTC cold medicine for a baby, they all say “Consult your physician” for dosage under 2 years. Even Children’s Tylenol says that. All I can think is that if you were willing to give your baby drugs that had no recommended dosage for your baby’s age without calling your doctor to find out how much to give them because it said “Infant” on the label, I doubt you are going to have a problem doing the same thing with a drug that says “Children’s” on the label instead, especially if there are no “Infant” drugs on the shelf to make you suspect that “Children’s” does not include infants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, the esteemed Dr. Sanjay Gupta, physician to the media masses, is advising that &lt;a href="http://www.cnn.com/2007/HEALTH/10/11/infant.drugs/index.html"&gt;“parents of sick infants can use vaporizers or hydrators, saline nose drops, rubber nose bulbs, and chicken soup”&lt;/a&gt; to cure their children instead of the OTC medicines. I don’t know about your kid, but Natalie just loved it when I loaded her bottle with chicken soup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120137448332013826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Rw5h4bEBMQI/AAAAAAAAACk/U0djS85r2mA/s320/IMG_0373-blog.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Update - since people keep finding me by searching for "Infant cold," I'm adding some actual information here.  If you are looking for what to give your child for his cold or dosing children's medicine, I recommend that you &lt;a href="http://www.askdrsears.com/html/8/T089900.asp"&gt;ask Dr. Sears.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-7678705108536389124?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/7678705108536389124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=7678705108536389124' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7678705108536389124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7678705108536389124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/chicken-soup-for-infant-cold.html' title='Chicken Soup for the Infant Cold'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Rw5h4bEBMQI/AAAAAAAAACk/U0djS85r2mA/s72-c/IMG_0373-blog.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2826778009973703417</id><published>2007-10-09T10:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-09T10:16:49.527-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Again with the Fat Comments?</title><content type='html'>OK- Enough.  ENOUGH! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today in the bathroom, a co-worker that has been here for all of two weeks started a chat with me by asking when the baby is due.  I answered (Jan 8), making this the longest conversation we have ever shared.  She looked at me with a raised eyebrow and said "Only one baby?"  I answered her and could have gotten over that part, but she felt compelled to follow up with "Well, hopefully you won't get too much bigger."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who says these things?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2826778009973703417?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2826778009973703417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2826778009973703417' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2826778009973703417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2826778009973703417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/again-with-fat-comments.html' title='Again with the Fat Comments?'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-211050368236930870</id><published>2007-10-08T19:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-09T05:18:58.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm not done talking about boobs</title><content type='html'>Now that I have your attention…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last month I wrote a &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/09/lactivists-unite.html"&gt;marginally dissenting opinion &lt;/a&gt;on the Facebook issue, and I still haven’t spent the time to find out more about what they did or didn’t do, so I’m not talking about that anymore. I have spent time reading other people’s blog entries on this topic, and I am really moved by the level of controversy that is out there over breastfeeding. The argument that gets me the most is over whether nursing is sexual or not. I have a strong opinion on that one, so I’m diving into the pit here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Breastfeeding is sexual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just to be clear, I do not feel sexually aroused by breastfeeding my child, by watching someone breastfeed, or by looking at pictures of breastfeeding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Breastfeeding is not kinky or lustful, and it is not obscene. Kinky and lustful are part of sex, but they are not all of sex. If you think breastfeeding is not sexual, I will not claim that you have an incorrect view of breastfeeding. I would claim that you are taking a sadly limited view of sex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any woman who has been in a healthy sexual relationship can attest that physical intimacy (in and of itself, apart from the orgasm or whatever else) is a part of sexual satisfaction for a woman. Breastfeeding is physically intimate. Breastfeeding a child produces chemical and emotional responses in a woman that help her feel attached and close to her child in much the same way that sex makes her feel attached and close to her husband.   The problem is that most of us have not been in a healthy sexual relationship, and even if we have, we are carrying the scars of past abuse. Last week, so many people wrote to Stop the Abuse. It is astounding how many people have been touched by abuse, and this should give us a clue as to why breastfeeding makes so many upset. It’s not an excuse - but you can’t solve a problem without a full understanding of the causes. Even aside from abusive relationships with others, we live in a world where nearly everyone has an unhealthy relationship with her own body. We worship and sacrifice our own bodies everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bottom line is that breastfeeding cannot be separated from the aspects of woman that make her WOMAN, and that has something and everything to do with sex. It is no more obscene than a beautiful dress that showcases a lovely feminine body and no less intimate than a husband and wife’s wedding kiss.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-211050368236930870?