<?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-184857207974847855</id><updated>2009-11-13T14:23:37.453-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Adventures of a Supermom</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>142</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-6503396042359461997</id><published>2009-06-15T20:47:00.023-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T22:12:31.260-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Watercolor In Pictures</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm certain you don't want too much commentary on our beach vacation to Watercolor. Sometimes absolute paradise is best left undescribed, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the gist of it: We flew to Florida. We sat on the beach. Sand entered all our crevices. Our babies were whiney. We had fun. I got a tan. We went home. Still friends with the Stevens. Laundry. Laundry. The end.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, here is a photo recap of our family adventure:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347736984893690002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/Sjb6dEjOkJI/AAAAAAAABXs/sFj-kA9pV5I/s400/IMG_9180-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347738643666734418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/Sjb79n9ijVI/AAAAAAAABYE/T8J1DtvRiL0/s400/IMG_9215.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347744872389808194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcBoLw2EEI/AAAAAAAABZM/ofa1H_ZvQfo/s400/IMG_9456.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347753570807046498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcJif5H4WI/AAAAAAAABZs/YQ3Fet2HJbQ/s400/IMG_9233.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347754313892862018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcKNwGlmEI/AAAAAAAABZ8/zbLBPHQC7Go/s400/IMG_9286.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347756126721554914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcL3RaoOeI/AAAAAAAABaM/8xhSKsDvUmw/s400/IMG_9290.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347753973135395426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcJ56rrSmI/AAAAAAAABZ0/CB-7Ug9NY7E/s400/IMG_9303-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347756621699188146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcMUFWfhbI/AAAAAAAABaU/BQPGptSXJ0Y/s400/IMG_9310-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347757749437483026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcNVugQSBI/AAAAAAAABas/eSkk1W2hfwU/s400/IMG_9348.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347757057579558034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcMtdIeJJI/AAAAAAAABac/aBfeKjdrQ8w/s400/IMG_9352.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347757367562555378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcM_f6LT_I/AAAAAAAABak/wGymOmBDjqo/s400/IMG_9369-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347749289701379810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcFpTh_juI/AAAAAAAABZk/kI8OlqHMolM/s400/IMG_9183-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcC4qmEBdI/AAAAAAAABZc/SXa0PKYmVrg/s1600-h/IMG_9436-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347746255055619538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcC4qmEBdI/AAAAAAAABZc/SXa0PKYmVrg/s400/IMG_9436-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcCUDTXK4I/AAAAAAAABZU/F3N0kghRZ-Q/s1600-h/IMG_9360.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347745626032909186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcCUDTXK4I/AAAAAAAABZU/F3N0kghRZ-Q/s400/IMG_9360.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347744155086554834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SjcA-bmbBtI/AAAAAAAABZE/tPsOBwOP_P8/s400/IMG_9390.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347742143668992962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/Sjb_JWfGu8I/AAAAAAAABY0/6hNC0na84AE/s400/IMG_9247.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/Sjb8n3eMDUI/AAAAAAAABYM/W-xlzjQWqcE/s1600-h/IMG_9357-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347739369384709442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/Sjb8n3eMDUI/AAAAAAAABYM/W-xlzjQWqcE/s400/IMG_9357-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347738013914897410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/Sjb7Y99AHAI/AAAAAAAABX8/T4zURD-4fFg/s400/IMG_9213.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347741153875410850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/Sjb-PvN7P6I/AAAAAAAABYk/JNYAIpAGXfE/s400/IMG_9338.jpg" border="0" /&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/184857207974847855-6503396042359461997?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/6503396042359461997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=6503396042359461997' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/6503396042359461997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/6503396042359461997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2009/06/watercolor-in-pictures.html' title='Watercolor In Pictures'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/Sjb6dEjOkJI/AAAAAAAABXs/sFj-kA9pV5I/s72-c/IMG_9180-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-962859026877849520</id><published>2009-06-03T14:11:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T14:29:06.072-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Beachy Thoughts</title><content type='html'>Hi!  We're at the beach this week as most of you know from my constant stream of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; status updates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We returned to Watercolor once again and made one minor change.  We replaced my sister and her family with some local Waco friends -- not intentionally, of course, but Flo has a new baby and didn't think that Sophie Rose was up for a 14 hour car ride.  Apparently, Miss Sophie doesn't even like 5 minute car rides because she hates her car seat so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, we chose to fly to Florida because no one really wanted to be in the car with each other that long....and here we are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately for you, I left my cable connector thingy at home, which allows me to transfer photos from my camera to my computer.  I guess you'll have to wait for a second post once we return home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will share with you a few highlights and parting thoughts as we enter day #4 at the beach:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  My babies don't like sand.&lt;br /&gt;2.  My littlest baby did not receive the memo that vacations mean sleeping late.  She has blessed us each morning at 6:45 am with her demands for the day.  Keep in mind, this is the child who routinely sleeps until 8:15 am every morning since her birth.&lt;br /&gt;3.  My babies don't like sand that hides in their "nooks and crannies."&lt;br /&gt;4.  Being on vacation does not mean that people will put up their cell phones, laptops and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ipods&lt;/span&gt;.  In fact, this has become a breeding ground for increased use of above mentioned items. &lt;br /&gt;5.  Traveling with the Steven's is nice.  There aren't too many people who can hang together for six days straight and still remain friends.  We are, however, only on day 4.  I'll update you at the end of the trip.&lt;br /&gt;6.  We will be building a pool at our next home.  The girls completely prefer the pool to the beach (see #'s 1 and 3).  And why we chose to travel four states away only to listen to repeated requests to go to the pool is beyond me.  The La Quinta in Dallas would have been &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;waaaaaaay&lt;/span&gt; cheaper.&lt;br /&gt;7.  I have completely lost track of what day it is, and I have no concept of time. &lt;br /&gt;8.  It has now started &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;thunder storming&lt;/span&gt; and is supposed to do so until we leave.  Now what?&lt;br /&gt;9.  A 10 year old child turned to me on the plane and asked:  "Are you vacationing in Watercolor or do you own a house there?"  To which I replied, "Yes, we are vacationing...you?" To which she replied, "We own a house there."  These houses are upwards of 1.5 million dollar homes.  And this 10 year old just put me in my place.&lt;br /&gt;10.  I've got a really &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;rockin&lt;/span&gt;' tan and am ready for the summer.&lt;br /&gt;11.  There aren't many places I'd move to...but Watercolor is one place I'd pack my boxes and leave my friends for.  (Oh, come on!  You know you'd visit!)&lt;br /&gt;12.  Not only do my babies dislike sand, but they also dislike each other.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-962859026877849520?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/962859026877849520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=962859026877849520' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/962859026877849520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/962859026877849520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2009/06/beachy-thoughts.html' title='Beachy Thoughts'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-982927113104244357</id><published>2009-05-16T16:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-16T17:36:11.603-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Price of Fame</title><content type='html'>So yesterday I had coffee with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Shemane&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Nugent&lt;/span&gt;.  I know that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;statement&lt;/span&gt; sounds rather casual, and I wish it was.  Truth be known, I was &lt;em&gt;dying &lt;/em&gt;with excitement.  Giddy even.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Shemane&lt;/span&gt; is, like, a big deal.  And her husband, Ted &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Nugent&lt;/span&gt;, is an even bigger deal.  Famous, in fact.  And I had the privilege to sit with her at Starbucks for over an hour...as though we were &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be helping &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Shemane&lt;/span&gt; and several others with the new &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; website that will launch pretty soon.  My role will be that of a guest blogger, and it all started because my sweet friends, Heather and Stephanie, printed out my "&lt;a href="http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2009/04/why-i-enjoy-shaking-my-booty.html"&gt;Why I Enjoy Shaking My Booty&lt;/a&gt;" post and brought it to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; class to give to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Shemane&lt;/span&gt;.  One thing led to another, and before I knew it...I was sitting with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Shemane&lt;/span&gt; at Starbucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honestly speaking,  the fame associated with the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Nugent&lt;/span&gt; family is not really why I was so giddy.  I was mesmerized by the fact that I was drinking coffee with my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; instructor.  I'll be the first to admit, though, that I can get quite starstruck....pretty easily.  In elementary school, I wrote a letter to Johnny &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Depp&lt;/span&gt; professing my never-ending love for him, and I was mildly surprised when all I received in return was an autographed letter from his fan club.  In Junior High, I traveled with some friends to see New Kids On The Block.  I sat in that stadium actually believing that Jordan or Jonathan Knight would choose me out of a crowd of thousands to ask me to be his girlfriend.  (In case you're wondering, it never happened, and I'm still upset about it.)  In college, I agreed to go on a date with a music store manager whom I had no romantic &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;interested&lt;/span&gt; in whatsoever, just so I could go backstage with him to meet Clint Black.  And the fun doesn't end there.  Just this past year, I had the honor of helping our church host Phil &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Wickham&lt;/span&gt; and Steve Fee in concert.  All of my coolness was thrown aside when my sister called and I thrust the cell phone in Phil's hands and shrieked, "&lt;em&gt;Will you say hi to my sister&lt;/em&gt;?"  Gary Rhodes has asked that I never volunteer in this position ever again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as you can see, people with any amount of fame are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;SuperStars&lt;/span&gt; in my book.  And I'm not too ashamed to let them know.  But with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Shemane&lt;/span&gt;...things were different.  As much as I'd love to give you the "dirt" -- that she's super snobby.....that up close she's not that attractive....that she treated people around her like servants--it just wasn't true.  She was friendly.  She was warm.  She was interested in my thoughts and opinions.  &lt;em&gt;She was real&lt;/em&gt;.  The fame associated with her name did not define her.  It was simply a blessing in her life that she seemed humbled by and grateful for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The price of fame is high, as is evidenced by fallen stars such as Lindsey &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;Lohan&lt;/span&gt;, Britney Spears, Corey &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Haim&lt;/span&gt;,  and Heath Ledger just to name a few.  It's a big responsibility and one that is often abused. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reminded of a scripture out of Luke, "to whom much is given, much is required."  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;Shemane&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;Nugent&lt;/span&gt; seems to have a pretty good grip on what she is called to do with the life she leads.  