<?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'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104</id><updated>2009-10-17T00:47:55.604-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ramblings of a Mid-Life Mom...</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>46</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-4585430706337925016</id><published>2008-08-15T20:46:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-15T22:31:38.365-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Change of Pace</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SKZmBQ0gjCI/AAAAAAAAAJs/OeJLnDMUX6w/s1600-h/lingerie.bmp"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234983788745886754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SKZmBQ0gjCI/AAAAAAAAAJs/OeJLnDMUX6w/s400/lingerie.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So, the hubby is going to be working day shift for the next few weeks. I'm trying not to get my hopes up and think that things will be 100% better than they have been lately. In the last few years, I've finally figured out that sometimes people create their own misery... By expecting too much and idolizing those closest to them. Thus, I’ve deciphered another problem in my marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently, we had some friends over for cake and ice cream so we could celebrate my oldest daughter’s birthday. We make these get-togethers a fairly simple affair; I try to serve lots of yummy appetizers and top it off with The Birthday Song and dessert. Although we’ve only done this a four or five times in the last couple of years, I always enjoy the opportunity to entertain, have an adult conversation with more than one person at a time, and not worry about a sitter because all of the kids are playing around the house and having their own fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long story short, my bestest friend K pointed out that that particular evening, the control/perfectionist issue was obvious. I was oblivious to it… Basically, it came down to “how we were going to cut the cake”. I won’t go into details, but basically I said to myself, “Screw this!” and went ahead and did what I needed to do… There was cake and people love cake. Just cut the damn thing so we can EAT!!! LOL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that, I began to notice how S has to be right or make a clarification for almost everything that we discuss. Not that this has happened, I can imagine that the conversation would go like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;M – I just cleaned the bathrooms and made sure that there was extra toilet paper for the guests.&lt;br /&gt;S – Which way did you roll it?&lt;br /&gt;M – What do you mean by “Which way did I roll it?”&lt;br /&gt;S – Well, if you roll it with the paper coming out from underneath, then it makes it harder to wrap around.&lt;br /&gt;M – (Sighs to herself… Whatever!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S does tend to become the expert on all things, big and small. Just figuring this out makes me feel as if he’s wobbling on the pedestal that I placed him on years ago. My fault, not his.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is true… A dad is important in influencing how daughters feel about themselves and how they interact with the opposite sex. My mom was a senior in high school when she met my dad. He was a saxophone player in a band and she was crazy about him. Young and naïve, or maybe he was older and sneaky, they eloped and married. I was born about a year later. The only thing I remember about the man that broke my mother’s heart was visiting him in Huntsville, Texas. Eventually, I found out that he was a heroin addict and was in prison for burglary. I guess you’ll do what you have to do if you’re an addict…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were also a few occasions where he’s pop into town, call mom, and ask if he could come and visit me. I only know about the couple of times that he never showed up. Eventually, she would say "sure" but not tell me that he had called, knowing that he’d bail out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My stepfather was no better… He was an alcoholic and abused our family in more ways that most “normal” people could imagine. Again, I saw that mom put up with a man, and I use that term loosely, that would almost beat her within an inch of her life and attempt to take my brother as a bonus. So much for having a daddy…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, I figured out in college that I needed help and was very successful in my PTSD recovery. To this day, I feel that things happened the way they did as a reminder of how grateful we must be for love and friendship, and that with hard work and determination, anyone can overcome anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve often wondered how my past has affected the decisions I’ve made as an adult. Hopefully, I can explain this and it will make sense. S is symbolic of security, stability, and safety. Here’s the tricky part. If they are lucky, women will become comfortable with their sexuality BEFORE they get married. Read: That DOES NOT mean having pre-marital sex. Having knowledge of how the psyche works, especially in those people whose normal development has been “stunted” due to traumatic events in their past, I am in a totally different place than I was when I married seven years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t get me wrong, I seem to think that my husband is attractive. He is very charming when he flirts and I have no doubt that he could make the average woman swoon. (I’m not implying that he’s doing that now!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel as I’ve gone from insecure little girl to a woman with some clues about life… But, I’m still trying to figure out why S no longer “fits the bill”, so to speak, other than the fact that he has become distant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other night, I thought about smothering him with his Temperpedic pillow in his sleep. Since this past January, I have gone from 128 to my current 112 pounds. (I’m only 5’1”; some people might argue that the 1” is an exaggeration.) Although I consider myself a little jiggly in all the wrong places, what woman doesn’t, I though I looked like a hot mom. Anyway, I had found a bargain, a very cute but simple little lacy thing to wear to bed, black. Cute! (Not in a “Hey, look at that cute puppy!” but really in a sexy kinda way.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S – Did you just buy that?&lt;br /&gt;M – Why, yes I did… You like??&lt;br /&gt;S – (Rolls over and goes to sleep.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The preceding account is NOT a fictitious happening. I’m still shaking my head on that one. Why? Not because I was disappointed, but mostly because I WASN'T. Makes no sense to me. I'm sure someone out there will read this and shed some light...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;It would be a truly amazing thing if we could see ourselves as others do. Blogging - Another wonder of the 21st century!! Some might be mortified by what they would see, but I believe that most people would actually love and respect the person that they see, warts and all.&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/19296104-4585430706337925016?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4585430706337925016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=4585430706337925016' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/4585430706337925016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/4585430706337925016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/08/change-of-pace.html' title='Change of Pace'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SKZmBQ0gjCI/AAAAAAAAAJs/OeJLnDMUX6w/s72-c/lingerie.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-8100756893100933916</id><published>2008-08-10T20:09:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T20:24:33.038-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love Is Blue...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SJ-vGkhEonI/AAAAAAAAAJk/bCNILOeHHQ8/s1600-h/heart.bmp"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233093819444273778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SJ-vGkhEonI/AAAAAAAAAJk/bCNILOeHHQ8/s400/heart.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;"&gt;Friday was a roller coaster… I spent the last day of freedom, aka “medical leave”, hanging out with a friend, tested and passed my yellow belt exam (Heck yeah!), and had a soul-searching conversation with my friend and her hubby. I really owe a lot to all of my friends. During what seems to be a transitional period in my life, they’ve been there to offer support, a shoulder to cry on, and sound advice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m stuck and in trouble…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stuck because I have some decisions to make and, in either scenario, there will be tears shed, gnashing of teeth, and lots of heartbreak. How does one decide that enough is enough?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here’s what’s at stake:&lt;br /&gt;* A seven year marriage&lt;br /&gt;* My sanity&lt;br /&gt;* My children’s sanity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve tried so hard and patiently on the marriage, especially in the last couple of months or so. I love my husband but I find him incapable of giving me what I need… emotional support and intimacy. (Hence the old cliché, “I love you but am not in love with you.”)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We actually met online in August of 1999. Newly separated from a former husband, June 30th marked the day that I moved from Lubbock to Albuquerque, with aspirations of continuing my education and performing careers by teaching 5th grade and joining a mariachi. Looking to find some gigs quickly, I placed a “friends” ad on a popular website and started meeting people to hang out with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S. was in a rock band and looking for a violinist to be featured on a song that he had written for the CD they were recording. We met at a pottery shop and made a couple of items. Smart guy: The second date was set because we would need to pick up the pieces we made the next week. From there, we’d see each other every few days or so, but within a couple of weeks, The Company would send him to Phoenix for training that would last a few months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was still going on a few dates here and there and meeting more people… Being single was pretty good, much better than my college days. At least I didn’t have to wait for $1 drink night if I wanted to go out dancing with the gals and I could afford to do more than just that. I actually went on my first fishing trip, hung out with a singles group that was part of a local religious organization (I miss board game nite!), met friends for dinner at places with real food (Steak!!), and got to visit an Indian reservation on one of their feast days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, S. and I kept up with each other via e-mail and a phone call every few days. I liked this arrangement because I didn’t feel smothered and he was one of the first guys that I had ever maintained a quasi-dating relationship with that was very comfortable and platonic.&lt;br /&gt;About late September, he started driving home to Albuquerque every couple of weeks on his days off… No easy feat as he only had a few days and the drive was pretty lonely and long. Still, things were very simple yet nice, and we were still being good, wink-wink. Then, in about mid-October, things got to the next level, we were officially dating each other exclusively. In a way, I was surprised at smoothly the relationship was still going. One of my good friends at the time, Bill, was sort of a mentor, although he was at least 10 years younger, gave me advice and helped decode the mystery known as the single man. (We joked that because S. was thin, neat, and single, he must be gay… Why else would he not have tried to hit on me for a couple of months?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S. called me up one day and asked if I would fly out there for a weekend visit. I panicked. Calling up Bill crying, I told him that I was going to break things off and that I couldn’t take this relationship any further. Stunned, he asked why I would do such a silly thing.&lt;br /&gt;“It’s the other shoe… When it drops, I just don’t know if I could take the heartbreak.” Bill just laughed sweetly and asked why I would think such a thing. “All men are @ssholes and there’s no such thing as a perfect relationship. This one has just gone way too smoothly.” Then he talked to sense into me. “Because he hasn’t done anything to disrespect or harm you, and you enjoy being with him, you owe him the benefit of the doubt. Go out to Phoenix and see what happens. Then you can make this decision.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I arrived early one morning at Sky Harbor with S. waiting there for me. We went directly to the suite he was living in, but he said that I should go ahead and leave my suitcase in the car. We rested and talked for a few minutes and then announced that we would be going to the Grand Canyon for the weekend. Wow! What a surprise! It was fall and the weather and scenery was going to be just fabulous. I couldn’t wait!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right before our arrival at the hotel, he asked if I would need a separate room or not. I went out on a limb and told him that one room was fine. Could that have been my rubicon??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weekend was pleasant, but short, and I was glad that I had made the decision to give him a chance. Arriving home, life was back to normal. S. continued to drive back and forth on his days off and I’d keep busy teaching during the week. I hated the evenings alone but knew that his stint in Phoenix would be over soon enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanksgiving came and went… We decorated my little Christmas tree and roasted marshmallows in my tiny fireplace. The next morning, a gift waited for me: A shop vac. I had never lit a fire before in that apartment, not wanting to deal with the mess afterwards, but now I could enjoy a cozy evening anytime I wanted. I’m still perplexed by that one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December was quickly approaching and S. would soon be home for good. Back in Lubbock, my cousin’s daughter was not doing well. She was suffering from a fatal lung disease and was in the final stages of her battle. I was especially heartbroken for her as this was her senior year in high school, with plans to continue as an education major at Texas Tech. Over the last few years, Margaret would help me set up my classroom each year and was looking forward to having her own class one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not knowing if it was the stress from Marge’s condition, teaching, and the holiday season, I began to feel run down… And, although I had faithfully taken The Pill for years now, I was late for the very first time. I mustered up some courage and bought a pregnancy test, and of course, the first signs of what was to be my little Kait, appeared as a plus-sign in the little window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Panic… I called my mom, crying, and she assured me that everything was going to be alright. (I would be 33 years old in about a month; She was secretly pleased that I, her eldest, would finally be giving her a grandchild.) We talked and made some tentative plans and I felt better afterwards as most moms are apt to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dared not say a thing to S. until he was home for good, which would be in exactly 1 week to the day, which would happen to pass very s-l-o-w-l-y. Leaving a message on his machine the day before, I asked him to call me as soon as he arrived into town. Having had a long day of driving, he went straight to bed without calling. When I had the left the message, I tried very hard to hide the sense of urgency in my voice, but could no longer keep my situation a secret. He asked if I could let him sleep for a few hours and come by later. Although I had work early the next morning, I agreed and I killed time at a coffeehouse, rehearsing what I was going to say and predict how this was all going to come down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Plan:&lt;br /&gt;1. Assure S. that this was indeed an “accident”… Getting pregnant was not expected and that he need only be involved if that is his true intent.&lt;br /&gt;2. If he did not want to be a part of my pregnancy and a daddy, I would be moving to California so I could get support from my family, especially my mom.&lt;br /&gt;3. An abortion would be out of the question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I get there and he’s still quite groggy… The room is dark and I laid down next to him, my heart pounding in fear. Finally mustering the courage, I made my announcement…&lt;br /&gt;His words? Shit. I had obviously given him news that he hadn’t expected. Then the next unexpected action took place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What do you want?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first, I didn’t really understand the question but then the truth revealed itself: He wanted to know what would make me happy about being pregnant with his child and what I wanted my future to look like. Having grown up without a dad, I knew immediately. I wanted my child to grow up with a father, someone who would be there and to create a better life for this little one than the one I had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our decision was made and we immediately started looking at houses and planning for a wedding and the new baby. I have to admit, it was all very exciting and time seemed to move quickly. Kaitlyn was born months later in August of 2000 and we were married January 2001.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking back at the last several years, I can honestly say that there was only a few times that I ever felt “madly” in love… Mostly, we’ve maintained a relationship with mutual trust and respect and have played the roles of husband/wife and daddy/mommy to the best of our abilities. But, unfortunately, I’ve never felt that he was my soul mate and I doubt that he feels the same way about me, although he would probably never admit it. (I think I know who his soul mate is, but from what I know, he never pursued a relationship with her because he claims that they were both too much alike… stubborn and hot-tempered.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can tell that he is not happy and has not even bothered to ask about my unhappiness, although I’ve already tried letting him know how I feel. When I ask him about his funk, he claims that the only thing wrong is that he’s tired that the house is a mess. (Can you say COP OUT??) Our home is not dirty, nor is it a mess, but it is not perfect. He would never admit to it, but he is truly a perfectionist and it’s key to what is happening right now. I’m not perfect and the girls aren’t either. I am who I am and he cannot expect me to change… I try the best that I can but the state of my closets is the last thing I want to deal with right now, or ever for that matter. Life is too short.