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/211050368236930870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=211050368236930870' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/211050368236930870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/211050368236930870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/im-not-done-talking-about-boobs.html' title='I&apos;m not done talking about boobs'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-8601695376139734959</id><published>2007-10-08T13:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-08T13:32:30.571-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bring Your Fetus to Work Day</title><content type='html'>I remember this feeling from my first pregnancy, but I thought it came later on. So, I'm just sitting here at my desk, and there is totally a baby squirming around in my lap, and nobody seems to think it is odd. OK, I know the baby isn't born yet, and it's not like he requires my attention like a "born" baby would, but he's still just RIGHT THERE in my lap - and I'm at work just going about my business like everything is normal. And I think I just set the record for run-on, bad-grammatical-structure sentences (so here's one more.) Did I mention that my husband studied print journalism in college and actually corrects people for misusing "your" and "you're" in their text messages?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-8601695376139734959?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/8601695376139734959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=8601695376139734959' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8601695376139734959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/8601695376139734959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/bring-your-fetus-to-work-day.html' title='Bring Your Fetus to Work Day'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-758673318755048910</id><published>2007-10-04T09:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-04T09:51:14.527-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bring out the Good</title><content type='html'>There hasn't been much to say lately- the creativity and introspection have just not been flowing. The doctor checked me out, and I'm doing well. I still have to stop myself from adding "for now" to that sentence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our A/C was broken all weekend, and I think I'm still sweating from that. I've been so crabby that I yelled at my poor daughter for throwing a fit (as in, let me just yell at you about how you are yelling and that will surely teach you to stop yelling), I criticized my husband for wanting to take a day of work to work on house projects (again, what?), and the first thought through my mind this morning when I saw a co-worker who is relocating to another office area was "Today's the last day I'm going to have to see you first thing in the morning," (and I actually like the guy.) I am just a big ole crab these days. In an effort to be more positive, here is a post about an organization that I think is doing good in the world:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Top Five Reasons that &lt;a href="http://www.samaritanspurse.org/OCC.asp?MPGID=1"&gt;Operation Christmas Child&lt;/a&gt;, by Samaritan’s Purse, is a charity that I look forward to supporting every holiday season:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I get to go shopping and I don’t have to bring any more “stuff” into my house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Buying Christmas presents for kids is more fun in October when I haven’t already spent my entire Christmas budget&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I can turn a shoebox into a treasure chest without feeling like a dork.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I don't have to think about how noisy or annoying a toy might be before I buy it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. In all seriousness, I get to do something that impacts a child’s life, and I don’t have to just send off a check and wonder how it was spent.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-758673318755048910?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/758673318755048910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=758673318755048910' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/758673318755048910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/758673318755048910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/10/bring-out-good.html' title='Bring out the Good'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-3258268438364142924</id><published>2007-09-27T06:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-27T08:53:55.348-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Little Things</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Jenny at &lt;a href="http://thebloggess.com/"&gt;The Bloggess&lt;/a&gt; had a great idea for a &lt;a href="http://thebloggess.com/?p=148"&gt;contest&lt;/a&gt; to bring out people’s pictures that unintentionally captured the treasures of life – at least that what’s I took it for. If you clicked from her blog and just want to see my entry, scroll to the end. It’s the last one in the post….but I will cast one of those chain-mail curses on you if you do that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like many moms, my favorite subject for photos is my child. I have taken more pictures of her than I can count, and I won’t delete any of them even if they come out totally blurry. I love taking pictures that capture elements of her babyhood that come and go so quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of them are physical appearance, like her baby toes…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114869210347529186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RvuqcnNY4-I/AAAAAAAAABk/KwMtP-Tyqak/s320/toesies+blog.jpg" border="0" /&gt; Her mismatched eyes…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114869502405305330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RvuqtnNY4_I/AAAAAAAAABs/fCyhsg-oh94/s320/eyes+blog.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Her roly-poly baby thighs (already vanished away and replaced with new little miniature gymnast legs)…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114869820232885250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RvurAHNY5AI/AAAAAAAAAB0/kPqEKUR-BGc/s320/thighs+blog.