A friend of mine recently shared with me a heart-warming story of a little girl with brain cancer.  She was part of the Make-A-Wish foundation, and her wish was to spend the day with Ted &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;Nugent&lt;/span&gt;.  I asked &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;Shemane&lt;/span&gt; about this story and as she shared some of the details, I think I saw tears in her eyes.  The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;Nugents&lt;/span&gt; have been given much...and they give back even more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From that coffee date, my eyes were exposed to a different side of fame....one that will impact me forever.  And to think that this realization came about all because I chose to shake my booty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go figure....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-982927113104244357?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/982927113104244357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=982927113104244357' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/982927113104244357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/982927113104244357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2009/05/price-of-fame.html' title='The Price of Fame'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-1705072857629341199</id><published>2009-05-01T21:08:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T21:47:35.160-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh, No She DIDN'T!</title><content type='html'>I sat down to check my blog comments this evening to find this little jewel posted by "Anonymous":&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;It amazes me how shallow your posts are compared to most. It always revolves around things about what (you) like and want and not real world issues....guess &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;thats&lt;/span&gt; why its YOUR blog. As far as being a writer I guess if it was a book all about you it may be enjoyable for you, because anything with substance would be above you.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be the first to admit that upon first read, I felt a little heat rise in my chest and face. And then, I laughed and snorted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my first (unsolicited) negative comment, and I honestly wasn't quite sure how to react....or respond. You see, those of us who blog (and allow anonymous comments) are somewhat gluttons for punishment. We knowingly and willingly tell stories about our lives that leave room for judgement, criticism and complaint. 99 percent of the time, my comments are positive and encouraging, and this negative nugget puts a blemish on my comment record. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Tsk&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Tsk&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the record, I would like to apologize to those of you who read my blog to get information regarding social injustices, world economics, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;politcal&lt;/span&gt; viewpoints, Taliban intelligence, historical information, or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;neuroscientific&lt;/span&gt; evidence supporting the Big Bang Theory. It just ain't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;happenin&lt;/span&gt;' on this blog, sweetie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, on my blog I write about, well.....me. My life, my family, my friends. Sorry for the disappointment. It's kind of my online journal....a way of documenting my feelings, frustrations and phase of life here in my "real world." I guess it's like keeping a diary of sorts, and the subject matter of a diary--&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;any one's&lt;/span&gt; diary--is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;usually&lt;/span&gt; about oneself. Seriously, would the Diary of Anne Frank have had such significance if the entire diary was written about her sweaty-lipped neighbor, Claus? I think not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I will concede to one statement the naughty, negative &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;commenter&lt;/span&gt; made, and that is my posts &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;have&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; been rather shallow lately. I read back through some of my older posts and realized that I have taken the "easy road" approach to blogging by using some of those silly memes in place of an actual post. And to my true and faithful readers, I apologize. I have not given this blog the effort it, or you, deserves. I will try to do better, write stronger, and come up with issues of substance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, you can catch up on a few of my personal favorite all-about-me-and-my-shallow-non-real-world life by reading about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Emerie's&lt;/span&gt; experience guzzling &lt;a href="http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/02/keep-this-number-handy.html"&gt;torch fuel&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Landrie's&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/01/how-do-you-parent-odd-child.html"&gt;happy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;hiney&lt;/span&gt;-wiping display at church&lt;/a&gt;, or my most popular post to date about the definition of a &lt;a href="http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/07/so-what-is-stay-at-home-mom-exactly.html"&gt;Stay at Home Mom&lt;/a&gt;, which tied with this post about &lt;a href="http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/07/physical-beauty.html"&gt;Kellie-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Laine's&lt;/span&gt; future dating life &lt;/a&gt;(or lack thereof.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stay tuned, negative &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;commenter&lt;/span&gt;.  You may find that the post you've been waiting for is just around the corner.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-1705072857629341199?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/1705072857629341199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=1705072857629341199' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/1705072857629341199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/1705072857629341199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2009/05/oh-no-she-didnt.html' title='Oh, No She DIDN&apos;T!'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-5813816116664426815</id><published>2009-04-23T22:34:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T23:23:42.237-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Why I Enjoy Shaking My Booty</title><content type='html'>I'm breaking my blogging silence to inform you that I have recently discovered the fountain of youth.  As a 34 year old mother of three girls, there's not a whole lot that makes me feel "young" these days.  And, let's admit it, ladies.  We all like to feel young every now and again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, my now-and-again is coming a bit more frequently thanks to my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; class.  And feeling young is a weekly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;occurence&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, let me explain that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; is a new form of exercise that involves hip-hop or samba-type music, as well as associated dance moves.  The best way I can describe it is:  high-school-cheerleader meets inner-pole-dancer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll admit that my "inner pole dancer" has surfaced a few times in my adult existence.  It usually happens when my kids are in Mother's Day Out and I'm cleaning the kitchen with the music turned up loudly.  I have a set of double ovens that provide a pretty good reflection....and sometimes I'll choose to "break it down" right then and there......you know, unleash those pole dancing moves I saw on Oprah.   Only, then I catch myself in the reflection of my ovens, and I'm reminded why pole dancers are pole dancers....and why I should stick to being a mother cleaning the kitchen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So back to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt;.  I love &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; for a variety of reasons, but the main reason is that many of my friends are in class with me.  It reminds me of the very reasons why I loved &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;cheerleading&lt;/span&gt; camp so much.  We laugh and giggle our way through the awkward hip thrusts, as well as encourage one another by saying things like, "Make sure you show your husband that move tonight!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second reason why I love &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; is because I can actually do it.  Listen, I am not an athletic person -- &lt;em&gt;at all&lt;/em&gt;.  It all started in Jr. High.  Suffice it to say that my athletic career started and ended with my first volleyball game.  I served the ball; said "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;owie&lt;/span&gt;," and that was the end of that.  I have tried various &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;exercise&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;regimens&lt;/span&gt; over the years only to lack the discipline to stick to any of them.  I can't do &lt;em&gt;any&lt;/em&gt; form of exercise for a whole hour, honestly.  I broke out in hives after 10 minutes of Nicki Wilson's kick boxing class.  I puked after 30 minutes of body shaping.  I really was beginning to think I was allergic to exercise.  Enter &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt;.  I can shake my booty for a whole hour.  I sweat like a pig, and I love it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third reason I love &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; is because I love the music.  Songs like, "Right Round" by Flo &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Rida&lt;/span&gt;, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Krazy&lt;/span&gt;" by Pit Bull, and the Pussy Cat Dolls.  I spent one afternoon downloading my favorite &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; songs and excitedly showed my dance moves to my oldest gal, Kellie-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Laine&lt;/span&gt;.  "&lt;em&gt;Mom&lt;/em&gt;!"  she shrieked, "&lt;em&gt;do you know what those songs say&lt;/em&gt;?!"  To which I thought:  &lt;em&gt;No, I don't and I don't care.   All I know is that when when this guy sings that lyric, I am to shake my booty to the beat.  And doesn't mommy look so cute doing this move?&lt;/em&gt;  (Incidentally, Kellie-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Laine&lt;/span&gt; ran out of the room mortified at my less-than-mommy-like behavior.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also love &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; because I am doing things for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; that I wouldn't normally do.....like putting my children in the gym childcare so I can attend the class.  I really dislike the childcare, but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; has helped me overcome my fear and guilt....oh, okay, and my pitiful excuse not to exercise.  I have also beefed up my exercise wardrobe.  While this is usually something I do to try and motivate myself to actually work out, I have invested in a few "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; appropriate" clothing items.  If you're not careful, you might actually confuse me for a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; instructor.  Also, I'm not normally a front-row-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;joe&lt;/span&gt; kind of person, but in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; I am.  Front and center, baby.  It also helps that I'm able to see our instructor, Ted &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;Nugent's&lt;/span&gt; beautiful wife, more clearly.  (She, incidentally, brings new meaning to the word "Hot Mama" .....oh, if I could only look that good when I'm her age!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The final reason I love &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; is because it makes me feel young again.  It's silly, really, but for some reason &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"&gt;shakin&lt;/span&gt;' my booty makes me smile and giggle.  And smiling and giggling makes me feel young. It's a much needed break from my reality of changing diapers, waiting in carpool, or loading the dishwasher.  A few times today, I even played my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt; CD to help me get through some of the mundane household chores I needed to do.  I smiled and danced the whole time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So tonight our family went to the Y.  The kids and dear husband swam while I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"&gt;Zumba&lt;/span&gt;-ed.  My middle girl, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"&gt;Landrie&lt;/span&gt;, watched us through the viewing window for a few moments.  When I picked her up she asked, "&lt;em&gt;Are you going to perform for a show?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;em&gt;No, baby&lt;/em&gt;" I laughed.  But for those few minutes when people peer in the window to see what we're doing, it kind of feels like a show.  And I am the star performer.... &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"&gt;shakin&lt;/span&gt;' my booty for all the world to see.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-5813816116664426815?