<?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-45793636112918433</id><updated>2011-04-21T11:34:40.056-07:00</updated><category term='kids cookies shower sigh'/><category term='depressing'/><category term='candy'/><category term='pink text'/><category term='kids'/><title type='text'>Cookie Kisses and Spilled Milk</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Ms. Pixie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15051688458123671907</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>8</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45793636112918433.post-8523285873674942359</id><published>2008-09-02T18:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T18:47:20.518-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First Day of School!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Today was the first day of school for my eldest. He's in grade one now! Omgoodness, excitement! &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But his new path gave us a huge wake up call. Back to school shopping. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*shudders*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Now I understand, now I am in the loop. Now I want out.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But alas, we are stuck in this continuing circle of back to school b.s. And what is worse, we have it times 3!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Just how bad can it be you ask? *snickers* Well, sit back and be terrified my friend for I have seen hell, and its not pretty at all. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Firstly, I have to admit that Eric's school did offer a package that you can buy. For fifty bucks, you get everything he needs. For grade one, French Immersion. At the time, I couldn't. But hey, I have all summer...right?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hang on to that thought, I'll get back to it later.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Okay, so last weekend Dave and I decide that we are going to buy the kids some new clothes. At Wal-Mart. (I know they are evil, but I sold my soul for discount prices) Mother informs me that its insane, more so than usual, and that I should leave her my youngest. We drop him off, assuring her that I will wire her the money for his University and head out to battle.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wow. So much chaos. But huzzah! I don't have to brace myself for the stationary aisle. I just whizz by while grabbing a backpack. And only after almost becoming single (Wal-Mart - What are you going to do with the money you save? Hire a divorce lawyer. Thanks.) in the middle of the parking lot, we return. We're ready. Bring it.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wait a second though. It gets better. This is the prime example of why my mother always nagged at me to be more organized. On the eve of B.T.S, while prepping Eric's bag, I notice something on the 'money' envelope for the school package. In tiny wording it gives me this earth shattering news.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Please return by June 26, 2008."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wait. No. What? It didn't say anything about that on the notice. There was no due date, just a bunch of volunteer options. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Please return by June 26, 2008"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*beeping* hell. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But its okay, or so my love assures me. We will go shopping the next night. They never do stuff first day of school anyways.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Fair enough. This is true. So off my little man goes to first grade. So adorable. So excited.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Now, to keep this blog from becoming a novel, I will quickly write that Dave did go out tonight and got everything on the list. Bravo Daddy-O. But while I'm packing everything for tomorrow, it got me to thinking...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Was school always like this? Did our parents have to buy everything from pencils to erasers to freaking scissors? I can't remember. I just remember it spawning out of a magical cloud. I know it was that way in High School. But for grade one?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And the list was so specific too. Dave had to go around town...well...I'll show you what I mean:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;HB pencils with erasers (36)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Medium sized white vinyl (4)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Large Glue Stick - 40g (10...really? 10? umm...okay)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Box of 24 Regular Pencil Crayons (1)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Large Kleenex Box (2...ewww snotty noses!)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Box of 10 Non-Toxic Washable Markers - thin (apparently, they are against fat?)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ziploc medium baggies&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ziploc large baggies&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Scissors - primary 5" blunt (heh...they said blunt)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Portfolio -dual pocket - red&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3 Duo Tangs -with loose leaf- in green, yellow, and purple&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Large zippered plastic pencil case&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;AND IF YOU DON'T GET THESE THINGS BY THE NEXT FULL MOON, YOU SHALL CRUMBLE INTO DUST AND BLOW OFF INTO THE WIND!!! *muwhahahahhahahaa*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*ahem* Seriously tho...my goodness. I argued with Dave for ten minutes because he was going to get a different duo tang and skip out on the portfolio! Don't mess with the school board, hon. They will eat you!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So, to wrap things up, its over, its done. And just a last tidbit before I go...I asked Eric what he learned today at school. He replied with "I don't know."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ahhh...love our education system.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*kissles*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/45793636112918433-8523285873674942359?l=cookiekisses.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/feeds/8523285873674942359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=45793636112918433&amp;postID=8523285873674942359' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/8523285873674942359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/8523285873674942359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/2008/09/first-day-of-school.html' title='First Day of School!'