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Some of them catch parts of her personality, like the teenager that lives inside my preschooler…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114870099405759506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RvurQXNY5BI/AAAAAAAAAB8/YhIwDo1c-8A/s320/lounge+blog.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or the way she hates having her toenails trimmed (2 years later, she still manages to get that exact same look on her face, even though the face is so different)… &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114870314154124322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Rvurc3NY5CI/AAAAAAAAACE/wn3dLoQc2zI/s320/toes+blog.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then there is my other baby, who was so displaced at first that she had to resort to dolls to find a good lap to sit in… (picture also known as "IM IN UR CRIBZ, STEALIN YOUR RAGGEDY LUVZ")&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114870683521311794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RvuryXNY5DI/AAAAAAAAACM/TXTsgIGFP_Q/s320/shadowlap+blog.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But my very favorite picture of Natalie is one that I took about 7 months ago and haven’t gotten tired of looking at yet. I have it up at work and at home, and it fascinates me, encourages me, and sometimes brings a happy tear to my eye even though I have seen it a million times. This is one of those shots I took holding the camera at arms length, blindly attempting to get myself and Natalie in the frame. I had been trying to get a photo of her for an Easter card, and then we just started playing. She was all smiles, so I decided to humor my husband and try to get a picture of us together. There aren’t many of those because I am incapable of keeping my eyes open in a picture. I was just snapping and snapping, and Natalie did something that made me laugh. I don’t remember what it was, but I remember the feeling it gave me. I gave her a little kiss and accidentally managed to capture the moment:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114912044056372322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RvvRZ3NY5GI/AAAAAAAAACc/1MNFn7qccWw/s320/kiss+blog.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love this picture because it is a picture of my baby’s happy love face. For me, it captures the magic of the way she looks when she is happy and she still thinks that I am somehow responsible for making her feel that way. This one picture captures so many expressions of love – her dreamy-closed eyes, her thoughtless smile, her hands drawn up in a moment of surprise. I even love that it shows the little red splotches she gets on her chin from drooling all the time because every mom knows that you can’t separate baby love from drool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This picture represents all the reasons that motherhood is worth it and that I am putting myself through the *ahem* joys *cough* of pregnancy again. Maybe I should look at it more often.&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/4335961084997861239-3258268438364142924?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/3258268438364142924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=3258268438364142924' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3258268438364142924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3258268438364142924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/09/little-things.html' title='The Little Things'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/RvuqcnNY4-I/AAAAAAAAABk/KwMtP-Tyqak/s72-c/toesies+blog.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-701246441341129200</id><published>2007-09-24T06:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T07:16:30.785-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fear</title><content type='html'>The Fear is back. I went about a month without worrying about this baby, about whether he would be here healthy and whole and in his full time. Last night and Friday night and now this morning, I have pain under my rib cage, and I am familiar with this kind of pain. It is the pain that the nurses tell you is heartburn if you call them after hours, but that heartburn medication doesn’t help. Last time I believed them and told myself to toughen up – pregnant women get heartburn. Now I know better. Now I know that it could be heartburn and nothing else, or it could be another sign of my best pregnancy friend, pre-eclampsia. It is power and it is a curse. Since I know better, I will not just take the nurses’ word as gospel. I will ask for tests; I will see the doctor. Since I know better, I will not be able to go through the day like everything is fine until I know for sure that everything is fine. I will spend hours fearing what is probably, in all honesty, heartburn, imagining that it could be the first sign that my precious son is not OK.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of my precious son, his name is Isaac Bernhard. Isaac means laughter, and Bernhard is his daddy’s name. We weren’t 100% sold on the name, but once Natalie adopted it and began telling everyone that her brother’s name is Isaac, we felt committed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read on another &lt;a href="http://thosecrazylangs.blogspot.com/index.html"&gt;blog&lt;/a&gt; of a pre-e survivor where she wrote all the reasons she was thankful to have gone through this disease. I guess this is something that Oprah says to do – to change the way you look at major events in your life. I’m not sure I can really do that 100% until I am through this pregnancy, but I think it is the right idea. Our sermon at church this weekend dealt with the issue of how sometimes the things that happen to you don’t make sense in the 70 or so years of life on earth, but that the truth is that they are always for your ultimate good in the eternal picture. I believe that is true. The verse is Ecclesiastes 3:11 “He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” This is very similar to &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=rom%208:28;&amp;amp;version=49;"&gt;Romans 8:28&lt;/a&gt;, but Solomon was more poetic than Paul, and I like his version better. It’s part of the &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=ecc%203;&amp;amp;version=50;"&gt;“To every season”&lt;/a&gt; passage that most people are familiar with from the song- really beautiful stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here’s my first stab at it: I am thankful that I had preeclampsia because it has made me treasure my unborn child in a way that I missed out on the first time. With Natalie, I was just pregnant. I didn’t think much about the baby inside or what she would be like. I was young and naïve, and I was excited about having a baby but it just wasn’t real to me. With Isaac, I think about him like a person and I want to get to know him now and take care of him because I don’t take for granted that everything will be perfect when he comes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am thankful of course for my Natalie – for the memories that I have from 2 years ago of her first autumn, getting ready for the holidays while seeing them through the eyes of a child for the first time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5113764892651348946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Rve-E3NY49I/AAAAAAAAABc/XYZWmKP8JA8/s320/pumpkin+hand+sm.