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/5813816116664426815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=5813816116664426815' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/5813816116664426815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/5813816116664426815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2009/04/why-i-enjoy-shaking-my-booty.html' title='Why I Enjoy Shaking My Booty'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-3121595970551907348</id><published>2009-03-15T22:14:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T22:44:35.913-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Checkin' In</title><content type='html'>It's been almost a month since I've last blogged....A MONTH! I never thought that I'd be this much of a slacker, but guess what? I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess the topic most talked about in my circle of friends is this danged economy. What do you guys think about it? I think it sucks. And I'm scared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to remind those of you who didn't know me back in 1999 that I was one of those crazy gals who stocked up on powdered milk and jugs of water and demanded that all my extended family members spend New Year's Eve at my house. Y2K, baby. Suffice it to say that Y2K never happened. And my powdered milk? Thrown out in January of 2001.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this thing we're going through now is a different kind of situation. It's not a computer glitch. It's not the prophetic end of the world. It's plain and simple "Many-Americans-Were-Stupid-With-Their-Money" and "Banks-Gave -Loans-To-Every-Man-Or-Donkey-That -Walked-Through-The-Door". And here we are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The economic sky is falling, and I've become Chicken Little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even though I didn't vote for him, I do believe Obama is trying to sort through this mess we're in. I think we are expecting too much to see a few &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;stimulus&lt;/span&gt; packages clean up years worth of debt, stupidity, and greed. I want to see him succeed for the simple fact of turning things around for our future. Republican or not, we need his help and leadership.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, on a local level.....I'm wondering if you guys are seeing local effects of this economic train wreck. Here are just a few I've noticed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Many retailers have cut back their hours. Ann Taylor Loft now closes at 7 pm instead of 9pm.&lt;br /&gt;Hollywood video is no longer open 24 hours a day. They close at 10 pm.&lt;br /&gt;2. Several people we know have lost jobs.&lt;br /&gt;3. The local housing market....enough said!&lt;br /&gt;4. Mommies are having to return to the workforce.&lt;br /&gt;5. Private schooling parents are having to consider options like public school or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;home school&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;6. Spring Break vacations were almost non-existent within my circle of friends. We didn't plan any type of vacation, and I didn't even mind.&lt;br /&gt;7. More retail stores are having sales.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What about you? What are you noticing in response to the economic downfall? Are you doing anything as a family to prepare for worse times? Are you turning a blind eye? Storing food? Buying guns? Praying more? Anyone? Anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a side story, a friend of mine was returning to Waco and stopped at a Subway in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Corsicana&lt;/span&gt;. She bought a meal deal, you know, 6-inch sub with drink and chips. When she went to check out, the cashier told her it would be $9.49 for her meal. She, of course, protested this price and the cashier told her that "since they were the only Subway in town, they went up $3 on all their meal deals." Isn't this price gauging? My friend is planning to report this incident tomorrow to the Subway manager, but wouldn't you know that the cashier conveniently left out the receipt from her purchase?  No proof that she over-paid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I think my friend just gave that cashier a $3 tip.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-3121595970551907348?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/3121595970551907348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=3121595970551907348' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/3121595970551907348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/3121595970551907348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2009/03/just-checkin-in.html' title='Just Checkin&apos; In'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-90191896769762138</id><published>2009-02-12T15:08:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-12T15:20:42.212-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Yoo-Hoo....My New Do....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So whatcha think?  (sorry for the amateur self-portraits!  I look more like a camera model.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302021971097388514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SZSQ5DKTheI/AAAAAAAABSw/If7rQQ0uNg0/s400/IMG_8711.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302022260699405122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SZSRJ6Azm0I/AAAAAAAABS4/ew7Qx-iIZ50/s400/IMG_8709.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;After a looooong several months of going without a haircut, I began to feel pretty shaggy. One of my blogging friends, Nicksterland, posted a recent photo of her new do and I was inspired.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;According to my fabulous hair stylist (Hippie Chic Salon), this new style is very "in" with the Baylor  girls.  She called it the today's version of the "punk 80's mullet" and I immediately started sweating in my armpits.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, when she spun me around in the salon chair and said, "Voila!".  I squealed with glee!  It's a fun Joan Jett meets Florence Henderson.....meets Asian SuperMom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now if I could just figure out how to style this do tomorrow.......&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/184857207974847855-90191896769762138?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/90191896769762138/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=90191896769762138' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/90191896769762138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/90191896769762138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2009/02/yoo-hoomy-new-do.html' title='Yoo-Hoo....My New Do....'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SZSQ5DKTheI/AAAAAAAABSw/If7rQQ0uNg0/s72-c/IMG_8711.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-5442582771126421470</id><published>2009-02-06T20:30:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T21:39:06.895-06:00</updated><title type='text'>25 Random Things About Me</title><content type='html'>It seems like many people have a new hobby called "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Facebooking&lt;/span&gt;." I regretfully admit that it has now become a hobby of mine, as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cody was watching me check my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; one night, and he asked me if I had to update my status every time I did something new. "Yes." I responded, and he instantly lost his desire to participate in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt;. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So since I am neither blogging or updating my status on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; with any consistency, I thought I'd snag the most recent meme from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; and integrate it into my blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are 25 Random Things About Me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I delivered my first baby in 31 minutes. No epidural. Nothing.&lt;br /&gt;2. I highly recommend an epidural and had one with my other two deliveries. Ladies, listen to me: &lt;em&gt;There is no extra badge in Heaven for having delivered your baby &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;au&lt;/span&gt; natural.&lt;/em&gt; And it does not make you more of a hero....er, heroine.&lt;br /&gt;3. I have a slight form of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;trichotillomania&lt;/span&gt; (compulsion to pull my hair out strand by strand), and recently I've discovered my daughter does the same thing.&lt;br /&gt;4. I hate other people's feet. I'll even admit that once my children leave the toddler phase....even their feet become ugly to me. And, oh my gosh, would you people please cut your toenails? Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;5. In high school, I made it to the State competition for Informative Speaking and Lincoln-Douglas Debate. I can sense several of you have just had an "ah-ha" moment about me.&lt;br /&gt;6. I am a mixed-breed. Asian Mommy; White Daddy. I hated this fact about myself until I went to college and realized that it made me unique and different. I lived in a small town and was teased a lot about my ethnicity.&lt;br /&gt;7. I am moody to the point that I think I need medication.&lt;br /&gt;8. I am a clean-freak. My house is always picked up. Stuff is always put in it's place. When things start to pile up (laundry, dishes, clutter, etc.) I get an anxious feeling in my chest.&lt;br /&gt;9. I am not, however, a germ-o-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;phobe&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;10. I have a severe fear of snakes.&lt;br /&gt;11. I do not enjoy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;girly&lt;/span&gt;-movies. No chic flicks for this chic! I hate to cry.&lt;br /&gt;12. Because I hate to cry and really fight the urge to do so, when my husband does see me cry he freaks out. He just kind of stares at me. This makes me feel even more vulnerable, and then I get mad at him. (Which, incidentally, makes me stop crying. Maybe that's his plan......)&lt;br /&gt;13. I had very lenient parents growing up. No curfew, no rules, etc.&lt;br /&gt;14. I get stressed out and overwhelmed as a mother too easily.&lt;br /&gt;15. I was the high school mascot (a little cheerleader) when I was in 2&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; and 3rd grade. My dad was the editor of our local paper, and he was covering the mascot/cheerleader try-outs. As he was walking out the door, he asked if I wanted to go with him and try out. I shrugged my shoulders and said, "I guess so." When they called my name as the "winner," I was swinging on the bleachers--completely oblivious that there was even a competition going on.&lt;br /&gt;16. I am, by nature, very lazy.&lt;br /&gt;17. I grew up in a non-Christian home. My sister and I were the ones that the church kids always tried to take to church as guests. Though I accepted God as my savior over and over at revivals, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;VBS&lt;/span&gt;, and mission trips, it wasn't until college that I entered into a meaningful, intimate relationship with Him. I'm thankful that His plan was to bring me to Him later rather than sooner. It was a painful process, but so very worth it.&lt;br /&gt;18. I cannot live without my cell phone and computer.&lt;br /&gt;19. I am a shop-o-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;holic&lt;/span&gt;. And a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;cheapie&lt;/span&gt;. I love to spend money...but only on bargains.&lt;br /&gt;20. I was a decent tennis player in high school, but I had a bad attitude. I used to spit on the tennis court during matches.&lt;br /&gt;21. I have never seen The Passion. I don't think I could bear it.&lt;br /&gt;22. I have an unhealthy habit of reading the horrific headlines from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;foxnews&lt;/span&gt;.com. I also have an unhealthy habit of thinking every male stranger is a child molester.&lt;br /&gt;23. I get nauseous very easily. Motion sickness in the car, on a swing or merry-go-round. I also get sick if I get up early and exercise----which is why I don't. Get up early. Or exercise.&lt;br /&gt;24. I'm not sure what I would do if I ever had to go back to work.&lt;br /&gt;25. I went to Colorado for Spring Break when I was a sophomore in college.  For some reason, I had an emotional break down and called my dad crying and asking him if he would come get me (this would have been like a 20 hour trip.)  Do you know what my dad said?  "If you can catch the next bus to Amarillo, I'll meet you there as soon as I can."  Now that's love, people.  No questions asked, he was willing to hop in his car and drive through the night for over 15 hours to come get me.  Still brings tears to my eyes.............&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-5442582771126421470?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/5442582771126421470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=5442582771126421470' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/5442582771126421470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/5442582771126421470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2009/02/25-random-things-about-me.html' title='25 Random Things About Me'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-1181009488023015329</id><published>2009-01-12T23:29:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-13T00:11:55.477-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Ho-Hums</title><content type='html'>Hooooooooo-Hummmmmmmm. If you were sitting beside me, you would realize that was a big sigh I just let out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I just be honest and say that I'm really, really tired of blogging? In fact, I'm so tired of blogging that I'm not really even reading other people's blogs. There's a few I check in on regularly, but not daily as I used to. But I don't want to lose my connection with those of you who read this, so I press on. (And if my 9 month pregnant sister can still blog....so can I!