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On his days off, he is usually ill with migraines or stomach concerns, busy doing “stuff”, or on the computer. I’m not stupid… The signs are all there. I know from enough experience that there is a stressor causing his health issues and his distance is an avoidance of intimacy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m not sure how to get him to admit it other than screaming at the top of my lungs:&lt;br /&gt;“WE’RE NOT HAPPY AND WHAT IN THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT IT??”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m tired and exhausted…&lt;br /&gt;My kids are acting out.&lt;br /&gt;S. and I have opposite schedules.&lt;br /&gt;The daddy that I wanted for them is never around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look around and see a nice home filled with nice things. I am proud of the fact that my husband is a hard worker and would work even harder to give us the material things that we want. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;But, I would give it all up to go to bed tonight and wake up in the morning next to someone that not only loves me but feels a fire and passion for our life together. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grew up dirt poor; this is not an exaggeration. Not having the things you need sucks, especially if you have kids. With God’s help, He’s given me the talents and the strength&lt;br /&gt;to work hard to get the things that I've needed and would continue to do so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;I’m stuck because fear is one of the most crippling emotions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-8100756893100933916?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/8100756893100933916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=8100756893100933916' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/8100756893100933916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/8100756893100933916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/08/love-is-blue.html' title='Love Is Blue...'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SJ-vGkhEonI/AAAAAAAAAJk/bCNILOeHHQ8/s72-c/heart.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-4551825288391215968</id><published>2008-07-30T21:22:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T21:36:04.102-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Timing Is Everything</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SJE-jUr3DzI/AAAAAAAAAJc/KGUHt-ZvhwA/s1600-h/wild_horses.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229029418922872626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SJE-jUr3DzI/AAAAAAAAAJc/KGUHt-ZvhwA/s400/wild_horses.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This year I discovered that I was a “&lt;a href="http://www.tuvy.com/entertainment/horoscope/fire_horse.htm"&gt;Fire Horse&lt;/a&gt; Woman”; I’m not one to believe in astrology, but thought it was interesting enough to research. Basically, author &lt;a href="http://www.io.com/~cortese/hinoeuma/"&gt;Janis Cortese&lt;/a&gt; has this to say: &lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;“Fire Horse women are called dangerous, headstrong, and are seen as deadly to men. This may sound quaint to western ears, but the 1906 Japanese herd was subjected to poverty and starvation because they could not marry… &lt;a href="http://www.holymtn.com/astrology/horse.htm"&gt;Fire Horses&lt;/a&gt; are seen as outgoing, people-loving, ambitious, rebellious, and independent. They are supposedly freedom-loving and impossible to contain… While ambition and independence are prized as ingredients for success nowadays, they were never seen as ideal female qualities.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I guess timing is everything… Had I been born almost 100 years ago, I’d be pretty much screwed. (As a petite woman, I have to giggle to myself thinking that I could be devastating or harmful to a man in any way, shape, or form.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cortese continues:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;“These all sound like perfectly fine qualities to the westerner, especially to Americans, since our culture prizes individualism, but in other societies, these are not necessarily good qualities. They are especially disliked in women; wives are supposed to be submissive and dependent, not &lt;strong&gt;ambitious or headstrong&lt;/strong&gt;, and that belief is not uncommon in Western cultures, either.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Therein lies the problem… &lt;strong&gt;Ambitious and headstrong&lt;/strong&gt;. I’ve always been one to go after what I want and to make things happen to reach my goals. In some cases, this is not always the most prudent thing to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would love to learn how to still my mind and to be accepting of what is… Compared to many folks out there, my life is great. The mistake I make is wanting more and thinking that it would be the solution to the yearning and unrest I feel inside. But, to be honest, I’ve felt this ache before and know that no good comes from it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unlike real horses, &lt;em&gt;hinoeuma&lt;/em&gt; women cannot jump the fence and leave everything behind. Breathe and be still…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-4551825288391215968?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4551825288391215968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=4551825288391215968' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/4551825288391215968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/4551825288391215968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/07/timing-is-everything.html' title='Timing Is Everything'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SJE-jUr3DzI/AAAAAAAAAJc/KGUHt-ZvhwA/s72-c/wild_horses.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-3787645229821006257</id><published>2008-07-22T21:22:00.008-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-23T18:10:03.189-07:00</updated><title type='text'>All I could say was, "D-A-M-N woman!!"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Okay, I’ll admit it; I’m vain and concerned about hitting the mid-century mark. Although it’s still about 8 ½ years away, knowing how quickly time files, it lurks like a crack head scoping out an easy house. (Strangely enough, I actually saw someone that looked like a crack head walking down the street carrying a large, “analog” computer monitor a couple of days ago. Calling the non-emergency law enforcement number didn’t seem to make much of a difference… So much for the neighborhood watch here in “God-forsaken Copper Basin”.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having a few minutes to myself as the hubby/children are out picking up our latest acquisition, a ball snake, I delighted in looking up “trash”… My secret, little pleasure?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://gofugyourself.celebuzz.com/"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Go Fug Yourself&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;: Where Fugly is the New Pretty&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;. It’s amazing. No matter how rich, famous, and beautiful you may be, you cannot pull off wearing a Hefty trash bag with cowboy boots and a tiara and call it &lt;em&gt;haute couture&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking at pics, grateful that I don’t have the money to buy overpriced crap, yeah right, I stumbled onto this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226060422743235602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIayRABWnBI/AAAAAAAAAJM/u8KE4I2eIFw/s320/H_Mirren_Bikini.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;OMG! Ms. Mirren is a hot senior citizen... Maybe there’s still hope for me in the next 20 years or so, but who's really counting!??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;BTW,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helen_Mirren"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;Helen Mirren&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;won the Oscar in 2006, looking like this:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226060619008347714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIaycbKmjkI/AAAAAAAAAJU/i5NKQgnoiZ0/s320/H_Mirren_TheQueen.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dame&lt;/strong&gt; Helen Mirren will be&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;63 years old in four days!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;(She was born July 26, 1945; please correct my math if I’m wrong!)&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Very impressive, no??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Thankfully for us mid-aged women, there's no shame in moving along from&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;"hot babe"&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt; to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;"hot mom"&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;"hot grandma"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;... How oxymoronic! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;:-)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-3787645229821006257?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3787645229821006257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=3787645229821006257' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/3787645229821006257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/3787645229821006257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/07/all-i-could-say-was-d-m-n-woman.html' title='All I could say was, &quot;D-A-M-N woman!!&quot;'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIayRABWnBI/AAAAAAAAAJM/u8KE4I2eIFw/s72-c/H_Mirren_Bikini.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-9012129778883213944</id><published>2008-07-19T18:25:00.009-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-19T19:07:12.001-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In a Saucy Mood...</title><content type='html'>Call me moody... I think the last couple of posts were so morose. How about some levity in the form of "Hunk-fest"??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One of my girlfriends from school and I were discussing movies the other day and we came up with our Top Hunks. There is actually no preferred order, but if any of them came up to me and asked me to run away with him, I doubt I'd say no, LOL. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKU43qNFfI/AAAAAAAAAIc/Smxv9oIri5E/s1600-h/Big_Ben.bmp"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224902222437750258" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKU43qNFfI/AAAAAAAAAIc/Smxv9oIri5E/s320/Big_Ben.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc33cc;"&gt;1. "Big Ben" Roethlisberger&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Ben is one reason I've become more of an avid Steelers fan. Ben was able to take the initiative and lead his team to a Super Bowl win very early in his career.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I know he's not a movie star but there is no way I could leave him off of this distinguished list. (Like I really have influence on pop/sports culture.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;2. "Gorgeous George" Clooney&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKbCq4A2zI/AAAAAAAAAJE/udEl5dBahUY/s1600-h/Clooney2.bmp"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224908987874466610" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKbCq4A2zI/AAAAAAAAAJE/udEl5dBahUY/s320/Clooney2.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Be still my beating heart! There has never been an actor with so much talent, good looks, and heart... I thinks he's pretty smart, too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Dr. Doug Ross was the reason I was a faithful ER viewer. Although I did manage to watch for a couple more seasons, it wasn't the same without him... Even if he could be a jerk!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKXOuP8UDI/AAAAAAAAAIs/h9bFHrUHxVY/s1600-h/johnny_depp_16.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224904796892057650" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKXOuP8UDI/AAAAAAAAAIs/h9bFHrUHxVY/s320/johnny_depp_16.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc33cc;"&gt;3. Johnny "Delish" Depp&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;He's up there with Clooney... talent, brains, and looks. I love his quirkiness and willingness to act outside of the box.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Although I particularly like this polished version of Depp, he still pretty attractive when he's unshaven, long-haired, and wild looking. No complaints here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc33cc;"&gt;4. Jeremy Piven&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKYitWKn9I/AAAAAAAAAI0/CqrlQTKgatE/s1600-h/piven.jpg"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224906239758737362" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKYitWKn9I/AAAAAAAAAI0/CqrlQTKgatE/s320/piven.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I think The Gap made a wise decision when they chose him for this photo shoot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;If you aren't too familiar with Jeremy, revisit "Very Bad Things". (He's the guy that accidentally kills the prostitute in the hotel bathroom.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Just a bit of trivia: On "Seinfeld", he was the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Pilot%2C_Part_1"&gt;actor that read for the part of "George Costanza"&lt;/a&gt; when they got their own show about nothing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKaATs0-LI/AAAAAAAAAI8/mgGm3pHA1sU/s1600-h/shia.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224907847782168754" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKaATs0-LI/AAAAAAAAAI8/mgGm3pHA1sU/s320/shia.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Honorable Mention: Shia LaBeouf&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I'm not a cougar, but if I were about 20 years younger, Shia would be closer to the top of my list.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;It took a double-take to realize that this was the dorky kid from "Even Stevens". Thank goodness he's grown into a handsome young man... He could have ended up like Dustin "Screech" Diamond, how sad!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Although this is all in vain, feel free to hook me up if you know any of these fine gents... Just give me enough time to find a sitter and come up with an alibi.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-9012129778883213944?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/9012129778883213944/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=9012129778883213944' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/9012129778883213944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/9012129778883213944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/07/in-saucy-mood.html' title='In a Saucy Mood...'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SIKU43qNFfI/AAAAAAAAAIc/Smxv9oIri5E/s72-c/Big_Ben.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-7600211020797739444</id><published>2008-07-17T19:18:00.006-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-17T19:48:59.829-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One Evening at a Time...</title><content type='html'>Looking at the clock, it’s only 6:17… How am I going to keep sane tonight? As always, I was doing a lot of thinking about my life and wondering if this (my life &amp;amp; my marriage) is really all there is. Even before we started dating, my husband had always worked graveyard, 12-hour shifts. There was even an occasion that he was sent out of state for a couple of months. Tonight is even more upsetting than most, I don’t know why, so I decided to write and see if I could figure out why in the hell I’m feeling this devastated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the past, I’ve always joked that his work situation has actually been the reason we’ve stayed married. Not too much “smothering” and someone to look forward to seeing every four days or so. Lately, it just seems as if it’s taking its’ toll. I hate admitting that I’m human and this loneliness is beginning to frustrate the hell out of me. I’ve know women in this same situation that have resorted to having an affair, anything to fill that void, I guess. If I didn’t care so much, or maybe just a bit more selfish, I probably would have already done so by now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The vulnerability I’m feeling right now has me stumped as well… My recovery from the surgery has been fine other than the fact that I hate not being able to give 110% physically. Being on doctor’s orders to rest has brought to light the fact that I was actually a lot more active before the surgery than I thought. Having to opt out of belt testing this weekend doesn’t help either, but at least I’ll be able to do the make-up in August.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m also trying to maintain my composure as I type this… I wonder how many times my girls have looked and me and thought, “My mother’s crazy… sometimes she just cries.” What kind of example am I setting for them? Do they see me as strong, willing to put up with this part-time, single mom lifestyle because I promised my husband “until death do us part” or am just too weak to do anything else?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lyrics of &lt;a href="http://new.music.yahoo.com/videos/--44295405"&gt;“Soul Mate” by Natasha Bedingfield&lt;/a&gt; comes to mind:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;“Who doesn't long for someone to hold,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;Who knows how to love you without being told?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;Somebody tell me why I'm on my own,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;If there's a soul mate for everyone?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#6633ff;"&gt;How is it that I’m not alone, but oh, so lonely right now??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, this is more food for thought, no pun intended… I kid you not, I just opened my fortune cookie from dinner and found this:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224173436980004850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SH_-D-Q5h_I/AAAAAAAAAIE/9MKIMcuD1q0/s400/cookie.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lord knows I'm trying so hard to keep it together. I can't demand that my husband work days without leaving his job. As a matter of fact, he had his name added to "The List" to move to day shift when my oldest was born, almost 8 years ago. He's actually at the top of it now... It'll mean a cut in pay (about -15%), but I see it as being worth every dollar. (This technology company is world famous, you've seen their commercials. Leaving the company is out of the question, especially with this economy.