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-701246441341129200?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/701246441341129200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=701246441341129200' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/701246441341129200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/701246441341129200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/09/fear.html' title='The Fear'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Rve-E3NY49I/AAAAAAAAABc/XYZWmKP8JA8/s72-c/pumpkin+hand+sm.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6327147822984065830</id><published>2007-09-21T07:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T07:25:03.692-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Call me Stay-Puff in the Morning, Baby</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I woke up puffy.  I knew it was going to be a super-awesome pregnant day when I put my bare feet on the ground over the edge of my bed and it felt like I had squeezed them into a pair of too-tight shoes.  I instinctively made fists and felt that familiar chubbiness of my fingertips being not quite able to curl all the way in to the bottom half of my fingers.  The day before, I was fine – this is an overnight thing with me.  I had gained 2 pounds since I went to bed, and since I am not a sleepwalker, I knew that the water retention had finally made its appearance.  I had little rings around my ankles by 10:00 a.m., and by lunch time I was huffing and puffing to get all my extra self up to the top of the parking garage. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, miracle of miracles, I woke up this morning and it was all gone.  It’s like maybe the universe decided that since I was FINALLY feeling good in my pregnant body and not believing that every day was just 24 hours closer to some kind pregnancy disaster it needed to send that little warning shot over my ramparts.  Like “Hey there – don’t get all cocky and think you can just be a normal pregnant chick.  Remember how your dysfunctional body doesn’t do this right?  Yeah, it’s still like that.”   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I’ve taken off my rings and retired my high-heels for the duration, but I’m trying to believe that this was just a one-day thing.  I have gone over and over what I did and what I ate the day before, though, and there just aren’t any salt binges or over-exertions to explain it away.  I did eat a couple extra pieces of chocolate, so I guess I’ll blame them.  Nestle’s, you are officially uninvited from my baby shower.  Don’t tell Ghiradelli, she’s still on the list.  It’s just the cheap ones that make you sick, right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-6327147822984065830?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6327147822984065830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6327147822984065830' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6327147822984065830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6327147822984065830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/09/just-call-me-stay-puff-in-morning-baby.html' title='Just Call me Stay-Puff in the Morning, Baby'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4639185590310113760</id><published>2007-09-19T14:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-19T14:32:35.444-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='overheard'/><title type='text'>On a lighter note</title><content type='html'>Mama (to husband who just came home in the middle of the night from playing softball - or maybe it was 9:30, but it’s all the same to me lately because I’d been in bed for at least an hour) : Would you rub my back  pleeeeeeze&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby:  Would you rub my back?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama:  How am I going to rub your back while you are rubbing my back?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby: I meant after.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama:  The point is that you rub my back until I fall asleep since you just woke me up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby:  Maybe we could just face each other and reach around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama: If I do that you are going to try to jump my bones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby:  That’s disgusting.  I would probably try to have sex with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mama:  Nevermind.  You clearly aren’t getting the point of this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-4639185590310113760?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4639185590310113760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4639185590310113760' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4639185590310113760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4639185590310113760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/09/on-lighter-note.html' title='On a lighter note'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-4893554362120835539</id><published>2007-09-18T10:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-18T10:35:20.167-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lactivists Unite?</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I had the much-beloved &lt;a href="http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/gestational-diabetes/DS00316/DSECTION=6"&gt;glucola screen&lt;/a&gt; –yea!  I hope I passed it this time because failing means a 3-hour glucose tolerance test and fasting. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I also heard about Facebook taking down pictures of nursing mommies.  I can’t say I am outraged, but I am confused.  Before I jump on the Facebook The Oppressor wagon, I’d really like to see the kinds of pictures that they actually took down.  