tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77454371605237001442024-03-13T00:45:31.446-07:00Mommy Hangin' Onmommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-10694887576935254012012-05-12T05:59:00.000-07:002012-05-12T05:59:23.312-07:00Oh, how my children flatter me...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCi3URu46dWlb-NVHZ6Ea8DDIC2trpxPrVA-1yZA2vEMDUx6CQeUscRDp1zITcH5T1-yXQdQY86Z4UlrxnYnY76tZhvB2PypA7RyHAJvNsosbykRp5CDFwa8D51PSMlOlnvzqg6lu69GNa/s1600/DSC04101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCi3URu46dWlb-NVHZ6Ea8DDIC2trpxPrVA-1yZA2vEMDUx6CQeUscRDp1zITcH5T1-yXQdQY86Z4UlrxnYnY76tZhvB2PypA7RyHAJvNsosbykRp5CDFwa8D51PSMlOlnvzqg6lu69GNa/s320/DSC04101.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So many things have happened since my last post.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My eldest daughter has turned 5. This is a major accomplishment for both of us. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Some days I feel like I could cry all day at the loss of my baby, as no traces of toddler remain in her growing body. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Other days, I am joyful at all of the grown up changes I see in her. Her personality is really developing and she is actually pretty fun to hang out with.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Along with that personality comes some really (painfully) honest observations.</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><strong><u>Example 1:</u></strong> Last weekend, we're out to lunch, and a young, adorable, blond waitress approaches our table. Daughter notices right away and comments on the cuteness of waitress. After the waitress leaves, she whispers in my ear, "Mommy, our waitress is much prettier than you, but I love you much more". Ouch. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><strong><u>Example 2:</u></strong> The next day, while grocery shopping, daughter gets huge compliment on her adorable dress from another 5 year old. She is over the moon and feeling beautiful. She then quips, "Mom, that little girl LOVED my dress. She probably thought you were my grandma." Double Ouch.</span></span></div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-28727424429979446042012-02-25T05:03:00.000-08:002012-02-25T05:03:16.695-08:00The Food Chain Explained<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">This morning at around 5am.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">Lucy:</span> <span style="color: purple;">"Mom, do animals eat animal food or small children?"</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mom: "Neither, they usually eat smaller animals or plants."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Lucy: "I thought they ate meat."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mom: "Animals are meat."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Long Pause.....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-size: large;">Lucy: "That's silly. If a lion ate a mouse, he would just get a little bit of cheese, because mice eat cheese,"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The amazing mind of a four year old.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif-ppp6Qwq33fvJ7F1NhVDo7dXSQ-G-suEGuoIFV8Nt2K9jLiGviq2JRFm9rXhHy6pAf_Pz6fqn2yuqjhse0kcwVoxHCwRlVD8ZvGiPt85hoBvmIuylqpWgZ-ObsOCvH5WKfwIbk4b0Cmg/s1600/DSC03638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif-ppp6Qwq33fvJ7F1NhVDo7dXSQ-G-suEGuoIFV8Nt2K9jLiGviq2JRFm9rXhHy6pAf_Pz6fqn2yuqjhse0kcwVoxHCwRlVD8ZvGiPt85hoBvmIuylqpWgZ-ObsOCvH5WKfwIbk4b0Cmg/s320/DSC03638.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-81496341364792833742012-01-21T15:09:00.000-08:002012-01-21T15:09:48.024-08:00Embarrassing Questions, No Good Answers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">Lately my little darlings have had many questions from the mundane to the brilliant</span>. <br />
<br />
My favorites are the ones that make me stifle a laugh as I struggle to regain my composure. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Here goes:</strong></span><br />
<br />
Mom, if they're Irish, what species am I?<br />
<br />
When I grow up will I have boobs? Will they be big?<br />
<br />
Can I sit by your friend with the big hiney-do? (Our word for behind)<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlY37P3x73NChEfqeZ8B_EX2OyAi1ZtpNzLvuv1sKWBFDY4qVnqTsqG2ZjosfG_RirqTdYYK2aezyq0Qqe6BSGXK3GJUg5yXopOUkvxv8B6XM62BgpURfJXxvjXsl_QcZ1N4pY-x1_BTZl/s1600/DSC00165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlY37P3x73NChEfqeZ8B_EX2OyAi1ZtpNzLvuv1sKWBFDY4qVnqTsqG2ZjosfG_RirqTdYYK2aezyq0Qqe6BSGXK3GJUg5yXopOUkvxv8B6XM62BgpURfJXxvjXsl_QcZ1N4pY-x1_BTZl/s200/DSC00165.JPG" width="174" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nana</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Why doesn't that boy match his parents?<br />
<br />
When will I get my princess hair?<br />
<br />
Doesn't Nana's hair look like Dora's? <br />
<br />
Would you like me to get you a little diaper? (Tampon)<br />
<br />
Why is there a mustache on your lap? (Can't even use the bathroom alone, see also above)<br />
<br />
Look at that girl with the pink hair. Isn't she beautiful?<br />
<br />
</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-86673716230419368712012-01-13T15:28:00.000-08:002012-01-13T15:28:07.776-08:00Personal Style Issues<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One of the (many) things that I'd like to work on for the new year is having a better sense of personal style. I'm one of those who, since I've had little ones, have kind of let things go in that area. Now that my girls are getting older, I'd like to get back to the fun side of fashion. I don't want my girls to pretend they don't know me because they're ashamed of the Ugg boots and bleached out sweats "uniform" look that I usually rock.<br />
<br />
So, another issue is that now that I'm 40, (I've chosen to embrace it), is figuring out how to dress in a way that's somewhat stylish, age appropriate, and of course, flattering.<br />
<br />
It's a quest...join me. <br />
Please post your opinions, too.<br />
<br />
Some ideas:<br />
<br />
<img height="256" src="http://i643.photobucket.com/albums/uu155/theglamourai/blog%20posts/glamourai_TiffanyEyewear.jpg" width="320" /><br />
Love the idea of one bright piece and cool, updated shades. <a href="http://www.theglamouri.com/">www.theglamouri.com</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hLh_S0jf8VK-P5rjB26BtHzknsClwKAYToXIqX0YhKAsjCDKRNGvwUhHNcP9d5nVEdORbxj8my6KGGTtuy72NI7orQXV1eL135s5H_Ua5-hrYc2gZfqou2otRFydP214k6pjgaaW35Q/s1600/long+8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" closure_uid_f9rz14="17" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685326185455710066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hLh_S0jf8VK-P5rjB26BtHzknsClwKAYToXIqX0YhKAsjCDKRNGvwUhHNcP9d5nVEdORbxj8my6KGGTtuy72NI7orQXV1eL135s5H_Ua5-hrYc2gZfqou2otRFydP214k6pjgaaW35Q/s320/long+8.JPG" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;" width="213" /></a>Black is always a good idea. Love the jacket. <br />
<a href="http://atlantic-pacific.blogspot.com/">atlantic-pacific.blogspot.com</a></div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-72470996722620373082012-01-06T18:46:00.001-08:002012-01-06T18:46:43.014-08:00New Year's ResolutionsSo, I'm a little late on this one, which means I've had some time to really think things through.