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I refuse to believe that my well is dried up... But my heart is breaking; maybe a leak?? I want someone to tuck in my girls at night with me and then enjoy some quiet together time as lovers. I would give anything to be held right now, to be told that I could rest easy tonight and not have to go to bed alone. Is that what "Normal" couples do or am I just asking for too much?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's now 7:34... only 11 more hours to go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-7600211020797739444?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7600211020797739444/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=7600211020797739444' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/7600211020797739444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/7600211020797739444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/07/one-evening-at-time.html' title='One Evening at a Time...'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SH_-D-Q5h_I/AAAAAAAAAIE/9MKIMcuD1q0/s72-c/cookie.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-6096304813757539182</id><published>2008-07-14T20:45:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T09:25:04.049-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='high school'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='first love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lubbock'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>Whatever Happened to “What’s His Name”??</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SH4fa_ewqQI/AAAAAAAAAH8/ALT2Knelb40/s1600-h/passion.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223647166373865730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SH4fa_ewqQI/AAAAAAAAAH8/ALT2Knelb40/s320/passion.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, I’m full of it... “He” has a name. I’ll go ahead and call him by his first name: Bert. My friend and I were looking at high school yearbooks last week and we happened to move onto the topic of our first loves. Not really sure about love at first sight, there's usually a look, something said, or not said, or even just a smile that gets my attention. (Most Aquarians are friends first… Love comes MUCH later.) I don’t want to say that there were many suitors, but there have been a few that I had to really stay away from due to the fact that they moved too quickly, were too possessive, or just needed too much. Being Hispanic I can say this, or can I? I hated dating within my own race because most of the boys I grew up with were “mama’s boys” and, just like their dads, very controlling and planning for the ten or twelve kids they wanted you to pop out. No thanks! My plans had always included going to college, not having kids until I was in my 30’s, and getting out of Lubbock, Texas. Since I’ve done all three, I guess I followed through pretty well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In high school, I really didn’t fit into any one crowd; I actually enjoyed hanging out with peeps from the band, the tennis team, the journalism crowd, the “punks”, and mostly with the orchestra geeks… I was one of them. When I try, I can’t really remember when I first noticed Bert. (I won't give you his last name as it is Jewish and you could definitely find him if you did a Google search.) He was a year ahead of me and was a viola player in the orchestra when I got to Lubbock High School in ’82 as a sophomore. (Freshmen attended junior high, very strange.) There was nothing really remarkable about his appearance. I thought he had very brown, but thoughtful eyes. What I do really remember was the fact that he had an incredible sense of humor: very dry, witty, nothing outrageous, intelligent. He was very unlike many of the other kids I knew. Although not too concerned with how he dressed, Bert wasn’t a slob… Generally, a pair of Lee jeans, a tee, and a button up shirt, oh, of course, his trademark brown leather &lt;a href="http://www.menshats.com/product/46/ivy-caps-ball-caps"&gt;“Ivy”&lt;/a&gt; cap. Overall, on the cuteness scale, I’d give him about an 8.5.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor guy, I crushed on him for years. He actually took me to his senior prom in ’84, but by that next year, he was living in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area, failing out of UT Arlington, if I recall correctly. Bert actually moved back home a couple of times, either living with his mom and sis, or with our mutual friend Kevin. During the 4 to 5 years we pseudo-dated, there were many drunken conversations… He admitted that he was “emotionally retarded” and I knew that I was scared to death of being in a serious relationship, never mind how badly I wanted to commit to him. We never had sex, we were both too scared and stupid, and we only stole a few kisses here and there. Not to say that I didn’t have a few boyfriends during this time. The majority of those relationships were out of “convenience”… At least I was going out to football games, dances, parties, having a good time and not looking too much like a nerd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right after high school, I got into my first serious relationship. Soon thereafter, Bert joined the Air Force. I’m not sure exactly precipitated this decision, but I’m sure a lot of it had to do with his father and growing up the son of retired AF. (Dr.R was a jerk to his son and his family. On prom night, I remember him making some smart ass comment about Bert and I having ham and cheese sandwiches, knowing full and well that his son had saved and scrimped to make sure we had the best of everything that night.)&lt;br /&gt;Once that relationship ended, I had Bert on the brain again and tracked him at Eglin AFB in Florida. The one thing I remember about that call was that he was absolutely floored to hear from me. “Oh, you just made my night… No, my life”!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ended up with the same cycle of wanting each other but not knowing how to approach the subject and situation. Basically, it came down to us calling each other when we had a little too much to drink and talking about how we should have done things differently in high school. A couple of times, his best friend would call me and tell me how much Bert really missed me and that I needed to go out there. His buddies on base even tried persuading me by offering to buy my plane ticket out there. One time, Bert even broke down himself and asked me to go. I just never had the nerve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After his return from his tour in Panama, Bert decided to visit Lubbock, although he hated the town with a passion. I had a party with some friends from high school and a couple of days later, he took off to DFW to see some old friends. This time, he convinced me to meet him there so we could hang out before he had to return to Florida. I flew out and the time we spent together flew. Once again, we never “consummated” our relationship and again, I was crushed that he was once again out of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like the time after high school, I began another serious relationship, and after dating the idiot for five years on-and-off, we ended up eloping in Vegas. There were so many things that were WRONG about that marriage. Just the fact that we couldn’t stay together steadily for five years preceding the marriage, should have been the biggest clue that it was not meant to be. (Fortunately, we didn’t have children so ripping off that band-aid was very easy.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still think about Bert sometimes. Not wondering what could have been, but hoping that he eventually found some peace and happiness in his life. He truly deserves it. As for me, it took lots and lots of work to finally become healthy enough to have a decent marriage… In ways it’s not perfect, but is a work in progress.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-6096304813757539182?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6096304813757539182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=6096304813757539182' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/6096304813757539182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/6096304813757539182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/07/whatever-happened-to-whats-his-name.html' title='Whatever Happened to “What’s His Name”??'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SH4fa_ewqQI/AAAAAAAAAH8/ALT2Knelb40/s72-c/passion.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-210396999705129751</id><published>2008-07-11T22:05:00.007-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-12T00:41:15.215-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='birth control'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex after 40'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fertility'/><title type='text'>Me and My Friend Gina (pronounced JY-nah)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHhe2RObd-I/AAAAAAAAAH0/8Wv1tpGYjO8/s1600-h/OKeeffe.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222028054365960162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHhe2RObd-I/AAAAAAAAAH0/8Wv1tpGYjO8/s400/OKeeffe.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This post is not for the &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;faint of heart...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; nor the faint of &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;vajayjay,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;"my little flower",&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;chomito&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;(cho-MEE-toh)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt; &lt;span style="color:#6666cc;"&gt;muffwich,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;coochie,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt; love canal &lt;span style="color:#330033;"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;hoo-hah.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; (Feel free to submit your own euphemisms at will... I believe our family is the only one to use &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;"chomito" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;so please be sure to cite your source if you decide to start using this one.) &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;As an added bonus, I highly encourage you to play, "Find the Hidden Innuendos" as you read today's entry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is uncharted territory, at least in my blog, to talk about what's going on "downstairs". As you my faithful readers recall, or at least the one or two people who happened to drop by and comment, I had to have emergency surgery to stop hemorraging from a &lt;a href="http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008_06_27_archive.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;blown fallopian tube (ruptured ectopic pregnancy) in the wee hours of June 25th.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My first post-op appointment was this last Tuesday. It was nice to see that Dr. N didn't recognize me: "You look TERRIFIC! Nothing like you did when I saw you before surgery." I must have looked really bad; I guess losing a liter or so of blood will do that to you. So, we had the standard "How Are You Feeling?/Stay Off of Your Feet/See you in 1 Month" talk. Just to be sure that I would be covered to go back to karate and work, I asked for a release:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222005363440619090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHhKNe8QDlI/AAAAAAAAAHs/O0KDSkKcC6o/s320/Dr+Release.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Notice, I'm not allowed to return to "full duty" until August 6th... That's forever in busy teacher/mom/person time!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When I go back for my post-post op visit on August 4th, my daughter's birthday, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;I need to have some decisions made.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Notice I didn't say "we"... Since I've been flirting with danger lately, yes, some tomatoes can be lethal and I refuse to stop running with scissors, I'd like for S. to have some options should I meet my untimely demise via some strange dishwasher/toaster oven accident. (He has already asked for my blessing to re-marry should that happen; His added hubby/daddy duties have kept him a bit more busy than usual and has made him more appreciative of me.) Anyway, look at the old fogeys like Hugh Hefner and Regis Philbin; those fertile whores! I'm not saying it's easy for those older swimmers to get up there but they've got potential.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Basically, Dr. N made it clear: &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I should never get pregnant again due to the high risk involved.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt; I could conceive if I wanted to, but to do so would really be stupid. Thus, I have to refrain from the &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;horizontal mambo,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;the old slap 'n tickle,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9966;"&gt;shag-a-rama,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; or (insert your euphemism here) for at least another month or two. If I calculate correctly, MOST women (at least 51%) would welcome this circumstance, not having intercourse. Please correct me if I'm wrong. I promise to get back to this topic in a sec, please continue reading and get through the medical stuff first... Wink, wink!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;What's great about 21st century medicine are the options that are available for birth control. Some of you who know I'm Catholic will immediately see the contradiction in this situation... Let me backtrack and clarify. After the birth of our first daughter, we signed up for and completed &lt;a href="http://www.ccli.org/"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;NFP (sympto-thermal) training&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. No, this is NOT the "rhythm method". It's a bit more complicated than than. Our second child was planned to the month, believe it or not. The difficulty with this method is that now that I've been peri-menopausal for the last few years, my "sympto-thermal" stuff is off. It sucks getting old.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Here's the hard part: In order to stay healthy, I have to trade in my fertility, permanently, for sex. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;If you're a man, LOL, I already know what you're thinking, what's there to question? Sex is the winner! But for me, the thought of never, ever being able to have another child is incredibly scary, but so is having sex and getting pregnant. Oh, the horror of it all!&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=QGAgu6zI9v0&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hump or Death? Hump or Death? Hump or Death?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;It's &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Motherhood vs. Me&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;The whole idea of having to deliberate this decision almost seems silly, right? Basically, the best choice for me is to have some type of clamp or spring implanted to block off my remaining tube. (My other choice is a mostly progesterone-based pill, not 100% effective, and I'm too high risk for the new "plastic/med" based &lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mirena-us.com/faq.html?C=&amp;amp;c="&gt;IUD&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Maybe it's because I'm so tired of having to have my lady-parts messed with again. (I went through a miscarriage the summer of 2005; I stopped going to a particular OB/GYN practice because of the non-chalant attidude of the PA that was assigned to me during that ordeal.) Basically, I'm looking at a day surgery situation with more discomfort. Oh, joy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Okay, I promised the sex talk. This "abstinence" crap is for the birds! If you hadn't noticed, the blog description mentions that I'm "40'ish"... &lt;a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2005/sep/07/gender.world"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ladies, just you wait. When you get there, be sure to embrace the new found "sexiness" that will hit you, and it WILL hit you hard!&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Just a piece of advice for any of you younger ladies out there, that means 20'ish and above, preferably married or in a monogamous situation, &lt;strong&gt;get to know and be very comfortable with yourself! &lt;/strong&gt;Men, if you want a crazy, mid-life wife, be gentle and encouraging. It's been a long, hard journey to get to where I am. Thus, the dilemma. Raging hormones and attitude but no sex. No sex until I've been "fixed". Need to go through mental/physical pain as part of the procedure of permanent sterilization. Yeah, it sucks getting old.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Sex isn't everything but I'd say almost... My friend Gina is very important to me. She's that connection between my own sexuality and womanhood and the miracle of procreation. She reinforces the concept of immortality through my progeny. Even though I'm not planning on sending Gina away anywhere, I guess I just need to get over fears and give my fertility a permanent vacation.&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/19296104-210396999705129751?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/210396999705129751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=210396999705129751' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/210396999705129751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/210396999705129751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/07/me-and-my-friend-gina-pronounced-jy-nah.html' title='Me and My Friend Gina (pronounced JY-nah)'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHhe2RObd-I/AAAAAAAAAH0/8Wv1tpGYjO8/s72-c/OKeeffe.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-1214906309357722996</id><published>2008-07-09T21:02:00.010-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T21:40:17.088-07:00</updated><title type='text'>B-O-R-E-D!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHWMMlvFntI/AAAAAAAAAHM/Yd5kGUjk2Uo/s1600-h/celeb_collage.bmp"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221233490921889490" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHWMMlvFntI/AAAAAAAAAHM/Yd5kGUjk2Uo/s320/celeb_collage.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;I found a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/celebrity-collage"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;"celebrity look-alike"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt; program so I thought I'd throw myself and the girls in. It's free so it's worth checking out for a giggle or two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Me, the oldest one -&lt;/strong&gt; I guess looking like MTM isn't bad as long as it isn't one of her most recent pics. As far as Lucy Liu, I ran a couple of other pics, and I matched several Asian actresses, many whom I've never heard of. When I worked graveyard at the post office during college, this one supervisor used to swear I was half-Japanese. Maybe I need to get my mom drunk and give her the 3rd degree.