Were they the traditional shots of a latched on baby that show some cleavage and not much else?  Or were they shots that actually showed mom’s boobs in all their glory and just happened to include a baby about to eat?  I can see the need for Facebook to have a generic rule despite the nature of the picture that is something like “no nipples.”  I’m just saying that if you have a rule you need to have a rule.  The same principle applies in reverse – if you leave up pictures of women in string bikinis that show “everything but” and take down pictures that show the same amount of boobie with a baby instead of a bustier, then you don’t have a leg to stand on in my book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I breastfed my daughter for a full 27 months of her life.  I never had to buy formula, and I never regretted the decision.  I breastfed Natalie in my home, in the mall, at the zoo, on an airplane, in the car (in the parking lot), at church, in a movie theater, and probably lots of other places that I can’t remember.  I pumped milk at work for 9 months and also pumped in my car (yes, driving), at a wedding, and in many many bathrooms.  (As I’m typing this, I am finding that Microsoft does not seem to recognize “breastfed” as a verb and keeps warning me that I am making fragments…)  I am really proud of this, and the experience totally transformed the way I feel about my body.  I was lucky, and I was never accosted by the boob police in public.  I was (I believe) very discreet and never showed more than a flash of breast, and I never tried any very controversial places like a restaurant or grocery store.  Oddly enough, the places that I was most uncomfortable were in the homes of friends and family.  Those were the places that I was most often banished to a back room away from polite company.  I met the most resistance from people that I knew, not from strangers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bottom line - in no way shape or form do I consider breastfeeding to be obscene.  It doesn’t have anything to do with pornography, and it isn’t indecent exposure.  Still, mommies, have some respect for the people around you.  I think it’s like changing a diaper in public - it’s natural and you have to do it sometimes, but it’s just polite to make every reasonable effort to keep your little one’s little ones shielded from public view.  Take the same measures with your own body is all I’m saying here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-4893554362120835539?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/4893554362120835539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=4893554362120835539' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4893554362120835539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/4893554362120835539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/09/lactivists-unite.html' title='Lactivists Unite?'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-5518330405027619442</id><published>2007-09-14T06:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-14T06:39:23.875-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm just here for the free tears</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I saw a professional counselor for the third and final time. I have struggled with my own demons as long as I can remember, and I think I always thought that if I could just make that phone call to get some help, it would come to an end. In August, I had something I can only describe as an anxiety attack that was so severe that I could not drive myself home. Maybe it was the baby on the way, or maybe it was just my time, but I finally got a list of counselors from my insurance company and tried to make an appointment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first strike was that I had to call six before I found one who would see me. The others were either not taking new patients, not seeing patients at all, or had moved their offices across town. These phone calls were next to impossible for someone like me to make, and I’d just like to say that the people who answered the phone did not make them any easier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally found one person who would see me. She was the one who had no information on the internet and was unknown to a friend of mine who is also a counselor. I made my appointment for the next week and when the time came, I went. She had no waiting area, so I had the choice of either standing in the hallway outside her office or sitting in the reception area of a busy lending firm that was apparently accustomed to hosting the unstables that come to see the counselor down the hall. She was 20 minutes late to see me, and when she finally appeared, I got the feeling that she was no more thrilled to see me than I was to be there. I told her about the “attack” and that I thought maybe I was finally dealing with the trauma of my first pregnancy. She was not really listening, I don’t think, and just kept telling me that pregnancy got better in the second trimester (I was 19 weeks at the time.) I was there no more than 30 minutes, including filling out some paperwork, before she dismissed me on time despite starting late. She said we would work on relaxation techniques next time and sent me on my way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second appointment was a little bit better. We did some “meditation” and all I could do was cry. She asked what was going on, and re-visited the past pregnancy because that was all I could think to talk about. She told me that she thought maybe I was finally dealing with the &lt;a href="http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/08/you-know-ive-never-been-good-at-keep-in.html"&gt;trauma of my first pregnancy &lt;/a&gt;– what a thought. Anyway, at least she was listening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third was a disaster – late again, and I had no idea what to tell her. The only question she asked me was how my week had been. I couldn’t really think of much to say, so there was silence most of the time. She called me a perfectionist (as in “stop being a perfectionist”) when I explained that I hadn’t been able to clear my mind to do the meditation crap on my own.&lt;br /&gt;I guess I expected her to have some supernatural ability to see that the things I was telling her were just the surface – that I really wanted and needed help with much deeper things. That seems a little unrealistic in retrospect, considering I have 25 years or so experience at convincing people that I am perfectly fine and no one has been able to figure it out yet. Anyway, she didn’t get it either and I don’t see the point of paying her to listen to me ramble about my week when I can do it for free on the internet without getting asinine feedback (or at least without feeling compelled to respond to any of it.