Every year, I seem to make the same resolutions...lose the extra holiday pounds, get into shape, find the perfect hairstyle, etc.
This year, I resolve to do all of the old things, plus a few new ones. Here goes.
1. I will be kind to those closest to me, and save the nastiest stuff for strangers.
This may sound a little strange but I find myself being the absolute best version of myself to people at the mall, and save all of my super bitchiness for those whom I care about the most (sorry to the Mr.)
2. Stop making the same mistakes I always make.
This one goes for the small mistakes like cutting bangs every year, then spending the rest of the year growing them back out (this one is for you Michelle), or deciding to move to a new city, making great plans, then changing my mind.
3. Most importantly, appreciate all of the awesomeness in my life, of which there is an abundance, and pay little mind to the struggles and annoyances.
4. Lastly, spend less time reading about celebrity news and actually pay attention to what's going on in the world. Yes, this is a little embarrassing, but perhaps it's actually time to grow up.
Who's with me??mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-23266185448941118952012-01-02T14:24:00.000-08:002012-01-02T14:24:58.936-08:00Happy New Year!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've been away for some time, but I'm back!<br />
<br />
First, let me say that Christmas this year with the girls was absolutely magical. I know it sounds a little hokey...to say it was magical, but it was. More magical than Disney, more magical then Fantasy Island, more magical than the friends and family sale at Sephora.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7Os1afPreY/TwItGaa5MoI/AAAAAAAAAKA/GSGmSLwhiwU/s1600/DSC03650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7Os1afPreY/TwItGaa5MoI/AAAAAAAAAKA/GSGmSLwhiwU/s320/DSC03650.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
My two lovely daughters fell madly in love with all things Christmas this year and we fell in love right along with them. <br />
<br />
The first thing they did when they woke up Christmas morning (after they checked to see that Santa did indeed show), was to investigate and see if the cookies and milk were gone (they were). Next we had to traipse outside in the freezing cold to make sure that the reindeer had eaten the carrots (they had).<br />
<br />
Next they played with their ginormous (and sure to fall apart by New Year's) Disney Princess Castle, complete with new princesses, (crowns still attached) for about 45 minutes before they noticed that there were presents under the tree. Amazing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ahqTFs3XTdU/TwItatrCUEI/AAAAAAAAAKM/GtG2rKPyH6c/s1600/DSC03640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ahqTFs3XTdU/TwItatrCUEI/AAAAAAAAAKM/GtG2rKPyH6c/s320/DSC03640.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
My favorite part had to be the night before when my husband sat in a chair by the fire and read The Night Before Christmas to them. After explaining that Santa would not be burned by the fire,(he is after all magical), it was off to bed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AtjfZGplXx0/TwItDQku7YI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/k6GRyVkS9Cc/s1600/DSC03643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AtjfZGplXx0/TwItDQku7YI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/k6GRyVkS9Cc/s320/DSC03643.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
My eldest asked, just before falling asleep, "Mommy, do you think I will still get a present even though I picked my nose today", classic.</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-89740464109258632682011-11-23T19:02:00.000-08:002011-11-23T19:02:28.244-08:00Elf on the Shelf and Other Musings...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I've been on hiatus...which really means things have been mayhem.<br />
<br />
Between working full time and attempting to spend quality time with my two daughters, it's been hard finding the time to blog. <br />
<br />
With a three and four year old in the house, things have been absolutely magical for the past few months. Halloween...what can I say???<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsixE2mGLvd0iavNsEVyoG_u6YvQCDq9o1tFbvFYo7EKZH7cDWEH5xyKVMQz9D1AitLmSg5DKIWFJQBBkNQ1M4XguDWjBhl_SNXiduOxa1EznCEzOrmRFA-bEE7RIL2Z9B4j49T80DxmI6/s1600/DSC03345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsixE2mGLvd0iavNsEVyoG_u6YvQCDq9o1tFbvFYo7EKZH7cDWEH5xyKVMQz9D1AitLmSg5DKIWFJQBBkNQ1M4XguDWjBhl_SNXiduOxa1EznCEzOrmRFA-bEE7RIL2Z9B4j49T80DxmI6/s320/DSC03345.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We fully enjoyed wearing makeup and feeling very princessy, albeit pissed about being forced to wear sweaters under our ball gowns. Just when I thought we looked perfect, my eldest reminded me that all princesses need beautiful lashes. A bit "Toddlers and Tiaras", sure, but after all, it was Halloween.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kGndjZ4PZKqVa3WPuHiY1mhDYdyOj8k_0hUpkbEQE2pWcMIXXlPIDkPElOnXb2K9jSElarO9N3bFetHHDH8SPUtsLMG_mz_lfvkpOAW_Appa1u9ygVXlJH7z8U71fqg37iLLQnLASlx8/s1600/DSC03405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kGndjZ4PZKqVa3WPuHiY1mhDYdyOj8k_0hUpkbEQE2pWcMIXXlPIDkPElOnXb2K9jSElarO9N3bFetHHDH8SPUtsLMG_mz_lfvkpOAW_Appa1u9ygVXlJH7z8U71fqg37iLLQnLASlx8/s320/DSC03405.