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHWOLTR9ynI/AAAAAAAAAHU/tAO2utv6dJU/s1600-h/celeb_collage3.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221235667811289714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHWOLTR9ynI/AAAAAAAAAHU/tAO2utv6dJU/s320/celeb_collage3.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Kait -&lt;/strong&gt; Now, I don't know who the heck this Meredith Monroe person is but if I had a dollar for every time someone commented on how much Kait looked like "Mary Kate &amp;amp; Ashley" when she was a baby, we'd be almost as rich as they are. As far as &lt;a href="http://www.starmuscle.com/2007/07/19/tara-reid-plastic-surgery/"&gt;Ms. Reid (click at your own peril)&lt;/a&gt; goes, if my daughter ever decides to follow in her footsteps, I WILL have her general "hoo-hah" area barracaded by a steel chastity belt and keep all plastic surgeons at least a 100-mile radius out of reach. Lisa Kudrow graduated with a BS in Biology, so I'm good with that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHWRAS1lfDI/AAAAAAAAAHk/sGGM8Z7twM8/s1600-h/celeb_collage2.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221238777248578610" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHWRAS1lfDI/AAAAAAAAAHk/sGGM8Z7twM8/s320/celeb_collage2.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Mel: &lt;/strong&gt;I don't see us having problems with boys when it comes to Mel... She never stops talking; I've noticed that members of the male persuasion don't like that. Being really bossy doesn't help much either. But she looks so S-W-E-E-T!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;Mel has also done really well in Kenpo... Like I said before, boys won't be a problem unless she allows it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;As far as celebs go, I'm really surprised that Meg Ryan didn't come up. There are times that she smiles and it really comes out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;Anyway, if you happen to catch this post and do your own celebrity match, send me your pics, I'd love to see them!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ciao for now,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mon :-)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-1214906309357722996?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.myheritage.com/celebrity-collage' title='B-O-R-E-D!!!'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1214906309357722996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=1214906309357722996' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/1214906309357722996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/1214906309357722996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/07/b-o-r-e-d.html' title='B-O-R-E-D!!!'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHWMMlvFntI/AAAAAAAAAHM/Yd5kGUjk2Uo/s72-c/celeb_collage.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-3857894111716659013</id><published>2008-07-05T21:16:00.018-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-06T01:05:30.567-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Unhappy Birthday, America!  (NOT!)</title><content type='html'>I was going to post the article that can be accessed by clicking on today's title, &lt;a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080706/ap_on_re_us/america_s_bad_mood;_ylt=AheytONIXwkg2MM_88Lo58RvzwcF"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Unhappy Birthday, America!"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;, but found that SOME of it wasn't worth the space it would have taken up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Basically, members from the Arizona Optimist Club got together to celebrate the 4th and ended up bitching about the state of affairs here in the good ol' US of A. (I think the reporter made them do it.)&lt;br /&gt;In case you haven't noticed how things have been going, here are the latest stats based on public opinion:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219774050294808626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBc19ufwDI/AAAAAAAAAEc/tb9ak3k3ijU/s400/Data.JPG" border="0" /&gt;IMHO, I think &lt;a href="http://despair.com/problems.html"&gt;optimism is all a matter of perspective&lt;/a&gt;. (Duh!) No really.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You know, the "glass was half-empty before it got knocked over, tumbled onto the tile floor, and shattered into a million tiny pieces"? Pieces so tiny that SOMEONE here in my home, most likely my husband, will actually step on it, LOL??&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Rest assured, towards the end of the interview, I think someone came by, bitch-slapped them and they got back on track. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;God&lt;/span&gt; Bless &lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;America!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And now my photo essay:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"&gt;"Why We Need to Get More Optimists to Spread the Word"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"&gt;aka "Things Really Aren't As Bad As They Seem"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#000000;"&gt;(based on quotes from the article)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Photo #1: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"My God, it's horrible, it really is," a 33-year-old (farmer) says, adding: "If diesel goes north of five, it will be really difficult at the price we're getting to stay in farming." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219779166999762082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBhfy8BVKI/AAAAAAAAAEk/UB0Ju3H9wr4/s320/farming.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"&gt;Photo #2:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;  "We used to have more money than we knew what to do with. Now, I have to decide: Do I pay the electric this week? Do I pay for gas? Do I get groceries?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219780209109092130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBicdGPxyI/AAAAAAAAAEs/vBrz1qrmUJo/s320/Food.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Photo #3:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;  "You can't get ahead. You can't save money. You can't buy a house. It just stinks."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219780983973431746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBjJjsTScI/AAAAAAAAAE0/pdrhRrLU0EM/s320/Home.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"&gt;Photo #4:  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"You have no faith in anybody at the top. I don't trust anybody, and I'm really disgusted about it." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219782099775640594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBkKgYR1BI/AAAAAAAAAE8/UPWEVPYZEC4/s320/dictatorship.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Photo #5:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;  "How am I, a little old West Virginia girl, going to go out and change the world?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBnTEMUFwI/AAAAAAAAAFU/NxjYzQ2syV8/s1600-h/volunteers.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219785545362970370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="244" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBnTEMUFwI/AAAAAAAAAFU/NxjYzQ2syV8/s320/volunteers.JPG" width="313" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBnZ0Sr8XI/AAAAAAAAAFc/_SoVgEq3C4s/s1600-h/volunteers2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219785661353816434" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="245" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBnZ0Sr8XI/AAAAAAAAAFc/_SoVgEq3C4s/s320/volunteers2.JPG" width="306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBnZ0Sr8XI/AAAAAAAAAFc/_SoVgEq3C4s/s1600-h/volunteers2.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBnTEMUFwI/AAAAAAAAAFU/NxjYzQ2syV8/s1600-h/volunteers.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBnZ0Sr8XI/AAAAAAAAAFc/_SoVgEq3C4s/s1600-h/volunteers2.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBnZ0Sr8XI/AAAAAAAAAFc/_SoVgEq3C4s/s1600-h/volunteers2.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And here comes the infamous bitchslap...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"&gt;Photo #6:  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;...condemns an "out of style" values system, in which even kids have cell phones, credit card debt is out of control and families purchase four-bedroom homes they can't afford instead of the two-bedroom ones they could.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(Also read as, "Many times we create our own problems."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219790415058338978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBruhOKhKI/AAAAAAAAAFk/xuITuiJxAZQ/s320/foreclosures.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Photo #7:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;   "Very few Americans wake up in the morning and say, 'This is an unbelievable country. I'm going to go to the supermarket, and there's going to be food. When I go and vote, nobody's going to beat me up,'" he says. "We're horrible at appreciating the status quo. We're really good at appreciating positive changes."&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219791476715549938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBssUM99PI/AAAAAAAAAFs/Ma-Q1XS3sNc/s320/elections.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"&gt;Photo #8:  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"Did I cringe when I filled my car last week? Yes," she says. "But 100 years from now, if I were still alive, would I really care that I paid $4 a gallon for gas? No. &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I care (that) my grandbaby is safe and she's well and she has a good place to live. Your joy can't be about your circumstances.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219805237081946290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHB5NRj-OLI/AAAAAAAAAF0/bF0A-VErxJA/s400/Girls.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So there you go... Hope you had a safe and happy holiday! Remember to hug your kids, the spouse, your dogs, lizard, and friends. &lt;em&gt;I did...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Love &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;life&lt;/span&gt; in the USA is awesome!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-3857894111716659013?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080706/ap_on_re_us/america_s_bad_mood;_ylt=AheytONIXwkg2MM_88Lo58RvzwcF' title='Unhappy Birthday, America!  (NOT!)'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/3857894111716659013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=3857894111716659013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/3857894111716659013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/3857894111716659013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/07/unhappy-birthday-america-not.html' title='Unhappy Birthday, America!  (NOT!)'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SHBc19ufwDI/AAAAAAAAAEc/tb9ak3k3ijU/s72-c/Data.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-1543849476625198234</id><published>2008-07-04T01:54:00.006-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-04T02:31:43.004-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Heart Dave...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SG3tSH_dN-I/AAAAAAAAACU/-86f6x6lueg/s1600-h/I_Heart_Dave.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219088438830905314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SG3tSH_dN-I/AAAAAAAAACU/-86f6x6lueg/s400/I_Heart_Dave.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;I've always had an eclectic taste in music... other than country, I listen to just about everything that has a great "hook", melody, or vocals. (When cleaning the house, &lt;a href="http://www.sirius.com/standards"&gt;"Siriusly Sinatra"&lt;/a&gt; is an absolute must!) Reluctantly I must admit that I really like Carrie Underwood and Taylor Swift. Maybe my Zoloft needs to be upped, LOL.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Having always listened to metal, &lt;a href="http://www.megadeth.com/home.php"&gt;Megadeth&lt;/a&gt; has got to be one of my favorite bands. I've seen Dave Mustaine at least three times and actually got to meet him backstage once. (He was part of a promotion to help out our local food bank; donate &lt;em&gt;x&lt;/em&gt; cans of food, get a pass.) What I'll always remember is that he asked what I did and told him that I was finishing up student teaching. During his heartfelt hug, he wished me luck, "God bless you for being a teacher! We need more people like you in the world." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Blush!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Still recovering from last week's surgery, I happened to find Mel Brook's &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_World,_Part_I"&gt;"History of the World - Part I"&lt;/a&gt; on the tube.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;There are so many hilarious one-liners I can't even begin... And now you're wondering, "What the hell does this have to do with Dave Mustaine????"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219085309110618434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 469px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="134" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SG3qb83_iUI/AAAAAAAAACE/SLzRlpazabc/s320/Madam_Defarge.bmp" width="423" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;If you remember, in the French Revolution section of the film, Cloris Leachman plays Madame Defarge. Blame it on late night stupor, I swear Madame D and Dave could have been separated at birth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219086306173955394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 461px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 173px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="153" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SG3rV_OarUI/AAAAAAAAACM/fKTBEt15yyU/s320/Madam_Defarge2.bmp" width="379" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;I rest my case...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;"Taekwondo Changed My Life" Says Megadeth Leader Dave Mustaine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Written by TheSeoul Times&lt;br /&gt;Sunday, 28 October 2007&lt;br /&gt;U.S. "legendary" thrash metal band Megadeth leader Dave Mustaine says that his life has changed for the better mainly thanks to taekwondo.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219080199343493330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SG3lyhgk0NI/AAAAAAAAAB8/xHEvOny0R2Y/s320/usthrashband.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Members of the legendary U.S. thrash band in taekwondo uniform are in taekwondo motion, shortly afrter Megadeth leader Dave Mustaine (second from left) received a certificate of appointment as the WTF's Goodwill Ambassador in a ceremony at a Seoul hotel on Oct. 27, 2007.&lt;br /&gt;"Taekwondo is a great discipline. For me, it was one of the things that changed my life," Mustaine said in a recent interview. "It (taekwondo) helped me to eliminate a bad lifestyle of drug and alcoholism. It helped me to believe inside of myself and find the strength inside of myself that I never knew that I possessed."&lt;br /&gt;Mustaine made the remarks at the Grand InterContinental Hotel in Seoul on Oct. 27, 2007, shortly after he received a certificate of appointment as the WTF's Goodwill Ambassador of the World in a ceremony.&lt;br /&gt;Mustaine and three other Megadeth band members – bassist James LoMenzo, guitarist Glen Drover and his brother Shawn Drover - arrived in Seoul on Oct. 27 for their concert at the Olympic Hall of Olympic Park in Seoul on Oct. 28. For Megadeth, it was their fourth concert for Korean fans.&lt;br /&gt;"For me, it is a big responsibility and I am going to represent the WTF the best I can," Mustaine said of his appointment as the WTF's Goodwill Ambassador. "I am really excited to be the WTF Goodwill Ambassador."&lt;br /&gt;Mustaine said that taekwondo is "the source of his confidence in his life."&lt;br /&gt;He is a 1st Dan black-belt holder.&lt;br /&gt;He said, "I know that there are a lot of young people around the world that look up to me and I think this is a great discipline."&lt;br /&gt;Mustaine said he started training taekwondo in 1999 in Arizona and then moved to California, where he now lives. "Before taking up taekwondo, I practiced kungfu and other martial arts."&lt;br /&gt;As a pioneer of the American thrash metal movement, Megadeth rose to international fame in the mid 1980s, but was plagued by constant lineup changes, partly due to Mustaine's and fellow band members' notorious substance abuse problems. After finding sobriety and securing a stable lineup, Megadeth went on to release a string of platinum and gold albums between 1986 and 1997.&lt;br /&gt;Megadeth disbanded in 2002 after Mustaine suffered a severe nerve injury to his left arm. After 17 months of extensive physical therapy and intensive taekwondo training, Mustaine reorganized the band in 2004.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-1543849476625198234?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1543849476625198234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=1543849476625198234' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/1543849476625198234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/1543849476625198234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-heart-dave.html' title='I Heart Dave...'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SG3tSH_dN-I/AAAAAAAAACU/-86f6x6lueg/s72-c/I_Heart_Dave.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-4960468076276170345</id><published>2008-07-02T20:25:00.006-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T20:37:52.285-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Personality by Horoscope... Because it's on the Internet, you know it's gotta be true.