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-5518330405027619442?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/5518330405027619442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=5518330405027619442' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5518330405027619442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5518330405027619442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/09/im-just-here-for-free-tears.html' title='I&apos;m just here for the free tears'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-6508721871166938622</id><published>2007-09-07T06:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-14T06:30:22.310-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gentle nudges</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was the day from down under.  Thing after thing went wrong at work, and the biggest problems were happening in Georgia, where I have no way of fixing them.  I am already confused about what my job will look like after the new baby comes, but yesterday another option was thrown into the mix.  I am very reluctant to make any decisions now, but my department is restructuring and 4 months is a little too long to bide my time without any job definition, I think.  I got so stressed out about it that I put baby Isaac on the waiting list for Natalie’s daycare last night.  The first opening they had was for June 1, so I guess I still have some problems there.  I’m out of time for writing, so this will all have to wait for another day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-6508721871166938622?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/6508721871166938622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=6508721871166938622' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6508721871166938622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/6508721871166938622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/09/gentle-nudges.html' title='Gentle nudges'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-5445254376723654861</id><published>2007-09-05T07:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T07:05:28.029-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Adventures in Aggieland</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;First, you have to check &lt;a href="http://blogs.chron.com/mamadrama/archives/2007/09/when_your_child.html"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; out – people are still crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, my family completed the first of 3 consecutive trips to College Station to watch Aggie football live this past weekend. We left the house at 2:30 and made it home at 11:00. It was only in the high 80’s outside, so it was OK as outdoor sports go. Natalie spent all day Friday in anticipation of the event and had to wear her Aggie shirt and suck on only her Aggie pacifier (a.k.a. “plug”). She woke up from her nap and the casual observer may have thought we were going to Mickey Mouse’s Birthday Extravaganza based on her reaction to realizing that it was time to go. I spent a long time wondering why a 2-year-old would be so excited about an hour car ride followed by 2 hours of sitting around a grill followed by 4 hours of staring at a football field followed by another 2 hour car ride (this time with traffic.) On Sunday, even after the reality of the event must have sunken in, she would still only wear Aggie gear and use the Aggie plug. Why? How can this be exciting to her? It occurred to me that maybe this is what cheerleaders look like at 2 and I entered momentary panic. Then, on Sunday night, I was reminded of the secret - the devoted adoration that can only come from a daughter for the daddy that is wrapped completely around her fingers (and who happens to believe that the solar system revolves around Kyle Field).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106720899430432450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Rt63mfmdPsI/AAAAAAAAABU/IyI3O6h-DOE/s320/nat+and+daddy.jpg" border="0" /&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/4335961084997861239-5445254376723654861?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/5445254376723654861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=5445254376723654861' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5445254376723654861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/5445254376723654861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/09/adventures-in-aggieland.html' title='Adventures in Aggieland'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8P8dDlNLRAc/Rt63mfmdPsI/AAAAAAAAABU/IyI3O6h-DOE/s72-c/nat+and+daddy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-799052178969409640</id><published>2007-08-28T07:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T07:01:07.750-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Mac in the Oven?</title><content type='html'>Today I am uncomfortable with my body, and I believe it is a crime that people have made me feel this way.  Three people in the last 3 days have told me that I look really big for my stage in pregnancy.  Maybe I should just post a picture and let the internets vote on my relative pregnant lack of hotness?  Or maybe I should NOT encourage the craziness that has lead people to believe it is OK to tell a woman she looks fat if she is pregnant.&lt;br /&gt; And by the way, this should be the 9 months of my life when I am completely exempt from any fat judgment whatsoever- including judgments that I am such a fatty that I have somehow made my unborn child into a giant by proximity&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-799052178969409640?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/799052178969409640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=799052178969409640' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/799052178969409640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/799052178969409640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/08/big-mac-in-oven.html' title='Big Mac in the Oven?'