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now with Thanksgiving being tomorrow, it's a bit hard to enjoy the moment and not fast forward right to Christmas. At school, they made the most adorable Native American and Pilgrim outfits, which are now barely held together with scotch tape. As my youngest explained, "We have to be a Flative-Americoff", for Thanksgiving, "We came on the Mayflower". At three, history is not a strong point.</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On the way home from school, my eldest informed me that we needed to get an Elf on the Shelf, like her teacher has. She told me all about how these magical creatures watch how kids behave and report back to Santa. She suggested that we write to Santa and ask to get one for the holidays, before adding that her sister really deserved to be on the naughty list.</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It is fascinating to watch them. They are amazed by everything...enchanted by the things we grown ups take for granted. It makes me long for the "good 'ole days" when it was the simple things in life that gave us such enjoyment. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We are just basking in the glow.</div></div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-35984166827776512932011-09-29T08:24:00.000-07:002011-09-29T08:24:11.223-07:00Fall Has Arrived!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Hi everyone!<br />
<br />
I've been super busy this month...fabulous wedding, back to school for me, new school for the girls. I feel like I can finally breath again.<br />
<br />
Sadly, a new school for the girls brings diseases. We've had a troubling case of the snots around here for the past two weeks. The kids share <em>everything</em> at school, including germs. Luckily the pukes hit just in time for daddy to go away for his fun weekend with friends. (help)<br />
<br />
Here are a few pics of our fun goings on this month! More to come soon.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRb57j6vkPA7dUehuhm4PvkBiQ2vJk7yYM4rgXR5Mkf88znbaig-45EX1ZDejpiEjTIb0z8vpaXsf_6iV9d3jf3zj_IIexI24o8NDunVHECYQNdX97tHmRvVL4Vi5sfpun143-a4YcjeMA/s1600/DSC03148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRb57j6vkPA7dUehuhm4PvkBiQ2vJk7yYM4rgXR5Mkf88znbaig-45EX1ZDejpiEjTIb0z8vpaXsf_6iV9d3jf3zj_IIexI24o8NDunVHECYQNdX97tHmRvVL4Vi5sfpun143-a4YcjeMA/s1600/DSC03148.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mommy & Daddy at Meg's Wedding</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57xZeRDGtFGlrA3BK2GQ1okIZrk65wp2gCzOxzeizuqb9xfL4YJkcQWjikw9JxGs0CR4X8vabK8Iqwl7RrL5MmFgSzXZp2RGhcPYpsm0YkvbCDje2haIzrQ2XcDsYpEzJ87KMVj4lhzP3/s1600/DSC03058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi57xZeRDGtFGlrA3BK2GQ1okIZrk65wp2gCzOxzeizuqb9xfL4YJkcQWjikw9JxGs0CR4X8vabK8Iqwl7RrL5MmFgSzXZp2RGhcPYpsm0YkvbCDje2haIzrQ2XcDsYpEzJ87KMVj4lhzP3/s320/DSC03058.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma & Grandpa Florida are here to visit</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVh-tsMYd_YmUKhPGVhWR1PeEU8_6gU4z1u3bBgqQQR7MucJLDGY4IyohS-gPi0DEM50z8VFSr44kEp4hAW3TM4fsJLaN5QHZg7w2Yd2OauTvgg0kqtdscO6-eG-aR_sefnkCpYvGvo11/s1600/DSC03158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVh-tsMYd_YmUKhPGVhWR1PeEU8_6gU4z1u3bBgqQQR7MucJLDGY4IyohS-gPi0DEM50z8VFSr44kEp4hAW3TM4fsJLaN5QHZg7w2Yd2OauTvgg0kqtdscO6-eG-aR_sefnkCpYvGvo11/s320/DSC03158.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twist and Pull</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUMVqvSQSzrcZ4yHwEerjLrnPA1hExv0xmLuv1jId36qhC_5a6l7x0E3RsAvz0iTM8teLLignDkP23ONYZ6PfkzZq-qEDqfYHfPWBSMohfOwLnvS005BRexVgqHP90lHDoEqpKn462EOM/s1600/DSC03168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUMVqvSQSzrcZ4yHwEerjLrnPA1hExv0xmLuv1jId36qhC_5a6l7x0E3RsAvz0iTM8teLLignDkP23ONYZ6PfkzZq-qEDqfYHfPWBSMohfOwLnvS005BRexVgqHP90lHDoEqpKn462EOM/s320/DSC03168.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPpsgtVny47hn4Ep17zZg9TaVwBYHLsNhyplEAH0ObWhMgLpMREiZtuYcJoqf0bzBa5BAnmvsLwHzpLt4utrG-Nx4LTZgRIixpIt2dlwwIEIZOyfA6w8axq_J_p7vtMA_GTUx0Yc1Tz0NU/s1600/DSC03177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPpsgtVny47hn4Ep17zZg9TaVwBYHLsNhyplEAH0ObWhMgLpMREiZtuYcJoqf0bzBa5BAnmvsLwHzpLt4utrG-Nx4LTZgRIixpIt2dlwwIEIZOyfA6w8axq_J_p7vtMA_GTUx0Yc1Tz0NU/s320/DSC03177.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNQWa0m1iluaWiFTD-ZORbNVfnGHkIQqgXcip3SywrIMg-q856zEMxakmft0qL5G1qwDXw7EuCfITXnhlrTIRZcz6bmddPFqSM8OX-_EY_evv39QcgyZOEKA4ZpRkFkUF4VlUonaewDwRD/s1600/DSC03188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNQWa0m1iluaWiFTD-ZORbNVfnGHkIQqgXcip3SywrIMg-q856zEMxakmft0qL5G1qwDXw7EuCfITXnhlrTIRZcz6bmddPFqSM8OX-_EY_evv39QcgyZOEKA4ZpRkFkUF4VlUonaewDwRD/s320/DSC03188.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teddy Bear Parade day at school</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzr06LkRF_TFsA-KjEgkaPnjb5HeC-hP-eBq4fnjBEczeri1L6bpiUoBlJPYqoUFYm8-UmyglgzMfa_mjrjJuHEzJxHxr44pGGzfWr8IOI3XRIeik80bkhljQj0Qv7hOKNVq_P0InabwQA/s1600/DSC03207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzr06LkRF_TFsA-KjEgkaPnjb5HeC-hP-eBq4fnjBEczeri1L6bpiUoBlJPYqoUFYm8-UmyglgzMfa_mjrjJuHEzJxHxr44pGGzfWr8IOI3XRIeik80bkhljQj0Qv7hOKNVq_P0InabwQA/s320/DSC03207.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet Sisters</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-68648133770332899482011-09-01T12:53:00.000-07:002011-09-01T12:53:22.691-07:00Story of Rapunzel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-size: large;">Here is the story of Rapunzel, according to Lucy:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-size: large;">Once upon a time, there was a very hairy princess who lived in a castle deep in the woods...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-size: large;">(Kinda sounds like Sasquatch, or one of my elder lady relatives)</span><br />