</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;CAPRICORN (December 22 -January 20)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; You are conservative and afraid of taking risks. You are basically chicken shit. There has never been a Capricorn of any importance. You should kill yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;AQUARIUS (January 21 - February 19)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; You have an inventive mind and are inclined toward progressiveness. You lie a great deal. On the other hand, you are inclined to be careless and impractical causing you to make the same mistakes repeatedly. Everyone thinks you are a jerk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt;PISCES (February 20 - March 20)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; You have a vivid imagination and often think that you are being followed by the F.B.I. or the C.I.A. You have a minor influence over your friends and people resent you for flaunting your power. You lack confidence and are generally a coward. Pieces people screw small animals and pick their nose a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;ARIES (March 2 - April 20) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;You are the pioneer and hold most of people in contempt. You are quick tempered and impatient and scornful of advice. You are an asshat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#00cccc;"&gt;TAURUS (April 21 - May 21)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; You are practical and persistent. You have a dogged determination and work like hell.. Most people think you are stubborn and bull-headed. You are nothing but a G-D Communist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6633ff;"&gt;GEMINI (May 22 - June 21)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; You are a quick and intelligent thinker. People like you because you are bisexual. You are inclined to expect too much for too little. This means you are a cheap bastard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#330033;"&gt;CANCER (June 22 - July 23)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; You are sympathetic and understanding to other peoples' problems. They think you are a sucker. You are always putting things off. That is why you will always be on welfare and never be worth sh**.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;LEO (July 24 - August 23)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; You consider yourself a born leader, Others think you are pushy. Most Leo's are bullies. You are vain and cannot tolerate honest criticism. Your arrogance is disgusting; Leo people are thriving bastards and kiss mirrors a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9900;"&gt;VIRGO (August 24 - September 23)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; You are the logical type and hate disorder. This nit-picking is sickening to your friends. You are cold and unemotional and often fall asleep while screwing. Virgos make good bus drivers and pimps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ff33;"&gt;LIBRA (September 24 - October 23)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; You are the artistic type, and have a difficult time with reality. If you are a male, you are probably a queer. Chances for employment and monetary gain are excellent, because most Libra women are whores. All Libras usually get venereal disease.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;SCORPIO (October 24 - November 22)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; You are shrewd in business and cannot be trusted. You shall achieve the pinnacle of success because of your total lack of ethics. You are a perfect Son of a Bitch. Most Scorpio's are murdered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;SAGITTARIUS (November 23 - December 21) &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;You&lt;/span&gt; are optimistic and enthusiastic. You have a reckless tendency to rely on luck because you have no talent. The majority of Sagittarians are drunks and potheads. People laugh at you because you are always getting f*****.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-4960468076276170345?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/4960468076276170345/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=4960468076276170345' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/4960468076276170345'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/4960468076276170345'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/07/personality-by-horoscope-because-its-on.html' title='Personality by Horoscope... Because it&apos;s on the Internet, you know it&apos;s gotta be true.'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-1039080921368243783</id><published>2008-06-29T12:38:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-29T12:47:06.935-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Are You?? No, Really… WHERE ARE YOU?</title><content type='html'>One of my best gal pals and I got together last night to catch up. The previous visit was just before my hospital adventure and the kids needed some play time as well. Kim and I met in Kenpo class back in March and have been pretty much inseparable since then. It’s not often, but truly amazing when you happen to meet someone that you “click” with such immediacy, almost as if we’ve known each other all of our lives. Laughter fills our conversations and I’m truly blessed to have someone to share the not-so-happy stuff with as well. (The not-so-happy stuff is all neurotic!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Backtracking just a bit… Kim has had to miss karate since Friday, June 13th. During class, we were running line drills (suicides), when she heard a loud POP in her right calf. And that was that. Not looking very happy, she told me that this pain was very familiar and knew that this was not going to be fun. Out on leave since then, Kim has hobbled around with a massive hematoma, her calf turning lovely shades of yellow, green, brown, and purple. Like me and my surgical recovery, she has refused to see her injury as an impediment to receiving her yellow belt in July. Seeing us on the street, you wouldn’t think that we were a couple of “badass” karate mamas, but just give us another year or two!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, talking about books last night, I mentioned that I was currently reading &lt;a href="http://mattpolly.com/"&gt;“American Shaolin”&lt;/a&gt; by Matthew Polly. Kim’s eyes lit up and she shared that she was rereading &lt;a href="http://peacefulwarrior.com/"&gt;“Way of the Peaceful Warrior”&lt;/a&gt; by Dan Millman. Again, I felt that little excitement of connectivity… What are the chances that we’d both be reading books on martial arts and spirituality at the same time? (Our karate instructor’s daughter once told us that we were “soul sisters”. From the mouths of babes!) We then went to the Peaceful Warrior website and she made me promise to read the book before I added the DVD to my Netflix queue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not wanting to give too much of the book away, Kim gave me a taste of the PW philosophy by posing the question: Where are you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would guess that 99% of respondents would reply with the obvious, literal answer. Of course, that would be correct, but peel away a few more layers and think about the circumstances that have brought you to where you literally are. Mine are numerous… Childhood abuse, growing up in Texas. (No, growing up in Texas is NOT child abuse.) Marriage, divorce, marriage. Having and raising my own children. The influence of friends and family. Taking the road less traveled and sometimes just following others. Having loved and lost, wondering about love that will never be. That is the essence of HERE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was getting late so we said our good-byes, hugs and kisses. The girls were tired and whiny; my husband was tired and whiny. I just wanted to take my Percoset and go to bed. Slowly climbing the stairs, as the whole idea of HERE still echoed in my mind, it was as if the volume had been turned up to “11”. Steve’s yelling at the girls to clean their room “or else” they wouldn’t go to the circus tomorrow for Mel’s birthday. My heart broke because they sounded so pathetic, “Daddy, I’m tired! We promise we’ll clean up in the morning!” I decided to tame Mother Bear and just listen… Shut up and listen. This was very difficult because a part of me WANTED to argue. This was even more odd as Steve and I NEVER argue, but that might explain a lot of our problems as of late. My heart was screaming, “Stop being an asshole! Who gives a shit about their room?!” It’s never been clean for more than half a day, so what gives?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I painfully crawled into my bed, avoiding the use of stomach muscles, hoping that the drugs would kick in soon. Where in the hell am I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jumping out of bed, I ran down the hall and snuggled in-between my two little ragamuffins. They were still sobbing silently and again, my heart broke a bit more. Where am I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whether it was the drugs or not, I didn’t care, but the clarity of the moment struck me. I am here... Here between the two most important people I couldn’t ever love more deeply in my entire life. The two that give me the reasons for getting up in the morning and doing what I need to do throughout the day. I don’t think there could have been a more perfect here imaginable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is what you make of it. Mine isn’t perfect, there are a few things that I’ve neglected to tend to lately, mainly my marriage. Again, the clarity of the moment illuminated some recent happenings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1. My husband doesn’t listen to me and I don’t listen to him.&lt;/strong&gt; I scheduled a small cake and ice cream party at the same time that he had tickets for the circus. Details of the argument aren’t necessary but I did ask him if the time for the party was going to work before I sent out invites, he said it was fine. I ended up feeling hurt and rescheduling the whole thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. We are living on two separate schedules.&lt;/strong&gt; He works graveyard/12-hour shifts, three to four times a week. When he’s off, he sleeps late and goes to bed even later. Because I teach and am off for the summer, it’s not so bad right now. During the school year, we literally pass each other on the road and don’t see each other for days at a time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. My husband has checked out and I don’t know where he is… I’m not sure he even knows where he is.&lt;/strong&gt; Our talks are very surfacy. He’s not an emotional person but I can honestly say that he doesn’t look happy. What struck me the most was his reaction to my recent hospitalization... There were moments that I would have loved for him to hold my hand, tell me that he loved me, and that he would have been devastated had I not made it through. Not wanting to over-dramatize my medical emergency, I did lose a lot of blood and was in a very serious situation. It’s not that I don’t think he gives a shit, I just don’t think he knows how he feels and how to show it.&lt;br /&gt;With the girls, he tries to be a good daddy. He’s hardly ever around but he tries. It’s gotten to the point where they are very much a product of my discipline and attitude than his. But I can tell that they are really in need of having him around more consistently. (I have evidence but would rather not say.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lying there, enjoying my moment of clarity, I decided that I’m okay. I’m good with my life and myself. I have lots of friends and acquaintances whom I love and would bend over backwards for… They are just that great. I’m good with my body and energy… The bedrest will pass quickly and I’ll be on my way to black-belt-hood soon enough. I’m okay with my job. Teaching is great and I teach at a great school. My girls are okay. They are blessed with good health, a decent mom and dad, and they will be fine. I’m a resilient person. With God’s grace, I’m a survivor of many things that have shaken me to the core but have emerged better than I was before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know what to do now and have to be gentle and patient in the process.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-1039080921368243783?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1039080921368243783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=1039080921368243783' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/1039080921368243783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/1039080921368243783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/06/where-are-you-no-really-where-are-you.html' title='Where Are You?? No, Really… WHERE ARE YOU?'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-959039754778325980</id><published>2008-06-27T20:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T20:17:40.581-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Summer Vacation</title><content type='html'>So, I'm lying in bed Tuesday evening when all of a sudden, I feel this distinct pain... Exactly like the pain I had on and off during my 30 hour delivery with Melissa. (Trust me; once you've had pain like that, you NEVER forget it!) Carol Burnett described labor pains akin to "pulling your lower lip over your head". Either way, not my idea of fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh, rewind... I'm 41, how can I be pregnant? (Duh, I know how that works!)&lt;br /&gt;Instinct must reassess, maybe appendicitis??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, gathering my strength, I rolled off the bed, and shouted for Steve to come upstairs.&lt;br /&gt;Not being a man, I have no idea what it must be like to see the woman of your dreams, or any woman for that matter, screaming in pain, commanding you to get the kids dressed, and to bring an empty trash can "just in case". The nausea actually didn't hit until I tried “sitting” my way down the stairs. True to form, I wanted to make it to the truck before everyone else did. At least my competitive streak was still intact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Living in the middle of God-forsaken &lt;a href="http://www.ourqueencreek.com/html/main/org/org_catID/1/index.html"&gt;Copper Basin&lt;/a&gt;, where to go? Steve drove by the fire station up the street. The lights were off. "I don't think anyone is there."&lt;br /&gt;"What do you mean 'I don't think anyone is there!'? It’s a fire station… They're asleep! Forget it! Just start driving into town before I puke!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the Chevron, right as one would pull out of the God-forsaken community of Copper Basin, there sat an ambulance. Weird, huh? We pulled up and asked where the nearest ER was. In the darkness, I managed to make out a couple of guys hanging out, probably eating, and not too worried as to why a family-of-four, packed in an Expedition, was looking for help sometime after midnight. We were directed up the road 26 miles to &lt;a href="http://www.gilberter.com/"&gt;Gilbert Hospital.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon arrival, the nausea hit pretty hard. I remembered having pizza for dinner earlier… This was not going to be very pretty at all. The bumpy wheelchair ride into the ER jarred my insides up, but I must say, the jungle-motif children’s ward did manage to bring a smile to my face. (Being 5’1” and about 115 lbs. soaking wet, this did little to enhance my womanhood. I wear a size 3 in girls’ shoes and must often resort to the children’s department to find a pair that fits. I’d kill to find a nice pair of &lt;a href="http://www.neimanmarcus.com/store/catalog/prod.jhtml?itemId=prod45770036&amp;amp;parentId=cat14120810&amp;amp;masterId=cat12310741&amp;amp;index=5&amp;amp;cmCat=cat000000cat000141cat000149cat000199cat2880735cat6170735cat12310741cat14120810"&gt;comfortable-fitting, black patent leather pumps with at least a 3-inch stacked heel&lt;/a&gt;... Preferably Gucci. Now THAT would be classy! Feel free to purchase as a get-well gift should you so choose.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Throwing up is one of my least favorite things in life. I mean this in all seriousness. Smashing my hand in a car door, paper cuts, visits to the dentist, stitches, etc. are all preferred modes of misery compared to regurgitation. BTW, this was how I was able to stay mostly sober in college and avoid the pain associated with &lt;a href="http://alcoholism.about.com/od/binge/Binge_Drinking.htm"&gt;binge drinking&lt;/a&gt;, as most of my idiot friends did not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cast-iron stomach, and will, finally gave in. Again, what it must be like to see the woman of your dreams, or any woman, hurling into what looked like &lt;a href="http://www.funtrivia.com/playquiz/quiz21595118ba010.html"&gt;a blue, mini-sleeping bag&lt;/a&gt; made for Barbie or Ken? Never mind the fact that all other bodily functions cease to perform within optimal range while this is happening. Oh yes, did I mention my will caved in as well? I don’t consider myself vain but I do try to at least shower, wear clean underwear, and speak proper English, especially when I’m teaching. There’s nothing like lying in fetal position, soaked from head-to-toe, and wishing death would come quickly. “Toast” would be the best description for me at that point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enter “knight in shining armor”. This doc had the bedside manner of a doorknob but he came with a nurse bearing morphine. Wow… It was really amazing how quickly death moved down to the bottom of my to-do list. I don’t remember his name, but I think he had a moustache. So, Dr. Moustache proceeded to poke and prod and even got a leg lift out of me. “Hmmm...”, he murmured in his soap opera voice as he played with his ‘stache’, &lt;a href="http://wuzzle.org/laugh.html"&gt;“Looks like appendicitis.”&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As an aside, the irony that another teacher from the same school, named ‘Monica’, in the same grade, would have appendicitis within the same year, floored me. I look for continuity and wonder in the smallest of situations. This actually made me feel a little better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever had the “orange stuff”? It has the pleasant smell of &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tang_(drink)#Other_uses"&gt;Tang&lt;/a&gt;, ah childhood, but tastes like new tires? Forcing some of that down before my scan, Dr. Happy-to-Serve-You came back and sent the girls out of the room. “You’re pregnant. Stop drinking the __________.” As I write this, I’m still trying to figure out which was the more shocking of the two: Pregnant or not having to finish the quart of “Orange Death”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By then, the wheels of the amazing world of internal medicine were in motion. In the fourth grade, my goal of reading every book in the school library about the human body was easy enough. My grandparents also owned the coolest set of medical encyclopedia I’d ever seen. The glossy overlays showing how muscles and nerves and bones worked separately and together are still fresh in my mind. The ordered ultrasound would be amazing as well… How often does one get to really see inside of themselves?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ultrasound tech was a young guy, shoulder-length hair, very now. Generally, small talk comes very easily but he was either way too tired or absorbed in work to chat. Looking at the screen, nothing was very distinguishable… nothing was very distinguishable… nothing was very distinguishable. Okay, let’s move onto the internal ultrasound. Even under the influence of morphine, the probe was very uncomfortable at best. Nothing very distinguishable on the screen. Finally, the feeling of when you smash your hand in the car door… Not the pain but knowing that you are physically doing it but you can’t stop it from happening?