/><author><name>Ms. Pixie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15051688458123671907</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-45793636112918433.post-6351314898825159213</id><published>2008-06-25T07:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-25T07:38:57.444-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids cookies shower sigh'/><title type='text'>The joys of being mom.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;A little while back, I saw this video on youtube &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qehxjub5lyo"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qehxjub5lyo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Its really funny, and clever and true...but it got me to thinking. This shows what its like for a single woman to take a shower...but what about the mothers out there?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Taking a shower when you have to take care of three kids by yourself requires more preparation than a musical production.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;If I had more time, and a better camera, I would make my own video.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;But alas, I'll just do it in written form.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;So here it is. How to shower when you are a stay at home mother:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;1. Throw on a movie that they wont get bored of in two minutes. Bribe them with cookies if they are good, and threaten them with certain death if they misbehave.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;2. Make sure everything is clear, doors locked, and dog in his crate.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;3. Run upstairs, stripping along the way. Throw clothes in the huge pile of laundry. Make failed promise that you'll get to it later.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;3. Call downstairs to make sure everything is okay. Note: They will lie to you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;4. Turn on shower and jump in without waiting for the water to adjust. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;5. Squeeze out cheap discount shampoo from an almost empty bottle and do your thing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;6. Do the same for the discount conditioner.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;7.While you have soap in your eyes, your oldest one will come up and tattle-tale that his brother got into the cookies. Growl and tell him you'll deal with it later and he should go downstairs...or else.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;8. Wash everywhere else.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;9. If you are feeling brave, start to shave your Chewie legs. But then, while you're on the second one, you'll hear fighting and banging causing you to stop. Oh well, you didn't want to wear shorts today anyways.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;10. Get out and dry as fast as you can and throw on your clothes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;11. Stomp down the stairs and demand answers as to why you can't have five minutes to yourself. Note: they will lie to you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;12. Realize that its either this, or waking up at five in the morning before they wake up to shower properly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;And there you have it. I'm a walking birth-control.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/45793636112918433-6351314898825159213?l=cookiekisses.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/feeds/6351314898825159213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=45793636112918433&amp;postID=6351314898825159213' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/6351314898825159213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/6351314898825159213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/2008/06/joys-of-being-mom.html' title='The joys of being mom.'/><author><name>Ms. Pixie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15051688458123671907</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-45793636112918433.post-3519784843279418692</id><published>2008-06-17T05:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T06:00:05.731-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Confessions</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MFGNdZgoFM8/SFe0n9YG7aI/AAAAAAAAAAU/kdjETGUul4k/s1600-h/100x100MiseryIcon.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;(You know you haven't been to a site in ages when it takes you twenty minutes to remember your info to sign in...only to epic fail and having to reset everything. I was getting worried...I didn't want to make a new blog all together.....)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MFGNdZgoFM8/SFe0wUG006I/AAAAAAAAAAc/onslo7kNmfs/s1600-h/100x100Misery.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212833835828695970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MFGNdZgoFM8/SFe0wUG006I/AAAAAAAAAAc/onslo7kNmfs/s320/100x100Misery.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Oh my poor little blog...how I failed you. When we first started, I was so eager to write you, share the going-ons of my life. And now look at us. The last post I wrote was about the first snowfall. I wanted to write you. I swear. So many current events such as Britney going insane, Heath Ledger's tragic death. So many issues to rant about, like that poor boy who got killed for giving another boy a Valentine. So many happenings in my life, such as the birth of my third beautiful baby boy. Where was I??&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*sigh*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I have to admit, I've been cheating on you. You see...my hubby downloaded this certain game for me one day...perhaps you heard about it...the Sims 2? Anyways, the game charmed me, whispered secrets in my ear and even lured me away from my other love...World of Warcraft. It started innocent enough...then I found out about the expansion packs, the new items to download, and found out that I can recolour things, use cheats to build exciting features, like an arc bridge!! How could I resist! Even now, I twitch to play. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I beg for your forgiveness, my cute little blog. I promise, I will post more often. I will put down the rants that go on in my head. I swear, I'll never stray from you again...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*sniffles*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ever yours, ever mine&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/45793636112918433-3519784843279418692?l=cookiekisses.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/feeds/3519784843279418692/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=45793636112918433&amp;postID=3519784843279418692' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/3519784843279418692'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/3519784843279418692'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/2008/06/confessions.html' title='Confessions'/><author><name>Ms. Pixie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15051688458123671907</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/_MFGNdZgoFM8/SFe0wUG006I/AAAAAAAAAAc/onslo7kNmfs/s72-c/100x100Misery.