<br />
</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-50103428998696434922011-08-23T19:01:00.000-07:002011-08-23T19:01:29.908-07:00Plymouth Invasion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-rsftdKDcLlbCVd_1R33LwjFpAVjz7H_6qJlPnFZ-L2re7V3s_0Fu0oxwurf-Hj-6Skal7HkPMjMyR7s_NaNpk4OPkcS7rBrjC6ipt8C9BOET2HE-rzhFyoKd4XO-29ZK9BDSQqLOARtt/s1600/DSC02994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-rsftdKDcLlbCVd_1R33LwjFpAVjz7H_6qJlPnFZ-L2re7V3s_0Fu0oxwurf-Hj-6Skal7HkPMjMyR7s_NaNpk4OPkcS7rBrjC6ipt8C9BOET2HE-rzhFyoKd4XO-29ZK9BDSQqLOARtt/s320/DSC02994.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Trying out the Pilgrim chair</span> </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNK6yKORphpUv3ylH8_509jxuzWPi5yeOq3WKUh-L7Ynz4dyGlyGdlb9lfbIBjVHz8dqxCcVTcGIWVyLIYBuLyFgCowG7PtqoZ3u3Tsmh1vrZLw8yyOUZLzH5BO7VFNwFqMF4N1vprsZxT/s1600/DSC02973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNK6yKORphpUv3ylH8_509jxuzWPi5yeOq3WKUh-L7Ynz4dyGlyGdlb9lfbIBjVHz8dqxCcVTcGIWVyLIYBuLyFgCowG7PtqoZ3u3Tsmh1vrZLw8yyOUZLzH5BO7VFNwFqMF4N1vprsZxT/s320/DSC02973.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Enthralled with the Native People</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHObwyUSvwnXyE8yQPvefKjgwWzZpQkvctTdRxBspVuw8eyFl-6xGObSab6_XmO_lu7fd3Tczq1hIelSSuqezcqf47qExLT8yQRf5WxHKqN4xTiPAkwgMPexu7SC0CAQg9PDLD6B-JfT8/s1600/DSC02988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: blue;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHObwyUSvwnXyE8yQPvefKjgwWzZpQkvctTdRxBspVuw8eyFl-6xGObSab6_XmO_lu7fd3Tczq1hIelSSuqezcqf47qExLT8yQRf5WxHKqN4xTiPAkwgMPexu7SC0CAQg9PDLD6B-JfT8/s320/DSC02988.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">We really just want to play hide and seek</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipEN5Aqbx7i9SsReJRIbwdaG94JVV11yNbhhcHgBHGtlmu4gJNzbXESo2C7TtEo0XzezvP3JgzDmJroYHQWMiBBXM2dSFPyxWJHXF7Es5OPBTvxpAi_T7Bi4qcXXZl0vmGffJkzJ4eriJL/s1600/DSC03000.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipEN5Aqbx7i9SsReJRIbwdaG94JVV11yNbhhcHgBHGtlmu4gJNzbXESo2C7TtEo0XzezvP3JgzDmJroYHQWMiBBXM2dSFPyxWJHXF7Es5OPBTvxpAi_T7Bi4qcXXZl0vmGffJkzJ4eriJL/s320/DSC03000.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">The Pilgrim Garden</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">An amazing thing happened on our family vacation...I learned a lot about my children. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"> At Plymouth Plantation, my eldest, refused to use the politically correct term "native people" saying, "I like to call them Indians". (Insert mom cringe) </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">She became quite shy in the face of history. We had talked all about the Mayflower and Plymouth Plantation, which she was very excited about visiting. She referred to it as "the place where people pretend to be from long ago". I told her about how she could ask lots of questions. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"> She had nothing to say. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">But she did ask our waitress at the hotel what all the spots were that were on her arms (freckles).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">My youngest, who never sits still, found the one child "actress" at the plantation and quickly initiated a game of hide and seek, tempting her to break character. When the actress fell and skinned her knee, mommy rescued her with good 'ole fashioned 21st century Neosporin and band-aids while the other tourists looked on.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">The most interesting discovery was that no matter how hard we try, the girls absolutely refuse to ride in the stroller at the mall, but insisted on riding in the stroller through every museum and attraction we visited.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Most enlightening of all, the hotel was the best part, as far as they were concerned. My daughter sat at the breakfast buffet, enchanted and acted like she was the Queen of England.</span><br />
</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDHHZAsYl9ecpi125qHcot0IPUiSYqipoA2Uh6OFBwQ3xvz1aWlkzy5mNK1pBff1Xplqvh1qkD4YJ8HlRZ1YQtbrCl7D-o8wWQrFrucvdICE8Yl4QkMK8SVTgo2TgIRALmgCWmBW69TLl/s1600/DSC03031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDHHZAsYl9ecpi125qHcot0IPUiSYqipoA2Uh6OFBwQ3xvz1aWlkzy5mNK1pBff1Xplqvh1qkD4YJ8HlRZ1YQtbrCl7D-o8wWQrFrucvdICE8Yl4QkMK8SVTgo2TgIRALmgCWmBW69TLl/s320/DSC03031.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Hotel Gymnastics</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-37317877541837779462011-07-28T05:40:00.000-07:002011-07-28T05:40:12.826-07:00The Mom Suit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn3.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS8pc-zZ-ZLqAgZ6BHk0GOxTIPa2WFpeCFJP-OQTrQ3O2mFhl5b" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_hi" data-height="160" data-width="124" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS8pc-zZ-ZLqAgZ6BHk0GOxTIPa2WFpeCFJP-OQTrQ3O2mFhl5b" /></a></div><img class="rg_hi" data-height="261" data-width="193" height="200" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSKFXfv2JQzPBvZUmR6WZjo67wOEm0Ia6ucRR4LTc01v4uILpp-1g" style="height: 261px; width: 193px;" width="147" /> <span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I got a mom suit," my sister reported, resigned to the fact that her bikini days have passed, or least put indefinitely on hold. She was talking about her new summer bathing suit. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We can kid ourselves into thinking that it's "retro", or that we're rocking the '50's pinup style...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's still a mom suit. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There comes a time when all moms realize that for one reason or another, the mom suit is necessary. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Most common reasons for having the epiphany:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1. The bod calls for it. The stomach is in no way ready to have the light of day cast upon it. How horrifying it would be if a saggy boob might slip its way into the sun.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. Your child may cause you to be arrested for indecent exposure. No matter the age, young children seem compelled to pull at the straps, or are just curious to see what's in those padded support cups.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't feel that you need to run to the granny section right away, there are some cute options out there.</span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn3.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTZVM4YxyLKYfneyZOaN2p6OTrAOMePy3tikutJcLKSWJnMZv_i" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_hi" data-height="160" data-width="124" height="160" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTZVM4YxyLKYfneyZOaN2p6OTrAOMePy3tikutJcLKSWJnMZv_i" style="height: 160px; width: 124px;" width="124" /></a><img class="rg_hi" data-height="164" data-width="128" height="164" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTHiyUGucYx7n8Si8WdZ3wsq70T5Ugxi-tpmjM8vosBAFBxWKjB1w" style="height: 164px; width: 128px;" width="128" /> <img class="rg_hi" data-height="225" data-width="225" height="225" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTHz-HY4stp81n9GuBsiIfuMBaSKUdZPB-sb3HxeMKnGvkZJkHGpQ" style="height: 225px; width: 225px;" width="225" /><br />
<br />
<br />
</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-69768146954781942032011-07-26T07:12:00.000-07:002011-07-26T07:12:16.895-07:00Quote of the Week<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Lucy: "Daddy, do princesses pick their noses?"<br />
<br />
Daddy: "No."<br />
<br />
Lucy: "I don't think I'll be a princess today."</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-4714313206340909372011-07-16T18:32:00.000-07:002011-07-16T18:32:36.134-07:00PrioritiesIt wasn't so long ago that I had, perhaps, unusually high expectations when making plans for long weekends and vacations. I would spend lots of time planning, shopping, and generally prepping for these times. Vacations weren't a complete success unless <em>I</em> could be where <em>I</em> wanted to go and could wear what <em>I</em> wanted to wear and be with whom <em>I</em> wanted to be with.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOliPTvLcf1R81drOKF2rZDzdnpTALQ4EuLjVQl0kHyYNY2dUv0CfXuaOvl2QwTFraCBAnsAHga9P78TXy2ye6rkCCWffyIDFvNCI7dLY3GLB-XFWGStFnMy4VFmQ1e_-U5oWjpC9aTWYa/s1600/DSC02744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOliPTvLcf1R81drOKF2rZDzdnpTALQ4EuLjVQl0kHyYNY2dUv0CfXuaOvl2QwTFraCBAnsAHga9P78TXy2ye6rkCCWffyIDFvNCI7dLY3GLB-XFWGStFnMy4VFmQ1e_-U5oWjpC9aTWYa/s320/DSC02744.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpIcgc_XssyPFO2sqRfwmcddWpiS_R2DssBbTt3pWiy9GQS6HSjp23GefDiPOyp-tZx_0-1nu_hjIMHKcwzlyjVcmkdZ2Ce-croQj5oO03n3GocFSCjZNDshNsGofBcmrqlRTj7bK_z5p/s1600/DSC02730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpIcgc_XssyPFO2sqRfwmcddWpiS_R2DssBbTt3pWiy9GQS6HSjp23GefDiPOyp-tZx_0-1nu_hjIMHKcwzlyjVcmkdZ2Ce-croQj5oO03n3GocFSCjZNDshNsGofBcmrqlRTj7bK_z5p/s320/DSC02730.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiG1obd4UZm6KNddkqOll0-nT7cyXMQkyhirnDJ0HRNvLSfDQyw5leuhCw_V18dcxI2LRJn4P0dsAhdE-EuZw32_7Pl5S_GK-JtHrJihzigH4tYLJqAN9PuZ6gBYNysC0wPTsq5IGDGn2b/s1600/DSC02743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiG1obd4UZm6KNddkqOll0-nT7cyXMQkyhirnDJ0HRNvLSfDQyw5leuhCw_V18dcxI2LRJn4P0dsAhdE-EuZw32_7Pl5S_GK-JtHrJihzigH4tYLJqAN9PuZ6gBYNysC0wPTsq5IGDGn2b/s320/DSC02743.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>This past week, I've spent a lot of time hanging with the girls doing things that, in the past, I wouldn't have found especially interesting, and certainly not relaxing... and I've had the absolute best time. It's amazing how the simplest things seems to be the best.<br />
<br />
Nowadays, having a good time means watching the girls have a good time, regardless of my own comfort. Of course, having a stack of my favorite magazines makes it even better. I can at least enjoy fantasizing about the vacation of <em>my</em> dreams. I must be growing up... mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-44659589573660826122011-07-14T07:15:00.000-07:002011-07-14T07:15:54.332-07:00Sometimes you resort to this...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgael1emgHmtYzz7PH_5M4t2sjGgEwPGd3oq-P_8BBt7ptykbK7q5qyb9iU9X0lbrAFbva6rJazvlajdfRRmL7UbvClTJUxVwfeBhZcCUMjP7nnWNqHm_Y7FB8HLr8UYoAjo7mMnpgb1rKQ/s1600/DSC02385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgael1emgHmtYzz7PH_5M4t2sjGgEwPGd3oq-P_8BBt7ptykbK7q5qyb9iU9X0lbrAFbva6rJazvlajdfRRmL7UbvClTJUxVwfeBhZcCUMjP7nnWNqHm_Y7FB8HLr8UYoAjo7mMnpgb1rKQ/s320/DSC02385.