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The “units” were ordered and a pint of “B Positive” was immediately administered. (What a blood type! No joke!) Maybe it was the morphine, maybe it was disbelief. Before the doctor had even said I was pregnant, the “labor pains” at home said it all: &lt;a href="http://www.microscopyu.com/galleries/pathology/rupturedectopicpregnancy.html"&gt;ruptured ectopic pregnancy&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having had lots of crap to deal with throughout life, especially childhood, I’ve become very good at avoiding the obvious. There hadn’t been any blood when the pain began a few hours earlier so it must not have been that bad. Basically, the new medicine I learned that night was that the ultrasound revealed nothing because it could not ‘see’ anything. By that point, I had already lost about &lt;a href="http://www.teachercreatedmaterials.com/estore/files/samples/TCM_estore/BTM/10258s.pdf"&gt;a liter of blood&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The facility at Gilbert Hospital is very nice but minimal. My other first would be getting to ride the helicopter to &lt;a href="http://www.mvmedicalcenter.com/"&gt;Mountain Vista&lt;/a&gt; where surgeons were waiting. People can be very nice if you give them the chance. Steve asked if he and the girls could go up to the helipad to watch us take off and they were very gracious about it. Of course, the morbid part of me thought that maybe this might not be such a great idea… After all, would Steve ever be able to afford counseling for both girls should they see their mother die in a fireball over the city of Mesa, Arizona??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nah, that wasn’t going to happen. The morning was too perfect. Although going up in a tiny contraption isn’t by far the safest means of transport, there was no nervousness at all. Even if it was the morphine speaking, I think I still would have felt as calm. The &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/godsemerald/533392358/"&gt;sunrise&lt;/a&gt; and the city lights below were spectacular. The temperature was balmy and the air was still. Too bad I wasn’t in shape to hijack the stupid copter!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The landing was perfect as well… The staff that met me on the roof was kind and welcoming. The OR staff was set to go and immediately wheeled me in. The only thing that I can really remember after that was meeting the anesthesiologist. “Are you an athlete?” he asked. I wasn’t sure how to answer that one. Having begun a regular workout routine in January and starting the study Kenpo in March, maybe? “Your vitals look very strong considering. It’s amazing that your heart rate is only at 50.” Then blackness…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next 24 hours are probably very familiar to any of you that have had to spend any amount of time recovering in a hospital. Vitals and blood test. Sleep. Vitals again. Sleep. Here’s some juice. Sleep.&lt;br /&gt;The one vexation was my &lt;a href="http://www.webmd.com/hypertension-high-blood-pressure/guide/understanding-low-blood-pressure-basics"&gt;blood pressure&lt;/a&gt;. It’s always been low. My normal is about 100-95 over 65-70. Dr. Nieves, my young, pretty surgeon, finally came by to see me. “I had to see it with my own eyes. We can’t understand why your bp is so low but everything else looks fine.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My “output” was good so my kidneys were functioning. No fever. Low heart rate so there was no internal bleeding. She could not believe how good I looked… I couldn’t believe how much better I felt. She went on to describe the surgery. The bulk of the time spent was cleaning up all of the blood to find the gushing fallopian tube. The left ovary was left intact but the tube was completely removed. Dr. Nieves also did a great job with the incisions, actually the laparoscopy. There are three cuts; one right in the belly button and two on either side, about six inches apart from center.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I was rested up and able, I showered this morning and was allowed to come home. Thank God for &lt;a href="http://tempurpedic.com/"&gt;Tempur-pedic&lt;/a&gt;! (Get one, now! BTW, I think the butt logo is funny. Must be a Swedish thing.) I am now resting comfortably, and very patiently awaiting my next adventure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-959039754778325980?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/959039754778325980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=959039754778325980' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/959039754778325980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/959039754778325980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/06/my-summer-vacation.html' title='My Summer Vacation'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-7549704940498771438</id><published>2008-06-06T17:25:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-06T17:29:00.493-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Okay, I Did It...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SEnWP4bst4I/AAAAAAAAAA8/9_gWsGJtuio/s1600-h/blog.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208930012365633410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SEnWP4bst4I/AAAAAAAAAA8/9_gWsGJtuio/s400/blog.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went and chopped my hair off. Not having any individual pics of my new-do, I had to protect the identity of a former student who happened to stop by for a visit. Going shorter would still be an option... I ended up cutting my girls' hair as well. Kait's was getting l-o-n-g so she was the most upset when it happened. At least she doesn't look like an orphan anymore.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-7549704940498771438?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7549704940498771438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=7549704940498771438' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/7549704940498771438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/7549704940498771438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/06/okay-i-did-it.html' title='Okay, I Did It...'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/SEnWP4bst4I/AAAAAAAAAA8/9_gWsGJtuio/s72-c/blog.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-1318827345384993018</id><published>2008-03-19T17:46:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-19T17:59:13.379-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Need a New Haircut!!!!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/R-G1sgExXnI/AAAAAAAAAAc/1qG3LRnKOYs/s1600-h/Need+_A_Cut.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179620822581599858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/R-G1sgExXnI/AAAAAAAAAAc/1qG3LRnKOYs/s400/Need+_A_Cut.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000066;"&gt;Any ideas???&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000066;"&gt;The texture of my hair is wavy when I let it dry on its own. I really don't want to spend a lot of time fixing it in the a.m. No more than 5 to 10 minutes would be fine. I'm tired of pulling it back or using hot rollers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#000066;"&gt;I just turned 41 but need something more updated... But, I could be wrong!!!!&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/19296104-1318827345384993018?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/1318827345384993018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=1318827345384993018' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/1318827345384993018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/1318827345384993018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/03/i-need-new-haircut.html' title='I Need a New Haircut!!!!!!'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4R5k3fZ5Nn8/R-G1sgExXnI/AAAAAAAAAAc/1qG3LRnKOYs/s72-c/Need+_A_Cut.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-6870876118782823397</id><published>2008-02-01T23:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-02T01:03:57.629-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Me blog??</title><content type='html'>This is kinda weird... Haven't written anything in FOREVER!!&lt;br /&gt;Gee, there's so much going on, where do I begin?&lt;br /&gt;I humbly submit this post as the ones I've read this evening seem so much more interesting, intellectual. Maybe after teaching all day/week long, the well has gone dry...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333399;"&gt;And now, my latest ramblings:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Politics -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Okay, to start off, I am an independent with a conservative leaning. For the first time in my life, I actually contributed to a political campaign. Although it wasn't much, my donation was part of the &lt;a href="http://www.cfinst.org/pr/prRelease.aspx?ReleaseID=177"&gt;47% that Obama raised in small contributions, less than $200, in the fourth quarter of 2007.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this case, it's my intuition rather than my wits leading me in this direction. I don't question Obama's sincerity, but I do know that I don't agree with many of his views. Perhaps it's the feeling that if I were to sit down and have a conversation with him, Barack would actually listen to what I have to say. We'd have a cup of coffee, 2 creams &amp;amp; 1 sugar, and find a cure for cancer all while Barack suggests a way to keep my kitchen floor from streaking when I mop and my cheesecake from cracking when I take it out of the oven. (A girl can dream!)&lt;br /&gt;I'm curious to see who either Obama or Clinton would choose as a running mate... At one point I considered that Edwards was refraining from endorsing anyone so that he could fill that position. There's too much obvious animosity to "dream" about a Obama-Clinton ticket. (Cough, choke.) IMHO, I'd rather have McCain in office than Billary as VP.&lt;br /&gt;What the heck? The world is going to end &lt;a href="http://www.december212012.com/"&gt;December 21, 2012 &lt;/a&gt;anyway. In any scenario, any of these people would be crazy if they didn't assign &lt;a href="http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1093647,00.html"&gt;Bill Richardson &lt;/a&gt;to a cabinet position.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Girlies -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; My daugher snores... She's a precocious kindergartener, only 30 lbs. dripping wet. Bright, smiling blue eyes, and &lt;a href="http://crime.about.com/library/blnoltenick.htm"&gt;wild blond hair&lt;/a&gt;. (This looks JUST like her but way cuter... She's smiling and not wearing a Hawaiian-print shirt. Her YMCA i.d. has her standing in front of a white cinderblock wall as well. Too tiny to scan but I'm sure you get it.)&lt;br /&gt;It's cool teaching and having my kids with me. I'm a pretty lucky mom. I get to see Mel and Kait at least once a day in passing and they are quick to shout "Hey Mommy!" and share their latest escapades.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Brittany-Schmittany, Ledger-Schmedger -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Enough already! So much energy wasted on this type of negativity. I feel for each of them and their families, but could we just focus on something else... &lt;a href="http://www.yesmagazine.org/default.asp?ID=10"&gt;Maybe something positive??&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;Fun Stuff and Time Wasters -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Need a gift for smelly Uncle Fred? &lt;a href="http://www.stupid.com/"&gt;http://www.stupid.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love 6th grade science! &lt;a href="http://www.kidwings.com/index.htm"&gt;http://www.kidwings.com/index.htm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite waste of time! &lt;a href="http://snowflake.bhg.com/"&gt;http://snowflake.bhg.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh the horror, the horror! &lt;a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=hpBC6oAzKgw"&gt;http://youtube.com/watch?v=hpBC6oAzKgw&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I can no longer ride on rollercoasters 5 times in a row... &lt;a href="http://www.goyk.com/flash.asp?path=761"&gt;http://www.goyk.com/flash.asp?path=761&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;I'm overwhelmed right now! Gimme a beer!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My to-do list for this weekend includes:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Finishing up my lesson plans so I can go in early Monday and make copies for the week. &lt;a href="http://www.nea.org/pay/teachermyths.html"&gt;(Nevermind that I've already put in almost 50 hours already.)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Grade those damn essays!&lt;br /&gt;* Shampoo the carpet in the great room and unpack boxes in the den. We moved into our house in October, but unpacking drives me nuts.&lt;br /&gt;* Make a list and shop for groceries. Having peeps over for Super Bowl. BTW, Tom Brady is faking injury because he knows that they will lose! Ha ha!&lt;br /&gt;* Clean and clean some more... My house isn't "dirty" but we're still in organizing mode. My husband is installing a closet organizer for my stuff. Oh yes... My sister-in-law will be here on Thursday.&lt;br /&gt;* I will be gone from work Thursday through Monday... It will be a disaster when I return. Ask any teacher about having to call in a sub for more than a couple of days. It's not that they are incompetent; they're just different. It really throws off the routine!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope that I'll take the time to come back and have something better to muse about... Oh well!&lt;br /&gt;Until then, take care and God bless!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mon :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-6870876118782823397?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/6870876118782823397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=6870876118782823397' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/6870876118782823397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/6870876118782823397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2008/02/me-blog.html' title='Me blog??'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-7258472353491736005</id><published>2007-01-04T21:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-01-04T22:47:37.299-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Reflection on 2006</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I like to think of life as being a kid riding in the backseat of the family car. You play and squabble with your sibblings (friends, children, spouses) but you still love each other anyway. You're not sure where you'll really end up but you have faith that your Dad knows where we're going and that He'll get you there safely, not always without incident, but at least in one piece. You can choose whether or not to read a good book, start a sing-a-long, have an argument, or just stare out the window and daydream.&lt;br /&gt;I think since I made the decision to "go along for the ride" things have gotten much better. In the process of trying to "re-invent" myself I learned that there wasn't anything wrong in the first place. Okay, so I've got ADD and I still could lose a few pounds, things are fine.  On this journey, you choose to love and be loved, help others when they need it, play fair, complement more and complain less often...&lt;br /&gt;Or could it be some of the "maturity" (HA!) of getting to 40. I really don't consider myself to be complacent. There were many times this last year or so that I struggled and felt unhappy in the pursuit of something undefineable. Backseat driving?? Once I was honest with myself and accepted myself, flaws and talents together, and decided to go with the flow, things seemed to be much more manageable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Weight and other bodily issues -&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  I've decided that healthy is good but not to obsess about a few extra pounds. I've been good and tried not to overindulge too often;  cooking &amp; baking are still passions in my life. The benefits of red wine once a day is another habit that has been easy to implement. Things will probably start falling apart in the next 10 to 15 years; that's why the yearly check-ups are tolerable. The grey hair and wrinkles are appearing but it's not as bad as I thought they would be. I have to remind myself that they are badges of honor... or of survival at the very least!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Happiness -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serenity_Prayer"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Serenity&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt; now. (I miss Seinfeld!) Laugh often and work for the good of others!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Sex -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Yes, it does get better. And BTW, the 7-year itch can lead to a more fulfilling marriage if you choose to let it!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Family -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Can't live without them... hugging and cuddling with my girls are a must; the hubby too.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Work -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Do what you love, do what you can. I've decided, especially in the realm of teaching, things left undone will still be there tomorrow. I've worked hard thus far but I refuse to let it consume my energy and time. I love and enjoy my students but I love my family more.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Image -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; All little girls think that their mommy is the most beautiful person in the world. What a complement! I will to live up to that title of distinction not only in appearance but through my actions!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Faith -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; It's what gives you hope... the ability to see the good in others and to expect the best from yourself in an effort to please my God and make the world a better place. Things have gotten so ugly in our world. Always give and then give a little more. You never know which &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Therese_of_Lisieux#The_Little_Way"&gt;acts of kindness &lt;/a&gt;create ripple effects and will have the greatest impact on your community and in the world.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;May you enjoy many blessings this year and in the year to come!!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Peace and love,&lt;br /&gt;MM :-)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-7258472353491736005?