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is moving at a rapid speed for us right now. Deep in the trenches of basketball season (which I LOVE), back to the solid rock of spring Bible study, the second semester of school, a new year full of already-broken resolutions, the promise of spring, trying to plan a summer vacation, becoming the owners of 15 acres of land........time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin (sing with me now) into the future.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many of my fellow-bloggers re-capped their favorite Christmas memories with photos.  I'll have to pass on that, but here are a few bullet points from Beeler Christmas 2008:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--I made a spontaneous purchase for Kellie-Laine: and ipod touch. Only after I had the thing engraved did I realize that &lt;em&gt;a.) the ipod touch does not have parental controls for the internet&lt;/em&gt; and &lt;em&gt;b.) the ipod is non-returnable after engraving.&lt;/em&gt; Guess who is now the proud owner of an ipod touch which conveniently sits on my computer desk for days at a time untouched?! I call it my ipod no-touch because I never use the thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--We had family visit for five days straight. FIVE DAYS STRAIGHT. In case you didn't get that let me repeat....&lt;em&gt;five, 5, cinco&lt;/em&gt; days in a row. I love parts of my family and for those family members, five days is not enough. But those on the other hand.......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- My brother-in-law came down with a stomach bug during the five days straight. There is nothing better than cleaning up someone else's poop/vomit on the potty while trying to ensure that my kiddos or other visiting family members don't get sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Landrie and cousin Grace went MIA with all of their "pretend play" time. I only got glimpses of Landrie throughout most of the holidays. She was in heaven having a captive audience to play with at her every beck and call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- I loved seeing the shock on Kellie-Laine's face when she pulled the ipod nano out of her stocking. She was totally shocked. Her elation was short lived once she heard my confession of the ipod no-touch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--I bought Cody a gun for Christmas. While I loved seeing the joy and surprise on his face, nothing compares to the experience actually purchasing the gun. (Imagine a dressed-to-the-hilt half-Asian girl sauntering into Academy holding a torn piece of paper while reading to the salesperson: &lt;em&gt;"I would like to buy either a .22 rifle or a .177 pellet gun with rat ammo, please. Oh, and do those guns come in pink, by chance?)&lt;/em&gt; Bat those eyelashes; twirl that hair......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--For the fourth year in a row, I had my Christmas meal catered. This is a tradition I'm not willing to change.  Money well spent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Speaking of traditions, we once again purchased an expensive gift for someone who complained about it. I'm not naming names, but apparently this has become a Beeler tradition. I call it the "&lt;em&gt;Let's See How Much Money We Can Spend On Someone Who Will Complain About Why They Can't Use It&lt;/em&gt;" tradition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- I did not take full opportunity to share the real reason behind the season with my girls. They were, however, fully aware of &lt;em&gt;Max&lt;/em&gt;, our Elf on the Shelf. &lt;em&gt;Note to self: gotta do a better job next year.&lt;/em&gt;  My girls spent quite a bit of time searching for Max and asking him to bring them real cell phones.  He did not comply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And finally,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--My Christmas card-making business was successful and so much fun. Those of you who ordered a card from me,  please know that you are helping me pay for a very useless ipod no-touch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May joy and peace abound in your home in 2009! Until next time.................&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-1181009488023015329?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/1181009488023015329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=1181009488023015329' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/1181009488023015329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/1181009488023015329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2009/01/ho-hums.html' title='The Ho-Hums'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-7964127075046727708</id><published>2008-12-22T09:09:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T09:13:53.377-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Wishes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SU-t87OElOI/AAAAAAAABOw/CCVErKSmiRk/s1600-h/beeler+christmas+2008+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282632150129349858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 259px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SU-t87OElOI/AAAAAAAABOw/CCVErKSmiRk/s400/beeler+christmas+2008+copy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Wishing you all a wonderful Christmas! Here's our card for this year.....let me know if you'd like one. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Apparently, I don't have as many friends as I thought. I've got a few dozen left.....(you can click on the photo to see it larger).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also, thank you to all those who allowed me the opportunity of designing a Christmas card for you!  I loved each project, and I will hopefully post some of my favorites on my other blog (&lt;a href="http://www.creative-blank.blogspot.com/"&gt;www.creative-blank.blogspot.com&lt;/a&gt;) soon!&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/184857207974847855-7964127075046727708?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/7964127075046727708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=7964127075046727708' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/7964127075046727708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/7964127075046727708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/12/wishing-you-all-wonderful-christmas.html' title='Christmas Wishes'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SU-t87OElOI/AAAAAAAABOw/CCVErKSmiRk/s72-c/beeler+christmas+2008+copy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-6266441952675446807</id><published>2008-12-11T21:31:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T22:32:53.272-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Honesty is the Best Policy?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SUHbJbajS8I/AAAAAAAAA88/Ce_HjznVc8w/s1600-h/honest_award.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278741193279359938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 310px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SUHbJbajS8I/AAAAAAAAA88/Ce_HjznVc8w/s400/honest_award.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I received this award from my sweet friends, &lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/amymontgomerydavis.blogspot.com"&gt;Amy&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/autumnaskswhy.blogspot.com"&gt;Autumn&lt;/a&gt;. Here are the rules:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;em&gt;When you receive the prize, you must write a post showing it, together with the name of who has given it to you, and link them back. Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in their content or design. Show their names and links and leave them a comment informing that they were prized with 'Honest Weblog'. List [if you can and/or dare] at least ten honest things about yourself. Then, pass it on!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And here are the 10 honest things about me...in no particular order:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. My friend, Marsha, tells me often that I have "boldness of spirit" but really what I have is the inability to control my tongue. Some things aren't meant to be shared. I apparently don't have that particular filter, and I will say things that, more often than not, hurt &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;someone's&lt;/span&gt; feelings. I often leave a conversation feeling as though I said too much or was too "big" for the crowd. Does that make sense?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I have severe PMS (me, too, Rachel!). I've struggled with it ever since I can remember, and it oftentimes is incapacitating. Sometimes I can't shake it off, and it will linger for weeks at a time. Sadly, the person who notices this the most is my husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I find myself often trying to "get out" of my motherhood duties by arranging &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;playdates&lt;/span&gt;, shopping with the kids, or asking my husband to help out. I really, really hate those days when nothing is on the agenda, and I have to entertain the girls. It's a selfish response, really. I have to remind myself over and over to "die to self."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I am physically out of shape. Although I have been blessed with being genetically skinny, I could not run a race to save my life. At this point, I couldn't even participate in a "Sit and Be Fit" class without getting sore! I know I need to do some &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;cardio&lt;/span&gt; to get my heart properly running, but I have no motivation to do so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. I am a negative thinker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I am sort of good at a lot of things, but not really good at any one thing. This really bothers me. I'd love to have one talent or one skill that defines me or that I'm known for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. I did not have a close relationship with my mom and sometimes I'm a little uncertain how to connect with my girls. My mother wasn't a "hugger" and didn't express her love physically. I really have to work on remembering to physically touch and love on my girls. It's not a natural response for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. If I could have breast augmentation without my girls knowing, I would. I breastfed all three of my babies, and it's a badge I wear with honor.  But, let's face it, not every mommy can walk away with a body like Heidi Klum! (this probably falls under the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;TMI&lt;/span&gt; category....but review point #1).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. I struggle with contentment. It seems I always have my eye on the "next thing" ......next project, next purchase, next home, next phase of life, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. I bathe every night without fail, which includes shaving my legs and washing my hair. I never miss. On the rare occasion that I have had to skip a shower for some random reason, I usually can't sleep because the bed sheets don't "feel right."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so there you have it! More information about me than you've ever wished for or wanted. And I'm certain you'll avoid me in the hallway the next time you see me.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tag the following people:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kimberly P.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Nicksterland&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flo&lt;br /&gt;Jamie&lt;br /&gt;Heather&lt;br /&gt;Diary of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Playdate&lt;/span&gt; Dropout&lt;br /&gt;Juli B&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Kesleigh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm too lazy to link them on this post....so just look on my blog lists to find them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love ya!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-6266441952675446807?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/6266441952675446807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=6266441952675446807' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/6266441952675446807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/6266441952675446807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/12/honesty-is-best-policy.html' title='Honesty is the Best Policy?'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SUHbJbajS8I/AAAAAAAAA88/Ce_HjznVc8w/s72-c/honest_award.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-2253557982239279532</id><published>2008-12-04T23:57:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T00:29:12.464-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Well, hello there!</title><content type='html'>I am going to ramble here because I realize it's been forever since I've posted. I was seriously even tempted to just close up shop until after Christmas, but the thought of losing all of you precious readers drove me to post!