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1PeC29jeO_cr01_q-2SsnJetlDCoox7r3A0UeHL-N6ewyFTRktMepDnFqrj0AXUKysmBNJC-epR_w7AeX001fZZ4nhRPTK_lCaPdf2ulBOsqtkGIhqvHUsbd3jnPJ5G0EFXl34xIq6ZBy/s1600/DSC02390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1PeC29jeO_cr01_q-2SsnJetlDCoox7r3A0UeHL-N6ewyFTRktMepDnFqrj0AXUKysmBNJC-epR_w7AeX001fZZ4nhRPTK_lCaPdf2ulBOsqtkGIhqvHUsbd3jnPJ5G0EFXl34xIq6ZBy/s320/DSC02390.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ZCfYpVuDpt6RRWoQ2AgtpIAikhbaWjCE1cu2wcYAo4yI68Q0A9Pa5gVbUubNDINoZehOodAm_F_5cJLDMSqqzE47cWS9jQ8p_TG7URr1lw6y1Vg8Y7YfECu0hWg355WAPDlMF297c_wV/s1600/DSC02391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ZCfYpVuDpt6RRWoQ2AgtpIAikhbaWjCE1cu2wcYAo4yI68Q0A9Pa5gVbUubNDINoZehOodAm_F_5cJLDMSqqzE47cWS9jQ8p_TG7URr1lw6y1Vg8Y7YfECu0hWg355WAPDlMF297c_wV/s320/DSC02391.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Now that summer is officially here, I'm getting a severe case of the doldrums. Not accustomed to being with the little ones all day, my patience has been wearing a bit thin. <br />
<br />
I've tried all kinds of things to keep us busy.<br />
<br />
Running out of ideas, my eldest suggested a beauty day. Always up for a makeover, I've sadly allowed this to happen. mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-88728339949059969072011-06-27T15:44:00.000-07:002011-06-27T15:44:35.558-07:00The Princess Cops a Squat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">My eldest is a little princess. She's dainty, wears dresses, plays with makeup, has tea parties while speaking in a british accent...you get the idea.<br />
<br />
One of my favorite passtimes is to watch her play with her sister in the backyard, while doing dishes at the kitchen sink. I can see them, but they don't know they're being watched, which is actually really fun and often very informative.<br />
<br />
Imagine my surprise while observing one day, to see my eldest excuse herself from her tea party, (she actually said "excuse me madame" to her younger sister), exited the little pink playhouse, took off her skirt and peed right there, drunken sorority girl style, in her front yard.<br />
<br />
I stood at the sink with mouth agape. Where had she learned this little trick?? I yelled from the kitchen and asked her what in the world she was doing. <br />
<br />
She replied, fake british accent still intact, "So sorry mommy, but I didn't want to pee pee in my pants. How rude.". <br />
<br />
Actually that makes perfect sense.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcGhomfjAPy-u76hv_SI_DHtDCbAz-oe2ARyp12I8Cp0lxDKoScu4R1AHBAcI0RJT-Xkag70kYoodWSFy70KAL82GEPKRDCDcd8a9I9xboe8A9XTnT8iiFXSD2b7eSqLL0TFakh6Ut2J-Q/s1600/DSC02293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcGhomfjAPy-u76hv_SI_DHtDCbAz-oe2ARyp12I8Cp0lxDKoScu4R1AHBAcI0RJT-Xkag70kYoodWSFy70KAL82GEPKRDCDcd8a9I9xboe8A9XTnT8iiFXSD2b7eSqLL0TFakh6Ut2J-Q/s320/DSC02293.JPG" width="240" /></a></div></div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-463962694628230062011-06-21T18:40:00.000-07:002011-06-21T18:40:00.006-07:00The Black Eye and Hitler Mustache<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> Sephora is one of the best places that a girl can spend the day. You can come in with a naked face and leave looking like Lady Gaga, if you want to. <br />
This past weekend, I decided to venture into Sephora, with the girls in tow, to see what was new. I must admit, I shed a proud tear that my girls have inherited my love of all things beauty, but on this particular day their interest was quite the source of humiliation.<br />
<br />
As I browsed through the latest Urban Decay eyeshadow colors, my girls did some browsing, and sampling of their own. <br />
<br />
No sooner had I turned to the display to begin, when I noticed a small person to my left attacking the new (gasp) Makeup Forever eye shadows. She turned to face me and I noticed that she mad managed to create the perfect purple-pinkish facial contusion on herself. It was a CSI quality bruise. I ignored her for the moment, after all she <em>was</em> busy <em>and</em> quiet, and returned to my work.<br />
<br />
Next, I glimpsed a blonde, curly mop bobbing past. At first look, a happy two year old. Upon closer inspection, a small Charlie Chaplin impersonator, or could it be...Hitler? Oh no...she had gotten a hold of the latest Kat Von D eye shadow kit and had applied an offensive mustache to herself.<br />
<br />
In horror, I grabbed them and ran off toward the elevator. Another shopping day ruined.</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-67249880631393736152011-06-13T18:13:00.000-07:002011-06-13T18:13:09.882-07:00Note to Self<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><img class="rg_hi" data-height="199" data-width="254" height="199" id="rg_hi" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQbmRVexgOEn_L-ZSjizaKYmpsfVqcY0AnTDhTe5XcB8ywok2XfSg" style="height: 199px; width: 254px;" width="254" /><br />
<br />
Dear Self,<br />
<br />
I'd like to suggest that you put down the Oreos and remember that you ordered that bridesmaid's dress in a size smaller than you should have.<br />
<br />
Listen, I know you're thinking that you still have plenty of time to fit into it, but don't kid yourself...it's really going to be awful if you have to wear two pair of Spanx just to zip it up, and you can forget about enjoying your dinner while wearing those torture devices.<br />
<br />
Just Trying to Help,<br />
<br />
Self<br />
<br />
P.S., I know the cupcakes taste good, but they are not your friend. <br />