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/7258472353491736005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=7258472353491736005' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/7258472353491736005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/7258472353491736005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2007/01/reflection-on-2006.html' title='A Reflection on 2006'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-115743411617326142</id><published>2006-09-04T22:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-04T22:28:36.190-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh yes, I have a blog...</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Just to get up to speed, I'll respond to the issues I mentioned in my last post.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Here goes!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Most of this journey began January 2005. I decided to make a career change, to leave teaching for good."&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Okay, I meant for a good year or so, lol. On a whim, I turned in an application with the local school district. I hadn't gotten good vibes from the few interviews I had been on already and figured what the heck. I turned in my file on a Monday and was hired on Wednesday; school started the Monday after that - July24th. (CUSD is on an extended-year schedule... Cool! We get two weeks off in the fall, winter, and spring... SWWWEEET!) I was a "late hire" as this class was just added at the last minute and I missed all of the New-to-District orientation. I'm making those classes up on evenings and weekends.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;"Lucky for me, I have a great husband, the kind that Dr. Phil describes as 'providing a soft place to land'. (I must really be great in bed because I’ve yet to figure out how he puts up with my constant insecurities.)"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Generally I don't worry about what other people think about me or the decisions I make. Hubby was kind of leery about the whole thing but I pointed out one major difference. I needed to find out if teaching had burned me out or if I was the "situation" that I was in before. I've been teaching my 6th grade gifted class for over 1 month now and can honestly say that I needed a new, supportive environment. I don't cry on the drive to work anymore. :-)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"There’s a nagging feeling that I never got the chance to really prove myself."&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;I'm feeling challenge and success. Great professional adminstration and supportive parents. I don't even dare "wait for the other shoe to drop". It is what it is. Teaching is still lots of work, I spent the first few weeks putting in over 50 hours, but it's getting better everyday. I've found my routine, the kids are having a blast, and my family is happier too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;"My evaluations were glowing and positive."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;I just got another one... finally!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Oh yes, one more thing... what folder???&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;I'll post again soon!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Peace,&lt;br /&gt;Mon :-)&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/19296104-115743411617326142?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/115743411617326142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=115743411617326142' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/115743411617326142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/115743411617326142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2006/09/oh-yes-i-have-blog.html' title='Oh yes, I have a blog...'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-115095632681403258</id><published>2006-06-21T23:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-22T00:46:33.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Letting go of the past...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3238/1907/1600/woman.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3238/1907/400/woman.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of this journey began January 2005. I decided to make a career change, to leave teaching for good. On &lt;a href="http://www.assessment.com/"&gt;http://www.assessment.com/&lt;/a&gt;, the field of financial advising turned out to be one of my top professions. So, for the last month and a half, I’ve been through a rigorous hiring process with a well-known investment company. (Let’s just call them “EJ”.) FBI background and credit checks; all I lack is a blood and/or urine sample. I’m sure they’ll be asking for that soon enough. Well, until now…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The past several weeks has been a roller coaster ride of emotions and decisions-to-be-made. Lucky for me, I have a great husband, the kind that Dr. Phil describes as “providing a soft place to land”. (I must really be great in bed because I’ve yet to figure out how he puts up with my constant insecurities.) After about a week of waiting for EJ to call back for the next step in the HR dance, I was getting antsy. One morning while fighting back tears, I sighed that I felt as if this was my last chance to get it right. Hubby just laughs and says, “You’re looking at it all wrong. Your family is your career, that doesn’t change. A job is just a job. If you quit or get laid-off, you just go out and get another one. We’re always gonna be here.” I paused to catch my breath and fight the growing lump in my throat…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whenever a door closes, why do I feel that I have to walk through the next one trying to prove something? I’m still really bummed out about leaving “The Educational Software Company”. There’s a nagging feeling that I never got the chance to really prove myself. It’s almost as if I were invisible… especially after seeing that many of the suggestions I made earlier in the year were implemented by someone else. Let it go, Mon!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here’s the part that kicks my ass: As I’m digging through my teacher stuff to put together a portfolio, I find IT. IT is the next hurdle that I need to get over. In my years of working for the school district in Texas, I was never happier. (Except for my first marriage; hey, nothing’s perfect.) Just like a puppy, I’m loyal and devoted as long as I’m petted and appreciated. I have my “District Employee of the Month” pics that friends sent as congrats, my “Regional Wal-Mart Teacher of the Year” and “Southwestern Bell Excellence in Teaching” crystal apple. My evaluations were glowing and positive. Any suggestions were addressed in a fair and constructive manner. I can’t say that I regret leaving… I would have never met my husband and had my awesome girls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to IT… an innocuous looking file folder full of hate, lies, denigrations. A folder that almost made me literally vomit when I stumbled onto it two nights ago. I was going to post some of the vile crap but decided not to. I used to call them my ‘love letters’. Before I left New Mexico, I debated as to whether or not I needed to keep any of it. I was almost sure that some bogus lawsuit would appear out of nowhere and here would be my proof that I was a more than competent teacher. (My management philosophy is CYA aka documentation, documentation, documentation.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The contrast of my entire career in education with the last two years I had at the Catholic school is striking. Self-doubt is something that is a constant. By the time I left, my Zoloft had been doubled, I had lost almost 20 pounds, and still second-guess myself. Worse still, I’ve seen a few of my friends go through the same emotional torture and abuse at the same cost of their health and sanity. I actually went to the local news with this story; they wanted substantial evidence, such as official documents and/or tape recordings of what was really going on. I wasn’t about to do something illegal just to get back at these people. As a matter of fact, they mentioned that I wasn’t the first person to call them regarding this school. There are still times that I try to convince myself that it really wasn’t that bad… Still trying to let it go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I’ve had two interviews for teaching positions, another one tomorrow. In a way, going back to teaching is almost like being back in my comfort zone. I know what to expect and what’s expected. The plus, and it’s a very nice one, I would be able to bring the girls with me to work, safe with mommy. But the self-doubt is still there. Was I really burnt out or just burnt out with the situation? I so desperately don’t want to put my family, especially my husband, through all of that again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One last task: A friend recommended that I get rid of that folder. I’m not sure how I’ll do it but I think a small bonfire would suffice. Hate is such a destructive emotion. Finally coming to grips with the layoff, seeing those letters and memos was like getting punched in the gut. It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room, no matter how hard it tried, I couldn’t regain my composure, I couldn’t breathe. I will now try to get back up and really let it go…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-115095632681403258?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/115095632681403258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=115095632681403258' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/115095632681403258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/115095632681403258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2006/06/letting-go-of-past.html' title='Letting go of the past...'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-115050281698787011</id><published>2006-06-16T16:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-16T17:19:13.130-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm not dead yet...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3238/1907/1600/python.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3238/1907/400/python.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Okay, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth but I've been remiss in keeping up with my mundane musings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love Monty Python (Which one is Monty?) and lately I've felt like the guy being loaded onto the "cart of death" in The Holy Grail. May 25th, coinciding with my hubby's birthday, I got my walking papers from my 'educational software' position. Unless you've ever been laid off with an extended departure date, it's pretty much a waste of time. You don't really have a part to play in meetings and other activities; most of what you have to contribute is irrelevant, or so they think. My favorite example was the meeting to go over registration for summer conference in July. Of course, I had to be a smart arse and raise my hand when the team leader asked if there was anyone that would not be able to make the "8:00 group session on Wednesday..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being the person I am, I'm always a step or two ahead and have a couple of options. I told a friend this morning that this situation was actually a blessing in disguise. (I have to stay positive or else I'll have to resort to behaving like a disgruntled postal worker. Why cry when you can laugh?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in all honesty, I’m somewhat bitter as well. I sort of martyred myself and no one at work will ever really know. When the news broke of the impending doom, I went to my manager, who is also a good friend, and told her that I wanted to bow out graciously. (Soon, the major ass-kissing and backstabbing amongst team members began; notice the irony of the word ‘team’???) I was not at all interested in the next phase of the project, cutting and pasting into a database for weeks at a time, and they would probably find me dead in my cubicle from a self-inflicted stapler wound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Decisions were made; there were four positions eliminated. Rumors abound. Of course, I was “let go” but I noticed a certain dynamic about the other winners of this lottery. All of the people that were dismissed are married. Call me crazy… It wasn’t even a matter of who had the most experience or talent. I don’t understand it at all but now know that I &lt;strong&gt;choose&lt;/strong&gt; to stay away from Corporate America. I don't regret this experience but there's a coldness that I can't seem to shake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend and soon-to-be-former-boss called and invited the girls and I over for dinner tonight. I don't know what to feel. I can't imagine what it's like to have to tell someone they aren't going to make the cut. I'm also perplexed about how she made her decisions. One of the people that got the ax relocated across the country for this now-defunct position. He has a wealth of experience and is a great person to work with. I just don't get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This company's motto talks about transforming the lives of children and raising education to a higher level... I've been editing scripts for this final phase of production. I swear, some of these people cannot write a complete sentence. This next week is going to be long and tedious. Officially, my last day is June 30th (my daughter's birthday), but I've decided not to go past the 23rd, this next Friday. I'll definetly miss the few good friends that I've made.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-115050281698787011?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/115050281698787011/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=115050281698787011' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/115050281698787011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/115050281698787011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2006/06/im-not-dead-yet.html' title='I&apos;m not dead yet...'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-114430870139053300</id><published>2006-04-05T23:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-04-06T00:31:41.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'>That gurl needs a curl!</title><content type='html'>So I think this whole McKinney thing has gotten out of hand. She was even, dare I say, &lt;a href="http://www.house.gov/apps/list/press/ga04_mckinney/incidentstmt.html"&gt;apologetic&lt;/a&gt; at one time. I also listened to her interview with Wolf Blitzer on CNN. (&lt;a href="http://www.cnn.com/2006/POLITICS/04/05/mckinney.scuffle/index.html"&gt;You can watch it here.&lt;/a&gt;) Leave it to a lawyer to muck it up and convince her to draw the gender/race card.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a thought... my husband works for a "chip maker" and has to scan a badge to get in and around the facility. He can't get in without it, finito! As a taxpayer, I would gladly help foot the bill for something a little more in line with 21st-century security rather than a "congressional lapel pin". (Too reminescent of the "pledge pin" in Animal House!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, when she was not recognized, &lt;a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060406/ap_on_go_co/mckinney_scuffle;_ylt=AsfiTIY2.4KL4JIwpd.HpGCyFz4D;_ylu=X3oDMTA5aHJvMDdwBHNlYwN5bmNhdA--"&gt;McKinney tried to bypass the checkpoint and was stopped by the Capitol Hill officer&lt;/a&gt;. I don't know about you but if a cop asks me to stop, I'm going to stop. If she did indeed strike the officer, as alleged, then she is in the wrong. Kudos to the officers for doing their job!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One tidbit that Wolf did mention at the end of the interview was her previous experience with officers on Capitol Hill. (Really, watch the interview!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reading through the &lt;a href="http://zonitics.blogspot.com/"&gt;Zonitics&lt;/a&gt; blog, I stumbled upon the upcoming pic that was released by Fox News. (Wait for it!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gurlfriend is having a hard time. I hope she can get everything straightened out, no pun intended.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3238/1907/400/Hair_Do.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-114430870139053300?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/114430870139053300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=114430870139053300' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/114430870139053300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/114430870139053300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2006/04/that-gurl-needs-curl.html' title='That gurl needs a curl!'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-114352498280917996</id><published>2006-03-27T21:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-03-27T22:51:44.193-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How I Lost 7 Pounds Last Month</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3238/1907/1600/diet.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3238/1907/400/diet.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been doing my own version of Weight Watchers, with the help of a friend at work, and lost 7 pounds. Then I came back from vacation and discovered that I gained them back. At least I know how to lose them again.&lt;br /&gt;The first thing I did was figure out how many "points" I was allowed per day. For quick reference, I'm 120'ish (or was) and allowed &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;20 points a day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. Basically, if you are 150, you get 2 more points per day per 25 lb. increments. (I didn't post the chart so I'm not infringing on anything, right???)&lt;br /&gt;20 points a day sucks. Based on &lt;a href="http://www.dwlz.com/"&gt;Dottie's Weight Loss Zone&lt;/a&gt;, very comprehensive website including restaruants and downloads, my daily Toffee Nut Latte was costing me big, &lt;strong&gt;7 points&lt;/strong&gt;. That's without the freakin' cream cheese danish. (F***, f***, f***!) Then lunch would consist of a Sonic Jr. Burger meal with medium cherry vanilly Coke... Oh yeah! An &lt;strong&gt;18 point lunch&lt;/strong&gt;! Fageddabout dinner! If hubby was working, the girls and I would run by BK's, fast and cheap or should I say inexpensive in the monetary sense. Only&lt;strong&gt; 29.5 for that one meal&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;But hold on to your hats!! It's very common for hubby to come home for his 8:30 p.m. lunch break and join me for a bit of ice cream or cake and a glass of 2% before my bedtime; at least another &lt;strong&gt;7 to 10&lt;/strong&gt; there.&lt;br /&gt;And there's more!! It was very common to snack during the day. Occasionally, I have been known to indulge in a candy bar from the vending machine when the mood strikes. Enough already!&lt;br /&gt;I did the math for you... &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;61.5 points a day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. THREE TIMES MY ALLOWANCE!! And of course, no exercise either. It wasn't until I noted what I was eating that it made a difference. When you see this, it isn't a lot of food. Most people would starve on my pre-WW diet.