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45793636112918433.post-4710321405666516870</id><published>2007-11-21T07:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-21T08:00:19.651-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yippeeeee</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What a morning today!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt; It was early when I opened my eyes, around 7 am to be exact, and since the kids were talking quietly to each other without the usual hair pulling battles I figured it was the perfect time to snuggle up to big D.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Then the phone rang. Big D mumbles at whoever is calling us at 7 in the morning and frantically tries to make it to the phone downstairs.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;(Its already been established that its just faster for him to go, as I'm getting slower and slower in my movements due to my bulging mommy belly.)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So, to do my part I call down and ask who it was.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"It's your mother, crap I just missed her." he informs me. Pondering why my mother would call in the middle of her morning routine, big D shouts.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Holy sh!t! Look out the window!"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Even more confused (lets not forget that my brain is still on the pillow) I scramble out of bed and throw open the curtain.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;White. Everything covered in white.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Something so magical about snow. And even as I stood there, the feeling of excitement swelled up. Not just for me, I know what snow is like for adults. But I knew two little boys who would be thrilled about this morning surprise.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Boys!" I call out, throwing on pj bottoms. "Look out the window!"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Of course they didn't wait for me, but I heard their squeals of delight as I made my way to their room.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;It took them forever to calm down as mommy and daddy tried to figure out this small little dilemma.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;We were supposed to pick up Eric a new snow suit, since he grew out of his last night. But big D had to stay late at school and by the time he got home, it was way to late to go out. So I figured we would have time this evening to do it.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How wrong I was. There was no way I was sending them out in sneakers and Eric in a small coat. We had to go shopping, and we had to go shopping now.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And who doesn't love shopping at our fave nemesis, Wal-Mart. So we have the kids all excited, I have this sudden rush of feeling all Christmasy (new word) and the store that is usually packed with morons was somewhat vacant. It was a good shopping trip for sure.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Then, as we are loading up the car, some twit decided to park in the expected mothers spot next to us. I really wanted to shout out 'Hey, when are you expecting?' but alas, the moment passed.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Next time tho...next time.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So now I'm going to go get ready for a nice lunch date with my future hubby and pick up the remains that we seemed to have forgotten.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*huggles and kissles*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/45793636112918433-4710321405666516870?l=cookiekisses.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/feeds/4710321405666516870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=45793636112918433&amp;postID=4710321405666516870' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/4710321405666516870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/4710321405666516870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/2007/11/yippeeeee.html' title='Yippeeeee'/><author><name>Ms. Pixie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15051688458123671907</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-45793636112918433.post-1411495597577244005</id><published>2007-11-20T09:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-20T10:10:07.586-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ooops...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Holy crap, its been a while since I posted anything.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How do I know this? Our pumpkin is so old, we renamed our pumpkin 'Grandpa' because it no longer has teeth.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Well, that is till little D kicked the face in one morning....now its just a lump of orange that my beloved keeps forgetting to throw out.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Just want to have a small rant here for a second. Why is it, that men don't listen to you? Seriously. I mean, sure, we women do have a reputation for nagging. For always commenting on this, or that or the other thing. But, believe it or not, if you listen closely...there is actually useful information in there. Really! If you take the time to listen...okay well lets put this into a story for better perspective.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Friday morning is when the garbage gets picked up. Been like that since I moved in three years ago. Except for when there is a holiday that Monday. Then we can deal with it on Saturday.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Having said that, every Thursday night, its big D's chore to take out the garbage and whatever recycling box it is that week. No...do not feel sorry for him people! He has this, and dishes. That's pretty much all I trust him with *smirk* so much training required....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*ahem* anyhoo...so now we all know the routine...lets continue.....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So, the Thursday that just passed, while doing our night time clean up I tell big D,&lt;br /&gt;'Don't forget the garbage tonight.'&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'I don't have to do it tonight. Garbage is on Saturday.'&lt;br /&gt;'Are you sure?' &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Yup. It was Remembrance Day Monday, remember?'&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Okay...this is true. Just to make sure, I look out the window. Thank god for neighbours.