<img class="rg_hi" data-height="219" data-width="220" height="219" id="rg_hi" src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSU9cgw8Ov7ty5Wwf3bCqi_0mv0HCd5ebtAlQICWVwlzOVSSdEMBQ" style="height: 219px; width: 220px;" width="220" /></div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-24371009656583200182011-06-10T17:24:00.000-07:002011-06-10T17:24:21.115-07:00Thought it many times...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://cdni.wired.co.uk/620x413/a_c/9780857862655%20Go%20The%20F--k%20To%20Sleep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="landscape_1_50_620 image" height="212" src="http://cdni.wired.co.uk/620x413/a_c/9780857862655%20Go%20The%20F--k%20To%20Sleep.jpg" width="320" /></a>I can't tell you how many times I've thought this...but have not voiced it. Definately going to pick this one up! Who's with me???</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-45659087028498206672011-06-09T15:59:00.000-07:002011-06-09T15:59:16.788-07:00New iphone (that I never get to use)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_cyHsxVO1AFSki4ayF26Mhk-jL-MP1SSPV8cDbtjYCIP-HvCEFegZyUS7V6PXSuh8GhavqnmU3wq53FkP0h0J-7-nvF6cmbASnFsBw7zLHxANbUW4ymffzha8qtZnDzP8I6ql8Fad0xiF/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_cyHsxVO1AFSki4ayF26Mhk-jL-MP1SSPV8cDbtjYCIP-HvCEFegZyUS7V6PXSuh8GhavqnmU3wq53FkP0h0J-7-nvF6cmbASnFsBw7zLHxANbUW4ymffzha8qtZnDzP8I6ql8Fad0xiF/s200/photo.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">38 pictures just like this one...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I could not wait to get my new iphone, and now that it's here, I don't really get to use it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, if there was ever any doubt that children these days are better at using technology...I'm here to tell you it's true. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My two year old can operate my iphone 4 better than I can. She can take pictures (see above), use all of the apps (especially the annoying ones), and can make calls (sometimes to people we know, sometimes not), but most of all she can text. She sends LONG texts. Sure they mean nothing now, but I have high hopes.</div></div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-58825098609625578802011-06-05T17:39:00.000-07:002011-06-05T17:39:57.005-07:00Magic Times<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiywWBzVhsKo-k7uKyZAPc9lsS8nkQzet80EnWVl0KakBgTk3-CwHrs3jEb0H7LQJBVCkTpAa8VtCwyUNxigBa2k94LnKO-DuHYnfS-4B8Lc9DMENF9-W35hWX8cuELFRBPZ1AHgqvlK7wb/s1600/DSC02430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiywWBzVhsKo-k7uKyZAPc9lsS8nkQzet80EnWVl0KakBgTk3-CwHrs3jEb0H7LQJBVCkTpAa8VtCwyUNxigBa2k94LnKO-DuHYnfS-4B8Lc9DMENF9-W35hWX8cuELFRBPZ1AHgqvlK7wb/s320/DSC02430.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>This weekend, I brought my daughters downtown for the first time this year. It was a beautiful day and I had some errands to run, so I explained to them that we would be heading into the city. They were very excited and were expecting to see something like "Berry-Bitty City" on their Strawberry Shortcake Cartoon. When I explained to them that we would be going into an underground tunnell (the concourse), Lucy was excited to see all of the dirt and bugs???<br />
<br />
We all skipped across the plaza, holding hands, windblown, the girls each wearing one of my sweatshirts, laughing all the way. A simple errand had turned into something magical. <br />
<br />
A moment of clarity: these are the magic times, times that seem like they're just about the best that life can offer, times when you just want to freeze eveything, capture the moment and remember it forever.<br />
<br />
For a second, I thought of fishing through my purse to take a picture with my phone, but decided against it, choosing to just enjoy being there. Can a picture really capture it anyway? </div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-19190468584479145212011-05-28T07:55:00.000-07:002011-05-28T07:55:41.934-07:00Most Annoying App Ever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">As if the "stop copying me" complaint could get any worse...apparently there's an app for copying you. Joy. What's worse is that not only does it copy whatever you say, but it repeats what you've said in a super annoying kitty cat voice. Great. And we're fighting over it.</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-82973728357122440442011-05-27T17:36:00.000-07:002011-05-27T17:36:18.661-07:00RHNJ<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">What <em>is</em> it about those housewives that makes the show so addiciting?<br />
<br />
I went from being ashamed to admit that I watched it (insert any city of housewives here), to barely being able to contain myself from attacking someone (to talk about the latest drama, of course) who watches, too.<br />
<br />
My favorite is New Jersey.<br />
<br />
I can't help myself. It's like an unscripted version of Jerry Springer, with no bodyguards to save them. I want to be Jacqueline's friend, want Carolyn to be my second mom, hate Ashley, and I'm not sure about Theresa. I kinda like the new girl, you know the wife of the brother who was insane and banged the table last week. What is it with the tables???<br />
<br />
Anyhoo...anyone else obsessed? I also LOVE New York and want to know what Sonja has done to her face. She looks amazing!<br />
<br />