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2403664023097961994</id><published>2007-08-27T10:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-28T11:05:50.697-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You know, I've never been good at "Keep in Touch"</title><content type='html'>June, July, August, heck, some stuff happened in there. I just left a lunch with a friend who I haven’t seen in YEARS and after he told me the sagas of love and loss for his family, all I could think of to say was that my parents had some landscaping done. Seriously. And I’m having a boy. Frankly, I don’t know what I am going to do with a boy, but I’m getting one, and everyone seems to think it’s great that I will be completing my Norman Rockwell family portrait. I was actually dreaming of something more like Little Women without the death, but I can think of some good things about having a boy. Is it wrong that I am relieved that Natalie will be my one and only princess and won’t have to share that pet name with a sister? Is it normal to feel depressed that I will have to give away all the little dresses that she wore instead of seeing them again on another little girl? Am I the only person that can’t figure out whether I am happy or sad about this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh! I did find time to read Harry Potter when the new book came out. I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. I meant to re-read the ending, but I haven’t found that time again since. I have way too busy fueling my own anxiety over being pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was pregnant before, I had preeclampsia. There, I said it. If you’ve never known someone who went through that nightmare, read some stories &lt;a href="http://www.preeclampsia.org/about.asp"&gt;here.&lt;/a&gt; My story is not that bad, as these things go. The thing is, I didn’t know I had a problem until I was in the recovery room after delivering my baby and couldn’t hold my head up or stop vomiting. The first 20 weeks of my pregnancy were spent trying to come to terms with being pregnant and having one continuous “threatened miscarriage” because my hormones were out of whack. Then – literally at 4 a.m. on the day after I was released from the hospital for the last time – my dear friend and my husband’s male other half, Russell, was killed in a mugging. The next 10 weeks or so are all a blur in which we tried to come to terms with all that grief and shock. I remember that I felt bad, but it’s difficult to separate depression from normal pregnancy feelings from the unnatural exhaustion caused by preeeclampsia. Then another friend delivered a baby at 26 weeks (she was 2 weeks ahead of me) and he only lived a month. I remember that I couldn’t wear shoes anymore because my feet were so thick that nothing in any size would go on. I know that my OB sent me to a cardiologist and put me on blood pressure medication, but I didn’t understand what it was for. I had complained that my heart felt like it was racing, and so I thought he was trying to help with that. The medicine made me foggy and even more tired, so I thought I was choosing between the racing heart and the foggy feeling, and I chose the racing heart because at least I could drive to work that way. I honestly had no idea that what I had was serious or that I was in any danger of early delivery. I read about pre-e in the pregnancy books. They listed the symptoms and – check, check, double-check- that was me. They didn’t say much that concerned me. I recently read in my old journal that the doctor had recommended that I leave work at 26 weeks, but I think I believed he was just trying to accommodate me because I felt so bad. I thought I was toughing it out and I just needed to get over feeling bad for myself. Then, at just under 37 weeks, I went to my company’s Thanksgiving luncheon and then to my weekly OB appointment. I took work with me. The doctor took my blood pressure, looked at my feet and smiled a very wary, ominous, smile. He said, “Well, you’re going to have this baby tomorrow. You can just go on over to the hospital now, and they will get you started. I will come by and check on you tonight, and we will have induction tomorrow. Maybe you will have labor tonight. You are essentially full term, the baby is big, and there is a chance that if I send you home, you will have a stroke.” He said it very kindly, but just like that. I began to cry right there. He took me to his office, and I remember sitting in his big leather chair calling my family to tell them I was going to the hospital and trying to keep from soaking his telephone. That’s about the last thing I remember clearly from that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, without telling the whole birth story, I basically had 24+ hours of heavily monitored, drug-induced labor that ended in an emergency c-section. My blood pressure was so high after delivery that they put me on magnesium and sent me to a special high-care room. I don’t remember the first day of my child’s life, because that is what magnesium does, and afterward I was so relieved to have it over that I never looked back…until now, of course, when I became curious about whether this was a fluke or something I had to look forward to living again. Now I know that I have a very good chance of developing the same problems because the last time it all started so early in my pregnancy. To be totally honest, I am terrified. Every day, when I feel my heart racing and my shoes pinching, I remember having this feeling before. Things I have long forgotten are becoming clear again, and I am starting to make sense of what happened with the last pregnancy. At the same time, I am making my anxious self nuts worrying about what might happen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2403664023097961994?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2403664023097961994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2403664023097961994' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2403664023097961994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2403664023097961994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/08/you-know-ive-never-been-good-at-keep-in.html' title='You know, I&apos;ve never been good at &quot;Keep in Touch&quot;'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-2858799597964426623</id><published>2007-08-20T07:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T08:05:20.783-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='naps'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='intro'/><title type='text'>I need a nap</title><content type='html'>Based on the theme of this blog, you might be temtped to believe that I sleep all the time, or that I am chronically sleep-deprived.  I am not.  It's just that I think about sleep all the time.  