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life can be described in two little words: controlled chaos. Anyone know what I'm talking about? There has been so much activity lately....things that really are too boring to mention here. On Sunday, as I was planning my week ahead, I realized that every single night of the week was booked--which meant that I would not be cooking dinner, which meant we would not be eating together as a family. In my book, that's tragic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may not be great at most things, but I do get a little possessive about family meal time. I don't really even like to cook, and sometimes the burden of coming up with a menu for Picky #1, Picky #2, and Picky #3 is too much! However, I value the way a home cooked meal feels.....around the dinner table; together as a family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please don't misunderstand, even while we're eating--it is &lt;em&gt;still &lt;/em&gt;controlled chaos. The two little ones crawling under the table, the oldest &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;hurriedly&lt;/span&gt; eating so she can resume checking her email, me claiming a small victory for each morsel of food I get into &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Emerie's&lt;/span&gt; mouth, Cody trying to hold conversation with anyone who is paying attention. Oh, yeah. It's pure insanity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you know what? It's a memory. I don't really remember too many meals 'round the dinner table from my childhood. Both my parents worked outside of the home, which kept them super busy. But the times I do remember eating together as a family (even the times I hated what we were eating) are cherished memories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was sharing my frustration with my wise mommy friends, and most agreed that I needed to give myself a break. My expectations needed to be lowered, they said. And, I agree. CanI admit to you that when order food at a drive through, I get a little bit &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;embarrassed&lt;/span&gt; at who might recognize my car? Isn't that insane?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I feel like a failure when I can't provide a home-cooked meal for my family. Partly it's about nutrition, but mainly it's about the tradition of the meal. I think I'm justified to want to protect that, but I also think I'm a little too consumed by it. A frozen pizza and macaroni shouldn't feel like failure. Driving through Bush's Chicken shouldn't require a trench coat and sunglasses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any psycho therapists out there willing to diagnose me? In the meantime, if any of you have any great weeknight meals, could you leave the recipe in my comments section?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next time........&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-2253557982239279532?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/2253557982239279532/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=2253557982239279532' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/2253557982239279532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/2253557982239279532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/12/well-hello-there.html' title='Well, hello there!'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-8754715932800384369</id><published>2008-11-11T21:42:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T21:58:22.808-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Life With A Toddler</title><content type='html'>I really don't think any words are necessary! I just wanted to give you sneek peak into my daily life. Hang in there tired and weary mommies! This really is the good stuff......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpTGTMCM6I/AAAAAAAAA8w/IlqDc0F7coM/s1600-h/2008+november+066.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267614081858286498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpTGTMCM6I/AAAAAAAAA8w/IlqDc0F7coM/s400/2008+november+066.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Applying makeup.....the way mommy does!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpSySbwOtI/AAAAAAAAA8o/jTCg5ORCvJo/s1600-h/2008+november+071.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267613738058398418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpSySbwOtI/AAAAAAAAA8o/jTCg5ORCvJo/s400/2008+november+071.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpSbmiQ2hI/AAAAAAAAA8g/2ZGVFhqKlcs/s1600-h/2008+november+173.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267613348317420050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpSbmiQ2hI/AAAAAAAAA8g/2ZGVFhqKlcs/s400/2008+november+173.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Yes, those are panties she is wearing over her jeans!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpSIKgYD0I/AAAAAAAAA8Y/2rL_0Xa9Dlk/s1600-h/2008+november+179.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267613014375796546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpSIKgYD0I/AAAAAAAAA8Y/2rL_0Xa9Dlk/s400/2008+november+179.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a battle we're just not choosing to fight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpRvWsTh4I/AAAAAAAAA8Q/wCBTOtjuSyo/s1600-h/2008+november+059.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267612588150327170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpRvWsTh4I/AAAAAAAAA8Q/wCBTOtjuSyo/s400/2008+november+059.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Nice goggles.....and nice nose boogies!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-8754715932800384369?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/8754715932800384369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=8754715932800384369' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/8754715932800384369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/8754715932800384369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/11/life-with-toddler.html' title='Life With A Toddler'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRpTGTMCM6I/AAAAAAAAA8w/IlqDc0F7coM/s72-c/2008+november+066.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-1865694352695155780</id><published>2008-11-06T13:42:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T13:50:47.196-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Because I'm Just Not Busy Enough</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRNJzpTXQkI/AAAAAAAAA6o/uIuPV1i98Tc/s1600-h/logo+reverse+with+border+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265633540935467586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRNJzpTXQkI/AAAAAAAAA6o/uIuPV1i98Tc/s400/logo+reverse+with+border+copy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Check out my other Adventure Series......&lt;em&gt;Adventures of a Work-From-Home SuperMom!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just kidding.....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;But you can check out my other blog to see what else I've been up to.....because I really needed something else to do, and apparently I like torture.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.creative-blank.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://www.creative-blank.blogspot.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Many of you know I've been dabbling a bit in digital designing for a few years now, and I've decided to launch a side business called Creative Blank. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first endeavor will be a Christmas Card By Design Extravaganza--custom designed Christmas cards for your family to be designed by me and printed by you (or some other photo fininshing company!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can email me for an information sheet with prices, instructions and details.  My email is &lt;a href="mailto:cbeeler@grandecom.net"&gt;cbeeler@grandecom.net&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-1865694352695155780?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/1865694352695155780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=1865694352695155780' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/1865694352695155780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/1865694352695155780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/11/because-im-just-not-busy-enough.html' title='Because I&apos;m Just Not Busy Enough'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRNJzpTXQkI/AAAAAAAAA6o/uIuPV1i98Tc/s72-c/logo+reverse+with+border+copy.jpg' 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-184857207974847855.post-4141396744081473957</id><published>2008-11-04T13:03:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T13:09:48.134-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh No She Didn't!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRCcx8E102I/AAAAAAAAA4s/svlHVzpfwqA/s1600-h/october+2008+027+copyedit.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264880346150064994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 272px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRCcx8E102I/AAAAAAAAA4s/svlHVzpfwqA/s400/october+2008+027+copyedit.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;.....or rather, Yes she did!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She turned 13 today. This morning around 7 am to be exact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am shrieking with misery at the mere thought of being the mom of a teenager!  But here I am, and here I go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will buy her a training bra and a copy of "&lt;em&gt;Are You There God?  It's Me Margaret&lt;/em&gt;."  I will wrap these gifts in a pretty package and let her open them during her lunch at school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will also smile discreetly when she shrieks in horror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Birthday, baby!  You were (and still are) the best surprise of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(thanks for your prayers for KL and her best friend, Phoebe.....things seem to be moving in the right direction!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-4141396744081473957?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/4141396744081473957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=4141396744081473957' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/4141396744081473957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/4141396744081473957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/11/oh-no-she-didnt.html' title='Oh No She Didn&apos;t!'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SRCcx8E102I/AAAAAAAAA4s/svlHVzpfwqA/s72-c/october+2008+027+copyedit.jpg' 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-184857207974847855.post-5986520400542914883</id><published>2008-11-02T22:12:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-02T22:43:07.153-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A PMS Rant</title><content type='html'>I've been in a little funk lately, and I think I know why.  PMS.  Does anyone else go through this month after month after month?  Oh, the docs call it some fancy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;schmancy&lt;/span&gt; name now, like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;PMDD&lt;/span&gt;, or something.  They even have a birth control pill with a little "happy component" that supposedly helps you get through the week of funk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did try this little pill last fall and let's just say that the side effects were a little too much for me.  I wasn't moody......but I was just blah the entire time.   This month has proven a little bit more of a deeper funk than usual, and I thought I'd let you in on my PMS-induced ramblings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's how my mind works when I'm in the "funky zone":  Saturday I received my Digital &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Scrapbooking&lt;/span&gt; magazine in the mail, which I typically devour in 10 minutes.  After reading the magazine, I found myself really upset that there were so many new tips and techniques listed that I had no idea about.  This made me think about how little I know about digital designing, which made me wonder why many of my friends consider me really knowledgeable in this area, which made me think that maybe I've deceived my friends, which made me question why I had any friends at all.  See?  Funky crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mind just hasn't been itself lately.  I am tired of my lack of discipline in the exercise arena, but I refuse to put my kids in the gym childcare.  I feel like I'm a jack of all trades, but a master of none.  I'm sad that many of my days are spent "just getting by" and that I'm not embracing all that motherhood has to offer me (or all that I have to offer my kids).  I'm upset that my husband is at a national meeting for four days, and I have no idea where he is (not because he didn't tell me but because I didn't ask...again, the PMS).  And then there's this blog......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong, I really love writing when I get a chance.  But blogging upsets me right now, too.  Today it feels like a popularity contest.....or a "pretty blog" contest.  Oh, I love all the ones I read faithfully and, oftentimes, feel more attached to these people than I really should.  But what irks me are the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;bloggers&lt;/span&gt; who post on subjects like:  &lt;em&gt;Give Me Your Opinion If Artificial Greenery In Your House Is Good Or Bad &lt;/em&gt;and that post will generate 68 comments.  Really.  Really?  (And for the record I DO have a few &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;artificial&lt;/span&gt; plants here and there.....)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And did I mention that my almost-teenage daughter is giving me attitude?  I have lost all desire to be "cool mom" (and lost that title years ago), but I am by no means a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;fuddy&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;duddy&lt;/span&gt;.  So why does she act &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;embarrassed&lt;/span&gt; at the sight of me or roll her eyes when I'm trying to tell a funny story?  It hurts my feelings.  And my feelings want to pinch her little head off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, I'm wondering about a phenomena that continues to occur in my house.  Whenever I sit at the computer, both of my little girls think that is the signal for "ask mommy for many, many things in a row".....&lt;em&gt;I need juice&lt;/em&gt; (or snack, or movie, or whatever else comes to their little minds), or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Landrie&lt;/span&gt; will talk incessantly......