<img class="sg_t" height="300" src="http://ts4.mm.bing.net/images/thumbnail.aspx?q=934861611207&id=7a60bc285ff7a5ed57660f233200b153&url=http%3a%2f%2fcdn.imnotobsessed.com%2fwp-content%2fuploads%2fteresa%2520giudice%2520bankruptcy%2520september%25206%25201.JPG" style="height: 250px; left: 8px; top: 0px; width: 166px;" width="200" /></div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-68576678682040903472011-05-21T18:29:00.000-07:002011-05-21T18:29:05.099-07:00Terrible Twos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Nothing like a late morning shit-fit to start a Saturday off right. <br />
<br />
Natalie is 2 and a half and brings a new kind of terrible to the twos. She wants to do EVERYTHING by herself, even if it's not actually possible for her to do it by herself. Most of all, she hates being rushed.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to this morning...<br />
<br />
We were late to Lucy's dance class yet again, so of course we were rushing, or rather <em>I </em>was rushing. They were doing everything <em>but</em> rushing. Lucy was climbing the tree out front in her ballet costume, Natalie was running in circles around the van, then insisting that she was going to ride in the back seat. <br />
<br />
Finally, I coerced her into her seat with promises of a new doll at Target. We were off! Once we entered the parking lot, all hell broke loose. She actually collapsed on the concrete behind the van and refused to move, due to some imagined slight. I resorted to grabbing her and carrying her into the dance studio, where she resumed her fit, in front of all the waiting mommies, whose daughters were, of course, already in class. There was shrieking and crying, all done in the most excruciating tone and volume, the likes of which I've never heard.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwNukwlSrUalFR_GS2AsN9WM_4XTH-NlW8ltXHy1jmgMi-ZlyIbH3I4namiXlJOBbOHpHGNj9kwiH_27BbdSiCJCs4ObalzhGVyLVmZ6DVL4fNZn3-DLbi-cbz7XVAxdmYuPF2fAX7QgL/s1600/DSC02264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwNukwlSrUalFR_GS2AsN9WM_4XTH-NlW8ltXHy1jmgMi-ZlyIbH3I4namiXlJOBbOHpHGNj9kwiH_27BbdSiCJCs4ObalzhGVyLVmZ6DVL4fNZn3-DLbi-cbz7XVAxdmYuPF2fAX7QgL/s320/DSC02264.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Lucy and I went on with business as usual, ignoring this scene, getting her ballet shoes on. Lucy, worried about her sister, said (at high volume of course), "Mommy, someone might steal Natalie from the front while we're in here". <br />
<br />
All the other mommies were listening intently to hear my reply to her innocent concern.<br />
"Oh, honey, I don't think any one's going to want her today," I said with a laugh. The other mommies laughed, too. What else can you do in the face of pure evil?</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-34692332729421756762011-05-20T18:49:00.000-07:002011-05-20T18:49:33.673-07:00Inherited Traits?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">It's amazing how two girls, born into the same household, within two years of each other can be so different.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #e06666;"><strong>The oldest:</strong> sensitive, sweet, rule-following, sleeps late, active imagination, princess-like</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #8e7cc3;"><strong>The youngest</strong>: scrappy, funny, early riser, fearless, headstrong, independent, fit thrower</span><br />
<br />
The funniest part is that although the oldest looks just like my husband, she acts just like me, and the youngest looks like me, acts like him.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAuiOQH6qWWpM8IOXvDq6V_KtFMI92NJGrDIvNePHUP5US4dC4G4iq8AUi6CaOyS8TdH4FYglMVYTsd7Qwntd2uaNMv3pF4OdYxoN_S07yIoDShyUBJ7YKU3Txlfbr2mihsRP6dgZiEQqB/s1600/DSC02329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAuiOQH6qWWpM8IOXvDq6V_KtFMI92NJGrDIvNePHUP5US4dC4G4iq8AUi6CaOyS8TdH4FYglMVYTsd7Qwntd2uaNMv3pF4OdYxoN_S07yIoDShyUBJ7YKU3Txlfbr2mihsRP6dgZiEQqB/s320/DSC02329.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="color: #073763;"><strong>The parents:</strong> amazed and awed every day!</span></div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745437160523700144.post-41311798371449421132011-05-19T17:57:00.000-07:002011-05-19T17:57:37.374-07:00Calgon???<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Sometimes the minute my husband walks in from work, he gets hit with the, "I need a break".<br />
<br />
Take tonight, for example. <br />
<br />
After working a full day, I had some errands to run after work. Then I picked up the kids, took them on a "pizza date", came home to plant flowers before they died (the flowers, not the kids), played outside, bathed them, chased them around as they ran from me (naked, of course), prepared a nighttime snack (since they didn't really eat on our date), told stories, and they still weren't nearly ready for bed (even though I was ready for them to be).<br />
<br />
The other problem, is that even though I feel like I'm always rushing...somehow I'm always late. Rushing out the door, but late to work. Rushing to get home and let the sitter leave, after I've made a mad dash through the store to get some things we ran out of. This would normally be fine, except there's no time to really catch my breath. My kids are excited to see me and deserve their mommy time. What's troubling is feeling like I have to rush home from work to be with the kids, and rush from the kids in the morning to get to work, feeling like I'm not really hitting a homerun at either.<br />
<br />
Calgon, take me away.<br />
<br />
</div>mommyhanginonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15661333144159302104noreply@blogger.com0