&lt;br /&gt;With the help of my friend and Dottie's website, I made different food choices. I found that I'm actually eating more but making better choices. Basically, I try to eat a 5 point breakfast and lunch, and a 10 point dinner. Better still, I can do 3 or 4 points at breakfast/lunch, and a couple of snacks throughout the day. Check out Dottie's &lt;a href="http://www.dwlz.com/WWinfo/0point.html"&gt;0&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.dwlz.com/WWinfo/1point.html"&gt;1 point &lt;/a&gt;food lists!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is what my "new" menu looks like:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Breakfast:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;A large coffee with non-fat, flavored creamer (1)&lt;br /&gt;One bag of Special K snack bites (2)&lt;br /&gt;*A piece of fruit (1 to 2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Mid-Morning Snack:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Light Yogurt (1 to 2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Lunch:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smart Ones dinner (2 to 4)&lt;br /&gt;Dole Fruit Parfait - These rock! (2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Mid-Afternoon Snack:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Laughing Cow Cheese Wedges, Light Original - Another fave! (1)&lt;br /&gt;Low-Fat Wheat Thins - 8 crackers are 1 serving (2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Dinner:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pasta w/Marinara (6)&lt;br /&gt;*Lettuce w/croutons, tomatoes, and light dressing (2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Dessert:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Blue Bunny Sweet Freedom No Sugar Added Krunch Lites (2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Total - 28 points*&lt;br /&gt;*Disclaimer - for every 20 minutes of light exercise, you get 2 points. (See next paragraph.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;When I get busy at work, I don't usually eat the fruit or yogurt. I'll have the fruit at lunch. Sometimes I substitute the Dole fruit for plain fruit cup or a WW snack cake, very delish!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Likewise with the mid-afternoon snack, if I get too busy, I skip the cheese but eat the crackers or the 1-point popcorn. At night, sometimes I skip the salad and ice cream. BTW, I've found that when I'm craving ice cream it's really a sign of thirst. I'll drink a glass of water and the craving is gone.&lt;br /&gt;The other hard thing for me is the water... I'm not a freakin' camel! I try to get at least 4 to 5 glasses in but have diet soda throughout the day. (I know it's not good for you but I'm screwed if I have the fully leaded version, 3 points.)&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure you get the gist of what I needed to do to make a difference. (I'm still a little over 20 a day but most days I'm 18 or 19.)&lt;br /&gt;I hope this has helped. I'll be sure to post any nuggets of info I can glean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ciao, babes!&lt;br /&gt;Mon :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-114352498280917996?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/114352498280917996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=114352498280917996' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/114352498280917996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/114352498280917996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2006/03/how-i-lost-7-pounds-last-month.html' title='How I Lost 7 Pounds Last Month'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-114283716039939874</id><published>2006-03-19T23:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-03-19T23:47:00.886-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One Catholic’s View of Holy Mass</title><content type='html'>The following is from another blog:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Where else but church?&lt;/strong&gt; On Friday I met a friend for a drink. There was a couple sitting next to us -- early 40s. We got talking to them, and it turns out they both go to my church. One of them actually works for the Diocese. Well, today I went to church and happened to sit down right behind the same couple. If you're Catholic, you know there's a time during the Mass when we all exchange handshakes and extend Christ's peace to one another. Today, when it was time to do that with this couple, the husband offered Christ's peace to me and said my first name, while the wife gave me a big hug and said, "It's good to see you." And she meant it.At moments like this I think to myself, "Even if religion is just something made up to help us feel less alone and afraid, it's still responsible for a lot of good." Footnote: and some bad, too, I know. The litany is familiar."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post got me to thinking about many things; it actually clarified what I wanted to post today. The one word that struck me was &lt;a href="http://www.merriamwebster.com/dictionary/litany"&gt;litany&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Backtrack to Ash Wednesday mass; I went to a different parish. Since we’re new to the area, I’m still trying to find the right fit for me. Generally, Ash Wednesday mass, for me, is very powerful. What a beautiful and thought-provoking way to begin the Lenten season and the journey to Easter Tridiuum, and Pentecost.&lt;br /&gt;The kids were in daycare and my husband was off so we were able to go before I went to work with no distractions. I was ready for a powerful lead into Lent but ended up feeling let down.&lt;br /&gt;Of course, a litany is something that is “repeated” but when a Mass is said with reverence, nothing about it seems repetitious. It just didn’t hit me like it usually does. (At times I’ve been known to weep, especially since this is the one season that reminds me of my deceased grandmother; she was as Catholic as they come.)&lt;br /&gt;After doing a little bit of reflection, I figured out what it was.&lt;br /&gt;First: The Homily - Very vanilla. Was this off the cuff or should I say alb?&lt;br /&gt;Second: Distribution of the Ashes – Different but no complaints there. Maybe because there was no music?&lt;br /&gt;Third: The Consecration – Alternate wording, were there a few “liberal” suggestions thrown in? Never heard this “version” before, don’t care to ever hear it again.&lt;br /&gt;Fourth: &lt;a href="http://www.ewtn.com/library/Liturgy/ZLITUR66.HTM"&gt;Purification of the Holy Vessels&lt;/a&gt; away from the altar. I can’t say without a doubt that what the priest did is “wrong” but it just didn’t seem right to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just to be open-minded, I went back to this church the next Sunday. The people seemed friendly enough, maybe a little too friendly? I have never been to a noisier mass! Finally, my pet-peeve, the egregious “leaving mass right after Communion”. Is there anywhere that important that you need to leave 5 minutes earlier than everyone else; never mind the disrespect that it shows? I was disappointed that it was allowed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The churches I’ve been to in the past had strict priests. You didn’t dare leave before Mass had officially ended, they’d point you out in front of the whole congregation. One priest back in Texas even chewed us out one time. He was really upset about our manner of dress. Father reminded some of us that we could get dressed up to party on a Saturday night but come to Mass looking as if we just rolled out of bed. (This was a poor parish but you know as well as I do there’s a difference between not having a decent outfit and looking like you’re hung-over.) Hence the saying, “A lion on the pulpit, a lamb in the confessional.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yes, the litany of the mass. There’s something comforting about the repetition. (Since I’ve been married, I look forward to the “peace be with you”. I get to hug the hubby and lay a big smackeroo on my girls. Plus, I enjoy saying hello to the people around me.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel sorry for those people that complain that Mass is like a football game, sit down, stand up, rah rah rah! I’ll have to admit, it took me awhile to get it. Dare I say that I learned the significance of our rituals from my students?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a math teacher, I always felt that the best way for a student to succeed was via multi-modal instruction. Base-ten blocks, graphs, computerized projects and games, etc. I began to see the Mass in the same way. Without the music, the incense, exchanging of greetings, lyrical quality of the Consecration prayers, and meditation after communion, makes all of the difference to me. Just as I know that kids need stability to thrive, I feel that the same stability is necessary in my spiritual life. Hmmm, maybe that’s why we have a Catechism??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back to one of the first churches that I visited since our move to AZ. The whole “litany” was a comfort to me. It made me think of a yogi sitting in the lotus position chanting “ohm”. They reach a state of peace as they become centered in the repetition of one little but powerful syllable. I finally made the connection that I need this repetition in my life; something predictable yet comforting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One more thought… today the priest said that “in turning away from sin, there is pain involved”. Some of the struggles of late have been painful but like working out, it’s a good kind of pain. I appreciate Hoff’s comment that through life coaching, one begins to grow and make positive changes in their own life. I like the thought of becoming not only a role model for my potential clients but especially to my daughters. This reminds me of the other day: So sweetly while sitting on my lap, Kaitlyn caressed my face, pointing out my creases, “Mommy, you’re getting old. I don’t want you to get old ‘cause that means you have to die someday.” &lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Epiphany: I have to die to sin so that I can assure her that when I die, we won’t be apart forever, just for a short while.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3238/1907/400/mother_child_large.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-114283716039939874?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/114283716039939874/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=114283716039939874' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/114283716039939874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/114283716039939874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2006/03/one-catholics-view-of-holy-mass.html' title='One Catholic’s View of Holy Mass'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19296104.post-114261738975909578</id><published>2006-03-17T09:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-03-17T10:46:45.276-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Why don't you shut the f*** up??!!!" aka "How Not to Sucker Punch a Lady While Shopping"</title><content type='html'>So I'm at Target last night, doing some last minute St. Paddy's day shopping, and had an experience that really pissed me off. Here goes nothin'...&lt;br /&gt;I picked the kids up from daycare/camp and decided that I wanted to get them cute tops for today. (Only $4 at Target!!) Seeing that their grandfather is 100% Irish, we really don't have a say in the matter. (My married last name is about as Irish as you can get!)&lt;br /&gt;As we're getting out of the car, my oldest Kaitlyn (yes, that's Irish too) is tired and fussy. I know that we're only going to make it about five minutes before she falls apart.&lt;br /&gt;Wrong. She becomes argumentative and I tell her if she keeps it up, she'll have to ride in the basket. (Being the precocious 5-yr-old that she is, this is as bad as telling a teenager no phone for a week.) Kaitlyn escalates and as I have been trained to do via years of teaching, if you make a threat, you'd better follow through. Into the basket she goes.&lt;br /&gt;Then she starts the "I wanna get out of the basket" routine. Now the thing I must add about Kaitlyn is that I honestly forget that she is still a young child. (I hate using the word "gifted" because it adds a lot of unnecessary baggage to a kid's life.) She started writing her letters and making very detailed drawings at the age of 2. Her teacher is amazed that she is the youngest in her class (August b-day) and the most advanced. (She is doing both reading and math at about a second grade level.) Plus, I'm in denial. I don't want to think about her as gifted; I had a lonely and unhappy school experience because of it. I'm also beginning to think that she may have a touch of OCD mixed in... once she gets started with a tantrum, there's no stopping. It's almost as if she becomes obsessed with winning the argument. My husband and I are two of the most stubborn people so it becomes a real competition. (Read &lt;a href="http://parenting.ivillage.com/gs/gsbehavior/0,,45pv,00.html"&gt;"Raising Your Spirited Child"&lt;/a&gt; and you'll know what I mean.)&lt;br /&gt;Throughtout Target you can hear "I wanna get out of the basket! I'm not a baby! I wanna get out of the basket!" I'm only going in for two shirts, a quick 5 minute trip. As I'm making my way through rounders in the young girls section, an older woman with a look of "concern" on her face asks if everything is okay. I tell her that my daughter is unhappy with the consequences presented to her and she's just upset that she can't have her way.&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I could hear her from the other end of the store. Are you sure that everything is okay?"&lt;br /&gt;The condescending tone in her voice was like a slap in the face. I look at Kaitlyn and ask, knowing that I won't get a response, "Kaitlyn, are you okay? This lady seems to think that there's something wrong."&lt;br /&gt;"I wanna get out of the basket! I wanna get out of the basket!"&lt;br /&gt;"See, there's nothing wrong. She's just being a tired 5 year old."&lt;br /&gt;"Well you obviously are a cruel parent. There's no reason a child should be crying like that."&lt;br /&gt;"And your kids never pitched a fit?"&lt;br /&gt;"No and unlike your poor daughter, I have very confident children. I don't have to use intimidation to discipline my kids."&lt;br /&gt;OH NO YOU JUST DIDN'T JUST GO THERE! rang in the back of my mind. LISTEN HERE BEE-ATCH!&lt;br /&gt;"Listen lady, I didn't not lay a hand or harm my daughter in a way that you are suggesting."&lt;br /&gt;Lucky for her, I walk away and find the shirts I need and proceed to check-out. There's a saying that goes "Chiquita pero picante!" That's why my husband married me!&lt;br /&gt;My barrio instincts kick into high gear as I notice that this "concerned woman" has followed me. I give her the look from hell and she gets in the line further down from me.&lt;br /&gt;As I'm walking out, I stop my basket in front of hers:&lt;br /&gt;"I don't know who you are but you have got a lot of nerve to criticise, especially wearing that gold cross around your neck. You don't know me or my background. I taught children with parents like you for over 10 years, all spoiled brats. Forgive me for teaching my child that negative actions bear consequences. It's people like you that have caused the mess we're in today!" She gives me an uncomfortable look because by this time, we've gotten the attention of customers, check-out clerks, the security guard, whatever...&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to be a bigger bitch, I wanted to make her feel as bad for thinking that she had it all figured out. Was this person from another planet? I have always thought that moms were supposed to support each other. Needless to say, although I knew that I was in the right, I let her criticism knock me down and feel like the crappiest mom in the world.&lt;br /&gt;Back in the truck, Kaitlyn continued her "I didn't want to ride in the basket! I didn't want to ride in the basket!" Finally, with all of the conviction in my voice that I could muster, I yelled "YOU BE QUIET! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD. SAY ANYTHING ELSE AND NO TV OR COMPUTER!" I felt as if I was drowning in a sea of negativity; I couldn't swim to the shore no matter how hard I tried. I cried as I drove home.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how much longer I can take this "pushing buttons" phase with Kaitlyn. She did it again this morning. Today was "Dollar Donut Day" at Melissa's daycare. I left Kait in the truck so she wouldn't be late for camp, our next drop-off. Getting out I asked her what kind of donut she wanted. "I don't want one."&lt;br /&gt;I was in complete shock, no donut? "Are you sure?"&lt;br /&gt;"No, I'm sure."&lt;br /&gt;After going back to the truck, I noticed that Kaitlyn was now crying, "I wanted a donut."&lt;br /&gt;Damn if that f****** switch didn't go off. I mustered to stay calm. "You just told me that you didn't want one."&lt;br /&gt;"But I want one now."&lt;br /&gt;"You said no and that's final." So on the way to camp, "I'm hungry, I want a donut." Calmly I reminded her that she had cereal before, snacks in her lunch bag and she would just have to deal with it.&lt;br /&gt;Signing her in at camp, almost a repeat of last night. "Is everything okay? Is Kaitlyn feeling ill?" Again, the consequence explanation. I hate parenting right now. It sucks becuase I feel so incompetent at it. I feel like I might be ruining my relationship with my daughter, scarring her for life.&lt;br /&gt;But then there's the epiphany... What I'm going through right now is totally applicable to what I see as my life's vocation, helping other women. (As a life coach, I'd like to work specifically with women, stay-at-home moms transitioning back into the workplace, working moms that need more balance, self-care and self-valuing, etc.)&lt;br /&gt;I thought about the advice that I've given in the past and how it's so much easier said than done: If you make a threat with a child, you have to follow through; I just happen to have the one kid who likes to call my bluff.&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3238/1907/400/poker.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19296104-114261738975909578?l=musikmom.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/feeds/114261738975909578/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19296104&amp;postID=114261738975909578' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/114261738975909578'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19296104/posts/default/114261738975909578'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://musikmom.blogspot.com/2006/03/why-dont-you-shut-f-up-aka-how-not-to.html' title='&quot;Why don&apos;t you shut the f*** up??!!!&quot; aka &quot;How Not to Sucker Punch a Lady While Shopping&quot;'/><author><name>MusikMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11834929001863781904</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='03600582858152005160'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry></feed>