&lt;em&gt;incessantly&lt;/em&gt;, people.  Or she will ask me to watch her color....because I simply have nothing better to do, and I'm sitting at the computer which is the universal sign for "&lt;em&gt;completely bored and needs something to do&lt;/em&gt;". Whatever the request is.....it only occurs when I'm at the computer.  The kids have no use for me otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you feel like you're on a roller coaster?  More importantly, are you screaming to get off?  Me, too.  If any of you have tips or tricks for dealing with PMS....PMDD....crazy......my family sure would appreciate it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-5986520400542914883?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/5986520400542914883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=5986520400542914883' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/5986520400542914883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/5986520400542914883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/11/pms-rant.html' title='A PMS Rant'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-6027244526618343299</id><published>2008-10-31T22:47:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T22:57:18.642-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Name That Tune</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Emerie&lt;/span&gt; has recently graduated from singing songs to singing &lt;em&gt;several stanzas&lt;/em&gt; of the same song. Here's a catchy little tune that you might recognize. (don't forget to turn off the background music...just  push the pause button.)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Isn't it precious to hear our children singing about our wonderful Savior?! And I love her little hand motions...those chubby fingers.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Enjoy this......(American Idol here we come!)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-856e2e1ee2e64691" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.blogger.com/img/videoplayer.swf?videoUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvp.video.google.com%2Fvideodownload%3Fversion%3D0%26secureurl%3DqAAAADbdx0ctBZ6r0jjgHMEoxaYnrB-PnX1Jf73MQ180hj2YxiIroBIorPs8psp4chJkb11QYzcssaflWLIpMfviNHsmvKGitxsO542e-FV9z70jEz1wC34BtJTTP2AvaJZVTPb6fZl1yJV89OYa0rrjjBUwY6I6JRIpyCByCxWY5hbec-IHnaVmy7s31Y4a0rzFYtoUFM9pDX_ctbadIWp2jxb-n7xlI47P2D8eK9W2V2jR%26sigh%3DSlB98lwLPCWTOPWERxArUlpEGA4%26begin%3D0%26len%3D86400000%26docid%3D0&amp;amp;nogvlm=1&amp;amp;thumbnailUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvideo.google.com%2FThumbnailServer2%3Fapp%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D856e2e1ee2e64691%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw320%26sigh%3DziNsm7V6e1LN68bgz0prI64IYR0&amp;amp;messagesUrl=video.google.com%2FFlashUiStrings.xlb%3Fframe%3Dflashstrings%26hl%3Den"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/videoplayer.swf?videoUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvp.video.google.com%2Fvideodownload%3Fversion%3D0%26secureurl%3DqAAAADbdx0ctBZ6r0jjgHMEoxaYnrB-PnX1Jf73MQ180hj2YxiIroBIorPs8psp4chJkb11QYzcssaflWLIpMfviNHsmvKGitxsO542e-FV9z70jEz1wC34BtJTTP2AvaJZVTPb6fZl1yJV89OYa0rrjjBUwY6I6JRIpyCByCxWY5hbec-IHnaVmy7s31Y4a0rzFYtoUFM9pDX_ctbadIWp2jxb-n7xlI47P2D8eK9W2V2jR%26sigh%3DSlB98lwLPCWTOPWERxArUlpEGA4%26begin%3D0%26len%3D86400000%26docid%3D0&amp;amp;nogvlm=1&amp;amp;thumbnailUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvideo.google.com%2FThumbnailServer2%3Fapp%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D856e2e1ee2e64691%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw320%26sigh%3DziNsm7V6e1LN68bgz0prI64IYR0&amp;amp;messagesUrl=video.google.com%2FFlashUiStrings.xlb%3Fframe%3Dflashstrings%26hl%3Den" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-6027244526618343299?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=856e2e1ee2e64691&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/6027244526618343299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=6027244526618343299' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/6027244526618343299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/6027244526618343299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/10/name-that-tune.html' title='Name That Tune'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-8341003468038277232</id><published>2008-10-26T19:23:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T19:46:03.677-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just a Few Photos</title><content type='html'>If writing a post for this blog could take 15 minutes or less, you might see more posts (does this happen to anyone else or am I just a super slow blogger?!). However, that never happens....and my time is so limited that, unfortunately, blogging has fallen by the wayside. &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So to appease you until I can get some significant blogging time, here are a few photos from my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We attended our annual Fall Hayride at the Lisenby's again this year, with nothing but perfect weather! While this family photo is not worthy of the annual Christmas card, it is rare to capture all five of us looking the same direction!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261624037969681074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SQULL2zW2rI/AAAAAAAAA4M/3H_4hReQKJQ/s400/october+2008+075.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Here is my phenomenal athlete of  a husband showing off his man-skills.  How do I know he's a phenomenal athlete?  Because he tells me every chance he gets.  I married him for his humility.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261624869950502066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SQUL8SLCtLI/AAAAAAAAA4c/sJUJLnNfD08/s400/october+2008+049.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And here's my able-bodied husband again looking rather dapper!  He and Landrie were dressed for the Father/Daughter Tea that afternoon.  Yes, we have two other daughters, I know.  But Landrie is our favorite, so she was chosen as Cody's date.  Just kidding!  This tea was for girls ages 3-7.  Isn't that such a sweet tradition to start for daddies and daughters?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261624311360858386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SQULbxQ5KRI/AAAAAAAAA4U/LCZvtem6UYs/s400/october+2008+080.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And, finally.....here is a "Happy Fall" photo that was taken to send out via email.  Did you get one?  No?  Oh....that's because I forgot to do it.  The story of my life these days.  Plus, I thought it would look odd that only one of my daughters was in the photo.  But Landrie was in a bad mood and Kellie-Laine thought the scare crow was embarrassing.  Emerie hopped onto the bench, no questions asked.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Do you notice something about the photo?  Only my most faithful readers will see.....EMERIE IS SMILING!  I said, "Smile, Emerie" and this was the look she gave me!!!   Sniff, sniff......my little girl has reached another milestone.  She is properly camera-trained.  Happy Fall, Y'all!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261625165156800770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SQUMNd5tWQI/AAAAAAAAA4k/2EJM3AjQQxQ/s400/october+2008+034+(2).JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-8341003468038277232?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/8341003468038277232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=8341003468038277232' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/8341003468038277232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/8341003468038277232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/10/just-few-photos.html' title='Just a Few Photos'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SQULL2zW2rI/AAAAAAAAA4M/3H_4hReQKJQ/s72-c/october+2008+075.JPG' 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-184857207974847855.post-1318775596354919065</id><published>2008-10-15T20:58:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T21:08:03.923-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I've Been Tagged....Twice!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I guess that means I should comply! Here are the rules:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. Open your pictures folder.&lt;br /&gt;2. Go to the sixth folder.&lt;br /&gt;3. Open the sixth picture.&lt;br /&gt;4. Import into your blog and tell the story.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here's the photo:&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&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257566040119586882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SPagdSx8MEI/AAAAAAAAA4E/SKl5XSYZcR4/s400/080.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;This photo was taken in 2007 on our Spring Break trip to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Wimberly&lt;/span&gt;/San Antonio.  Our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;orignial&lt;/span&gt; plan was to spend three days in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Wimberly&lt;/span&gt;....hiking, rafting, playing in the river.  But Mother Nature had different ideas and it rained.....the entire time.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;If you know anything about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Wimberly&lt;/span&gt;, the entire livelihood of this place is the river and it's associated activities.  It rained so hard that our cottage started flooding!  Adding insult to injury, Flo and Grace had traveled three hours to partake in our vacation.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;After a full 24 hours of being indoors and letting the kids watch too much &lt;span style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #ffff00"&gt;TV&lt;/span&gt; (something our kids can do at home!).....Cody decided he would fix the problem.  He took us all to Sea World!  Thank goodness that the hour trip there gave us a little distance from the monsoon, and it turned out to be a really wonderful, overcast, cool day with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Shamu&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So there you have it......now I tag:  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Nicksterland&lt;/span&gt;, Heather B., Flo, Rachel, Mimi, and Juli B.!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Love you, girls!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-1318775596354919065?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/1318775596354919065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=1318775596354919065' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/1318775596354919065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/1318775596354919065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/10/ive-been-taggedtwice.html' title='I&apos;ve Been Tagged....Twice!'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SPagdSx8MEI/AAAAAAAAA4E/SKl5XSYZcR4/s72-c/080.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-184857207974847855.post-8945075263598969082</id><published>2008-10-09T14:34:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T15:53:44.552-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Return on Investment</title><content type='html'>I am going to write this post but let me first add a disclaimer:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;The story I'm about to tell is true.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;These are actual events. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;The people involved are not paid actors. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;The moral of the story is &lt;strong&gt;not&lt;/strong&gt; that private, Christian schools are better than public schools...so don't even go there.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Are we good now? This is an important, heart warming story, and I don't want you to miss the point by focusing on whether or not I'm saying private school is a superior education. We can debate that next time....(and I will win) but that's for another time, right?.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First a little history. This is a story about Kellie-Laine and her best friend, Phoebe. Here they are so you have a visual:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255241440070718850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SO5ePwxT1YI/AAAAAAAAA30/bAdXlV1m97c/s400/IMG_4884_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And here they are again, showing that best friends really do take on each other's nasty habits:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255241741100454722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SO5ehSMZE0I/AAAAAAAAA38/f9chbHE7vyw/s400/IMG_5253.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;These girls have been best friends since Phoebe moved here many years ago, and luckily for our families, Phoebe's mom, Julie, is one of my most treasured friends on this planet. Isn't that just a perfect set up?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;We have been through a lot with these girls....first camp experience, first crushes, family vacations, countless sleepovers, school projects, etc. But as many of you well know, best friends can have their blowouts....and we've seen this side of things, as well.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;(Did anyone else have a traumatic Jr. High experience with their friends, or is it just me? I seem to remember that season of life was peppered with intense insecurity, flaky friendships, and lots of d-r-a-m-a. Can I get an "amen" here?)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So Julie and I weren't terribly surprised when the girls started bickering this week--it is, after all, what Jr. High girls do, right? However, we were surprised when three days later, the girls continued to come home in tears about the cruelty of the &lt;em&gt;other&lt;/em&gt; girl. The drama escalated and infiltrated the entire 7th grade, and all the girls ended up choosing to side with either Phoebe or Kellie-Laine. Most chose to be on Phoebe's side, and I was left with a very crushed, very hurt little girl.