&lt;br /&gt;'Well everyone else has their garbage out.' &lt;---- ummm...HELLO! FIRST CLUE!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Nah, it will be fine.'&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'You sure?'&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Pfft, yeah. Besides, I'll be up way before they even get here if it happens.'&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Okay, close curtain end scene. So the next morning, while he's upstairs and I'm making my precious brew of java...what do I hear? The magical sound of the garbage truck and big D cursing.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And we wonder why our three year old swears.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I hate to say this, (no I don't, I really love it) but I told you so. *big hugs*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So...the next time I say something and stand by it (which I admit, sometimes I am wrong but there are times when my brilliant mind gets ignored) I shall remind my sexy big D about the story of that wonderful morning. And not just for me. But for all the women in the world who chuckled while watching their husbands chase down garbage trucks in their bath robes.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*huggles and kissles*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/45793636112918433-1411495597577244005?l=cookiekisses.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/feeds/1411495597577244005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=45793636112918433&amp;postID=1411495597577244005' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/1411495597577244005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/1411495597577244005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/2007/11/ooops.html' title='Ooops...'/><author><name>Ms. Pixie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15051688458123671907</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-45793636112918433.post-3462158933580528359</id><published>2007-10-29T18:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T18:53:24.318-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pumpkin Carving Fun</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MFGNdZgoFM8/RyaNSt3L0qI/AAAAAAAAAAM/xj4oP9LTb-I/s1600-h/100_0291.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126940578496107170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MFGNdZgoFM8/RyaNSt3L0qI/AAAAAAAAAAM/xj4oP9LTb-I/s320/100_0291.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So tonite we did the whole pumpkin ritual. Personally, I'm surprised no one is out protesting the brutal torture we put this...what? vegetable?...through every year.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Like when they protest against eating turkeys around Thanksgiving. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;At any rate, we got the pumpkin, a nice long ready-for-a-face pumpkin a few days ago, promising the kids that soon, we will carve it.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;They were were totally stoked to do it. And this morning, two pairs of big brown eyes light up when I announced that tonite is the night.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Apparently, however, they didn't understand the concept behind it. For when they got home, and Mr. Pixie cut open the top...they did not like what they saw inside. Eric refused to touch the orange goop and Devon swore as he tried to gather the seeds. Like, literaly swore. Even got it on video. Oops. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So mommy basically did most of the dirty work. Which I don't mind. I don't mind getting my hands dirty ;)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And while daddy was cutting out the face (Eric's design), Devon was crying. He didn't want to cut the pumpkin, he just wanted a face on it. It wasn't till we were done, and we all gathered in the bathroom (the only room in the house where it can go completely dark) to see the finished result that he understood why we had to cut a face out. Thats our pumpkin. Doesn't it rock your socks?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So the house is now officially decorated for Wednesday. A pumpkin at the front door, and a paper ghost in the window.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Eat your heart out, Martha Stewart :P&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*kissles*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/45793636112918433-3462158933580528359?l=cookiekisses.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/feeds/3462158933580528359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=45793636112918433&amp;postID=3462158933580528359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/3462158933580528359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/3462158933580528359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/2007/10/pumpkin-carving-fun.html' title='Pumpkin Carving Fun'/><author><name>Ms. Pixie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15051688458123671907</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/_MFGNdZgoFM8/RyaNSt3L0qI/AAAAAAAAAAM/xj4oP9LTb-I/s72-c/100_0291.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45793636112918433.post-7749905556408743802</id><published>2007-10-29T07:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T08:16:25.679-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Small little rant</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;On to blog number two! (thanks yve for guiding me lol, I will get the hang of this, I swear)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Anyhoo, for the record, I don't want to cause any more problems, this is just me pondering about a few things.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Its always a mine field when talking about in-laws.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Okay, so I have a very close relationship with my mother, and over the years, I know that we all have different relationships with our parents. Some good, some bad and some are just *blink*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And the relationship my man has with his, is a big time *blink blink*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Don't get me wrong, I like them. I really do. They are not bad people at all and the kids adore them. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But it just gets to me their apparent lack of support. Throughout every milestone we had, it just seemed to be another lecture.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And this is right from the beginning. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Now I understand how it might be a bit wary for your child to fall in love with an older woman who already has two kids, and I understand the concern of that woman is just trying to use your son. It took a while for that to sink in that it wasn't my intention.  And I was always understanding of that.