If anyone asked me what I want at any given time, there is probably a 60% chance that I would say a nap.  It doesn't matter how much or how little I sleep - I always want to sleep more.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now, I have an excuse.  I have a 2-year old daughter who is potty training (not that well), a full time job where I work with crazy people masquerading as normal business-folk, and a baby on the way.  Sleep is precious and rare, and even when I am in bed with all the stars properly aligned, it just doesn't always come.  Did I mention that I have a husband? I do, but since pre-season NFL means that there is football on every single day, and Ti-Vo means that we "don't have to miss a single minute,"  I might as well have an extra venus fly trap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I wrote some nice posts about a 4 months ago when I set out to start this blog, but I never got around to actually starting it and posting them.  I'll put the better ones up as I go along.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-2858799597964426623?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/2858799597964426623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=2858799597964426623' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2858799597964426623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/2858799597964426623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/08/i-need-nap.html' title='I need a nap'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-3801013995975822601</id><published>2007-06-08T10:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-28T10:49:08.141-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My banana has a website</title><content type='html'>It’s Dole.com.  What happened to the pretty blue Chiquita stickers with the curvy little lady on them that I stuck to my forehead as a kid?  I’m eating a banana right now, and it has a sticker advertising it’s own website.  I usually buy organic bananas, and I don’t think it would be quite in keeping with the lifestyle perception to put a website on an organic banana, but my dear kind hubby went to the store for me this week.  In addition to several “all in one pot, just add water” meals, I got advertisement on my bananas.  I just don’t know how I feel about that, you know?  I am on the internet all day, but there is just something unnatural about websites for produce.  It makes me think that my bananas have some sort of technological component to them that is not very appetizing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a lighter note, 2 people mistook me for a high-school student yesterday.  This used to happen to me all the time, but not so much since I became an overstressed mom.  I guess that pregnant glow is working its magic.  For reference, I’m going to my 10-yr high school reunion this year, so this is a big compliment to me.  If they were hip to the high-school crowd, my shoes would have given me away, though, I have to admit.  No high-schooler with a sense of dignity would be caught in Bass sandals.  Bass is clearly the choice of the older generation, but hey – I’ll take what I can get.  Woo-hoo!  I’m getting younger in the eyes of old people!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-3801013995975822601?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/3801013995975822601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=3801013995975822601' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3801013995975822601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/3801013995975822601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/06/my-banana-has-website.html' title='My banana has a website'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-7630010482328046722</id><published>2007-05-23T10:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-28T10:48:30.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SLEEEEEP</title><content type='html'>Sleep.  It’s all I can think about.  It’s all I want to do.  The only reason I’m writing this blog now is because I just finished my lunch and I have a meeting in half an hour that I need to stay awake for.  In my finer moments I have actually tried to figure out whether I could quit my job now and just sleep for the next 7 months.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-7630010482328046722?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/7630010482328046722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=7630010482328046722' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7630010482328046722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/7630010482328046722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/05/sleeeeep.html' title='SLEEEEEP'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4335961084997861239.post-1101347152448595364</id><published>2007-05-14T10:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-28T10:48:03.439-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a...beating heart</title><content type='html'>This was the big morning that I returned to my doctor’s office to find out for certain what is going on in my insides…and the news is good.  I have a 6-week-old fetus complete with beating heart and nice big yolk sac.  I feel really good about this, which is a total turnabout from my last pregnancy, when I was in a perpetual state of disbelief.  I’m excited about embarking on this big journey on purpose.  I’m looking forward to maternity clothes and decorating a nursery and shopping and eating extra food at Thanksgiving.  I’m looking forward to time at home with Natalie and her new little sibling, and to teaching them to get along.  I’m not quite to the point of thinking about the sleepless nights and how I’m going to get any rest with a toddler around.  Sleep when the baby sleeps isn’t going to work this time, but I feel ready for this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4335961084997861239-1101347152448595364?l=icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/feeds/1101347152448595364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4335961084997861239&amp;postID=1101347152448595364' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1101347152448595364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4335961084997861239/posts/default/1101347152448595364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://icanhasnaptime.blogspot.com/2007/05/its-abeating-heart.html' title='It&apos;s a...beating heart'/><author><name>Mama</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05543398960836737257</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