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So after a quick email to Julie asking for her opinion of the situation and some intense praying over the girls, I received a call yesterday from our school's principal. "&lt;em&gt;Angela, do you have a few minutes&lt;/em&gt;?" she asked. I should have known something was amiss, but our principal is pretty connected with each of the families in our school, so I simply thought she was calling about marketing or school board stuff. Her next question clued me in, "&lt;em&gt;Can you tell me a little bit about what's going on with Kellie-Laine&lt;/em&gt;?" And then my heart dropped. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In a nutshell, the principal and the girls' Bible teacher had noticed the tension amongst the girls and started asking some questions -- which opened the floodgate of tears. So the principal, Mrs. Moore, called Julie and me to ask if they could pull the girls out of class for some "counseling". In fact, both the Bible teacher (Mrs. Johnson) and Mrs. Moore wanted a chance to speak with the girls, so the principal subbed for Mrs. Johnson during her class so that she could have some time alone with the girls.  Mrs. Moore, in turn, kept the girls after school to make sure things were on the right track. Heartwarming, right?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I know I don't have to spell this out, but I cannot tell you how blessed I was by this whole situation. For starters, during the girls' counseling session, I called Julie on the phone and we spent a few minutes tearfully praying for our girls. I cannot get over the completeness and joy in that friendship....our love for each other, for our girls, and for our Lord. Secondly, I love that we are part of a school that values the emotional well-being of a child as much as his or her academic success. Our school truly, &lt;em&gt;truly&lt;/em&gt; filters everything through the eyes of Christ. Whether it's a school field trip, choosing curriculum, or even drama-infused relationships....there is always the foundation of Jesus' love, grace and mercy in every approach.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So, Kellie-Laine got in the car after the counseling sessions and had obviously been crying...but she was happy. "&lt;em&gt;I feel a lot closer to Mrs. Moore now&lt;/em&gt;," Kellie-Laine said, "&lt;em&gt;but I don't like people to see me cry." &lt;/em&gt;(The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, now does it?) And as we talked over her day, the drama, what she learned, and what the future looked like, I knew things were going to be okay. I was reminded of what Paul says in Romans 5: "...&lt;em&gt;but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope." &lt;/em&gt;This was definitely one of those character-building opportunities that he speaks of, and I'm so glad both the parents and the school administration was eager and willing to walk alongside these girls.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;We invest thousands of dollars each year on private school---it is sacrifice at times. Especially when I think about how much money we would save if we weren't paying for two (almost three) girls in private school.....bigger house? Better vacations? But each time that fleshy desire and doubt starts to creep in, the Lord reminds me that our investment is also an eternal one. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Yesterday, I got a glimpse of our investment portfolio. So far, we're making huge gains.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-8945075263598969082?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/8945075263598969082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=8945075263598969082' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/8945075263598969082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/8945075263598969082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/10/return-on-investment.html' title='Return on Investment'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SO5ePwxT1YI/AAAAAAAAA30/bAdXlV1m97c/s72-c/IMG_4884_edited-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-2891291242388707942</id><published>2008-10-06T13:48:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-06T14:18:38.372-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Life in Photos</title><content type='html'>My life in photos..... &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;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life with a five-year-old who insists on getting the sparkly character shoes I swore I would never buy:&lt;br /&gt;&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;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254115448994786434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpeKdI57II/AAAAAAAAA2Y/qPydGdN2i24/s400/055.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life with a toddler who thinks rainboots and cowgirl boots are the same thing:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254115817991344754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpef7wiknI/AAAAAAAAA2g/uvtXuEYHwJI/s400/040.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life begins when daddy gets home:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254116224341081538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpe3lh3fcI/AAAAAAAAA2o/J4drnSE_HVA/s400/053.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life is dangerous when you go to use the potty and come back to find your toddler here: &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254116909353270258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpffdZf-_I/AAAAAAAAA2w/jmPzwE6Tbr8/s400/060.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life is simpler when birthdays are simple:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254117523622369634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpgDNuqmWI/AAAAAAAAA24/t7T-n4VsHTs/s400/069.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When life gives you pinto beans in a box: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254118131293963378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpgmle3RHI/AAAAAAAAA3A/5DbuyhMg_dQ/s400/080.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life with Harley, our new puppy: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254118755395383394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOphK6cPMGI/AAAAAAAAA3I/VYxqIHNqDSo/s400/091.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In life, the only thing that matters to a 7th grader is that you have the right socks to match your volleyball uniform: &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254119748939832994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpiEvrsXqI/AAAAAAAAA3Q/NMWF_hNFj1A/s400/103.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is gymnastics....and the perfect leg warmers: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254120340620493522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpinL3WwtI/AAAAAAAAA3Y/XfQWPOuMMIk/s400/271.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life makes me smile when I see Kellie-Laine crawl in bed with her sister each night:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254120906796382146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpjIJCNN8I/AAAAAAAAA3g/CBXBB5UrvFo/s400/020.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Life with Girls:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254121710585962658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpj27Yk4KI/AAAAAAAAA3o/YpDxmBdTT2Q/s400/IMG_7571.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-2891291242388707942?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/2891291242388707942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=2891291242388707942' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/2891291242388707942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/2891291242388707942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/10/life-in-photos.html' title='Life in Photos'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOpeKdI57II/AAAAAAAAA2Y/qPydGdN2i24/s72-c/055.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-128966230675996816</id><published>2008-09-29T23:10:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T23:35:55.344-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Tinsel Teeth</title><content type='html'>In between all of my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;hiney&lt;/span&gt; wiping and juice cup filling, I realized that I never updated you on Kellie-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Laine's&lt;/span&gt; new grin. Well, here she is......get out your sunglasses!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251664604724588338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOGpIiwZ7zI/AAAAAAAAAyQ/_TqpbnBE5xs/s400/113.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, well, it just &lt;em&gt;wouldn't&lt;/em&gt; be right or fair if I didn't post this lovely picture of her:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251665000607401714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOGpfliORvI/AAAAAAAAAyY/0wnmNffdAVM/s400/110.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is, after all, my &lt;strong&gt;main goal&lt;/strong&gt; in life to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;embarass&lt;/span&gt; this child....or at least that's what she thinks.  (According to her, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;embarass&lt;/span&gt; her about 50 times a day.  Or whenever I speak.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So after a few days of eating chicken noodle soup, ice cream and anything she could swallow whole, Kellie-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Laine&lt;/span&gt; has finally adjusted to her new grill.  I must admit that things have certainly changed in the orthodontist arena since I was a kid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Back when I had braces, the only "cool thing" about it was the different color rubber bands or the color of your retainer.  Today, the orthodontist visit is an experience complete with tooth brushing station, computerized check in, waiting game-room, and a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Kerurig&lt;/span&gt; coffee bar.  The kids can earn "money" by wearing the orthodontist's custom t-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;shirt&lt;/span&gt;, making all A's, visiting their regular dentist for check-ups, flossing each day, etc.  This money can buy all sorts of stuff from shopping gift certificates to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ipod&lt;/span&gt; shuffles.  No joke.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm wondering if the orthodontist would consider refunding some of our money if we opt out of their incentive program?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-128966230675996816?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/128966230675996816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=128966230675996816' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/128966230675996816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/128966230675996816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/09/tinsel-teeth.html' title='Tinsel Teeth'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SOGpIiwZ7zI/AAAAAAAAAyQ/_TqpbnBE5xs/s72-c/113.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-1810360037896386493</id><published>2008-09-25T20:46:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T22:52:35.140-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Less-Than-Traditional Aggie Football Game</title><content type='html'>Is there such a thing, you ask? I wouldn't have agreed until this past Saturday when the Beeler family hit the road to College Station for the A&amp;amp;M vs. Miami game. And for the record, I am here to testify that this game was, yes, less than traditional....for many reasons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, let me back up and say that we took Kellie-Laine and Landrie with us to the game, which was a first for our family. Usually, I send Cody and Kellie-Laine to cheer on the Aggies, which means standing up for four hours straight. &lt;em&gt;No, thanks&lt;/em&gt;. I'll stay at home with the little offspring and sit on the couch while they play at my feet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year, though, I decided that Emerie was the golden child who could actually be given to a babysitter for longer than two hours without that particular sitter feigning some sort of strange illness to get out of the job. She's easy and fun, and she has a cute little dimpled smile which will just melt your heart no matter how rotten she's acting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The game went much like I had anticipated: I got carsick; Landrie asked to go home after the first ten minutes; the girls went into sugar shock from the snacks we bribed them with; Landrie attempted to spread out her coloring books on the jam-packed stadium seats; Landrie got frustrated when the sixty people on either side of us wouldn't "schooch down" to make room for the coloring book; Kellie-Laine was completely mortified any time I participated in the Aggie yells; Cody was distracted and was pretty useless as a parent; and I experienced extreme fatigue and muscle soreness from climbing 22 ramps to get to our seats in the Zone. What a way to spend $300 bucks, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so back to the less-than-traditional Aggie game. I made several observations while people-watching from my seat (which was waaaaay more interesting than the football game). You need to know that I graduated from A&amp;amp;M in 1997....when things were a bit more traditional (although I'm sure the guy who graduated in 1979 is laughing at that last sentence!). Anyway, the main observation is that the collegiate attire has changed drastically. Back in the day, a cool maroon t-shirt was all you really needed. These days.....that same maroon t-shirt has been fashioned into a skin-tight halter top; complete with Coach handbag and Chanel sunglasses. Also, there were many gals who wore t-shirt morphed-halter-dresses with an Aggie emblem on the chest or buttocks and trimmed with lace or ribbon. (I must admit I thought these were so precious! But not on the two year old). Other surface observations occurred to me as well, like the fact that apparently Daisy Duke shorts have made a comeback. And, the youth of today have gotten so much more beautiful....guys and gals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250154066331818194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SNxLTovH2NI/AAAAAAAAAyI/6Gnjj08b47M/s400/Photo_092008_003.