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But then we got engaged, and while everyone on my end were absolutely thrilled, they seemed more reluctant than ever.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Same with the baby. (news about baby later on) &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Everyone, even though they knew it wasn't a planned thing, they were happy for us. My mother, ecstatic, friends not surprised but happy for us regardless.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Their reaction? "How did this happen?" &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What do I say to that? Do I pull out two dolls and show them? And here I was wondering why he was so petrified to tell them the news. I never felt so small and uncomfortable in my life. (okay that's not true, I had many moments like that but still :P)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Then came last night, when he called about our wedding plans. I want to give them the benefit of the doubt, perhaps he called at a bad time. But I was honestly expecting more excitedness.(is that even a word? oh well, it is now)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;After all, this is your son's big day. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And to tell you the truth, it hurts. It just feels like no matter what we do, its not good enough. We have been together for almost four years. Engaged, baby the whole bit. I think its safe to say we are pretty much secure in our feelings for each other and that this is what we want.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I know he will never have the same relationship with them as I have with my mother. I just hope one day that they will put their stern opinions aside and just enjoy the huge moments in his life.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;On a plus side, while watching a movie last night...there was a lot of moving around in my mommy tummy. My goodness, I forgot how cool it is to feel them moving inside of you. But whats more important, is that my man was able to feel the little one kick and turn! Before he couldn't' tell if it was the baby, or just me having really bad gas. So yay for new daddy feeling baby kick him!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'll end this for now...you know I will be back&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*kissles*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/45793636112918433-7749905556408743802?l=cookiekisses.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/feeds/7749905556408743802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=45793636112918433&amp;postID=7749905556408743802' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/7749905556408743802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/7749905556408743802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/2007/10/small-little-rant.html' title='Small little rant'/><author><name>Ms. Pixie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15051688458123671907</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-45793636112918433.post-5946239372146488674</id><published>2007-10-28T14:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-28T15:42:32.918-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pink text'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='depressing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='candy'/><title type='text'>Muwhahhahahaha</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Cookie Kisses and Spilled Milk. Or juice, or pretty much anything the kids get their hands on, *poof * on the floor. You get the point.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Now I did promise myself that I wont blog about kids, cleaning, laundry (which I put seperatly because laundry isn't cleaning....its a never ending battle that refuses to let me win just once) or those pukey stories on, like, OMG...how cute my kid looks when he farts. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Or about those flipped sided converstations I have with myself about how sexy my man is and how I want to stab him in the eye with a fork while he's sleeping.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Nor will I bitch and moan about all the things that irk me in real life. Like people who don't know how to walk in hallways or how the media is corrupting our youth and bringing us closer to hell on earth (yay, atleast I'll be warm). Or Harper.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;*blinks*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;But then I realized, who the hell am I kidding? I'm a bitter and emotional pregnant woman running after two terrors day in and out while trying to plan a wedding that wont leave me or him disowned....its going on here whether you like it or not. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Having said that, all three of them are busy playing Big Brain Academy on Wii so pooey on them. I have other things to talk about.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;So, how depressing is it when you have absolutly no money during your fave time of year? Seriously, everything seems to be in the ruts atm. No money for costume, missed out on the Witches Ball and and we missed out on Saw 4. Well not really missed out on Saw 4, we just couldn't go to opening night. Which we were hoping for. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;And this was supposed to be our run away weekend....le sigh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Its okay tho, I can handle it. I'll just be that bitter hag who hands out all the crappy candy, then keeps the good stuff to shovel in her mouth later while watching those halloween tv specials.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Anyhoo....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Yay! Its time for the kiddies bedtime...gotta jet! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;kissles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;ps I didn't want to mention them again, but since we talked about trick or treating, I might as well. This year the boys are going as Spiderman (Eric) and Batman (Devon). And not this weird new batman who scares me. The old school Adam West batman who we all know and love. I'm such an original parent, aren't I? *cackles*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/45793636112918433-5946239372146488674?l=cookiekisses.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/feeds/5946239372146488674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=45793636112918433&amp;postID=5946239372146488674' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/5946239372146488674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/45793636112918433/posts/default/5946239372146488674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cookiekisses.blogspot.com/2007/10/muwhahhahahaha.html' title='Muwhahhahahaha'/><author><name>Ms. Pixie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15051688458123671907</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>