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the real diversion from the stereo-typical A&amp;amp;M home game occurred during the half-time show. As a prelude to the Aggie Band (which personifies Aggie Tradition), there was a guest performance by the Prairie View A&amp;amp;M Show Band.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Folks, they aren't called a "Show Band" for nothin'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Words cannot even describe what took place on that field, but here are a few snippets:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--The Announcer would say things like: "Sit back while we do our thang..." or "Watch us bring it to you" and finally, "Go with us while we swim in the ocean" (this is what he said as the band fell on to their backs and simulated some kind of pelvic gyrating).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- The dance team sat hunkered in a corner covered in a dark, velvet cape......UNTIL......the announcer introduced us to the "Black Foxes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Upon hearing their esteeming introduction, the Black Foxes threw off their capes and stood in all their majesty and glory in nothing more than an outfit specifically made for adult entertainment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Upon throwing off their capes, Landrie became hypnotized by their beauty and said: "I wish I could have a dress like that!" (remember &lt;a href="http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/01/how-do-you-parent-odd-child.html"&gt;her love of inappropriate clothing?&lt;/a&gt; This should tell you a little something about their attire.......)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- The Black Foxes are, apparently, double jointed in places most of us aren't.....and proudly displayed it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--I had to cover Landrie's eyes during various parts of the "performance."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- It was the only part of the game Landrie enjoyed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Even Kellie-Laine was giving me the "raised eyebrows" look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--I told Cody we needed to go to church. IMMEDIATELY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me defend all of this commentary by saying that if I didn't have my girls with me.....I WOULD HAVE TOTALLY LOVED THIS SHOW.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It really rocked. But not in a "&lt;em&gt;I'd love for my girls to be involved in this one day&lt;/em&gt;" kind of way, you know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gig 'em.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250153987715116626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SNxLPD3cLlI/AAAAAAAAAyA/ebtSfRy1x-k/s400/Photo_092008_002.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-1810360037896386493?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/1810360037896386493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=1810360037896386493' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/1810360037896386493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/1810360037896386493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/09/less-than-traditional-aggie-football.html' title='The Less-Than-Traditional Aggie Football Game'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SNxLTovH2NI/AAAAAAAAAyI/6Gnjj08b47M/s72-c/Photo_092008_003.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-2984823391366408880</id><published>2008-09-23T15:24:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T21:43:40.409-05:00</updated><title type='text'>In Case You're Wondering</title><content type='html'>Some of you may remember my post about little Miss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Emerie&lt;/span&gt; and her &lt;a href="http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/06/water-from-moon.html"&gt;less-than-angelic poses for the camera.&lt;/a&gt; You may, in fact, be wondering if the child has been properly trained by now. &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm going to let you be the judge:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249317368553246450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SNlSVannjvI/AAAAAAAAAxw/KS8F5TIqmIw/s400/286.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249315966125652034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SNlRDyK0uEI/AAAAAAAAAxQ/hie8myPUGtQ/s400/048.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249316342332068642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SNlRZrpbEyI/AAAAAAAAAxY/9Jz-F7RN0fE/s400/081.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249317801987519842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SNlSupSZtWI/AAAAAAAAAx4/kr8zZ1bmrjE/s400/IMG_7561.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249317035677914626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SNlSCCj9FgI/AAAAAAAAAxo/zxElMpvnqH0/s400/273.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249316663057079506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SNlRsWcOXNI/AAAAAAAAAxg/_01JJ4AE0-Q/s400/129.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So the short answer is obviously "no." The child still wads her face up into a tight contortion, and there doesn't seem to be any hope for the future that she'll do otherwise. A smile is kind of a hard thing to describe to a two-year-old, right? &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&gt;We have a gift certificate with my favorite photographer here in Waco, but I'm too scared to use it. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Even the most talented photoshop editor would have difficulties with this face!&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&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In other &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Beeler&lt;/span&gt; news, please mourn with me the loss of my not first, but &lt;em&gt;second&lt;/em&gt; laptop hard drive replacement. I don't know if I can say this any clearer: &lt;em&gt;buy a HP &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Pavilion&lt;/span&gt; only if you enjoy losing all of your most precious data every 6 months. &lt;/em&gt;I looked up the definition of the word "Pavilion" in the dictionary and actually gleened a lot of information from it. Apparently, the definition of Pavilion is: &lt;em&gt;an ornate tent, &lt;/em&gt;which I find rather appropriate seeing as how this laptop is nothing more than a lovely, ornate black box--filled with defective hard drives.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want----no, I need----a Mac. But for now, I'll settle for this lovely HP &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Pavilion&lt;/span&gt; which makes me froth at the mouth each time I touch it.&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/184857207974847855-2984823391366408880?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/2984823391366408880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=2984823391366408880' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/2984823391366408880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/2984823391366408880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/09/in-case-youre-wondering.html' title='In Case You&apos;re Wondering'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQySQm0mVOk/SNlSVannjvI/AAAAAAAAAxw/KS8F5TIqmIw/s72-c/286.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184857207974847855.post-6708180878663990086</id><published>2008-09-18T18:48:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T19:51:22.029-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Angela Economics</title><content type='html'>I will be the first to admit that I know NOTHING about the stock market, Dow average, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;American&lt;/span&gt; economics, or sub prime mortgages.  I took one Economics class while at Texas A&amp;amp;M and the only thing I learned was what an "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Opportunity&lt;/span&gt;-Cost situation" was.  And, believe me, I live most of my days in the opportunity-cost dynamic.  A perfect example is this:  &lt;em&gt;is the opportunity to participate in the Body Shaping class worth the cost of puking afterwards? &lt;/em&gt;  To which I mentally yell, "Hell no!" and I, once again, thank my lucky stars that I was forced into that Economics class my freshman year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to the main point...... most of my financial information comes from Dave Ramsey, and I often find myself &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;texting&lt;/span&gt; Cody to say:  &lt;em&gt;Dave just said we need to put 15% into retirement...do we do that?  &lt;/em&gt;To which Cody will reply: &lt;em&gt;yes, and I could invest a lot more if you'd quit shopping&lt;/em&gt;.  And thus goes the conversation......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the past few days I've been reading a lot about these investment banks that are failing due to sub-prime mortgages, and that got me wondering things that my mind has no business wondering about because it will inflict serious injury on my temporal lobe.  So here's my silly, mush-brained question about this situation:   if sub-prime mortgages are causing so much grief both to consumers and to the lending institutions--why were the loans given in the first place? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If Sally and Bob can't afford the $450,000 house right now....why give them the loan for it?  Why don't Sally and Bob wait and save up money?  Or better yet, why don't Sally and Bob go for a smaller, less expensive home?  I don't get why America is having to bail out people who are  in financial crisis because they can no longer afford their massive house payments.  I don't get why banks offer crazy financing options to try to "make it work" for the next five years and then start huge balloon payments, only to find that thousands of people cannot afford the higher payment.  Really, people, am I missing something here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cody and I live in a very modest home--nice, but modest.  And while there are many moments  when we feel like jumping the gun and buying or building our dream home, we know that the only way we'll do it is when we've saved up enough money to afford it.  Not with the bank's crazy financing.....not by using our retirement....not by dipping into the kids' college fund....but just by good &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ol&lt;/span&gt;' earning and saving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cody and I both had some pretty significant debt when we first married, and with Dave Ramsey's help and a little discipline, today we've got zero debt.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Zippo&lt;/span&gt;.  Zilch.  I hope this doesn't sound boastful, but I am quite proud that we have accomplished a goal that many people will spend their entire lives trying to reach.  It's just not the "American way" is it?  It's counter-culture to be debt free and live within or below our means....and we love it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I need to let you know that part of the reason we live like this is because Cody's job is 100% &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;commission&lt;/span&gt;.....which means that on any given month his paycheck could be $25.  Then I would be forced to find a job that pays well.....at night......because I want to stay home with my children.  The only job I can think of that meets these two requirements is a  job that involves dancing and a pole--and I'm just not going to do that.  But I digress......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen, I know you don't visit this blog to get financial lectures or economic lessons, so I apologize for the uncharacterisitc subject matter.  Actually, I'm just trying to prove that SuperMom has a little depth and can think about things other than filling juice cups, wiping hineys, or upcoming vasectomies.  I just want you to know that if any of you are currently struggling with debt, you should really check out Dave Ramsey's website.  He has a book and a radio show (check your local listings.....I've ALWAYS wanted to say that!!), and he has literally changed the lives of so many families in America.  And if the Democrats do what I think they're going to do if elected (raise taxes) we'll &lt;em&gt;all &lt;/em&gt;need to find ways to make our dollar stretch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/184857207974847855-6708180878663990086?l=aisforangela.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/feeds/6708180878663990086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=184857207974847855&amp;postID=6708180878663990086' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/6708180878663990086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/184857207974847855/posts/default/6708180878663990086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://aisforangela.blogspot.com/2008/09/angela-economics.html' title='Angela Economics'/><author><name>SuperMom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18295434106489667458</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='10286415278343434137'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>10</thr:total></entry></feed>